The lions were already pissed about being there. Prodding at them with a sharp, pointy object didn't lighten their moods any.

They crept towards Will and me, ears laid back, silver eyes pinned to our figures, and I couldn't help thinking they looked more monster than animal.

When one charged at Will and nearly took his leg out, he sliced the back of its neck, causing the feline to yowl and scramble away. Keeping his eye on the lion, Will positioned himself with his back to the sidelines, drawing the cat's malicious gaze. Then he flicked his wrist, indicating for one of the groups to start inching its way along the red tape.

Meanwhile, I held the other lions' attention, jabbing at them and dancing in circles to keep them sufficiently furious—anything to divert their attention from Gilmore's platform. Eventually, though, one lion's patience ran dry. It bounded for me, eager to mop the court with my carcass, but the chain tautened, detaining the creature, and my heart plopped back into my chest with a shudder.

Crazy.

This is crazy, Kingsley.

The crowd roared above us, their chants too loud and jumbled to decipher. Were they condemning us for our stupidity? Cheering us on? It was hard to tell.

The boys excluded from our guild stared at us from the starting line, visors doing nothing to conceal their awe, their envy. Mason folded his arms across his chest, pouting in true Mason fashion. I knew he'd felt entitled to his triumph here in the Tournament, convinced of his role in the military. Now, that opportunity was fading before his very eyes, shriveling in this muted sunlight.

Past our hissing, feral obstacles, our allies helped one another ascend the concrete stage. One. Two. Five at the top. Throwing their hands in the air. Waving at the crowd. Reaching down to assist the next finalist. The cats appeared oblivious to the ruse, but I had a hunch they'd just settled on a two-person feast.

"We should hurry," said Will, right as Mason moved forward to partake in our scheme.

"Hurry where?" I murmured. We had no distractions, no disposable teammates. Only three outraged felines and a whole lot of ground to cover. "They're closing in on us."

This plan sucked big time, and at the present moment, I couldn't just dip out unnoticed.  Not without putting Will in jeopardy.

Tooms shuffled behind me, his shoulder blades bumping mine.  "Head for the stage, but keep spinning, slowly, and try to parallel their movements. If we turn together, our backs are never open.  Once Price and the others approach the lions and draw their attention, we'll have our window."

It was a ludicrous idea, but it helped that he sounded so sure of himself.

We raised our swords and moved for the platform, rotating like some kind of razor-edged Lazy Susan. 

The lions watched us progress, waiting for us to stop spinning, to break apart from our alien structure so they could pounce. But I didn't dare. Channeling my inner ballerina, I focused on my footing—slow, elegant, deliberate—while keeping my gaze fixed on the cats. My heart hammered against my ribcage, almost like it wanted out of this body, as if it knew I was a dead woman walking, and it had chosen to abandon ship.

We were about thirty yards from the platform when another lion grew sick of our game and ambushed me, determined to end this charade. I gasped as it moved too fast, too suddenly, and Will whipped around. As the lion flexed its paw to rip out my neck, Will raised his foot and kicked it in the face.

In the face!

The cat recoiled, and Will stumbled back from the force of the collision. Realizing he'd left his back open, I repositioned myself to face the other two lions, deeply unsettled by their premeditated stalking.

These things were smart and deadly.

I thrust my blade in their vicinity, more as an attempt to ward them off as opposed to making contact. Still, I managed to clip one on the shoulder, earning myself an enraged hiss or two. And then I did the stupidest thing of all.

"Run!" I yelled, and Will's helmet snapped in my direction, obscuring what I imagined to be bewilderment and disbelief. I jerked my head at the stage and the group of boys crowded along its edge. "Go.  You can help me up!"

It was a lie.                        

"Now," I stressed as the lions regrouped.

Reluctantly, my partner turned on his heels and sprinted away. As he should have. He was the contestant in this game.  Not me.  I wasn't even supposed to be here. Now was my chance to pull out.

Before Will's lion could follow him, I intercepted it, now one against three.  A barricade.  A cornered rabbit.

My legs were shaking.

But instead of shredding me apart together, the cats approached me, padded paws silent against the pavement. They stalked me like I was doomed prey: taking their time, sniffing the air, whiskers twitching with hunger.

Their delayed attack concerned me.  The fact that they chose to ignore the legion of boys behind them disturbed me even more.

Cautious, I stepped sideways, away from the goal, away from the win.  I just had to move laterally until I crossed the boundary line.  Then I was done. Eliminated.

Safe.

But around me, the lions had formed a triangle—two on either side of me and one at the vertex, dead center. They'd blocked the easy way out, almost like they knew what I'd been thinking. Almost like they understood the rules of the game, and they'd developed their own elaborate countermove.

I fought off a shiver. Since when did solitary animals hunt in packs?

I raised my heel, preparing for launch, and the lion in the middle perked up at my movement.  Our gazes snagged like fishing line.

Up so close, I realized there was something terribly wrong with the beasts. 

They didn't have eyes.   

I mean, they had eyes, obviously, but they were blank.  No pupil, no iris.  Just gray ink webbed in veins of black. Sclera contoured by dark rings.

A second eyelid, perhaps? Or maybe some kind of disease?

There was no way they were actually blind.

Our breathing fell in time, and my exhale was soft, charged.  The cat sensed my fear, and perhaps even worse, my plan.

We both moved at the same instant.

The crowd fell into pandemonium as I spun on my heels and raced for the platform.  The lion followed—I heard its heavy footfalls as it ran—and I pushed as fast as I could up onto the wall, desperate to find grips that didn't exist.

There was only one ledge that cut the stage in half, separating two blocks of slick, solid concrete. Clinging to that single ledge, I heard the chain snag and catch my pursuer, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I peeked over my shoulder, and the silver-eyed beast sprang again.  Only this time, the restraints didn't hold, and the chain snapped a few links from the pad eye.

My assailant was unleashed.

Horrified, I watched the monster rush toward me again, starved and furious. The crowd screamed, and so did the boys above me, which did nothing but send my adrenaline through the roof.

I tried to locate a crack, a ridge, anything, but there was nothing. Only flat, unscalable rock. My toes scraped uselessly against the wall, and I felt myself slipping.

Gritz!

The lion lunged for my calves just as Will's hand clasped around my forearm and yanked me out of range—up and away from those drooling, snapping canines.

I clutched tightly to his arm, feet flailing for purchase. Below me, the lion fell back to its crouch and growled, miffed at his wasteful energy investment. Properly defeated.

Gripping Will's shins and belt straps, the boys dragged us both up and over the edge of the platform, and as soon as my knees hit the surface, I sagged into my savior, panting and shaking from the adrenaline rush.

The audience roared at our success while the band swapped to a classic victory song, and I chuckled as the distress melted away. Exhaustion replaced lingering anxiety, my muscles slowly unclenching, my heartbeat steadying. I could feel the sweat dripping down my nose and forehead and the back of my shirt, and I closed my eyes as I processed the last few minutes.

By a hair's width, I'd avoided death by puma, and I had Will and his pack of welts to thank. I squeezed the boy's forearm in gratitude, hoping he would understand, and a moment later, he squeezed back.

When the rogue lion had been sedated and Gilmore was able to capture the city's attention again, he opened his arms to our gutsy group ofcandidates. "Ladies and gentlemen, our champions!"

Riotous applause.

Will's hands loosened around my arms, and we rose to our feet, taking in our company.

I quickly counted helmets to see how close I'd placed, and acute panic seized my heart upon my first calculation. No way. That can't beright.

10...15...20...

22...25...

My stomach churned.

25 of us, and not a contestant over.

"I have to say, in all my years of hosting this event, I've never witnessed such courage and cooperation in these games. Shall we take a look at the makeup of our marvelous team?"

Will slowly turned his head, watching me through the sheen of his red visor.  Almost like he knew exactly who I was and what was about to happen.

"Let's start with the fan favorite!"

I was sinking.

No, no, no. How could the numbers add up so perfectly? Why did the Fates have such a wretched sense of humor?

Gilmore beckoned me forward, but I couldn't move.  My feet were cannon shots.

This...this was worst thing I'd ever done.

The punishment warranted more than a demerit.  More than community restitution. I could go to prison. Or worse.

The boys slapped my back encouragingly, playfully nudging and pushing me toward the spokesman. Because they were idiots.

"I think we all had our doubts when we first saw you," Gilmore teased, feeding off the crowd's laughter. His bright eyes crinkled as he looked at me. "But your victory proves that size and stature account for little.  Ingenuity, bravery, selflessness...those make up a true soldier. And you've certainly reminded us of that today!"

I glanced at the stands.  At Will, tense and frozen.

He did know.

And he knew I was done for.

Because competing was one thing, but I'd actually stuck the landing.  If I revealed myself now, I could shatter paradigms and blast the doors open.  And if the Court couldn't keep the notion of women in combat out of the public's head, it would do its best to ensure that we feared the consequences.

"Off with the helmet then," Gilmore pressed.

I debated running.

I could make a break for it.  Through the crowd, out the entrance, all the way back to the ranch and the warmth of my unmade bed.  No one would ever know.  And I wouldn't be charged with a felony.

But there were too many eyes, too many people. I'd never make it out.  I didn't have a choice.

Go out with dignity.

That's all you have left.

My hands trembled as I slowly slid off the helmet—dark, sweaty hair unfurling over my shoulders.

There was an intake of breath from the entire stadium, and for a few seconds, everything was still. I'd like to think no one recognized me, but only one girl in Belgate was stupid enough to masquerade as a boy in a federal competition. And only one girl was naïve enough to think she'd get away with it.

Before I could come up with some brilliant excuse or play it off as a joke, an innocent mistake, the universe burst into noise. Like a teapot screaming and trembling on its burner.

Wincing, I turned my back to the stands, as if that would prevent the whole world from seeing what I'd done.

The boys stood there in a cluster, surrounding me in a dumbfounded arc. 

"Kingsley?" Chinger pulled off his helmet, unable to hide the delighted smirk on his face.

The others followed suit, hair plastered to their foreheads as they stared at me. Appalled.  Flabbergasted.  Amazed.

All but Will, who watched on with wary eyes.

Gilmore, ten shades paler than before, tore his astonished gaze from my face.  "Attention!" he tried, voice squashed by the thunderous crowd.  "Quiet—everyone!"

I imagined my father's expression right now. Eyes shut. Head bowed. Immeasurable shame, humility, and disappointment. 

I would never be forgiven.

Regret and embarrassment carved a deep wound inside me. Gritz, I'd always wanted to make a statement. I'd wanted to yank off their blindfolds and show them the truth. 

But not like this. Never like this.

The screaming increased a few decibels. At first, I thought it was the crowd's swelling disbelief and outrage. The Specs demanding their money. The Council screaming for my arrest.

But it wasn't.

The clamor came from above.

Following my peers' bewildered gazes to the sky, my mouth parted at the strange spectacle overhead.

A dark cloud hovered over the arena, a storm black as chimney smoke.  But as the tempest stretched across the ashen heavens like spilled ink, I realized it wasn't a storm at all.

It was a massive migration of birds—a murder of crows, shrieking as they fell upon us.