“Thank you,” Aya said softly. She took the tray and stood silently for a moment until the witch departed. Once they were alone, Aya asked, “Will you promise not to hurt me in any way if I bring you food? She said you won’t eat.”

“How do I know it’s safe?”

“You have my vow, Bel.”

He watched her warily. He had no intention of hurting her, not without knowing if she was trapped somehow too, but he wasn’t going to stand here and let her re-erect the circle. Once she dropped it to give him the food, he’d be at the door. A flash of guilt came over him at the thought of leaving her there. He stepped to the edge of the circle. “Are you a prisoner here too?”

“No,” she admitted. “I came to see you.”

“You knew I was here?” He’d thought he’d had his fill of betrayal when she poisoned him, but he felt the flare of renewed despair when she admitted that she’d known where he was. “You knew this whole time and you’re just now . . . Why?”

Her hands tightened on the tray she held. “Do you, Belias, vow not to harm or attempt to trap me?”

“I do.” He waited for her to add something about trying to escape, but she didn’t. He had already studied the room, and aside from the ritual knife on the edge of the witch’s desk, he saw nothing worth grabbing as a weapon.

Instead of lowering the circle, Aya caught and held Belias’ gaze as she stepped into the circle as if it wasn’t there. The look in her eyes wasn’t one he’d often seen there. Fear. He backed away, and the fear in her eyes was replaced by her regular unreadable expression. She put the tray on the floor and left the circle with as little effort as she’d used to enter it.

Belias put his hand up, pressing on it, testing the barrier as he had done so often since he’d woken up in it. “You stepped through a containment circle. You’re . . .” His words faded as he couldn’t speak the terrible truth.

“A witch,” she finished for him. “I’m a witch, Bel.”

Fresh disgust settled on him as the pieces fell into place. She had not poisoned him; she’d sold him to a witch. She was a witch. Belias dropped to the floor, trapped inside the circle where Aya had sent him. He stared at her. “I wanted to spend my life with you. I offered you everything I have. I entered the competition and have killed because of you.”

“I know.” Aya’s expression was as unreadable as he’d ever seen it. She stayed still, spine straight and shoulders back. Her hands were held loosely at her sides, and he had the thought that she should be holding a weapon. It reminded him of the fights they’d had in the ring and in the sparring centers. The difference was that he was defenseless this time.

He stared up at her, the witch he’d thought he loved, and couldn’t understand how he could’ve been so wrong. “You took everything from me.”

“Not your life. I spared your life.” She gestured at the sandwiches beside him. “Eat, please. You’ll get ill if you don’t.”

“Why does that matter?” He turned his gaze to her. “You’re not intending to let me return to The City, are you? This is it. Either the witch kills me or keeps me here.”

“This world isn’t that bad, Bel. Evelyn says—”

“Get out.” He slammed his fists against the circle. “Get out of my sight.”

The usually stoic Aya flinched. “I couldn’t kill you,” she whispered.

When he said nothing, she continued in a steadier voice, “There are very few things I wouldn’t do to have a future. If I breed, they’ll know what I am.”

“So this was your solution? Take away my future, my home?”

“You didn’t leave me a lot of choices,” she said. “You bribed them so you could fight me. I know because I’ve been bribing them not to match us. You trapped me. I couldn’t forfeit, and I couldn’t kill you. So I had Evelyn summon you here.”

Her eyes flared witch-gold for the first time he’d ever seen, and on some level, he realized that she was letting down a wall. After years of trying to get her to share herself, to trust him, she chose now to do so.

“Don’t do this to me, Aya,” he pleaded. “We can figure out a plan that—”

“It’s not her decision,” Evelyn’s voice interrupted from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder to see the witch leaning in the doorway watching him. Instinctively, he started to move so that Aya was behind him, putting his body between the two witches, and immediately felt the fool. Aya was far more suited to defend herself against Evelyn than he could ever be.

Evelyn walked past the circle to her desk. She paused beside Aya and handed her a sachet. “This will do what you need.”

“Thank you.” Aya closed her hand around the sachet. She walked to the circle and lifted her other hand as if she would touch him. She didn’t reach inside the circle though. “For the first time, I am afraid to touch you. I’ve listened, Bel: I know what you think of witches.”

“If you weren’t a witch, would you have broken our engagement?” It was a foolish question. She was a witch, and that was unchangeable, but he still wanted to know. “Was this the only reason?”

She shook her head. “I can’t know that, but I don’t think so. I don’t want children. I want . . .”

“Power,” Evelyn finished. She sat at her desk, hands folded together as if in prayer, appearance as stern as it had been every day he’d been trapped here, but that harsh demeanor softened ever so slightly as she watched them. “Aya wants to bend the world to her will. It is a consequence of what she is. Some witches are more driven than others, but it is always there. It is why the Witches’ Council exists—we simply can’t see our way clear to allowing things to be out of order when we have the skills, the knowledge, and the strength to correct aberrations of order.”

Belias watched Aya’s expressions as the witch spoke. She didn’t speak to disagree with anything Evelyn said. The daimon he’d loved wasn’t real. It was just an act to disguise her true self.

How could I have thought I loved a witch?

“I would rather you had killed me,” he said quietly.

Evelyn’s sigh was his only answer. “Enough of this. Aya, you’ve had your audience with the daimon. Now, I need privacy.”

The witch lifted her hand with as little effort as one used to brush away an insect, and the circle became silent. Belias could no longer hear anything but the sound of his own breathing. Then, everything outside the circle became darker as he watched, until his entire world had been reduced to the few feet around him.

AYA HAD TRIED NOT to flinch away from Belias’ anger. She understood all too well: she’d done all of this to avoid being killed or trapped. She was still trying to avoid that fate, and along the way, she’d consigned Belias to a similar one. If she could’ve married him and kept her secret, she would’ve. It wasn’t what she was made for, but loving him had almost made her turn her back on the desire to help The City. The hope that maybe he’d understand that she was more than a witch had tempted her—but hope wasn’t enough.

She’d considered having a child, hoping that she could suppress the child’s magic. She’d even implored Evelyn to teach her how. When Evelyn refused, Aya knew it was far better to avoid motherhood, far safer for her and any child to simply avoid the chance of death or enslavement, far better for Belias never to know that she was a witch. She couldn’t condemn her child, so at eighteen—the earliest she could become anyone’s breedmate or wife—she had ended her betrothal to Belias and entered Marchosias’ Competition.

But then Belias had entered too.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” She threw the first knife as she walked into his training room, but he’d expected it. A heavy leather-and-chain vest protected his chest and stomach. His arms were bare, but the vital parts were all protected. Except his face. She launched the second knife, and he dropped to the floor.