Twenty years? I'm so screwed.

“Problem?” Maldive asks.

The players to either side of me stare, waiting for my response.

“All streaks come to an end,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth I can hear the way they shake, the flimsiness.

Devlin hears it as well. “All streaks? Sure, but this streak is going to continue for at least an additional year.”

Devlin and the other players wait for me to respond, but my mind stutters. I say nothing.

“Well,” Devlin says, “if there's no other interruptions, shall we proceed?”

The other two players nod and I find myself doing the same, hating every single bit of it.

This is a mistake. Sure, I want to duel Maldive, but I only want to do so as a means to an end. The main goal is to free Pixie.

What I've actually managed to do, though, is something very different: I've allowed Pixie's kidnapper to lure me into playing a match where he holds the advantage.

I try to keep my wits about me, staring back at him as though I know more about playing Scheme than he'll ever learn in a lifetime.

Maldive stands up from his chair to look at the wizards assembled behind the glass.

He raises his arms and screams, “Your champion has once again returned to take home another title!”

Realizing how dire my situation is, I do the one thing that I think will give me an advantage. I stand up from my own chair, turn to the crowd, raise my own hands above my head, and scream in a voice that approached Maldive’s ridiculously manicured accent.

“I doubt it!”

Not my most eloquent, but it does the trick.

Several of the wizards in the gallery cover their mouths and Maldive looks at me through narrowed slits.

There are several full on laughs from the wizards, which I’m sure won't endear me to Maldive. Exactly what I want. Maldive has more experience with this game, probably knows more of the strategies to win, but I have something he doesn't.

Undeniable self-control over my snarkiness.

He can do all the grandstanding he wants to. I'll be right here, right behind him, ready to cut him off at the knees.

And at every step, when I cut him off at the knees, the probability of him making a mistake will increase.

Maldive speaks to me in a quiet voice seething with anger. “I’m going to destroy you. I’m going to take you apart piece by piece in this match.”

I open my mouth wide in a huge yawn and, as I allow my mouth to close again, I tap my left canine three times with my tongue. “Right. Sure. Can't wait. So much fun. Tell me more.”

Maldive gapes at me and I can see the frustration already working on him. He wants me to understand how dire my situation is. He wants me to know how much better he is than me at this game.

The jokes on him though. I already know that.

Before he has a chance to answer me, four Illween materialize from the shadows and approach our table. Each Illween approaches one of the players and instructs them to move away from the table.

I follow the Illween who approached me and move towards the edge of the gallery where I can see Dom waiting for me. I glance over and see that the woman with the red hair and angry eyes is meeting with her wizard, the tiny girl sitting on the shoulders of the man. The tiny girl is still slowly spinning a dagger against his skull.

The tall, spindly player is meeting with the wizard who looks taller and spindlier.

Dom is speaking in hushed tones to a woman.

If he has a wizard, why did he need to use the witchstone he stole from me to gain access to the tournament?

“Do you know how to play death scheme at this level?” the Illween asks.

“I know the basics,” I say. “I made it this far, did not?”

Dom closes his eyes and the Illween gives me a patient smile.

Oh no. What is this?

“We play this round exactly the way we played the earlier round, correct?” I don't see any point in acting like I know more than I do here. Any information the Illween gives me could be the difference between life and death.

Dom shakes his head. “No. It's different. This is the ancient way to play death scheme.”

My stomach turns over. I only knew about the three versions of scheme. This was a fourth.

“How is it different?”

“It's more… creative. And destructive.”

I have no idea what he's talking about. More creative? What does that mean? It's a magickal card game.

“How is it more creative?”

“You're playing with a different type of scheme deck than you're used to,” he says. “This deck doesn't list what destructive magick spell will be inflicted on your opponent. When you match a number, the magick that corresponds with the color you played will become available to you. You’ll be able to cast a single spell of your choosing in that magick style at your opponent. The table you're playing at is an ancient relic that simulates and regulates the magickal ability for the player based on the cards played.”

So that's why Maldive was so sure he was going to beat me.

I've never cast a spell in my life, so I don't have a lot of knowledge of the sorts of spells available in the different magick types.

The Illween speaks, “Stay focused on your opponent’s horde of collected cards, not on casting spells at them. The horde is what determines the winner. The magick spells are there to aid in taking your opponent's horde and blocking them from taking yours by destroying their mind and body.” The Illween pauses for a moment before adding, “Many a death scheme match has been lost by those blinded by a grudge.”

“I'm not playing with a grudge,” I snap.

The Illween dips their chin at this. “Without a doubt. I can tell you one thing, though: if you win this duel, every caster and wizard in Anara will know your name, Hexana Covington. In fact, by simply entering this duel, whether you win or not, your name will be known.” The Illween fixes me with a look that cuts to my core. “Will you be known for winning? Or will you be known for holding on so tight to your grudge that you lose your life?”

I think, had Dom asked me this question, I would've tried to break through the glass to attack him. As it is, I feel a stomach-churning need to succeed and save Pixie.

I put my focus on Pixie, not on my anger with Maldive.

“Are you prepared?” the Illween asks.

I nod. I'm not prepared, but I'm as prepared as I'm going to get.

The Illween leads me back to the center of the room and seats me at the scheme table.

Maldive return soon and sits down, staring across at me with a knowing smile. As the other two players settle into their own shares, the table lights aflame with fire. I flinch back, but the other players sit there as though this is normal. When the fire dies down, the table looks completely different.

Instead of being a wooden table as the other tables had been, this table is made of shining black stone and covered with rust. Something like obsidian, but murkier.

Upon closer inspection, I realize that what I had thought was rust is actually dried blood covering the entire surface of the table.

The seriousness of the situation I'm in is immediately driven home.

I do everything to clear my mind and calm my racing heart. I have a job to do. I'll save Pixie, and I'll take my revenge on Maldive for what he's done.

Above the table, over our heads, a circular screen blinks to life, displaying my face, Maldive’s, and the other two players.

Four words glow into existence on the surface of the blood-caked table between the other players and myself.

Play to the death.