14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Rahk
“I cannot find Nat,” Edvear tells me, wringing his hands and eyeing the Fool’s Circle laid out on the table before me. “I will keep looking.”
I grunt. “Look outside. He didn’t leave. He is here.”
She might have been lying about why she needs this position, but she wouldn’t have put up with me today if she hadn’t truly needed it. She would have quit and left.
I would have quit and left. There is no chance I would have tolerated that nonsense. Yet she did. I thought for certain that if nothing else did, the back rub would push her too far—or give her an opportunity to harm me if that is what she had come to do. I was proven wrong.
“We found him!” Edvear shouts from down the hallway.
I set the pieces of the game in order until I hear Nat’s familiar soft gait coming slower than usual toward my room. She appears on the threshold, her hair in disarray, a leaf stuck to the top of her head, wearing an uncharacteristically blank expression.
She’s angry with me.
“Come.” I beckon for her to take her spot opposite me. “You get the first move.”
She obeys without a word. She makes her move and then waits for me to make mine. Not once has she met my gaze since she entered the room.
I move my pieces and watch her face carefully. We go six turns, and she claims the first spot surrounding the Fool. I nod approvingly. She doesn’t acknowledge it. Five more turns, and I claim the second spot.
The eager energy and excitement of last night is gone. She is a silent storm cloud, threatening to release thunder and lightning, but refusing to be the one to break first. That restraint is more than I thought her capable of. Then again, she has grit, will, and determination in measures I did not expect from a human.
I’m the one who angered her, so I must be the one to solve the silence.
“You impressed me today,” I say, moving my pieces.
She does not answer.
“You pleased me greatly.”
Still, no reply.
I wipe a hand over my mouth to conceal my smile. She is a little fool to behave so much like a woman. A young boy would have accepted the praise quickly. “I am sorry for asking so much of you today. I do not anticipate having this many unusual needs again.”
Her jaw works, and for a moment I think she might accept my apology, if not my praise.
But no, she won’t accept that either.
“You want me to admit that I was testing you.”
“Yes!” she cries suddenly, the storm finally breaking. “And I want to know why! Was it a cruel joke to see me struggling when I am exhausted and giving everything to please an impossible-to-please master?”
Her words make my hand, holding my piece, go still.
My mind flashes back to the cold hand of Lady Nothril wrapped around my young neck, smiling as she choked the life out of me, whispering in my ear: “You will do as I say, or you will die, my dear heir.”
I move my piece forward and rest my palm on the tabletop. “I wanted to know if you were lying to me.”
She freezes, her eyes going wide. Wide with guilt .
“I wanted to know if this position truly mattered to you, or if there was some other reason you asked your sister to get you this position.”
“And what did you find?” she asks, making her move.
“That you needed this position enough to put up with a capricious master,” I reply. “There. Are you glad you successfully passed the test?”
She clamps her mouth shut. She isn’t going to forgive me so easily.
“You earned yourself a request.” I drum my fingers on the tabletop, then move my piece to surround her spot near the Fool. “Ask what it is that you want, and I will endeavor to grant it.”
“I do not want to be mocked or tested,” she answers readily.
“Very well.”
Her eyes dart up toward mine in surprise. They are a rather nondescript shade of brown, yet now I notice the way they shine golden in the sunset. She looks away just as quickly.
“Nat,” I say, softening my voice. “Look at me.”
Begrudgingly, she lifts her eyes to mine. Waning sunlight plays across her face, her wild hair. I lean across the table, too quickly for her to jerk away from, and pluck the leaf out of her hair. I drop it in front of her.
“I’m sorry.”
Why am I doing this? I’ve only been in the human lands for a few days and I’m already apologizing to a servant who is actively lying to me about her identity, her history, and her motives. It must be the stink of this air combined with my constant dosing of ollea that influences me.
Yet I cannot find it in me to regret the apology. I mean it. I mean it more now after seeing just how much more frustrated and hurt she was by today than I realized.
She purses her lips, hesitates, then nods once.
Apology accepted.
Just for that, I let her claim another spot near the Fool. I’ll win the game, of course, but she can have this little victory.
Neither of us speaks for the rest of the game. Unlike the beginning of the game, however, the silence is pleasant. I didn’t lie yesterday—she is an interesting opponent, with unusual maneuvers, and it keeps my mind engaged in the game more often than when I play Pavi. Many of the maneuvers are careless and poorly thought out, but interesting all the same. I never would have thought she had learned the game only yesterday.
Night has fallen when we finish.
I slide the board into its container and we each dump our minions inside. The Fool goes last of all. “I regret that the queen’s ball will keep us from playing every night this week.”
She chews her lip, then admits, “Me too.”
This time, neither of us are lying.