CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SHADOW SKULKERS
Sef waits for me when I return to my room. I’m happy to see her—her company is always welcome, and my mood is especially dreary after the day I’ve had—but she carries news that makes my spirits sink further: “I was fired from the Tournament committee.”
It takes a moment for the weight of her words to settle. “What? Why?”
“They found out that I work for you. They feel it’s a conflict of interest so soon before the second trial. They don’t want the appearance of an unfair advantage for either candidate.”
The second trial of the Tournament is always a surprise. It’s meant to test the candidates’ ability to think on their feet. I was counting on Sef’s access to the Tournament committee for insight. Without it, I’m as clueless as anyone else.
I collapse on my bed, trying to think through my approaching headache. “We can still make this work. Do you know when and where their next meeting is?”
“Tonight. Conference room on the ground floor.” Sef tilts her head to the side. “Do you think you can find a way to eavesdrop?”
Right now, it’s the only thing I’m sure of. “Definitely.”
“I’ll come with you.”
I turn my head to glare at her. “No, you won’t. What about dinner with your parents? You’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”
“I know, but what if you need a lookout?” She twists her hands together fretfully.
I grin, trying to channel a false sense of calm into it. “I’ll just have to be especially careful. We’ll debrief tomorrow. I’ll get those breakfast pastries you like and tell you all about the meeting, and you’ll tell me all about dinner. Deal?”
Reluctantly, she nods. “Deal.” She’s still twisting her fingers, still looking nervous.
I prop myself up on my elbows, frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“The committee let slip who it was that told them there was a conflict of interest.” She raises both brows knowingly. “I’ll give you one guess who it was.”
I flop back onto my bed, burying my face in my hands with a groan. Stars in hell, I hate that boy.
Years of traversing Widow’s Hall have made me adept at keeping hidden as I slink through the corridors. The halls are mostly empty, but I cling to walls and linger in shadows as I make my way to an empty, forgotten bedchamber that sits above the meeting room where the Tournament committee convenes.
I’ve come prepared to pick the lock, but when I turn the handle, it opens with a low whine.
I hurry inside and lock the door behind me.
For a pause, I’m still, taking inventory of my surroundings.
Faint light from the beacons outside streams in through a gap in the curtains, illuminating a sliver of the floor.
Most of the space is filled by a large bed against the back wall.
To the left is a wardrobe, and near the windows is a desk.
Everything appears coated in a thin layer of dust, making it difficult to search as my eyes skirt along the floor.
There. A hole in the floorboards. It’s small, but torchlight from the conference room beneath shines through.
Dust from the floor billows into my hair and nose as I crouch to press my ear to the floor.
“. . . agenda tonight is the second trial,” a woman is saying.
Relief courses through me. I made it. And I can hear everything clearly.
Wood creaks from behind me.
Tension returns to my spine as I whirl.
Nothing. The room is just as still and empty as when I entered.
I turn back.
“. . . last trial was a battle of strategy,” the speaker is saying.
Another creak. This time, I ignore it. It’s an old, abandoned room. Strange sounds are to be expected.
“Well, well. Look who’s where she wasn’t invited, yet again.”
My heart stops.
A boy stands leaning up against the bed, watching me with a bemused smirk. He’s tall and broad. Dark and handsome and familiar. Kaidren Vale.
I stagger unevenly to my feet.
Only now do I see streaks in the dusty floor leading under the bed. He must’ve gotten here before me and hidden when he heard me coming.
“What the hell are you doing here?” My voice is a soft hiss. Chatter from the conference room below is easily heard from these chambers. I have no idea how well sound carries in the opposite direction, but I’m not curious enough to find out.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” He chuckles. “Probably should’ve guessed you’d be here. I heard your servant was forced to leave the Tournament committee. You must be getting desperate.”
“The only desperate one here is you.” I speak with more confidence than I have. It’s my only defense against how exposed I feel. “You lost the first trial and then humiliated yourself in Eteria. How does it feel to lose, Vale? I wouldn’t know.”
His amused expression slips. It flickers back almost immediately, but it’s more embittered than before. “If you think your stunt at Eteria changes anything, prepare to be disappointed.”
“I’m well versed in disappointment. I’ve been pretending to be friends with you for weeks,” I say. “Why are you here?”
“The second trial is meant to be a surprise. Since meeting you, I decided I’ve had enough surprises for a lifetime.”
I recall the way he effortlessly commanded the crowd at Mozeri Temple. He was lying through his teeth, but he had the entire audience eating from his hand. “Surprised you didn’t just charm the committee into telling you everything.”
He smiles, slow and sharp, and pairs it with a few steps in my direction. “You think I’m charming, Remira?”
I roll my eyes, hoping it draws his attention from the way I retreat a few steps. “I think many people find you charming. Just as I think many people are fools.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
I scoff. “Of course not. I can see right through you.”
“Is that so?” Kaidren quirks a brow. “Tell me, what am I thinking, right now?” He drags his lingering gaze over my body, as a slow, appreciative smirk slinks across his face.
The intensity of his perusal reminds me of how he used to look at me, back when we were playing a very different kind of game.
Then, I faked smiles and pretended to be flattered. Now, I glare openly and hurl insults. Now, I wear my disdain for him proudly on my sleeve. Why, then, does his heated stare feel more real in this moment than it did before?
A shiver works down my spine. I fold my arms to disguise the involuntary response to his eyes on me. “Using shallow flirtation to try and get your way again? I thought you were finished with that game.”
“I’ve only just started to play.”
His brown eyes appear brighter in this dim lighting. I have to look away. My gaze drops to the floor, to the hole over the conference room. “You never answered me. Did the committee tell you anything about what to expect in the second trial?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Why would I tell you? Unless . . .” His expression brightens. “Are you proposing a trade? I answer a question of yours, you answer one of mine?”
We’re broaching on dangerous territory. I’m about to tell him just where he can shove his “trade” when I hear the softened thuds of approaching footsteps from down the hall.
I go rigid. Kaidren frowns. “Are you ignoring—”
I rush forward to shut him up, shoving my sleeve over his mouth and muffling his words.
His brow knits in anger. I press a finger to my lips, willing him with my racing heart and frantic expression to keep quiet.
He stops fighting me, and his eyes widen—now that he’s shut up, he hears the footsteps as well.
We stand in tense silence as the steps get closer and closer. They stop just outside the door.
My chest is tight, as though bound with rope. Terror crawls over my skin and into my rapidly beating heart as I peer around the room. The dust trails leading under the bed make it too obvious a hiding place.
The door rattles. It’s locked, which buys us precious seconds.
The sleeves of Kaidren’s sweater are rolled up, revealing his forearms. Too much exposed skin to risk grabbing them. Instead, I snatch the front of his sweater, bunching the wool over his chest.
The lock clicks—whoever is here has a key.
Without a word, I shove Kaidren back, toward the wardrobe. One hand nudges open the door, the other forces him as far inside as possible.
I tuck myself in after him, drawing the door closed behind us as softly as I can.
Kaidren’s back is pressed to the rear of the wardrobe. My body is crammed against his.
The bedroom door creaks open.
I stop breathing.
Our chests are shoved together, hearts pounding one sharp, frenzied pace.
Footsteps plod into the room.
I’m holding my breath so intensely, I’m lightheaded, praying to any star in the sky the intruder leaves. Steps shuffle around the room. It’s likely less than a minute, but it feels like hours drag before the steps fade and finally leave. The bedroom door clicks shut.
Still, Kaidren and I don’t move. We don’t speak. We don’t even breathe.
I count silently to ten.
“I believe,” Kaidren’s low murmur caresses the shell of my ear when my mental count reaches eight, “we were in the middle of negotiating.”
My chest is still constricted, and I’m battling waves of residual fear. I shove all that aside to level him with a glare. “Only in your dreams.”
There’s hardly any space to move, so I blindly thrust a hand behind me to open the wardrobe door.
Kaidren’s arm bands my waist, stopping me.
I curl my hands between us, where they’re not at risk of touching his skin.
He has one arm around me, hand flattened against my back. His eyes are steeped in determination and something softer. Something unexpected and undefinable. “I never said I’m sorry. I should have.”
Of all the things I thought he’d say, this was dead last. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry. For assuming you were the help. For underestimating you.” His unwavering gaze is pensive as it bores into mine. “I don’t know how I ever looked into those eyes and thought you were helpless.”
My breath catches. There’s a quiet vulnerability to his words that tugs at my heartstrings.
This is a game. He’s playing you.