Chapter 16 Sam
Sam
Rook’s waiting for me back at the suite when I return.
He’s posed with uncharacteristic expectation.
Instead of his usual slouch, he’s sitting up straight on the couch, one ankle crossed neatly over a knee.
He looks up as soon as I enter the room.
“Sammy.” His tone is unreadable. “Good. You’re back. ”
I scope out the room. “Where’s Master Silverstein?”
“He just left.” Rook’s still speaking in that strange, flat voice. I didn’t think my body could carry more tension after that conversation with Tamsin—if you can even call it a conversation.
Yet every muscle I have tightens immediately as Rook’s clear blue eyes bore into mine. He’s not smiling or smirking, but he’s not pouting at me, either. He seems, for once, to be waiting for me to make the first move.
When I don’t, he heaves a tremendous sigh. “You’re not going to admit it, are you?”
“Admit what?”
“Your little scheme against the Blackwoods.” My champion rolls his eyes. “How stupid do you think I am? Silverstein told me everything.”
I open my mouth to tell my champion that I can explain. That Silverstein’s got it wrong, that I’m being taken out of context. Or at least, that’s what I intend to do. Instead, what comes out of my mouth is “After this duel against Tamsin Blackwood, I’m quitting.”
Rook jerks as if I’ve slapped him. “What?”
“Silverstein wants you to resign from this duel. If that’s what you want, that’s fine and dandy.
But if you go forward with it, you’ll still need a second, and Silverstein doesn’t have time to find you a new one before showtime rolls around.
So instead, we wait until after you defeat her.
Then I quit.” I shrug. “That’s much cleaner. ”
“Why the hell would you quit? And why the hell do you think I want to fire you?
“Silverstein told you, didn’t he?” I shuck my jacket off.
“My judgment is compromised. I care too much about screwing over the Blackwoods and not enough about your well-being. The only thing you and I have left in common is that we both want you to beat Tamsin—and I’m not even sure you want that much anymore.
So this is what’s best for both of us. We can make it look amicable.
No scandal, no speculation, just a mutually amenable parting of ways.
Your career will remain intact—hell, you’ll continue to be the darling of the magical world, in all likelihood.
You’ll have the chance to bring a second on board that you really want in your corner.
One that can actually take care of you, body and soul, instead of just turning you into her human weapon. ”
I tug my hoodie over my head next. “And me? I’ll just have to find a way to destroy the Blackwoods myself.”
“And how do you propose to do that, exactly?” Rook’s voice has taken on a mean edge.
It always does when he’s been unexpectedly hurt.
“What are you going to do, Sammy? Become a real duelist yourself? A champion? Go head-to-head with Tamsin Blackwood in the magicians’ arena, all by your lonesome?
” He chuckles. “Or are you going to go full psychopath and try to take on Mateus Blackwood himself?”
Ah, there’s that familiar edge of louche mockery. Good. That will make this easier.
“Maybe.” I hang up the jacket as I speak. “I never really gave myself the chance, did I?”
I was too fixated on shaping Rook into what I wanted. I was so convinced that Rook was the only weapon I had. I never looked inward. I never thought I’d achieve the kind of status Rook had—the kind you need to face Tamsin Blackwood in a magicians’ arena. I needed a proxy.
I never thought I’d have the chance to face the Blackwoods on my own. And now I might have to.
“Sammy, are you listening to yourself?” Rook leaps off the couch. “You never gave me the chance.”
“What are you talking about?” I demand. “Rook, I poured everything I had into you.”
“No, you didn’t!” An oddly wounded look crosses his face. “You never trusted me. Did you think I wouldn’t help you if you’d told me what the Blackwoods really did to your brother?”
“Lysander—”
“You had to play the mastermind.” The wounded look is replaced immediately with a sneer.
“You had to do everything yourself. Brilliant Samantha Chan, the clever young second, the real puppeteer pulling Lysander Rook’s strings.
You never once considered just talking to me.
Treating me like an equal partner in your scheming. ”
“My revenge was never your fight.”
“But you sure as hell saw it fit to turn it into my fight, didn’t you?” Rook’s eyes blaze at me. “You were fine with making your revenge my problem as long as I was nothing but your puppet. As long as you—and you alone—stayed in control of everything. Including me.”
He gives me a bitter smile. “And you know what? That’s fine. I’ll duel Tamsin Blackwood, don’t you worry. I’ll do exactly as you please, and give her hell, just like you wanted.”
“Rook, you don’t have to—”
“No, I really do.” The ugly smile grows. “But first, I want you to know how it feels. How it feels to be a human weapon. A spectacle.”
Rook straightens his spine. He’s an entirely different person all of a sudden. He can do that, shift his bearing like a chameleon. One moment, he’s a wounded child. The next, he’s the undefeated young champion of the modern magical world.
“Duel me,” he says. “Really duel me. Right now.”
“I’ve dueled you plenty of times in training.”
“That’s different, and you know it.” Rook holds my gaze. The petulant child is gone. In his place is a deceptively placid young man with eyes full of danger. “You’ve only ever sparred me as my second. You’ve never really tried to hurt me. And you’ve always held yourself back.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.” He gives an ugly laugh. “I might not be worldly or sophisticated or any good at anything besides magic, but I do know magic, Sammy. I can tell when someone has another gear they haven’t tapped.”
Rook’s blue gaze is bright and hungry on me.
I’ve seen him cast that look on so many other magicians who he’s left bruised and broken, humiliated before the jeers of an arena audience.
But he’s never once looked at me that way, no matter how many times I’ve sparred him or how hard I’ve thrown my magic in his face.
I scoff. “This is ridiculous.”
“Is it?” He spreads his hands. “I don’t think I’m asking for very much from my soon-to-be-ex second.”
I sigh. “Stop trying to bait me, Rook. Duel Tamsin or don’t. Either way, you’ll be free of me on your own terms soon enough.”
“Except that it wouldn’t really be my terms, would it?
” Rook closes the distance between us faster than I register.
My heart stutters. “You’re the one who’s quitting.
You’re the one who’s leaving me. So it’s still your plan.
In the end, I’m still reduced to what you want me to be.
What Silverstein wants me to be. What the whole damn world wants me to be. ”
I flex my hands, trying not to lose what few threads of patience still cling to me. “My plan is the only one that makes sense and gives us both what we want from this arrangement.”
“No.” My champion plants one finger squarely in the center of my chest and taps my heart with it. “No,” repeats Rook. “For once, we’re not going to do what’s smart, or clean, or good for me, or good for you. We’re going to do what I goddamn want.”
“You’re not serious about this.”
“I am.” He winks at me, almost flirtatiously. “Watch this, and don’t blink.” Before I can register what’s happening, I feel—rather than see—Rook’s magic flare outward from his body. I barely back away in time before his spell comes speeding toward me.
I duck instead of wasting energy on summoning a shield. The spell scorches the wall behind me with an angry hiss. “Have you lost your mind?” I yell. “We’re going to have to pay the hotel for that cute little warning shot.”
“Oh, live a little, Sammy.” He curls a spark of magic around a lazy index finger. “Just admit it. You never really wanted to be my second. You wanted to be champion.” He meets my eyes. “Because you love magic. You love it more than you love me.”
I refuse to dignify his accusation with a response.
Instead, I push my sleeves up as we circle each other.
I’ve taken a duelist’s stance without even meaning to.
Muscle memory is a hell of a drug. “This is a stupid game,” I inform him.
I flex my hands. “And believe me, you don’t want to win a stupid prize from me. ”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Rook watches me with careful, calculating blue eyes. It used to thrill me, seeing that look in his eyes. It always meant the end was near. That his opponent’s decimation was in sight.
It’s a lot less thrilling being on the receiving end of those eyes.
The next spell Rook casts is harder to read.
Rook’s good at disguising his tells. I only guess them half the time because I train with him so frequently.
Even then, knowing what’s coming is only half the battle, and few feelings are worse than knowing what spell you’re about to get hit with and remaining powerless to stop it.
Rook crooks the tips of his fingers for just a moment. It’s the hint I need. I glance down, and sure enough, find tendrils of magic snaking rapidly toward my feet. I dance out of the way as they writhe and twist, snapping at my ankles. The faster I dance away, though, the more seem to appear.
“Come on, Sammy,” calls Rook, crooking those fingers over and over. Tendrils hiss and multiply. “Cast something. Cast anything. What’s the point of studying all those spells if you never use any of them when it matters?” He flicks another tendril toward me. “Cast, god damn it!”
“No.” I leap over the tendril. “I refuse to indulge your attempts to wreck the nicest suite we’ve ever been assigned on tour. Not to mention get us banned from this hotel for life.”
“Then make me stop.”