CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO #4
Micah takes a card. His eyes turn mournful, and he taps the edge of his card with one finger, glancing toward the cards on the table, as if wishing he could swap his card for another. Despite my fury, I almost smile. He’s even worse at this than Gaius was.
Next to me, Neris sighs, shaking her head at Micah. Rorrik watches Micah with a hint of amusement in his eyes. It’s the first time he’s looked almost … human.
His eyes meet mine, and the glimpse of warmth in his eyes is so startling, I almost drop my hand. When he pulls his card, I study him carefully. But his fingers don’t twitch, his eyes don’t wander, his mouth doesn’t curve or scowl.
Deitra’s eyes brighten, and she plucks another card from the pile. When her eyes dim, I watch Lucius, who trades out a card, his face expressionless as he scans his new hand.
Steeling myself, I place a card down, swapping it for another. My heart leaps, and I shift in my seat, casually allowing my loose hair to slide over my shoulder to hide the pulse point pounding below my ear.
Rorrik’s gaze slides over my throat. Playing against vampires doesn’t seem fair. Even with their sense of smell dampened, their other senses are so heightened, they notice even the smallest tells.
But Tiernon taught me this too. I pull a breath into my lungs, forcing my heart to slow.
With a sigh, Micah folds, leaning back in his chair.
Deitra folds with a pout. From what I’ve seen so far, she must be young for a vampire. Not only is she terrible at hiding her emotions, but I can’t sense her age pressing on me like I do with Nyrant or Bran. And I don’t get the sense of a vast power hidden away like I do with Tiernon and Rorrik.
I study all their cards, attempting some quick calculations.
Lucius swaps out another card. His face is almost as difficult to read as Rorrik’s, but he spends so much time pasting on his carefully neutral expression, he fails to control his hands. One hand is fisted on the table, clenched so hard his knuckles are white.
“Clearly Lucius isn’t going to win.” For once, Rorrik’s words are empty of scorn and threat. Instead, he sounds almost … teasing.
My jaw clenches. “Get out of my head.”
“You opened the pathway between us when you ripped through my shields. And it seems you have no shields of your own.”
My heart trips. If I have no shields …
Rorrik takes a card. I watch him so, so carefully, but I have absolutely no idea what kind of hand he has.
“Ask me to teach you.” His eyes meet mine.
“No.” I place a card down and pick up a replacement, chest tight. Slowly, conscious of the eyes on me, I study my hand.
A bolt of pure victory flashes through me. I have no doubt Rorrik has seen it.
But it’s too late for him. Lucius puts his cards down, cursing as Rorrik places his on the table.
I’ve won.
My hands shake as I spread my cards out face up. No one speaks. I barely even breathe.
All of us are waiting for Rorrik’s reaction. With a slow smile, he pushes his favor toward me.
“Victory goes to the novice,” he says.
Micah’s mouth drops open, as if Rorrik is a god who has granted me a wish.
“And I suppose you want to use your favor now?” He arches one eyebrow.
He knows I do.
This is not going to go well. I roll my shoulders.
“I want the novice spot on the imperius.”
Neris’s eyes bulge, and Deitra sneers at me, displaying her fangs in an obvious threat. Lucius just shakes his head. “No.”
Rorrik points at him. “Overruled.” When he turns his attention to me, the others seethe. “Congratulations, novice. You’re officially one of the imperius.”
“She’s what?” Tiernon’s voice is a low growl.
His gaze is heavy with betrayal as he glances between me and Rorrik. He thinks I planned this.
“No,” I want to explain to Tiernon. “I’d planned to beat you!”
Rorrik and Tiernon have one of their wordless conversations. Although now I know about mindpathing, I’m sure they’re not so wordless after all.
Tiernon’s jaw tightens, and he returns his attention to me. “Fine.” He turns away, and a lump forms in my throat.
Neris’s eyes narrow on me, and they’re filled with … disappointment. “You want the spot? It looks like you got it. But you should know we’d already chosen the novice we wanted for the imperius. It was your friend Maeva.”
Shame swamps me.
Maeva is desperate for respect from her parents. For … acknowledgment. She tries to hide it, but I can see it every time she catches a glimpse of her father. A spot on the imperius would have gone a long way toward that respect. And I just stole it from her.
Closing my eyes, I make a silent vow. As soon as I leave this place, the spot will be free again. And I’m going to make sure Maeva gets what is rightfully hers.
When I open my eyes, Rorrik is gone, and Deitra is leaning close. “Working with Rorrik to get what you want? Beyond stupid. If he just cooperated with you, it’s because he wanted something. And you were dumb enough to give it to him.” She stalks away, and Micah shakes his head at me.
“Don’t listen to Deitra. She should know enough about Rorrik by now to know that no one can control him.”
“Why is he … the way he is?”
He shrugs, glancing around the room as if to ensure no one is hiding. “Some say he doesn’t feel emotion like you and I do. There’s a … lack in him.”
The wyvern flashes into my mind, the tender way Rorrik had stroked his snout.
Tiernon returns, this time with his helmet tucked beneath his arm. “We need to go.”
“Go where?”
“The Circus. The emperor told Orna to make sure we attend.”
I’d forgotten. Today is one hundred days before the Umbrae Dies—the Day of Shadows, when the vampires honor Umbros—and the emperor is beginning celebrations with chariot races. At least I might be able to find Leon to talk about our plans.
I get to my feet. “I’ll go find the other novices.”
Tiernon leans against the doorway, his expression still tight. “No. You wanted to join the imperius? You’re coming with us.”