Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“Burn their ashes and give them to Poseidon. What’s done is done.” I blink one time, slowly, and twist my head away. That’s cold. “I can’t help if they fall for my charm again, but I can assure you, neither temptation nor jealousy will get me today.
“You can’t charm your way through everything,” I say it, but even as the words leave my lips, I don’t believe it. I have seen Riven charm himself out of jail, bar fights, and even from a rabid raccoon that snuck into the Foxhole kitchen one night. He probably can charm his way out of anything.
“Incorrect. I charm my way through everything. Even you.”
I scoff and sputter, caught off guard. “You don’t…charm me.” I swallow—hard—and use magic to fan cool air on my suddenly flaming cheeks.
He brings his face close to mine, inspecting my face as if he’s counting each freckle, one at a time.
“You blush an awful lot for someone who isn’t charmed.
” I open my mouth to rebut him, but it’s suddenly dry as desert sand, and no words come out.
“What? Wemic got your tongue?” My eyes flick to the side in search of words, but happen to catch sight of the bombshells the Moirai have dropped into the beach club.
The Maiden claps her hands once, delighted. “And now,” she sings, “we introduce a most…distracting variable.”
The Crone’s smile deepens. “New temptations cross the threshold.” She tilts her head.
“Let us see who burns,” the Maiden cackles.
My fingers go cold.
Not from the wind. Not from trying to think of how to respond to Riven.
From memory.
The Moirai’s words settle like ash in my lungs, and suddenly, the club feels too small. My pulse skitters, uneven, and I hate that I can’t control it. I don’t realize I’m trembling until Riven’s hand shifts against mine. He notices. Of course he does.
His grip tightens—protective. Grounding me in his comforting aura even as my past walks approaches me. Haunting me. Riven’s thumb presses once against my knuckles like a silent question.
You okay?
I don’t answer.
Because across the amphitheater, a figure steps up to me from the shadows.
Tall. Familiar. Sun-browned and restless even in stillness.
My first love.
The boy who taught me how to believe in it.
The one who kissed me like I was the beginning of something.
The one who left to chase the world and never looked back.
The air leaves my lungs in a thin, fragile sound.
“Rodrick,” I breathe, my heart stuttering like it’s forgotten which future it belongs to.
And beside me, Riven goes very, very still. “Blink twice if you want me to rip his stupid sharp jawline from his skull.”
“Oooo,” Angora whistles. “Someone’s jealous.”
“Knock it off, Angora,” Riven snaps.
“Thought you didn’t get jealous?” I whisper, unable to take my eyes from Rodrick.
“Sweetheart,” he laughs mirthlessly. “I’m not jealous.
I’m just one second from starting an international incident.
” He steps into my field of vision, blocking out the rest of the world.
Air returns to my lungs, and I choke it down greedily.
“You don’t have to go with him. You can stay with me.
” I sigh, biting my lip nervously. Riven knows how much Rodrick broke my heart, but…
that was years ago. I can handle a brunch with him. Right?
In the back of my mind, my hopelessly romantic mind, a rogue thought blooms for a second.
Maybe this is why I was put into the Festival again.
Rodrick always said he’d wait for me. This thought, which a couple of years ago would have sent an army of butterflies to work in my gut, doesn’t stir anything within me now.
But the gentle brush of Riven’s thumb across the skin of my arm does.
“I can handle it.” I swallow once more. “But thanks.”
“A most inconvenient heartthrob has arrived for you, Poppy.” The Maiden’s words sound like she’s sorry, but the glee on her face says the exact opposite.
She sidles up beside us, a smiling Rodrick in tow.
He looks nearly the same as the last time I saw him, but he’s a stranger to me now.
Familiar eyes, wrinkled at the corners by laughs we didn’t share.
Hands that once held me, rough with work I don’t know of.
“Riven, unhand Poppy—for the next couple of hours, she’s not yours to protect.” The Maiden peels his fingers off me, but Riven’s shadows soon replace them and refuse to leave.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Gracia.” Riven’s voice is a rasp of gravel laced with the promise of violence should someone cross him. “She will always be mine to protect.” Cue another shiver down my spine. I stand awkwardly beside Rodrick, trying not to break out into hives.
The Maiden gasps. “How do you know my name?” Her whisper is also laced with the threat of violence. Her question is fair; the identities of the Moirai are sacred. Very few know the lore of the witch who came before the blessed role. Before they swore fealty to Fate and became a Moirai.
Riven smirks. “The shadows,” He holds a hand up, twisting a thin vein of shadow between his fingers, “are even more omnipotent and ancient than you.”
The muscles in her jaw twitch, locked in a staring contest with Riven. I’m not a betting woman, but I’d never underestimate what he is capable of. She forces a smile when Angora walks up.
“Excuse me,” Angora says sweetly. It’s the nicest I’ve ever heard her be, honestly.
“The Mother said I should come over here and ask you about my date.” She doesn’t look pleased about it.
Don’t tell me the ice princess has actually fallen for her match and can’t fathom the thought of sharing a meal with another.
“Yes,” the Maiden says through a gritted smile. “You’ll be with Riven for brunch.”
Riven puts on a fake smile of his own. “This is torture,” he says with enthusiasm unfit for the circumstance.
“If this is torture,” Rodrick says, looking down at me with that same sun-drenched smile that used to ruin me, “I hope it never ends.”
Once, that would have worked. Once, I would have melted at his words.
Now, it feels like a line from a play I’ve already seen.
Behind me, Riven makes a dramatic gagging sound, loud enough to carry. It almost steadies me. Almost.
The Maiden’s fingers curl around my wrist before I can glance back again, guiding me to one of the too-white, too-perfect tables.
I let her lead me away. As we walk away, a tiny sliver of shadow weaves around my finger like a ring, right beside the golden band Riven got me for solstice two years ago, leaving Riven standing there—alone—
No.
Not alone.
Angora steps into the empty space beside him like she’s always belonged there.
My breath stutters.
I sit when Rodrick pulls out my chair, my movements mechanical. He slides it in smoothly, the gesture practiced. Familiar almost.
I feel nothing.
Not the old flutter. Not the old warmth. Not the ache I expected to split me open if I ever were to see him again.
“Enjoy your time with old flames, contestants, for they leave after this meal’s end. Though, if you so decide, they might be waiting for you upon the Festival’s end.” The Maiden claps and then dances away, leaving us all to sit with those we once loved or lusted for.
Rodrick takes his seat across from me, all golden skin and easy confidence, placing his napkin in his lap before lazily tracing the stem of his champagne flute.
“So, Poppy,” he says, that wanting smile curving his mouth like he’s certain this is inevitable. “How have you been?”
I should answer.
Instead, my eyes betray me.
They drift over his shoulder.
Riven is still standing. Angora leans into him, her hand landing lightly on his arm as she laughs at something he says. His head dips to hear her better. His mouth curves.
The world tilts.
Heat floods my chest, sharp and unfamiliar.
Oh.
Oh no.
It isn’t Rodrick who unsettles me as the Moirai intended. I know this as certainly as I know my own name.
It’s Angora’s hand on Riven and the way he looks comfortable standing there with her.
It’s the realization that I do not want to watch him succeed in making her—or any other maiden—want him like he wanted to when I agreed to this whole fake dating plot.
Through the haze, Rodrick is still speaking, but I have no idea what he’s saying. Because, not for the first time since we arrived on this island, I feel it clearly. Jealousy and temptation.
And it has nothing to do with my past.
At least, not the past sitting across from me.