I shake my head. “Perfume? Really? No idea how she thought any of this would help her survive the tournament.”
“Check the guy’s stuff if you want.”
“You’re not interested in it?”
Taron shrugs. “Not really. I’ve got everything I need.”
I arch a brow, partly irritated, partly intrigued by his confidence. Especially considering the squished state of his own rucksack on the seat next to him.Does he even have anything in there?
“You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I ask.
He responds with another infuriating shrug, and I grit my teeth.
“OK.” I dig into Wren’s bag, hoping for something a bit more practical than a pocket mirror. Inside are two spare lighters, some seeds I think are meant to explode when set on fire, and an empty water pouch. There’s also a scroll tied with a red-and-gold ribbon – a new instalment of the Games Master’s Post. It has yesterday’s date on it, and mentions the chosen competitors travelling to Rava for some banquet. That would explain the gown Maeve wanted to collect from the tailor.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” I say.
Taron frowns, so I brandish the letter. “How was I supposed to know about the banquet?”
“There’s a banquet before every tournament,” he says dryly.
“Still, a heads-up would’ve been nice.”
“Madame Vera will take care of it.”
Of course she will.
I close the scroll and dig through the final compartment in Wren’s rucksack. My fingers close around a crinkly paper bag, and as I pull it out, a smile plays around my lips. I grab a boiled sweet from the bag and pop it in my mouth. Teardrop berries and honey flavour.
“Score,” I say. “Don’t come crying to me when you start getting peckish.”
Taron doesn’t even look up.
I pucker my lips in frustration. This is absurd. Our lives are at stake here. We’re supposed to be a team. How are we meant to survive the deadliest tournament of the decade, when my teammate won’t even look in my direction, let alone talk to me?
I twist in my seat and blurt out, “Who are you?”
Taron looks at me. His jaw remains clenched in restraint. As if emotion is something he keeps locked behind his teeth. His too-stern features have a statuesque quality to them.
“What does Madame Vera have on you?” I ask. “Are you a thief? Did she bribe you with money? What did you do to get tangled up in this mess?”
Taron’s attention shifts back to the scenery. Theheliocorn fields have given way to steep hills, scattered with deep-blue lakes and tall trees. Rava Academy is meant to be here somewhere – people always talk about the great lakes that surround the school.
It’s the most prestigious of the Principal Academies, offering specialized training in all elemental talents. It’s also named after the capital, so we must be getting close.
I brace myself for more silence, expecting our conversation to end here. When Taron speaks again, his words catch me off guard.
“Just because we’re both under Madame Vera’s thumb doesn’t mean we’re suddenly friends.” The low, raspy timbre of his voice reminds me too much of my dream.
I half-expect his face to morph into Elara’s – no, the hollow, emaciated monster that stole her likeness. But Taron stays Taron. Gaze distant. Mouth a straight line.
“The only reason I’m here with you is because you were stupid enough to get yourself involved with that woman,” he adds. “If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else sitting here with me. So how about we both do ourselves a favour and skip theget-to-know-each-otherchat?”
His words sting like a slap to the cheek. But I refuse to back down. The stakes are too high.
“Listen,” I tell him, changing my approach, “the Reckoning is dangerous. The other competitors are trained killers. If we want to make it out alive, let alone win, we’ve got to be able to communicate. We need to work together, Taron.”
He looks at me again. This time, those intense blue eyes trace the contours of my face with a depth that makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. I shift uncomfortably.
