“I’ll come with you.”
I turn my head to glare at her. “No, you won’t. What aboutdinner 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 appearscoated 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.”
