And he wants her to underestimate me.
For the first time, it felt like a secret existed between us.
I shifted my gaze back to Rhiannon, who stared now at me, waiting. I nodded. “He’s a good leader.”
Something in her face cooled. Her eyes shuttered—not with suspicion, but with disappointment, as though we’d failed to give her something she’d wanted.
She waved us off with a flick of her fingers in the bowl. Water sprayed at our feet. “You have earned your rest. Use it well until the next trial.”
Outside Rhiannon’s quarters,I turned toward my room. Behind me, Dorian said, “Eurydice.”
I stopped. Turned.
He approached. This close, I could see the whites of his eyes returning. “We should resume your training.”
I gazed up at him. That softness at the edges of his eyes—had it always been there? “I’ve already done that.”
“With Haskel?”
“And myself.”
His lip curved into a crooked smile. So strange to see coupled with black eyes. “Good. Better you wield a sword with that old bastard than not at all. We’ll resume together tomorrow.”
Like the first trial wasn’t still happening as we stood here. Like all was well. “While the others remain inside the maze, you mean.”
The smile slipped. “You know there’s nothing we can do for them.”
I knew that. I knew it. But knowing a painful truth didn’t make it hurt less. “So it’s back to riding and shooting and strategy and pretending they’re not dying.”
“And sparring,” he said. “With me.”
These Sylvanwild fae had a special ability to turn their faces away. I could still see it, that red-haired fae’s viscera gleaming under the Eldermaze sun. I didn’t know if it was animal callousness or put-on, but even a man fallen from the wall in the Dip got more consideration.
It lit a fire low in me.
I lifted my chin. “Tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll come to your door.”
He lingered, and so did I. His eyes traveled between mine, lips parting like he wanted to speak. I sensed he wanted to talk about something else, but he only turned and strode down the hall.
He must have waited until he believed himself out of my view. But he wasn’t. I saw. He fisted his hands.
CHAPTER THIRTY
That nightI stared at Thalassa’s pouch where I’d set it atop my bed. My fingers hovered over the twine, as though untying it might change something for the worse. I debated, then finally set the pouch aside.
Not tonight. I wasn’t ready for another fae surprise.
I didn’t sleep well. Faces of others haunted me. And while the spiritstag or Rhiannon might claim their suffering wasn’t in vain, I would. I would call it needless. For all the Kingdom of Storms’ wretchedness, at least we didn’t sacrifice our people every hundred years to determine a new ruler.
There had to be another way.
I turned and writhed and remained half-awake, until by almost-morning a sterling idea came to me.
Sterling—and devious.
Rhiannon would hate me if it worked. But I didn’t very much mind that.
