I barely catch Ackland saying, “you idiot,” before the door closes behind them.
North has the poor sense to not put the necklace on until he’s out of the changing room this time, and I stifle my disappointment as we wait for him to reach the box. I’m too dead to do anything about shirtless magiball players, anyway.
“Are you okay?” Eddy asks quietly, leaning in until our shoulders touch, despite my chill.
“What exactly did he do?” Galileo asks, finally turning to the next page in his book. “Whatever it was, surely you know Lambert is incapable of intentionally hurting you?”
“It’s personal.” My face scrunches with concentration as I slip into the oversized jacket.
It doesn’t really work. My elbows keep slipping through the fabric, and my hair falls through it and disappears. Still, I snuggle down into it, pretending I can feel the warmth and the way it drowns my slighter frame. If only?—
No. I jerk my attention back to the screen.
The VIP box is just as full as before, with arcanists schmoozing up to one another over crystal glasses of alcohol. The game has yet to start, and North pulls out his phone, flicking away a notification that there are twenty missed calls from someone called ‘the Wankstain,’ then changes his settings to silent.
A throat clears loudly beside him, the noise barely audible over all of the chatter, but when North’s eyes flick up, everyone tenses.
Pierce Carlton stands over him.“Is this seat taken?”
Ackland is silent for a beat too long, and Pierce chooses that moment to slip into the spot.
It’s unfair how pretty he is, really. I can only imagine being caught between the two of them, one all dark and coarse and the other kingly and smooth.
“What do you want?”North asks the question we’re all thinking with the bluntness of a rusty knife.
“To marvel at Winthrop's one and only talent, obviously,”Pierce says dryly.“Does your daddy know you’re here, polluting polite society without a babysitter?”
“Piss off,”North grunts.“Game’s about to start.”
He turns his focus back to the pitch, where the green-and-blue-clad opposing team has just taken their places. Lambertlooks distracted, which is unusual. He keeps shooting looks up to the VIP box even as the referee finishes laying out the balls.
The familiar clang echoes through the stadium, the board above lighting up to display two perfect scores of one hundred.
This time, North’s footage of the game is interspersed with sideways glances at Carlton. At one point, he misses the moment that Lambert is almost hit from behind by the alpha ball while its poisonous spikes are out. Only the commentator’s description lets us know what’s going on.
I’m ashamed to admit that I lose my hold on the jacket at that moment. The whole room is tense, all of us shifting uncomfortably as the heaviest ball drops to the floor.
“What just happened?” Eddy asks, softly. “They didn’t lose any points?”
Leo answers, since I’m too engrossed. “The alpha doesn’t cost points. It’s the slowest, and if it hits the floor, the other two balls speed up. That’s why the player assigned to it is called the timekeeper. They can strategically speed up the balls if they think it’ll give their scorers and reapers an edge.”
“And the others are worth five points?” Eddy guesses as the scoreboard flashes into view again.
65-50 to UAA. That’s awful compared to the last match. I’m not sure they’ve seen scores lower than eighty since Lambert joined.
Still, Eddy is wrong. They’ve only dropped the beta so far, and Lambert has yet to send the gamma over in one of his textbook kicks.
“No. Gamma is worth a hundred.” Leo closes his book, settling into the role of teacher almost as easily as Hopkinson does. He’s more talkative with Eddy than he is with the rest of us, I’ve noticed.
She frowns. “But the game starts at a hundred.”
“Exactly, which is why most teams allocate three of their six players as reapers, who focus on that ball.”
“But UAA doesn’t?”
“Lambert is so good that they only need two. Their sixth teammate plays as a third scorer, which gives them an advantage with the beta.” Leo leans back, sensing her questions are at an end.
“Oh, I’m sure that doesn’t hurt his ego at all,” Eddy mutters under her breath, shooting another look at me.
