“I cannot force her to love me,” he sighed. “I just want her safe.”
The worst thingabout sea travel in Lia’s mind, was not dry biscuits or sea sickness or tight quarters. No, the worst thing about sea travel in her mind was being stuck in close quarters with men who took card games too seriously.
She had left in such a hurry, she forgot her sewing and now had nothing to entertain her during the long journey except Tyrell and a deck of cards. Unfortunately, Tyrell’s game of choice wasDead Man’s Wasteand he had the actual rule book memorized.
“Pair of frogs,” Lia declared, laying down two fours. “The deck is mine.”
She began to reach for a stack of cards in the center of the barrel, but Tyrell held up a finger.
“Frogs are a house rule,” he stated.
Lia groaned. “This is how Grandmother and I always played!”
It seemed like every time she tried to make any move at all, Tyrell would suddenly recite theDead Man’s Wasterule book explaining why her move was only allowable on the eve of the full moon.
“There is no such thing as a ‘frog’,” Tyrell chided. “It’s never mentioned anywhere in the official rule book. It’s just something women added over the years to make the game easier for children.”
“Or maybe women added the rule, because unlikemen, women play games forfun.”
“There’s nothing fun aboutDead Man’s Waste,” Tyrell insisted. “It’s more of an art than a game.”
Lia stared at him for a long moment, then threw down her hand.
“Wait, wait,” Tyrell insisted. “I promise, this isn’t that complicated, let me explain it again.”
“With all due respect, my Lord,” Lia said. “If you explain the rules to me one more time, I will throw myself overboard.”
Tyrrel locked her in a playful gaze, broke into a smirk and said, “The object ofDead Man’s Wasteis to collect the maximum number of cards—”
Lia jumped to her feet and started for the ladder to the upper deck.
“Tell the princess it was an honor serving her!” she called.
Tyrell, still reciting an ever more complicated series of rules, leapt after her and caught her by the wrist. “Wait, I haven’t finished,” he laughed.
“All this time I thought Captain Julian was the danger,” Lia giggled, trying to jerk her wrist free. “And yet, our own Lord Tyrell is boring me to death.”
“. . . When the eighth round ends, assuming both players have at least a three each, the player with the most cards is declared the winner,” he declared.
“Are you actually finished?” Lia pleaded.
Tyrell took his free hand and grabbed her forearm, pulling her closer. “No, that was only chapter one.”
Lia squealed, pulled her hand free from his grasp, and ran in a circle around the storeroom with Tyrell in close pursuit.
“Maybe,” she suggested over her shoulder. “Instead of talking about this pointlessly complicated game, we should decide what we are actually going to do once we reach Castle Salamar.”
“Oh, that’s not complicated at all,” Tyrell called. “My father knows Julian’s father. I’ll bring him some wine and congratulate him on the engagement of his son.” Tyrell ceased running and leaned on a barrel, catching his breath. “Then through very careful questioning of Lord Salamar, we determine the location of the forbidden wing, and the place where Tavia is staying.”
“Right,” Lia answered, stopping midflight and turning toward him with arms crossed. “And if the Captain happens to see you while you’re speaking to his father? Or Princess Tavia, for that matter?”
Tyrell furrowed his brows and blinked a few times. Apparently, he had put his intellectual arts to use masteringDead Man’s Wasteinstead of formulating their rescue plan.
“It’s alright,” Lia answered. “I think we can make some minor adjustments.”
12. Castle Salamar
The doorman at the Salamar Manor looked like he had faithfully served the family for a hundred years, died, and then forgotten to retire to the grave. His lifeless eyes stared down at Tyrell from his skeletal face.
