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“If I wanted your advice, Inara, I would have asked for it. Now go back to bed and don’t get up until I return.”
She storms up the stairs, furious.
Hellebore runs an idle finger over his neck. “Tell your prince thank you for breaking her heart, by the way. She’s so desperate for affection she’ll do nearly anything.”
God, if there was ever a male who deserved to lose his member just for being a douche canoe, it’s him. But I’m beyond caring about things like Hellebore using and manipulating an emotionally unstable Inara after a breakup.
As far as I’m concerned, they deserve one another.
Jane wobbles slightly on her feet, and I growl, “Fix her or the bargain is off.”
He sighs as if I’m the biggest bore in the universe. “Fine. She was horrible at making tea anyway.”
He snaps his fingers and the glazed look in Jane’s eyes disappears.
Her smile falters. Her body sags. She stumbles, emotions clouding her face. “Where am I?” Her eyes dart to Hellebore, anger and fear seeping into her expression before she looks at me. The terror and accusation in her stare nearly make me flinch. “What happened?”
Wrapping my arms around her, I steer her off Hellebore’s porch and toward my dorm. “Shh. You need food and rest. Zinnia and Vi are waiting. It’s going to be okay, I promise.”
But it’s not going to be okay. I’ve just made a deal with the devil . . . and there’s no wiggling out of this one. I don’t know what Hellebore’s playing at, but I do know I want no part of it.
I have to win the gauntlet or die trying.
40
Aunt Vi is on hold with the main office when I arrive with Jane. They take one look at her disheveled hair, ragged dress, and dirty feet, and jump into action. Zinnia helps me set Jane down on my bunk while Vi pours a glass of water for her.
They don’t say a word, but I can feel the accusation in their sideways glances.
I should have protected her. I should have apprised them of the risks. The moment I saw them at the banquet, I should have warned them to flee. Instead, I was selfish. Too overwhelmed with my own needs to think of theirs.
We decide Jane should rest in their quarters for a few hours before making the trek back to the other side of the Shimmer. I was supposed to travel with them. We’re on break this week until Friday, when I travel to the Spring Court for the final gauntlet.
But now . . . I think it’s best Jane doesn’t see me. Not for the next few hours.
After they’re gone, I begin packing my things. Mack apparently left to check the courtyard for Jane, just in case she’d snuck back to the party, and she hasn’t returned. I finish packing in less than an hour—it’s easy to gather your belongings when they literally fit in a small carry-on—and then decide to shower. On the way back from the communal bathrooms, I pass by Kyler’s room.
The door is unlocked. Someone’s already cleaned out Kyler’s stuff. The bed is made. The bathroom’s tidy. It’s like she and Evelyn never existed. Dropping to my knees, I check beneath the bathroom sink, surprised by the pink crate labeled, “Old Roommate’s Stuff.”
Kyler must have gathered it up and kept it, perhaps to give to Evelyn’s parents. quo;s early morning, the academy awash in the silvery pre-dawn glow. A few revelers are still up partying and dancing, while others have passed out on the lawn. The smell of smoke and stale honeybrew drift on the morning breeze.
My bare feet and ankles are covered in dew as I march up to the Spring Court manor where Hellebore stays, behind the Combat Arts building.
Honeysuckle and clematis drape from the overhanging porch, and faded purple irises grow in scattered pots along the deck. The buzz of bees stir the air.
I slam my fist into the heavy oak door, disturbing the peeling green paint. I do that for a few minutes until there’s a pile of green flakes on the floral welcome mat. I try the knocker next—a gold fox head with emerald eyes.
When that doesn’t work, I scrounge around in the front garden until I find a rock, wind that fucker up like a baseball, and hurtle it at the front window.
The sound of shattering glass is music to my murderous heart.
“Wake up, you kidnapping prick!”
Something stirs behind the sheer white drapes.
I grab one of the pots, dump out the irises, and smash it into the arched entryway window. More breaking glass disturbs the stillness of the morning.
“I’m going to break every single window you own until you march your ass out here and face me!” I warn, grabbing the closest pot—an amaryllis inside a small hammered gold planter—and aiming it for the window to my left.
