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53
I stand before her, trying, but failing, not to gape. Between the black wig and posh accent, I had no idea I was talking to Elodie.
And, of course, unlike me, she’s perfectly poised and at ease. And she definitely doesn’t break out of character like I just did.
Then again, Elodie’s a pro at games of deceit.
“Are you familiar with this work?” She nods toward the piece, the haughty tilt of her chin reminding me this is my game to fail.
My hand instantly flutters to the bodice of my dress, fingers nervously picking at a seam, as I force myself to stay calm, to return to the painting. Still, my voice cracks when I say, “A Dutch artist…I think?”
I THINK?
The second I hear myself say it, I’m dragged under by an emotional undertow of shame and defeat.
Why would I end with a question when I know for sure that I’m right?
Why did I leave it toherto decide?
And when will I ever learn that everything with Elodie is a power play, and that I seriously need to stop giving mine away?
Pushing past the roar of my own frantic heartbeat, I swallow hard, set my jaw, and vow to get this scene back on track whatever it takes.
“Yes,” Elodie says, her lips twisting into a close-mouthed grin. “But what I meant was, are you familiar with the deeper meanings of the artist’s intention?”
I smooth a hand down the voluminous skirts of my dress and glance between Elodie and the painting, sure that the plaque above the entry to Gray Wolf, Panta Rhei; the phrase I quoted about the river in theMona Lisa,you cannot enter the same river twice; and this painting before me all lead back to that same ancient Greek philosopher.
But why—what could it possibly mean?
Elodie snaps her tongue against the roof of her mouth—her version of a ticking clock. I’m about to say something, anything, when Jago appears next to me and secures an arm at my waist.
“My dear,” he says. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.” The look he gives me is unmistakably flirty, but I’m sure it’s just the role he’s playing. Still, there’s no denying my relief when he tips his head toward Elodie and starts to whisk me away.
“You’ve secured the prize,” he whispers to me. “But you’ve made a grave mistake by overstaying your visit.”
Just when I think I’m free, Elodie shouts, “Hey—somebody stop her! She’s a thief!”
In an instant, Jago releases me. “Good luck,” he says, and quickly moves out of the way.
Frantically, I look all around, searching for a way out, as Elodie continues to scream a slew of accusations at me.
“You’ve got three choices,” Keane hollers, but he fails to include what those might be.
At Elodie’s urging, a crowd of men begins to gather, and as I watch them approach, my mind reels with all the ways I might find a way out of this mess.
I can flee.
I can surrender the jewel.
Or…
I race for the table where we got our masks and, without another thought, grab hold of the worn leather sheath.
“She’s choosing to fight!” one of the instructors cries in disbelief.
