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“So, what’s it going to be?” Elodie asks, as though she’s just curious and not the least bit afraid of losing her head. And that’s when I realize, this really is Elodie, and unfortunately, I’ve fallen right into her trap.
For someone as emotionally warped as her, the sheer joy she gets from watching me succumb to the darkest part of myself is well worth the risk of any injury I might choose to inflict.
In an instant, I lower the sword’s edge to the hollow of her neck. The audible scrape of the tip sliding over her skin whispers between us as she inhales a sharp breath.
I slip the blade lower, knowing it’s time to move on, to release us both from this ridiculous game, and yet, I can’t shake the feeling that this is all a big ploy to distract me from the truth she doesn’t want me to see.
Doesn’t want me to see…The phrase repeats in my mind.
Vision.
It’s what Arthur prizes above all else—the ability to see what hides in plain sight.
Genius hits a target no one else can see,he recently quoted to me.
Nothing in these constructs is an accident. According to Jago, it’s been specifically altered to fit the requirements of this lesson. Which means everything is connected, but nothing is quite what it appears.
My gaze lingers on Elodie’s neck, and for a fleeting moment, I see what no one else can. Though just to make sure, my mind flashes back to the painting of Heraclitus and Democritus, mentally scrolling for symbols. Both men are posed in a way that obscures theirnecks. And while Heraclitus’s hands are folded in prayer, Democritus has one hand positioned on a golden piece that looks like a fleur-de-lis, while the other onepoints directly toward it.And, since the portrait clearly doesn’t belong in a palace that’s dedicated to celebrating Italian artists, I take it as a sign I can’t afford to ignore.
My gaze locks on Elodie’s, and with a single flick of the wrist, her black velvet choker drops onto my palm.
The sword crashes to the floor.
Elodie stumbles back, away from my grasp.
And as I turn to face the audience, I watch Arthur rise from his seat and hold out his hand.
From my pocket, I pull out the ruby rose I nicked from Elodie’s hair and toss it to her.
Turning back to Arthur, I say, “I think this is the one you really wanted.” Then I hand him the black velvet choker.
Arthur regards the small golden fleur-de-lis charm that hangs from the thin strip of cloth. “I asked for a ruby,” he says.
“It’s a locket,” I tell him. “There’s a hinge on the left.”
He looks me over, his gaze brightening, but only briefly, before the latch unlocks to reveal the gleaming red ruby within.
I have a vague awareness of the audience gasping, but in this moment, I have eyes only for Arthur.
“You’ll need to work on your social skills,” he says. “Comportment, etiquette, diction—that sort of thing. And of course, you’ll need riding instruction, along with lessons in swordcraft. Still, you impressed me. Which, I might add, is a rare occurrence.”
A breathless moment passes between us, and I find myself caught between the undeniable thrill of winning his approval and the personal indignity of realizing the lengths I was willing to go to get it.
“For now,” he continues. “Why don’t you get changed, so Keane can take you out to the stables.”
I’m on my way to the dressing room when Elodie calls out my name. “Hey—how’d you know about the ruby?” she asks.
When our eyes meet, I’m surprised to find that, for the moment anyway, she’s dropped the animosity and truly is curious.
“First one was too easy,” I say.
I’m relieved when she simply nods and goes on her way, sparing me from sharing the real truth that, just when I started to question whether I was misreading the clues, I saw right through the golden charm to the gleaming jewel hidden within.
