Glorious Rivals(11)

Grayson did not, in fact, understand, but he was sure as hell going to.

“I mean it, Gray. Don’t even say the name.”

Grayson noted that his brother had not—Jameson had not once said the name Alice Hawthorne.

“Don’t breathe a word of whatever it is you think you know,” Jameson told Grayson. “And don’t ask.”

Don’t ask me why. Jameson’s message was loud and clear. Don’t ask me a damn thing about Alice Hawthorne. Seconds passed. “Now I’m done.” Jameson held Grayson’s gaze. “I call.”

By the rules of On Spake, Grayson could speak now. Also by the rules, it was up to him to decide whether or not they were going to fight this out.

“You know something.” Grayson stated the obvious.

“I’m a regular fount of knowledge, but when it comes to this, I know nothing. I’m not even curious. And, like you, I am not going to ask. I’m not going to pull at a single thread.”

Grayson stared at his brother. Jameson had been born pulling at threads, hunting for secret passages, and throwing caution to the wind. Something is very wrong.

“How dangerous is this?” Grayson demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jameson said blandly, his hands hanging loose by his sides. “And I called, Gray. Judgment’s yours.”

The option of forcing Jameson to talk was not without appeal, but Grayson also suspected it was little more than wishful thinking. In a physical fight, Grayson would come out on top, but not by much and not for long enough to make a point.

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“You never do,” Jameson said. “And yet…”

By the rules of On Spake, Grayson had to actually make the call, one way or another. “She’s not a threat.” Grayson didn’t even say Lyra’s name. “And she isn’t Eve.” She’s something else. Grayson let the thought come, let Jameson see it wash over him. “If Lyra’s in danger, I need to know.”

“I called.” Jameson’s tone made it clear: He wasn’t backing down here. “You know the rules, Grayson. If we’re going to fight, the first swing is yours.”

“We are not going to fight,” Grayson said, pausing slightly between each word to add weight to that declaration. “But, Jamie?” Grayson took a step forward, placing himself firmly in his brother’s personal space. “You have as long as it takes for the Grandest Game to conclude to get a handle on this—whatever this is. Find the threat and contain it or be prepared to tell me everything you know.”

About whatever secret you’re keeping. About Alice.

“Why, Grayson Hawthorne, has anyone ever told you that ultimatums really bring out your eyes?”

Grayson snorted. “You’re going to have to deal Nash in on whatever’s going on here. You know that, right?” Their oldest brother didn’t have a temper, but he did have a protective streak a mile wide.

“Let me handle Nash,” Jameson said—famous last words. “You just worry about playing the game. Phase two is really something.”

Chapter 10

ROHAN

It was quite some time into the evening before Rohan allowed himself three seconds to relish the sight of Savannah in form-fitting white. A thick metal chain, won earlier in the game, was wound around her body, just above her hips. Rohan could almost tell himself that his interest was the chain—but then, in his line of work, almost was never enough.

The Proprietor’s voice echoed in the halls of his mind. What are distractions, Rohan?

Even in firelight, Rohan could make out every line of Savannah’s body beneath her so-called armor. Weakness, Rohan thought, the word a murmur in his mind. Distractions were weakness, and Rohan was many things—but never weak.

Instead of allowing himself to dwell further on his one and only ally in this game, he turned his attention to the competition. Lyra Kane was sitting near the bonfire. Brady Daniels stood at the darkened ocean’s edge, longsword held at his side.

And then there was the Hawthorne of it all.

Only a lifetime spent in shadows allowed Rohan to pinpoint Grayson’s exact location. He tracked his quarry’s progress back down the cliff, then looked for Grayson’s brother, the Hawthorne that Rohan knew best.

Jameson was nowhere to be seen.

“Notice how one of the game makers pulled Grayson aside?” Savannah and that white armor of hers slid in beside Rohan. “And Grayson and Lyra were the first two down here tonight. A cynical person might say this game appears to be rigged.”

“All games are rigged, love.” Rohan continued tracking Grayson’s progress. “In the long run, the house always wins. If you’ve gotten this far without realizing that nothing in life is fair, then evidence suggests that perhaps you are the house.” Rohan’s voice was like silk in the night air. “Perhaps you always have been.”

Savannah had a trust fund. She had a mother—an excellent one, based on Rohan’s pre-game reconnaissance, not to mention a sister who was all things good and light.

Savannah’s jaw hardened. “You’re thinking that my ticket to this game was handed to me.”

Rohan noted that she did not specify the person who had given her that ticket. In fact, by Rohan’s accounting, Savannah had not said the Hawthorne heiress’s name once since the night before and that tantalizing confession of hers. Avery Grambs killed my father.