Glorious Rivals(83)

He went to Lyra. He ran to her. “We have a game to play,” Grayson said.

For four or five excruciating seconds, Lyra stood there, saying absolutely nothing, and then she raised her eyes and looked at him the way she had the first time he’d ever touched her—in the ruins, his hand on her arm.

It was a warning look, electric and raw. “I’m not going to stop,” Lyra said intently. “You know that, right?”

She wasn’t going to stop looking for answers. She wasn’t going to stop pushing.

“I am not going to stop,” Lyra repeated, her intensity a match for any Hawthorne. “And when it comes down to it, if the Hawthorne family is on one side of this, and I’m on the other…” She pushed past him and out of the ballroom. “We both know that you won’t choose me.”

Chapter 71

ROHAN

Burn it all down. Rohan watched Lyra Kane from a distance. She was running, and she was alone. Perhaps his earlier warnings to her had finally paid off. Perhaps not. Either way, it wasn’t personal. Strategy was strategy.

People were a means to an end, and that was all.

It made sense, from that perspective, to light another match, another fuse. After all, there was little else for Rohan to do in the hour remaining before night fell.

Clever Hawthornes and their clever little tricks.

Rohan followed Lyra, staying far enough away that she wouldn’t see him immediately and close enough that she might feel him closing in. When she did, when she turned to glance back over her shoulder, Rohan disappeared into shadow.

Just a little while longer.

Just another few minutes.

And then he looped around, approaching her from the front. Let her believe there’s someone else on her tail.

“I tried to warn you,” Rohan called in greeting.

Lyra said absolutely nothing, and Rohan read in her silence and posture and eyes absolutely everything he needed to know. Some people wore devastation as armor and some as a veil. Hers was both, but her body— The body gave her away. Lyra was tougher than most would have given her credit for, but she was broken.

Burn it all down.

“Grayson Hawthorne has a history, you know,” Rohan told her, “of fancying himself in love with girls and failing to follow through. It’s the idea of a person for him, not the actuality. You are, I’m afraid, one in a long line.” True, not true—it hardly mattered. Sometimes, broken things were useful only if mended, and sometimes, they needed to be broken just a little bit more. “Less than seventy-two hours in, I’m not sure how you thought you were anything else.”

“Stop.” There it was—more than just a hitch in her voice. A chasm, split open.

Burn it all down. “I’ll see you at the tree at nightfall,” Rohan told Lyra. It had been the fact that she and Grayson had retreated to the house for a nap that had let Rohan spot the trick in their latest clue, but he hadn’t slept.

He hardly needed sleep once the switch had been flipped.

In fact, right now, all he needed was to find Brady Daniels. Savannah had doubtlessly taken the scholar’s deal by now. Time to burn that down, too.

Rohan located the scholar in the ruins. Savannah was not with him, but as far as a deal went, that meant very little.

And Rohan wasn’t here about Savannah. He was here for his dart.

“You again.” Brady did not sound surprised.

“Me again.” Leaving all of six feet between them, Rohan lifted his left wrist—his watch. “I wanted you to observe as I sent this.” The message to the game makers was already partially typed. Rohan finished it off with no small amount of flourish. “A copy of your latest missive from your sponsor. I haven’t the faintest idea what it means, but perhaps the game makers will.”

Brady took a single step forward. “I can’t you let you do that.”

In his current state, Rohan truthfully felt very little, not even satisfaction at a move well made. “I know.”

“Has it occurred to you what it means that I don’t have to win this game?” Brady said with what Rohan recognized as an artifice of calm. “That all I have to do is take you down?”

“It would be egocentric of me,” Rohan replied facetiously, “to assume that I am your only target.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Brady stated. “But I will.”

Rohan read the truth of that statement in the way Brady stood, feet shoulder width apart, weight slightly to the balls of his feet. It means you have no incentive whatsoever to follow the competition’s rules.

Rohan was counting on that. To preserve his own place in the game, he could not attack first. He had to let Brady Daniels get in a couple of good hits—before he put the scholar down.

“Perhaps the game makers won’t just disqualify you when they receive my message,” Rohan said, his finger hovering over the screen of his watch. “Perhaps they’ll call off the game. I wonder what your sponsor will do to your Calla if they do.”

That did it.

One moment, Brady Daniels was standing perfectly still, and the next, his body was a blur. Rohan recognized immediately that Brady’s goal was close combat—close enough for the weight he had on Rohan to be an advantage. Close enough to grapple. Close enough for choke holds and forceful strikes delivered with elbows, shins, and knees.