Glorious Rivals (The Grandest Game, #2) (66)

A few seconds passed as they searched. “Here,” Lyra called. “This one.”

Grayson slid in beside her and helped remove the piece of marble in question—thin enough not to be too heavy. With that piece removed, he put a hand on one of the other sections and slid it sideways—assumption confirmed.

“It’s a puzzle,” Grayson told Lyra. “Slide the squares, arrange them just so, and a hint to the riddle will appear.”

They got to work. It took time. The countdown overhead hit zero. The deadbolt flipped open, but no one was waiting on the other side of the vault door. We were the last to this clue. That didn’t sit well with Grayson, but as their hint took form on the wall, Grayson knew: They wouldn’t be behind for long.

Lyra did the honors, peering through the opera glasses one last time and reading the message on the wall aloud: “Actions speak louder than words.”





Chapter 56





ROHAN


Don’t look.” Savannah’s voice withstood the wind on the cliff, the remains of the bonfire from the night before barely visible on the beach below. “Don’t judge. Can’t see.”

“What you want is number three.” Rohan marked the way Savannah Grayson moved as she paced the rocky terrain, like the cliff’s nearby edge didn’t faze her in the least. Rohan was the one who’d suggested they continue their discussion of this particular riddle out here, rather than in the house, where they might be more easily overheard.

No witnesses. That made certain kinds of traps easier to lay.

“Don’t put,” Rohan continued, his voice silky and pitched to surround her. “Don’t count. Not within…”

“But without.” Savannah took back over, the way Rohan had known that she would. There was an art to controlling others through the openings you gave them.

How many openings would he have to give her before she inevitably betrayed him?

“Four uses of the word don’t,” Rohan noted, and then he baited her. “It’s almost like the game makers enjoy telling us what not to do.”

His mention of the game makers was intentional, calculated to prime Savannah’s anger and drive, to remind her of every motivation she had to use and discard him. But Savannah Grayson was well-used to living a lie, to burying anger and ill-intentions so deep that, to the rest of the world, they appeared as nothing more than the lightest coat of frost.

She was not as easy to manipulate as most.

“Don’t count would suggest that this isn’t a numerical puzzle.” Savannah’s voice remained even. “And yet, what we want is number three.”

In the distance below, waves broke against the standing stones. Rohan had a certain appreciation for the fact that even the mightiest, wildest ocean waves were broken by the massive rocks, reduced to lapping harmlessly at the shore.

It would be a shame, in some ways, to render Savannah Grayson harmless.

“Don’t look and can’t see would imply that it’s not a visual puzzle, either.” Savannah turned from looking out at the water to looking at the island behind them.

“Not within.” Rohan walked to stand behind Savannah, directly behind her and close enough to the edge of the cliff that, should she so choose, Savannah could easily attempt to send him tumbling over its edge. “In other words: not internal, not inside of a barrier, not contained beneath the surface.”

Rohan took another seemingly careless step, putting himself within an arm’s length of her. Do I look vulnerable to you, Savvy?

“Without,” he continued, “is one of those handy words with multiple meanings. On the one hand: outside, external, not contained.” Rohan wondered if she could hear the subtle challenge in his voice, one that said that some people were not so easy to contain. “But without can indicate an absence.” Of all the roles he had inhabited over the years, Rohan did have a special fondness for playing the rogue. “As in without morals, without compunction, without… restraint.”

Savannah turned toward him, and Rohan saw her register just how close to the edge he was. Do it, Savvy. She had to know him well enough by now to know that he would catch the edge. No permanent damage.

“You pretend to have so little restraint,” Savannah said, her voice as smooth as glass, “but we both know that you are nothing but restraint, British. You are living, breathing, walking, talking carefully laid plans.”

“Guilty as charged.” Rohan allowed his broad shoulders to rise and fall in the most careless of shrugs. “Even my schemes have schemes.”

As did hers.

Savannah wrapped a hand around his bicep, just above the elbow, and then she moved him away from the cliff’s edge.

“It would be inconvenient,” Savannah said archly, “if you fell.” She dropped her hold on him. “So.” She raised her chin. “If we can’t look or judge or see or count—what’s left?”

“Thinking.” Rohan allowed himself to do exactly that. “Making connections. Filling in the blanks.” Perhaps it’s time I fill in some of my own. “Did you learn anything about Brady’s sponsor?”

That question was not geared, of course, to finding out anything about Brady Daniels. It was just another little test. How much would she tell him? How far would she go?