Their Vicious Games(42)

“Well, you make the dress. Not the other way around,” Pierce declares, like that’s absolute fact.

“You really know how to flatter a girl.” I laugh awkwardly, rubbing at the back of my neck, tugging on one of my curls, bound at the nape of my neck. I suddenly regret going with a low puff. Maybe I should’ve redone my hair, though that would’ve been stupid—the Ride is tomorrow. What am I even thinking?

He’s so charming, he dulls my sense. He makes me stupid, and I can’t afford to be stupid, but I also can’t afford to lose his favor.

“How are you feeling about everything?” Pierce asks.

He sounds like he actually wants to know. But the way he’s smiling at me doesn’t inspire truth. It doesn’t make me forget what he didn’t tell me or quell the way my stomach turns as I think about the river crossing or the jumps or the Taxis Ditch. It doesn’t stop the haunting of Penthesilea’s warnings in my ears—now that they have a target, they won’t miss.

“Okay… I think,” I say slowly, hedging.

Pierce leans in conspiratorially. “My aunt thinks you could win. She likes you. She doesn’t really like anyone, so that’s truly an achievement.”

I notice that he says nothing about his father liking me. We both know who Third likes.

“Aunt Leighton has good taste,” I say. “I’m a winner.”

And I know I’ve played it right because Pierce looks delighted.

“You are a winner,” Pierce says. “I want you to win tomorrow too.” Pierce takes a step forward and grabs my hand. It’s big and warm. “I have… Graham is going to give you something tomorrow to help. Take it. Please.”

“Cryptic,” I say slowly. I can’t be too eager. “I think we both know the… prize at the end. Shouldn’t you be giving this ‘special gift’ to Penthesilea? You know… your girlfriend?”

“I think Pen has made it very clear tonight that she doesn’t need anyone’s help, don’t you?” Pierce says firmly. He takes another step closer, close enough that I’m forced to crane my neck, and in the dark, here, it feels like we’re back in the woods. I know this boy’s mouth. This boy’s hands. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I know what you must think after what happened the other night, but I swear what you said… about evening the playing field really resonated with me. Let me do that. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do,” Pierce dismisses. “But also, I want to help you. Graham knows what I want. You’re going to get through the Ride.”

This is cheating. But Penthesilea says everyone does it. Everyone cheats. And is it really cheating if he’s the one who makes the rules?

“I promise,” he finishes.

“You promise,” I murmur, doubtful. As if he has anything to do with whether or not nine girls decide to murder me or anyone else tomorrow in his name.

But he’s so earnest when he nods, like he really believes it. Finally, he takes a step back and drops my hand, reaching back to push the door open. “Now, before anyone else tries to mess with you… do you want to play something with me? Your choice of game.”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, thinking of Saint. “Let’s play Old Maid.”





CHAPTER 15





THE DAY OF THE RIDE I’m up before morning call, dressed in our uniform. I expect another pep talk but Saint doesn’t speak to me at all. Instead, we stand side by side in the mirror, taming our hair back into stern ponytails. Saint reaches over, tucks one of my stray curls, and knocks her shoulder into mine. I knock her back and slide on my boots. I make sure they’re tied tight. There’s no room for mistakes today.

The danger feels heavier already, roiling like the thick fog that dusts the morning in dew.

“You ready for this?” Saint asks finally as we stand at our door, knowing that when we return to this room, nothing will be the same.

“Absolutely not,” I say.

Saint huffs. “Well… let’s get this over with.”

“Bet,” I agree, and then I throw the door open.

The other girls wait in the hallway this time, instead of in the common room. There’s a nervous energy and not many of them are speaking. Esme is down the hall, by the window, Hawthorne at her right hand as always. Hannah G, Hannah R, and Jacqueline round out their clique. The other group of three girls, whom I still don’t know very well, wait farther along, casting furtive glances at Esme—they’re still afraid of her, but not enough to put themselves in closer proximity to her. Smart girls.

Smarter than me. This should’ve been played like a waiting game. Esme always would have come for me, but I showed my hand too soon, with the dress, to everyone else, and there’s no going back for me now.

A few seconds later the door across the hall swings open.

Penthesilea appears, holding on to the doorframe, her fingers covered in black leather, just like the rest of her. She’s traded in the cream uniform we were given for all black. She takes a step through and makes eye contact.

“Good luck, Adina,” Penthesilea says quietly as she passes.

And then she turns sharply, just before Mr. Caine arrives with Leighton at his side, like she sensed them coming.