“You can deliver my saddle at the Ride,” Penthesilea says. She gathers the cards together, neatly settling them in a stack and then sliding them back into the box before she gets to her feet. “Third, Aunt Leighton, I’m very tired. May I retire for the evening?”
Third smiles, self-satisfied, and strangely enough, he turns to Leighton as he says, “Have a good night, my dear.”
Penthesilea walks past the Remingtons and stops in front of Pierce, looking up at him. She rocks up onto her toes and kisses him once, at the corner of his mouth. She whispers something in his ear, something that makes him wince, and then she slips from the room, which erupts into chatter the minute she leaves.
“Holy shit,” Esme breathes, a wild look of exhilaration on her face. In contrast, Jacqueline looks devastated.
I turn to Saint. “She can’t ride without a saddle,” I hiss. “She’s going to fall off and hurt herself. Or worse, die.”
Saint swallows. “Yeah… I think that’s the point.”
It makes me look at Penthesilea in an entirely different way. It’s when I realize—she’s not above the game at all.
She’s the most masterful player.
Jacqueline crumples at the tea table, her forehead pressed against the warm wood. Hannah G and Hannah R slide off their chairs, flanking her. But Esme stays on hers, Hawthorne tucked neatly against her, whispering in her ear, as she stares down at her pawn, utterly unimpressed.
Third and Leighton are still staring each other down. Leighton has lost somehow. And when Third looks at me and snorts, I know somehow I’ve lost this round too.
“Where are you going?” Saint calls. “Don’t get involved.”
“I’m not. I just want to know…” I trail off, and then I hurry from the room after Penthesilea as I call behind me, “Excuse me. Restroom.”
Leighton doesn’t lower herself to calling out my name, but I can feel her disapproval like a throbbing tattoo. I step out to find Penthesilea standing in the middle of the corridor, her long billowy sleeves trailing past her fingers. Her back is toward me, her head tilted up to the vaulted ceilings. I look up, wondering what she’s staring at.
Slowly, I shut the door behind me, just loudly enough to alert her to my presence.
She turns, but she doesn’t seem surprised to see me.
“Were you supposed to challenge me?” I ask, breathing heavily.
“I think that was Third’s intention, yes,” she says evenly.
“But you didn’t. Why?” I demand.
Penthesilea shrugs. “Do you like being used?”
“Am I being used?” I challenge.
“Are you?”
Penthesilea’s lips curl into a tiny smile that feels more dangerous than anything else that just went down in that room. I sneer at her. She likes to answer questions with questions, and each time she does, she pretends like she doesn’t know how irritating it is. But she knows. It’s how she riled up Jacqueline so expertly. It makes me wonder if she learned this from Leighton, learned how a woman who might survive the Remingtons would behave.
“How did you win that?” I ask.
“What do you mean ‘how’？ It’s a game of chance,” Penthesilea says.
“You didn’t play it like it was,” I retort.
Penthesilea sighs. “You’re right, I didn’t.”
“So how did you know you would win?”
I peel myself away from the door, shuffling closer until there’s only a foot between us. Staring at her, away from Pierce, is just as hard as it is looking at him—like staring into the sun for too long.
Penthesilea pulls at her skirts, tugging it until I see the slightest tear, neatly done, as if with a knife. She reaches inside and pulls forth a single card. An ace of hearts.
“You cheated,” I breathe.
“Everyone does,” Penthesilea says solemnly. She takes a step closer, leaning in to whisper into my ear. “I knew she would challenge me. That Esme would challenge me. Because I am Third’s favorite. Because I am Pierce’s girlfriend. Because I am going to win tomorrow.”
“You’re very sure,” I rasp. I take note of her not claiming to be her own boyfriend’s favorite.
“Do you think I just happen to be a champion equestrian? I’ve been training for this for my entire life. Esme’s mistake… Jacqueline’s mistake was in thinking that just because of that I am above cheating, which I am not,” Penthesilea says. “Now, listen up, Adina. That dress, while you look lovely in it, has done nothing but paint a target on your back, just like mine. And not just for Esme. Before, they would have discounted you, kept you alive to pick off at the end. And now that they have another, easier target, they won’t miss.”
I flinch back. She acts like more “accidents” are all but guaranteed. But I force myself to focus on the other part of her statement. Leighton’s favor came with caveats, ones I didn’t foresee. I was so distracted by Penthesilea’s obvious advantages, I didn’t see them closing in on me, too.
“Don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor by telling me that,” I say.
Penthesilea smiles, staring at me from under the fringes of her orange lashes, each one appearing golden in the day’s dying light. “But it is a favor. A favor amongst the favorites, you could say. This is the last favor I’ll do you, Adina. Save yourself next time.”
The image of Third and Leighton’s staring contest flashes before my eyes again. My mouth is dry as I watch her walk off, proud of what she’s done, of the chaos she leaves behind. A chaos that I have to face again. It’s hard turning my back on her when I want to interrogate her more, but the door behind me opens and I twist, already cringing at what I expect will be admonishment from Leighton or a snipe from Esme.
“Pen—Adina.” Pierce is backlit, his face cast in shadow. He looks behind his shoulder again and smiles. “Just a moment, ladies. Hannah G, I do look forward to hearing about your latest… shoot in Belize.”
He shuts the door behind him.
“Belize?” I blurt out.
Pierce runs a hand over his face and rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. I think she said Belize. Or Bolivia. I’ll smooth it over,” he says. He looks over my shoulder, frowning into the shadows. “Have you seen Pen?”
“She’s going to bed. Big day tomorrow,” I say lightly. “She didn’t seem… upset with what happened, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Pierce snorts. “No, she was pretty pleased with herself, I’m sure,” he says, his words more biting than I would have expected. I try to control my expression, but he catches sight of the question in it and sighs. “Pen is just… let’s not talk about Pen.”
“Shouldn’t you be getting back inside?” I ask, torn.
I don’t want to be his wife, especially not after he tricked me into coming here, and that’s what he expects out of this. That’s part of the prize, the biggest part to them, and it seems nonnegotiable. And yet, I want to win. I need to. So I need him to stay.
“All I said was that I didn’t want to talk about Pen,” Pierce says, taking a step forward. “I do want to talk to you.”