Mr. Caine raises an eyebrow. “He’s expecting Miss Liu.”
“Miss Liu is still recovering. She asked me to take her place,” I say, forcing a smile. Mr. Caine nods slowly, and then he stands at attention again, like now that I have permission, he’ll lend his assistance.
“This way, miss,” Mr. Caine says, and then he turns like he’s in the military and marches back up the stairs, leading me down a new corridor, to a wing of the Remington Estate that I’ve only been to once. The night I meant to escape.
As we walk along the red carpet, still beautiful, even though it should be dingy with centuries of tread, I think about a group of children running through these halls. I think of them playing tag, Esme always “it,” Penthesilea always strategizing, training for this moment without even knowing it. There are more dire consequences to the games we play now.
We stop in front of a door I recognize. This is the room where I overheard the Remingtons’ conversation.
“He’ll be in his study,” Mr. Caine says, gesturing to a closed door. “Have a delightful brunch… ma’am.” He tries the word out, the one he’s only ever called Leighton and Penthesilea. It means that he’s been paying attention, that he sees how three-fourths of the family treats me. I feel surer of our plan by the minute.
With confidence, I rap my knuckles on the door and open it to find Pierce sitting by the window, buttering his toast. He’s staring out at the gardens, a strained expression on his face. Even with a frown, he is unfairly handsome. Each glimpse reveals something new about him. This time, I find the tiniest scar on his upper lip.
I tasted that scar, I think, though it’s suddenly hard to remember what happened in the dark. I lick my lips, trying to recall, but all I can summon is the flickering of flames and the look on Esme’s face as I confronted her. Besides, I don’t want to be thinking about that now. Drawing myself back into the moment, I stare at Pierce, waiting to be addressed.
He shifts, like he’s just realized the door opened, and turns absent-mindedly.
“Saint, thank you for— Adina.”
“Good morning, Pierce,” I say. I have the oddest urge to call him “Four,” like his brother does.
“Good morning.” Pierce jumps up from his seat, a genuine smile now on his face. The study is similar to Leighton’s office, except for touches of moneyed youth. Old photos of a playgroup of children on the desk—even though they are young in the photo, I recognize Esme’s devilish smile and the pale shadow that was Hawthorne. Prints of him and Pen in various exotic locales line the wall. A receipt from Prada, with a note from Charles scrawled across it that I can’t read, pinned to a corkboard. A framed photo of him and his brother on the bookshelf, both of them in riding gear. “Come, sit. Caine laid out a spread for us.”
The table of choice is a heavy wooden one, set up in the round of a reading nook. It’s like a diner booth, designed to bring us close.
“You look lovely,” Pierce says. He sounds genuine.
“You always say that,” I say with a smile as I slide into the reading nook. I lean over the table. “I’m sure you’re surprised by… well, me.”
“Yes, but it’s a good surprise, I promise,” Pierce says, with what I once might have seen as an empty charming smile. Now there’s more to him—that smile means favor. He sighs, suddenly looking far looser. “To be honest, it’s the best surprise.”
“Oh?” I ask carefully. “Why is that?”
“You know… before the Ride I asked to add a prize for the one second ranked, because I thought that you’d choose to ride Widow Maker. I didn’t think you’d beat Pen, but everyone else would’ve been in the dust,” Pierce says with a rueful smile. He shakes his head. “Anyone else would have taken Widow Maker out, but you didn’t. You had too much integrity.”
That word again. “Integrity.” He says it now like he’s decided it’s a good thing, not a blow to his ego. He doesn’t know I’ve decided to throw that away, just in a different way.
But I let him believe what he wants to believe about me.
“Why do you want me to win so badly?” I ask with a tiny smile. “You have a girlfriend competing.”
Pierce’s smile drops just a little. He busies himself with buttering his toast again and then seems to decide that he doesn’t want it. He sets it aside and pushes a bowl toward me. An a?ai bowl, the kind you order from a fancy breakfast place, because who makes a?ai bowls at home?
“Our chef made it. She’s gotten quite good at it,” Pierce says, confusing my disbelief for awe. “She knows I really like it.”
“Pierce…，” I start. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“I… I don’t want to,” he says, strangely petulant about it, but he gets past it, realizing how he sounds. “Fine. My aunt Leighton was going to go to community college before she won the Finish. But, when she did win, and my uncle began to court her, his gift to her was a place at Harvard with him. My father did the same for my mother. My father wants Pen there with me. Pen may be great, but no one has asked what I want.”
“He wants her to win,” I say, forcing a smirk and laugh, but it rings false even to my own ears. “Should I start writing my last will and testament then?”
“Don’t even joke,” Pierce warns, looking thoroughly unamused. He sighs to himself, shaking his head. “But, yes. He wants her to win. By any means possible.”
“So, he buys into it, then. The whole ‘there can only be one’ thing?” I ask.
“It’s not just him. It’s how the Finish is designed. You know, the Repartees change, but the events—the Ride, the Raid, the Royale—they never do. They’re exactly as Matilda designed it. And they’re designed so that there can only be one at the end, the most worthy. God, I can see why my mother hated this shit,” Pierce murmurs. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him curse. He feels just a little less shiny now. “It isn’t how I want it, though. What’s happened so far has been… a tragic accident. I’m trying to make sure that there are no more.”
Accidents again. At least two of those deaths weren’t accidents.
“But you just said they were designed to do this,” I say. “How are you trying?”
“Giving you all training, for one. That was never a thing,” Pierce says earnestly. “And… broadening the circle of girls to include people who weren’t raised planning to kill each other. My brother came up with that one.”
My heart sinks. Neither of those plans has made any difference, but Pierce doesn’t seem to see the flaw in his brother’s glorious logic, instead turning back to the subject of Pen.
“My father thinks he can stop us changing it and choose the winner because he’s head of the family. But these things evolve, and it’s my life. I picked you,” Pierce says with a small smile. He looks down at his plate. “You were a decision I made on my own. Unlike Pen.” His smile drops again.
It’s in this moment that I realize that Pierce actually takes this seriously. That he sees me as a potential wife. My fingers curl into fists in my lap, nails cutting into the soft flesh of my palm. The sting grounds me. “So, what about Penthesilea attending Harvard bothers you that doesn’t bother you about me?”