Page 41 of The Ordeals
‘Out in the open this time …’ Frances, the young woman with curly blonde hair mutters, mulling over a cup of tepid tea.
‘… so blatant …’ another hopeful, Li, agrees.
‘I saw him out the window though, broad, seemed tall …’ Tessasays from a few seats away. I frown, about to say I didn’t think so, they seemed quite slight with narrow shoulders, but then theywerewearing a cloak, and I was several storeys up from the ground …
‘I guess we’re potentially looking for a man, then,’ Tessa adds, reaching for the teapot to top up her cup.
‘Or a powerful masquier,’ Frances says with a shrug. Tessa blinks and I catch her eye before she hurriedly looks away. Frances is right. It could well be someone changing their appearance, their whole being entirely … I search the faces of the other hopefuls, counting the masquiers in our number. It could be a man, or it could be any one of them, if Tessa is correct and they did appear broad and tall to her, then possibly as their wielding dwindled, slight to me.
A hand comes down on my shoulder and I startle.
‘Are you ignoring me?’ a low voice murmurs in the shell of my ear that, despite myself, sends shivering sparks through my veins.
I slouch back, tilting my head up to look at Alden, feigning nonchalance, even with my flaming cheeks. ‘Just enjoying my breakfast.’
‘A word, DeWinter,’ he says, raising his eyebrows. ‘Please.’
I sigh as every set of eyes swivels to us. ‘Not now. I’m eating.’
Alden leans down, speaking low and close into my ear again, a growl of syllables that make my toes clench. ‘Half an hour, the gallery on the second floor of Fetlock.’
I clutch my fork tighter. Everyone is looking at us, and I was trying very hard this morning to observe and go unnoticed. Which is obviously now impossible. ‘That’s acceptable I suppose.’
‘Good,’ he breathes against the sensitive shell of my ear. I stiffen again, as those sparks dance, heating my blood. I shift slightly, so my mouth is close to his and ever so slowly, I flick my eyes from his mouth, up to his eyes, and wet my lips. His own eyes instantly darken, and I smile in delight. If it’s a game Alden wants, he’ll find I’m more than a match for him.
‘Is that all?’ I say softly, before turning fully in my seat, so we’re inches apart.
He grins at me like he’s won a prize then straightens, oh so slowly, pulling at the waistcoat he wears over his shirt. Dark smudges have appeared under his eyes, the mark of a sleepless night. The rest of us look wan and pale. Tessa’s right eye is even twitching slightly. But somehow, annoyingly, the events of the night have left his hair casually sleep-tousled, his features even more defined and alluring. I note the way his muscles bunch under his shirt sleeves, imagine undoing those buttons one by one … I swallow. ‘Half an hour. Don’t be late.’
It gives me immense satisfaction to be three minutes late. He’s standing in the centre of the art gallery, hands in his trouser pockets, feet shoulder width apart, facing away from me. I close the door, the click sounding too loud in the hushed space.
‘Intentional?’ he asks and I see the watch on his wrist, the way his shirt sleeves are thrust up to his elbows, and realise he must have checked it several times.
I smile, glad it rattled him after he interrupted my quiet observation of the other hopefuls at breakfast in Gantry with that low growl in my ear. ‘Everything I do is intentional.’
He sighs and I take the moment to look around this room. I only ducked my head in when I first arrived, finding a professor in the midst of delivering a lecture to a group of scholars on the collection and its hidden mysteries. But now, as Alden is clearly gathering himself, I take the time to really study the paintings in the Fetlock Hall collection.
They are grotesqueries: creatures with dragged-down faces,exposing teeth and hollow eyes, claws and wings. Some depict known creatures, gargoyles and ghouls, banshees and sirens. Creatures that have been hunted down, some now only held in private caged collections and gardens. And the gods. Oh, they are magnificently captured, limned with golden light, thwarting their enemies, bestowing benevolence on the lowly, Allowayan in taste and form.
Then I notice one: a dark forest; searching, crooked branches; a pale face half hidden; glistening blood spattering the forest floor …
Alden suddenly turns to face me, regarding me with a closed expression. ‘I would like to … apologise.’
‘Are we really … what?’ I ask, confused. Ready for a tumble of indignation, for him to call in the supposed favour I owed him from last night, this has caught me off guard. ‘Say that again?’
‘I saved your life last night. However … I misjudged you. Underestimated you and chose only to see you as a potential threat to my standing in the Ordeals.’
I swallow. ‘You never considered just murdering me in an Ordeal, to eliminate the threat I posed, rather than making me your partner for the first one?’
‘Not my style,’ he says with a small smile. ‘You are worth far more than the importance I placed on you. You are worth … just … far more. I wish to begin afresh. I-I have been foolish. And for that I apologise, sincerely. Will you accept me as your partner for the next Ordeal?’
For a moment, I’m speechless. I stare at him across this sea of polished floorboards, the old gods watching on from the walls surrounding us. I believed him arrogant, calculating, but never a fool. Even sensitive at times, the way his gaze softened when I shared Dolly’s fate with him in the Morlagh, how his lips brushed mine last night, and when he encouraged me up the wall. He’s respectful. But not foolish, so this decision isn’t reckless, or out of pity. He genuinely believes me to be a worthy partner. Though, it is the Ordeal of Illusions, and Iaman illusionist. Perhaps this is also a calculated move … but I believe his sincerity. He seems genuine.
He makes an impatient motion with his hand. ‘Just accept it, please, and we’ll move forward.’
‘But what if I want to bask in it? To be honest, you said it a little quietly. Perhaps you could deliver the apology again, ask me to be your partner again, the great Alden Locke—’
‘Now you’re just mocking me—’
