Page 51 of By the Orchid and the Owl
I whirled, feeling a Jagaros-worthy hiss rise in my chest, but he was already gone, sprinting toward the other side of the field, where…
Garvis dodged Lander and hurled his team’s ball through their disk.
“Game!” Coen called.
Rodhi kicked angrily at nothing, Lander morphed back into his regular self, and Emelle turned to locate me, standing alone on our side of the field.
Slowly, I made the walk of shame back to where they had congregated,
“That was cheating,” I whispered to Coen as he tossed my ball from hand to lazy hand. “I would have made it if you hadn’t said… that.”
“And here I was thinking you liked hearing the truth,” he muttered with a half-grin, which just made my stupid heart flutter in my throat. Great. A guy had called my ass wonderful, and I’d become so thoroughly distracted that I’d quit thinking about Quinnandlost the game for my team. And that put me somewhere between grateful and pissed.
Emelle sagged. “I sucked at that game. If you’d had Wren play instead of me…”
We all glanced toward Wren on the sidelines, who had rested her head in her palms, closed her eyes, and now appeared to be taking a nap.
“Nah.” Rodhi pretended to really contemplate it. “I think you’re just atadmore into it, darling.”
“I can teach you,” Lander jumped in. “If you want to practice with me, Emelle, I can teach you the basics, and we can find ways to utilize your magic.”
I tried not to stare too openly at the blush that patched Emelle’s face.
Garvis, meanwhile, was staring at Gileon, stroking his mustache.
“You know you’re pretty hard to read, buddy. I could barely hear your thoughts, let alone get my own voice inside your head.”
Gileon shrugged. “Thick-skulled, my ma always said.”
“Mmmm.” Garvis frowned. “Perhaps.”
Rodhi turned to Sasha.
“Why did you lie to me about being a Mind Manipulator? I would have enjoyed our little make-out session just as much if you’d summoned my—”
“Breakfast!” Coen called suddenly. “Come have breakfast with us in our kitchen—to celebrate your epic loss. Wake your friend up and invite her, too.”
He strode off to collect all the balls and discs before I could get a good look at the grin slipping from his face.
But I knew. I knew from the way he kept interrupting Rodhi thathewas behind Sasha’s lie. He must have sent her to go figure out an inconspicuous way to invite my entire house to his party that first night—to keep tabs on me. And she must have chosen the kiss and lie route, pretending to be a Mind Manipulator so infatuated with Rodhi that she’d extended the invitation to his entire sector. It would have worked, too, if Lander hadn’t needed me that night.
But Coen hadn’t known that, so he’d tracked me down the next day—had found Fergus pinning me to a wall… and erupted.
Which meant—I steadied myself, watching his distant, well-sculpted figure bend to throw all the stray balls in the mesh bag—it meant that Coen Steeler, the prince of the Mind Manipulators, had been watching me, tracking me, and guarding me since day one. Since the moment he’d carried me from that tent.
Andthatput me somewhere between awe-struck and terrified.
Luckily for my often too-active brain, I didn’t have a whole lot of time to overanalyze the concept as the next month of classes rolled by and all of our instructors decided to send us home with practice work that kept us up late into the night.
Mr. Fenway assigned us essays. Mr. Conine told us we had to make friends with at least three different tapirs over the course of the next several weeks. Mrs. Wildenberg sent us home with potted bamboos to tend to, and Ms. Pincette…
She was the worst of them all. We were supposed to catch a spider eavesdropping on us. Every. Single. Day. We weren’t to kill the spiders, only to tell them the password of the week, silly made-up things ranging from “humblebugger” to “megaslime” and watch the creatures scuttle back to report our success. The only one who didn’t complain about that assignment was Rodhi, who would probably go to his grave defending every chestnut hair on Ms. Pincette’s head.
What with all the work piling up, though, I lost track of time and almost choked on my coffee when Wren mentioned the first quarterly test.
The three of us—Wren, Emelle, and I—were curled up on a sofa in the foyer, sipping from our mugs while we worked on those essays for Mr. Fenway. The room was filled with soft voices as other groups of Wild Whispering women did the same. From across the room, Jenia was muttering to Dazmine, occasionally shooting scathing glances my way. She’d returned to the bunkroom completely healed about a week ago, but hadn’t said a word to me despite her constant prattling to others.
Although, I had to admit, I wasn’t getting much work done right now, either—not with Coen making snide, playful remarks about my brainstorming process in my head.
