Training.Gigi heard Knox drop to the ground behind her, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “What kind of training?”
“All kinds. But, Gigi?” Brady leaned forward. “You aren’t going to be the little sister he never had. Knox doesn’t let people in.”
Except for you?Gigi thought.And Calla.She wanted to ask about the girl, but even she had more of a filter than that, so she opted for a different question instead. “Who’s Severin?”
Brady didn’t so much as blink—but he also didn’t answer.
“Here.” Knox thrust a hand between the two of them. In his palm there were three tarnished dimes. “This do anything for either of you geniuses?”
Dimes.Gigi thought about the puzzle, the locked room, the rest of their objects, especially the quarters—but she didn’t know where to go from there.
“Didn’t think so.” Knox fixed Gigi with a look. “If your idea about comparing the Scrabble tiles to the poetry magnets doesn’t pan out, you’re showing us that knife.”
Chapter 33
ROHAN
The rose petal wouldn’t burn—wrong kind of mirror, perhaps, or the wrong kind of light.But not, Rohan thought,a total loss.There had been a moment in the process when he and Savannah had both had hold of the plate, a moment when her breathing had fallen in sync with his.
Just a moment. But every plan was a collection of moments, and Rohan was no stranger to the long game. He was also becoming increasingly sure with each move she made that Savannah Grayson was a queen.
She returned the wordsthe,rose,will,be, andburnedto her neat little rows of magnets. “We tried this your way, British. Now we do it mine.”
She looked down at the words, and Rohan obliged her by doing the same.
Rohan had a knack for zeroing in on possibilities.Beauty.Danger.Skin.Touch.Cruel.Fast.Fair.Burned.Gone. Those were the words with emotional resonance. The rest was noise.
“And what,” he queried, “might your way be?”
Savannah reached across him—for the Scrabble tiles. The next thing Rohan knew, she’d pulled a word from the third row of magnets.
BEAUTY.
Rohan watched as she lined five tiles up beneath the word.B-E-A-U-T-Y.
“A little compare and contrast?” Rohan pulled a word of his own, then another. “Don’t mind if I do, love.” He kept the pace of his speech even, but his hands—a dealer’s hands, a thief’s—moved faster and faster, lining up Scrabble tiles beneath the magnetic words.
The result was two words, added to the one she’d made.BEAUTY. DANGER. TOUCH.
There were only five letters remaining.
Savannah swept the tiles into her hand, a power move. “Mine,” she told him.
Rohan raked his gaze from her hand to her shoulder, from hershoulder to her neck, her mouth, her eyes. “By all means,” he said, “have at it.”
Lifting her chin, she placed the letters down, one after another.P-O-W-E-R.There really was no hesitation in Savannah Grayson.
Power.Rohan took the word as a reminder.Powerwas why he was here.Powerwas the Devil’s Mercy, the Proprietorship.Powerwas winning the Grandest Game and winning the crown. And to do that, he had to remember:Savannah Grayson, glorious though she might be, is an asset—a queen, perhaps, but a game piece nonetheless.
In life, everyone was a piece to be moved around the board. Rohan was a player, and in an endeavor like this, the only true opponent was the game itself—and the people pulling the strings behind the scenes.
So Rohan directed his mind away from Savannah and concentrated for a moment on them.Avery. The Hawthornes.“We’re complicating this.” Rohan was certain of that. To clear his mind, he curled his right hand into a fist and watched the knuckles pull against the skin.
“You’re going to bust that cut open,” Savannah said dryly.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Rohan told her. He wasn’t afraid of pain. He hadn’t been, even as a child. By the time he’d come to the Devil’s Mercy at the age of five, there had been no fear left in him.
A single bead of blood welled up on his knuckle, and Rohan lowered his hand, his mind sharp. “The best puzzlesaren’tcomplicated.” He was certain that the makers of this game knew that. “Take a step back. We were told to focus on the words.”