Page 58 of The Grandest Game
She’d whetted his curiosity. He’d just returned the favor.
Her eyes—looking more ice-blue than gray at the moment—narrowed. “Fine. I’ll accept your wager, British, but I don’t want the secrets you’ve gathered about other people. I want yours.WhenI solve this riddle first, you have to tell me what your job is. No half answers. No prevaricating. No lies.”
The Devil’s Mercy was a secret establishment for a reason.
“Scared?” Savannah said.
“Terrified,” Rohan replied. “You have yourself a wager.”
This was good. This wasexactlywhat he needed. If there was one thing that Rohan knew about himself, it was that when losing wasn’t an option, he always found a way to win.
Chapter 44
LYRA
What begins a bet? Not that.Lyra really needed to solve their current riddle so she could stop thinking about the one that haunted her memory—and so she could get out of thesetight quarters, where Grayson Hawthorne’s body was never far from hers.
“Don’t say a word…”Lyra trained her eyes on the wall, reading aloud.“But make a wish.”She paused. “Wishes. You can wish on a star. Toss a penny in a well.”
“Blow out a candle,” Grayson said to her left. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw that one, stubbornly imperfect bit of his pale blond hair fall carelessly into his eyes. Again.
Why was it that nothing about Grayson Hawthorne really seemed careless?
“Blow on a dandelion.” Lyra one-upped him—and kept going. “Crack a wishbone. Rub a magic lamp.”
“Ill-advised,” Grayson opined. “Haven’t you ever heard of the difficulties of putting genies back in bottles?”
Some things were not easily undone.
Lyra bit back every single retort that wanted to come and concentrated only on the riddle.A genie. A star. A penny. A candle.Possible answers warred for dominance in her mind. She looked to Odette, a better option than risking even one more glance in Grayson’s direction.
“Odette?” Lyra said.
The old woman stood with her right arm braced against the metal wall of the chamber, her head held at an odd angle, her chin twisted toward one shoulder. Tension was visible in her neck muscles, her face.
Not tension, Lyra realized.Pain.In the span of half a breath, Lyra was there, sliding a shoulder under the old woman’s arm.
“I’m fine,” Odette told her tartly.
“You’re a lawyer,” Grayson responded. He crossed the chamber in two long strides and slid under Odette’s other arm. “A very expensive lawyer,” he continued. “Technicalities and loopholes. So forgive me for probing your assurance further, Ms. Morales: By what definition, exactly, are youfine?”
Odette attempted to straighten, as much as she could, wedged between Lyra and Grayson. “Were I in need of assistance, you would know it, though I suppose, Mr. Hawthorne, that I would not turn down the use of that sword as a cane.”
Lyra noticed that Odette hadn’ttechnicallydenied that she needed help. She’d issued a conditional sentence, not a statement of fact, and she’d followed it with a distraction, trying to claim the sword.
Technicalities and loopholes.“You don’t need a cane, do you?” Lyra said.
“I also do not need living crutches, and yet, here the two of you are, attempting to prop me up.”
Lyra eased back. She knew what it was like to need people to think you werefine. Odette clearly didn’t want to discuss her pain. Lyra did her the courtesy of a subject change. “You’re a lawyer?”
Odette managed an eagle-sharp smile. “I didn’t say that, now, did I?”
“Tell me I’m wrong, then,” Grayson challenged.
“Has any good ever come of telling a Hawthorne they were wrong?” Odette retorted. She shrugged off Grayson’s arm.
“Am I?” Grayson pressed. “Wrong?”
