Page 10

Ahead, a figure on horseback cuts through the mist toward the cliffs.

I urge my mount after him. “Maskios!”

Just as we break above the low clouds, I catch up.

Calix whirls, teeth bared.

I raise my torn sleeve. Then fish the arrow from my boot and wave it pointedly. “Why?”

His fingers tighten on the reins, jaw flexing. Silent.

I prod. “Because it doesn’t matter if you hit me, a par-linea?”

He huffs. “If I’d wanted to hit you, I would’ve.”

“So you just wanted to ruin my sleeve?”

“You were unchivalrous.”

I lift the arrow. “And what was this?”

“That,” he says through clenched teeth, then sighs, “was an overreaction.”

I blink. Lower the arrow. That... is almost an apology.

I tug at the ruined sleeve and let some of the bite drain from my voice. “I’ll get in trouble for this.”

“I’ll replace it.”

“It’ll never be the one my brother got married in.”

Calix stares at me, aghast. “Why did you wear that?”

I shrug. “Getting into these games isn’t exactly simple. I don’t own any fancy clothes. I suppose I could get married, get a wedding robe of my own...”

“I’ll give you some of my clothes.”

“And boots,” I add quickly. “So I can run far away while you stand there barefoot.”

He blinks. “Why would you run from me?”

I pull my horse back a step and look away. My cheeks burn.

“You’re... unnerving.”

“Unnerving!”

“Exactly that.”

He clears his throat, softens his voice. “Around me, I’d say you’re rather shameless.”

I yank the arrow out again and guide my horse up beside his, pointing the sharp end at his chest. “When have I ever done anything shameless?”

He plucks the arrow from my hand with maddening calm. “No, you’re right,” he drawls. “Not shameless at all.”

The arrow brushes over my palm and I jerk my hand away, gripping the reins hard. I turn my horse, facing the path ahead, and mutter, “First to the third sharp bend.”

“I play drakopagon,” he warns. “You have no chance—”