Page 85 of Games Untold (The Inheritance Games #5)

The Time with Go Fish

S ome situations required finesse. This was not one of those situations. Eleven-year-old Xander brandished his sword. “Go fish.”

Across the table, Grayson’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It was a look Grayson had borrowed from their grandfather and one to which Xander was—luckily—completely immune.

After a long, drawn-out moment, Grayson finally made his intentions clear: Instead of reaching for his sword, he drew a card.

“Please tell me you drew a seven,” Jameson said wickedly.

“I did not.” Grayson flicked his pale eyes toward Xander. “I am, in fact, fairly certain that Xander was bluffing and that he has the final seven.”

Xander, like all Hawthornes, was an excellent bluffer. “If you were certain of that, my very blond, very lethal brother, you would have drawn your sword.”

Thus were the rules of Hawthorne Go Fish. Bluffing was allowed. Any time you said Go fish , you drew your sword. If the other player thought you were lying about the contents of your hand, all they had to do was respond in kind, at which point, a duel commenced.

Blade against blade! Brother against brother! What was a laid-back Sunday morning card game without the occasional sword fight?

Of course, there was a penalty involved for calling a bluff when the other person wasn’t bluffing. A penalty that involved permanent markers. Xander was already mustachioed. Grayson was not.

And that had made it a little bit easier for Xander to get away with bluffing.

He set his sword down and grinned. “Hand over those sevens, Gray.”

Grayson groaned. Xander pretended to twirl the evil mustache that Jameson had drawn on his face earlier in the game.

“Jameson…” Xander adopted what he thought of as his James Bond voice. “Give me your aces.”

Jameson leaned back in his chair, running his index finger lightly over the edge of his sword’s blade before taking hold of the handle. “Go. Fish.”

Those words were clearly a dare.

Xander arched a brow. “Think you that I am afraid of a little beard, brother?”

“I think,” Jameson said lightly, his expression giving away nothing, “that Grayson has the ace you’re looking for.” Jameson paused. “And for the record, it definitely won’t be a little beard, Xan.”

Xander stroked his chin, considering his options. If Jamie did have the ace, Xander would have to fight him for it, and although Grayson was the best swordsman among them, Jameson was a close second.

Xander’s talents lay elsewhere. “Maybe Gray does have the last ace,” Xander said amiably. “Or maybe…” He reached for a card from the pile. “That ace is right here .”

With a dramatic flourish, Xander flipped the card. To his absolute delight, it was the ace, an enchanting turn of events for two reasons: First, it meant that now Xander had all four aces—on top of all four sevens—and world domination was that much closer to his grasp.

And second, it meant that it was on!

No swords.

No duels.

No holds barred.

Just, per the rules of Hawthorne Go Fish, a good, old-fashioned brotherly brawl!

“I want you both to know,” Xander announced five minutes later, as he climbed on top of the antique card table, preparing to hurl himself off it, “that I tackle with love!”

He aimed the warning at Jameson—then flying-tackled Grayson .