Page 64 of Glorious Rivals

“The old man liked to embed lessons in his games,” Grayson said, aware that his distraction would soon lose its hold on her.“The lesson of the keys was twofold.First, that two things—or people—who looked very different on the surface could be exactly the same underneath.”

Lyra looked down, and Grayson wondered if she was thinking about the two of them.Her breath hitched slightly, and Grayson felt that lone hitch of her breath in every single hollow place.

“And second,” he continued, his hand making its way to her hair, as he finally gave in to the impulse to let his fingers begin to untangle it, “that nearly all problems are a matter of perspective.”

Touching her felt right.Even when it was just his hand and her hair.Even when he couldn’t feel the softness of her skin.It feltright—and it bought him just a little more time.

Grayson knew that he was a bastard for doing this to her, the veryassholethat she had accused him of being multiple times.But Lyra was, in her own way, fearless, and she was dogged in pursuit of truth, and she wouldn’t care that Alice Hawthorne was dangerous.

Hecared.About her.About Avery and his brothers.About Libby and the babies.

Grayson Hawthorne had always—always—cared too damn much.

“A matter of perspective,” Lyra repeated, then suddenly, she looked down at the roulette wheel—and then back up again.“Are you saying that maybe the symbol isn’t infinityoreight?”

Keep her focused on the game.Grayson took Lyra’s hand in his, and he drew the symbol on her palm: one loop, then another.

“I see it,” Lyra said again.“Not literally, but…” She looked at the game tables all around them, at the masks scattered on those tables.

And just like that, Grayson saw it, too.Lyra Kane was remarkable.She was lethal in the best possible way, and she was right.

“What if it isn’t a symbol at all?”Grayson murmured, lifting his hand to her face and feeling the delicate metal and jewels of her mask beneath his fingertips.“What if it’s a very rudimentary drawing?”

“What if,” Lyra said, her voice low, “it’s a mask?”

Chapter 47

ROHAN

Rohan did not mind sweating—or waiting.Steam had a habit of rising to the ceiling, but when there was enough of it, it also tended to stick to mirrors, fogging them up—except where some kind of invisible coating had been applied.

The kind that was water resistant.

Four mirrored walls surrounded Rohan, and now, on each of those walls, roughly at eye level, was an infinity symbol.There was some variation in the exact placement of the symbols.Eye level for different individuals.Rohan stepped up to the mirror that bore the symbol at the level closest to his height.The infinity symbol was superimposed over his blurred reflection—over his face, its shape now obvious.

A mask over his mask.

“Clever,” Rohan said, his voice echoing through the mirrored room, through steam growing heavier in the air by the moment.Shifting his suit jacket and shirt to his left hand, Rohan lifted hisright to his own mask, the one he’d been given at the start of the Grandest Game.

An object with a specific use—just like the sword, just like the key.Rohan turned his metallic, asymmetrical mask over in his hand, then stepped into the hall to inspect the back.

And there it was, engraved in the tiniest scrawl.A hint.Two words, nothing vague or difficult to interpret about them.

Time Signatures

The waltz, the tango, and “Clair de lune.”Three songs, three different time signatures.Three-four, four-four, nine-eight.How could he have played that piano and not seen it?

Notheardor felt it?

As with all puzzles properly constructed, the answer was simple—simpler, in a whole host of ways, than the hint.

Thirty-four, forty-four, ninety-eight.Three numbers.Rohan would have known exactly where to go with that, even if the calla lily in the music box had not been made of white marble, struck through gold—the same stone as a certain vault-like door.

“Not bad,” Rohan said under his breath.

“I’m flattered.”Jameson appeared at the end of the hall.He eyed Rohan’s bare chest as he strolled around the corner.“Get dressed.”

“Not a phrase I hear all that often.”Rohan made no move to put on either his tuxedo jacket or the midnight blue dress shirt he’d worn underneath.“Lyra Kane knows you put me on her,” he told Jameson.