59
“Rule number one,” Braxton says. “Never lose track of your blade.”
“And number two?” I ask, breath quickening as my gaze runs up the length of his forearm, landing on the faint outline of a circle tattoo near the crook that leaves me wanting to see more, toknowmore.
What kind of symbol could a boy like him deem so important he permanently inked it onto his body?
“If you’re going to pull a weapon, not only do you have to be willing to use it, but you have to be willing to live with the consequences,” he says, breaking me out of my reverie as my gaze returns to his.
“And are you willing to live with these consequences?” I ask, my voice thin and tight.
“Absolutely not.” He lifts the tip from my skin. “Though, like I said before, I’m an anomaly. When you’re out there Tripping, you’re more likely to encounter someone who’s far more mercenary. And what will you do then, when you were this easily disarmed?” He watches me with a thoughtful expression, as though he truly is curious to hear how I plan to con my way out of that kind of mess.
“Beg for my life?” I flutter my lashes and force what’s meant to be a flirty smile. But it’s been a while since I was that girl, and I’m so out of practice, it’s an immediate fail.
Braxton cocks his head and studies me with great interest. “Do you really expect that to work—out there, in the real world where the stakes are literally life and death?”
I swallow, all too aware that he’s yet to abandon his blade. “Not likely,” I say. “But I’m hopingyoumight take mercy on a poor, inexperienced Green. After all, it’s only my second day here. Also, might I remind you—you did give me your word.”
Braxton’s face softens. But his hold on his sword remains. “Your mind wandered,” he says.
Feebly, I nod. There’s no point denying it.
“I clocked it the second it happened. I literally watched your eyes glaze and turn inward. You can’t afford that kind of mistake.”
“I know, I—”
“You were time traveling,” he says.
My gaze jerks back to his. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“The reason it’s so hard to stay present is because the mind prefers to dwell either in thoughts of the future or memories of the past. Where were you?”
“Back home,” I admit.
Braxton lowers the blade, returns it to its sheath. And though I never for a second believed that he’d use it, my shoulders go slack with relief.
“I know I’m supposed to leave the past behind, but it’s one of those things that’s easier in theory than practice. Also—” I pause, trying to decide whether to finish the thought, then plunging ahead, I hear myself say, “It’s just—everything about this place feels like a game.” I’m not even sure what I mean by the statement, but somehow, I can’t shake the feeling of being a pawn on a chessboard of Arthur’s design.
Also, I’m not entirely clear on Braxton’s intentions. If this were merely about the lesson, then why did he insist on doing it here, in this magical space, instead of an ordinary room?
“I assure you this is no game,” Braxton says, but I’m no longer sure if he’s talking about life here at Gray Wolf, or the two of us suspended together, floating in space.
He stands before me, so close I can clearly make out the place where the streak of his nose hits a bit of a bend. It’s the only discernable flaw on his otherwise perfect face, and I feel such an overwhelming surge of fondness for it, I lift a tentative hand and follow the slant with the tip of my finger.
When he closes his eyes and sighs in response, I try to envision this dashing, elegant boy ditching class, brawling in school hallways, and worse. It’s impossible to imagine.
But when his lids flutter open, and his gaze latches onto mine, I catch a shadow of something dark and unknowable that hints at those troubled times.
And it’s that mystery I lean into, determined to uncover what could’ve possibly happened to him.
Who was he fighting?
What was he rebelling against?
And why is he always so serious…so…guilt ridden?
What exactly has he done on Arthur’s behalf?