He swept his hand in a series of gestures too fast for me to follow.
“I can’t understand you!” I sighed, picking myself up off the floor, exhaustion killing my anger. Master Yuma rose, stretching his arms over his head. Apparently lessons were over for the day.
Ryker pulled a notepad from his pants pocket and a snub of charcoal and scratched out a note. He held it out to me. My eyes flicked from him to it, and taking my chances, I inched close enough to take it from him. He didn’t attack, so that was a plus, but still not trusting him, I took a few steps away and lifted the note. The charcoal made it even harder to read, but tracing out each letter, I was finally able to read it.
Feel better?
“Not really,” I muttered. Now if I’d actually gotten to hit him—that would have definitely improved my mood.
The same sneer from yesterday returned—one of scorn and triumph. He scribbled out another note and set it down on the platform. Not bothering to look back, he jumped down and walked off. I didn’t move until the door closed behind him.
“He’s quite the master himself,” Master Yuma commented.
“Oh, really? Because he can dodge a few kicks and punches from an untrained opponent?”
He ignored me, and I crossed the short distance to stoop over and pick up the note Ryker had left. Turning it over, my heart stopped.
Maybe you should stop trying to fight me—you’ll never win.
“Thisisn’tgoingtowork.” I paced back and forth in the small underground work room overflowing with dead plants and passed Cassie where she leaned against the side wall, weaving a bunch of dried flowers and herbs into a crown. I’d told her the basics of our plan to woo Ryker so he didn’t want to kill me. She offered me a sympathetic look.
“He sees right through me and what I’m trying to do—”
“Of course he does.” Fontaine scoffed from where she sat next to Tarra, who was elbow deep in mixing some sort of greasy looking concoction. She still had yet to talk to me.
“This is a game, Kaleah.”
“Well, it’s one I’m losing,” I huffed, sitting down on a stool beside the old woman.
She turned to face me, her good eye gentle as she patted my knee. “First of all, you haven't really even tried. You can’t expect to win him over by refusing to trust him or even be decent to him. And secondly, you’ve only just started playing, child. This will take time—”
“I don’t have time!”
“Then make it,” Fontaine said. “I guarantee, if you spend every waking hour trying to romance that boy, he’ll think twice before attempting to kill you.”
“You’re wrong.” I growled, jumping back up to resume my pacing. “He’s not going to fall for that, forme.”
“Kaleah.” She paused, waiting until I met her eye. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”
“Of course, but what—”
“You were bred for beauty—to be as close to the Goddess' image of perfection as she could make you.”
I fidgeted and caught Tarra giving me a sidelong glance before she realized I was looking and jerked back to her work.
“So what if I have a pretty face? He’s not shallow enough to fall for me if I just flaunt myself at him.” I’d been hoping that would work, before I’d actually met him.
Fontaine smirked, shaking her head. “Oh, but you are a naïve child.” I bristled, but she continued. “I don’t think he’s shallow, Kaleah, and he may or may not be an assassin, but he is still a man, and men have weaknesses. You need to become his.”
I cringed—I didn’t want to becomehisanything.
“See, that right there is your problem.” Fontaine sniffed.
“What is?” I stopped my pacing.
“Your mindset. Right now you look at Ryker and all you see is someone trying to eliminate you. You need to view him differently, paint him in a better light. I know it’s hard, but you can’t hate him. No matter how hard you try to hide it, that hate and distrust will show in everything you do—you’ll never win him over that way. If you want to convince him to fall in love with you, you’ll have to convince yourself first that you’re in love with him.”
“But I’m not in love with him—”