“Such as?”
He met her gaze over the rim. “Can’t you guess?”
If the Maiden allowed Ione a flush, it was too dark in the yard to note it. She sucked her teeth. “I hope you don’t plan on talking to Farrah Pine the way you talk to me. She’s sweet.”
Elm handed her back the wine. “You don’t care how I talk to Farrah Pine.”
She sighed. “No, I don’t.”
Another javelin, shattered. “Just as well. I won’t be speaking to any of the women on my father’s list, her included.”
“You had an easy enough time back at the great hall,” Ione said. “For a moment, you almost sounded charming. If not a little—”
“Roguish? Utterly irresistible?”
She drank, a bead of red liquid lingering on her bottom lip. “Angry. Under it all, you sounded angry.”
Elm stepped closer, suppressing the urge to run his finger under her lip and wipe the wine away. “I am angry. I think, if I’m honest, I’ve been angry all my life.”
Ione’s eyes were honed, searching the pages of him. When the silence between them sharpened to a point, she took a deep breath. “Then be angry, Prince.” She handed the wine back to him. “It looks well on you.”
“Careful.” Elm brushed his thumb along the flagon’s wet rim—where her mouth had been. “That sounded an awful lot like a compliment.”
“I prefer to think of it as advice.”
“I’m sure you do.” He took a drink. “But you’ll forgive me if I have a difficult time taking advice on how to feel from a woman who can’t even muster a smile.”
She gave half a shrug. “Give me something to smile about.”
“I can think of a few.”
He saw it in her eyes—the flash of surprise. The widening of her pupils. And while the Maiden shielded her expression, it didn’t mask it entirely. There were still glints of something. Ione Hawthorn could feel something, of that Elm was certain.
She ignored his remark with a dismissive tilt of her chin. “I used to smile. I had little lines here.” She ran a finger, a gentle brushstroke, from the crease in her nose to the corner of her mouth. “From laughing.” She touched the outside of her eye. “Here as well. They’re gone now, of course. But I used to smile. I used to laugh.”
Elm’s eyes remained on her face, the smoothed-out terrain of her skin. “I remember,” he said quietly.
She scowled up at him and snatched the wine back, the dark liquid sloshing in the flagon. “No, you don’t. I’d wager all my money you never once glanced at me before Equinox.” She winced down a gulp. “If I had any money to wager.”
Wagers, barters, games. That’s what it boiled down to with Ione Hawthorn. Every look was a challenge, every question a test, a measurement. To what end, Elm wasn’t certain. But it made him tighten, chest to groin, knowing he wanted to play her games. And maybe it was the wine, or the way those hazel eyes pinned him in place, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d do terrible, terrible things to win.
He fixed his mouth with a lazy smile. “Just as well you have no money. I’d take every last coin.”
Ione watched him over the lip of the flagon. “You’re full of shit, Prince.”
Elm stepped closer to take the flagon back. Only this time, his fingers folded over hers along the silver handle. He leaned in, his voice a low scrape in his throat. “You don’t think I noticed you, Ione?”
A breath hastened through the slim part between her lips. “Not before the Maiden. Men like you do not take pleasure in yellow flowers when there are roses in your garden.”
“I don’t take pleasure in either—horticulture’s not exactly a strong suit.” When she rolled her eyes, Elm tightened his hand over hers. “Wager something you do have, if you’re so sure.”
Their faces were close now. So close Elm could see the frayed threads along the collar where Ione had ripped her dress. They danced along her throat, her sternum, the swell of her breasts—moving with the rapid up-and-down tide of her breathing.
His eyes lifted to her face. She was watching him. And though her mouth bore no smile, there was a glimmer of satisfaction—of triumph—in her hazel gaze. “A kiss,” she murmured. “If you can prove you remember me before Equinox, I’ll kiss you. If you can’t—I get five minutes with your Scythe.”
When he found it, Elm’s voice was rough. “No kiss is worth five minutes with a Scythe. Not even from you.”
“One minute, then.”
The urge to reach out and snag her face, to press the tips of his fingers into her cheeks and watch her lips part for him, took considerable effort to banish. Elm caught Ione’s hand instead, slapping his palm against hers in a handshake. “Deal.”
No one was there to see them slip out of the yard into a servants’ passage. The long, winding corridors housed only shadows. For the time it took for them to reach the cellar, Elm and Ione were utterly alone, as if the castle belonged only to them.
“Please don’t be locked,” Elm muttered when they reached the door.
The handle to the cellar turned.
The hearth hadn’t been lit, and the dogs were elsewhere. Elm moved to the shelf, the space so familiar that, even half-drunk, he had no trouble finding a lantern and the fire striker.
The flame bloomed, too bright, then dimmer. Ione stood in the doorway. “What is this place?”
“Somewhere we won’t be overheard.” Elm headed back to the door. When he passed Ione, he made sure no part of his body touched hers. “Light a fire, will you? I prefer to be comfortable when I play games and win wagers.” He turned toward the stairs.
“Where the hell are you going?” she called after him.
The indignation in her voice made the corner of Elm’s mouth curl. “A Chalice, Miss Hawthorn. I’m going to fetch us a Chalice Card.”
The fire was alive and breathing by the time Elm got back. Ione sat on her knees, stoker in hand, tending the flames. There was soot on her fingertips. “You took your time.”
Elm’s arms were full. A Chalice Card, a new flagon of wine, a silver cup, a loaf of olive bread stolen from the kitchens. The last item was from the library—an hourglass he and Ravyn used when they played chess. “I came prepared.”
He hurried to the hearth, the castle’s chill settling over him like a varnish. He sat cross-legged in front of the fire, opposite Ione, and opened his arms, the hourglass rolling onto the floor.
Ione picked it up. “What’s this for?”
“Parameters.” He set the flagon of wine, then the cup, between them. “It’s dangerous to use a Chalice for too long. Even if you don’t lie.”
“You enjoyed my inquest so much you’d like a repeat?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “We’re looking for your Maiden, are we not? I thought we might go over Equinox night. Parse the memories you have of your Card. You were drunk, yes?”
Her voice was clipped. “Yes.”