Chapter 9: Playing a Part

Garrett POV

I found the others in the training yard, sharpening blades that didn't need sharpening, the way men do when they need something to do with their hands while they talk.

"You hear she's been playing nursemaid to Luna Rosalind now?" Ovid said, not looking up from his whetstone. "Real sweet little act she's got going."

"Heard she made a scene about some tonic," another one added. "Accused Miss Calla of trying to poison their own mother."

"Bloody hell." I dropped onto the bench across from them, still worked up from watching her cart crates around the courtyard like she owned the place. "You believe that?"

"I believe she's setting something up." I leaned back, arms crossed. "King's here in a few days. She wants everybody to feel sorry for her before he shows up. Convenient timing, don't you think?"

Ovid snorted. "That's what I said."

"Think about it," I went on, because once I started, it was easy to keep going. "Two years in a labor camp, sure, fine, that's rough. But she comes back, and suddenly she's fainting in doorways, flinching at everybody, hauling crates around like some tragic little servant girl. Then she goes after Calla's medicine. Now she's playing doctor too."

"Maybe she actually knows something about it," one of the younger warriors said, quieter, like he wasn't sure he should be saying it.

"Or maybe she wants everyone whispering about how brave she is for surviving prison and how suspicious her sister looks in comparison." I shrugged. "Either way, works out the same for her."

"Damn." Ovid shook his head. "That's cold, if it's true."

"It's smart, if it's true," I said. "I'll give her that much."

I didn't notice her standing near the archway until Ovid's face changed, going carefully blank the way men do when they realize they've been overheard by exactly the wrong person.

I turned. She was maybe ten feet away, arms full of folded linens again, standing there with an expression I couldn't read at all.

Nobody said anything for a second.

"Wren…" Ovid started, awkward, already backing off the bench.

"Don't," she said. Not loud. Just flat.

She walked closer, unbothered, and set the linens down on the end of the bench like she had all the time in the world.

"You've got quite the theory," she said to me. "Fainting for sympathy. Going after Calla's medicine for attention. That's creative, I'll give you that."

"I didn't say…"

"You said all of it. I heard you." Her voice didn't rise. Didn't crack. "You want to know the timing on Calla's tonic thing? I found out it had foxglove in it the same morning I found out about it. I didn't sit around planning some elaborate performance. I saw something dangerous and said so."

"Convenient you'd be the one to catch it," I said, though it came out less sure than I meant it.

"Sure. It's really convenient." She almost smiled, and it wasn't a nice one. "Two years ago I used to run every part of that woman's care. Guess it's convenient I still know what shouldn't go anywhere near her heart."

I didn't have a fast answer for that.

"Look," I said, trying to get some ground back, "I'm not saying you don't have reasons to be bitter. I'm saying it's a hell of a coincidence, all this happening right when the King shows up."

"Is that so?" She tilted her head slightly, studying me the way you'd study something mildly interesting instead of a threat. "What do you actually want me to say right now, Garrett?"

"I want you to admit you're playing this whole thing up."

"Okay." She shrugged. "I'm not going to do that, because it's not true. But you go ahead and believe whatever helps you sleep at night."

"That's it? You're not even gonna argue?"

"What's the point?" She picked the linens back up, like this conversation had already cost her more time than it was worth. "You've had your mind made up about me since before I even got out. I could bleed out in front of you and you'd find a way to call it a performance."

"That's not it"

"I don't care what you believe about me anymore." She said it plain, no heat in it at all, which somehow landed harder than if she screamed it. "I stopped caring around month four in that quarry. Believe I'm a liar. I believe I'm manipulating this whole house. Doesn't change what actually happened to me, and it doesn't change what I did or didn't do to Calla. Your opinion just isn't worth the energy anymore."

She turned and walked off toward the house, like she just discussed the weather.

Nobody said anything for a good ten seconds.

"Well," Ovid finally muttered, "I'll be damned."

I sat there, jaw tight, staring after her, and I couldn't figure out why that bothered me more than if she screamed at me, called me every name in the book, fought back the way I expected her to.

"She's good," I said, mostly to convince myself. "Real good act."

Nobody agreed with me. Ovid just went back to sharpening his blade, not meeting my eyes, and the younger one who'd spoken up earlier was already looking at me like he wasn't so sure anymore either.

I told myself it didn't mean anything. People who are guilty get good at not reacting. That's all that was.

I told myself that the whole walk back to the barracks, and somewhere around the third time, I stopped quite believing it myself.