Dead of Winter (The Arcana Chronicles #3)(63)

“It’s too dangerous.” In my first combat against Death, I’d embraced her. I remembered telling myself, I am the red witch! . . . I’m going to win the entire game! Which would mean that all my friends would be dead. “I’ve been doing okay.”

“Some of the remaining Arcana have unspeakable powers. You’ll need to invoke your witch to survive—just as those Bagmen summoned their strength to rise.”

“Unless I stop the game.”

“There are some who’ll keep coming, even if they don’t have to.”

“Like the Emperor.”

At the mere mention of that card, Aric’s demeanor changed, his irises darkening to cold amber once more.

“What happened with him?”

“It’s a matter too wearisome for our night together.” He drank deep. “Tell me about your grandmother.”

His expression was so stark that I let him change the subject. For now. “Don’t you already know as much as I do? Since you trespassed in my thoughts for so long.”

“Not constantly. I did have my own life to go about. Such as it was.”

My chest squeezed at his words. I drank to cover my dismay. “I don’t remember her all that well. Sometimes my memories contradict each other.”

“How so?”

“I’ll see her as kind and affectionate. In the next instance, I’ll recall her wanting me to become ‘vicious.’” What if she tried to convince me to take out other cards? My friends?

Aric, even.

Maybe Arcana weren’t inherently evil. Maybe our chroniclers or relatives molded us. “In any case, I swore to my mom I’d find her. So I will.”

“And I will help you. You know sourcing is a talent of mine—doesn’t matter if I’m looking for ballet shoes or my wife’s grandmother.”

“Yeah, I don’t see that working out too well. She was furious at me when I mooned over your card.”

“You forget how charming I can be.”

Never. “I once asked Matthew if you would prevent me from reaching Gran. He told me the subject bored you, that you don’t believe in her as I do. So why would you help me?” I finished my beer.

Like a blur, Aric had another round on the table. “As a Tarasova, she knows a great many things.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“I don’t have to believe that she holds the key to the game’s end. You do—and I believe in you.”

Smooth, tricksy knight. “What’s the difference between a Tarasova and a chronicler?” How did Gran differ from Gabriel’s people?

“Chroniclers are historians and guides. Some say each Tarasova is gifted with the sight. Others say she must be a minor Arcana.”

The last time I’d seen Gran, her brown eyes had twinkled as she’d told me, “You’re going to kill them all.”

A chill ran through me.

“Sievā?”

I changed the subject. “Now that you’re making the effort to trust me, will you tell me about your childhood?”

He inclined his head. “I told you my father was a warlord, but he was also a noted scholar. He raised me to be both as well. I had martial practice every day, then reading, then debates after dinner.” Aric peeled at his beer label, then smoothed it back with his elegant fingers. “I can’t imagine what he would think about all that mankind has learned. In his day, everyone believed the world was flat.”

Aric had grown up in that age, and yet I’d expected him to act like a modern boyfriend? That he’d come this far was astounding. “What was your mother like?”

“She was merry, quick to laugh. She and my father always wanted another child, blaming it on me: ‘If you weren’t such a wonderful son . . .’ I could ask for no better parents.”

“You miss them.” After all this time?

“Every single day out of hundreds of thousands.”

What could I say to that? Anything I came up with sounded trite. Silence fell over us.

Aric drank, lost in thought. And I knew he was remembering the night he’d killed them. . . .





30


Hot water poured over me in the upstairs bathroom, but it did nothing to shower away my buzz.

Or my confusion.

After dinner, Jack hadn’t checked in, and worry preyed on me. So I’d grabbed my bag and told Aric good night.

As I’d left the kitchen, he’d said to my back, “You once told me I was so good at this game because it’s all I’ll ever have.” The sadness in his voice had drawn me up short. “Your words were true, though I didn’t wish them to be. Not then. Or now.”

I’d heard Aric enraged, playful, fierce, in pain, and in lust. I’d never heard this soft sadness before.

In a murmur, he’d added, “I am ready to defy the will of gods and the dictates of fate to possess you, and yet a mere mortal stands in my way.”

My shoulders had stiffened, and I’d hurried away as if chased.

Now as the water sluiced over me, I raised my hand to my mouth, tracing my lips. My emotions might be in total turmoil, but my body wasn’t. I equally desired Aric and Jack.

I adored Jack’s raw passion; I craved Aric’s seething intensity.