The Devouring Gray(63)
Justin watched the sun tease its way through Harper’s curls. Nostalgia plucked at the inside of his chest like a harp string as she dodged each of her little sister’s attempts to stab her.
And although the thought of walking over there was scarier than walking into the Diner had been the day before, he shoved the Hawthorne crown into May’s hands and headed straight toward the field.
Harper hated the Founders’ Pageant. It was a display of all the worst parts of Four Paths—Augusta Hawthorne’s arrogance, Mitzi preening over a crown, and the town collectively swooning over Justin.
She wanted no part of it, and so when Nora demanded they play instead of going to watch, she was happy to oblige her sister. She needed to think, anyway.
Daria Saunders’s death had changed everything, again. The Hawthornes were back in Violet’s corner, which meant Harper had to pretend to like them—right after Justin had proven that he was even less trustworthy than she’d originally thought.
Harper had reported everything she could back to the Church of the Four Deities, concerned they’d be upset that she was spending so much time with the Hawthornes, but they’d just told her to keep Violet close.
It concerned her that she had yet to meet their mysterious leader, or discover any more than she’d already known about their plans. Her father remained tight-lipped about the entire situation, only promising that Harper would get more information when the time was right.
Harper wanted to trust her father. But it seemed like, after all she’d done, he still didn’t trust her.
“I’m gonna be a warrior!” Nora said, brandishing a wooden sword at Harper’s knees as if they had personally wronged her. “I’m gonna hit Brett when he’s mean, and then he won’t be mean anymore.”
“I’m not sure if hitting him will help that,” said Harper, shaking her thoughts away.
Nora pouted. “Can I practice on you?”
Harper stared at the crate of swords. It didn’t matter that the blades were wooden—she still itched to grab one. Besides, Nora was only six, and half the size of the other kids clustered around the play area who she could wind up play fighting with. Wooden swords were blunt, sure, but they could bruise if wielded with enough force. And she was not about to let her baby sister get hurt.
She smiled. “Let’s teach you how to be a warrior.”
Harper selected her own blade from the crate, one with a washed-out blue hilt, and knelt in the grass. At first, she tried to explain the basics of fencing to Nora, but her sister had no interest whatsoever in what a parry or a riposte was. She just wanted to jump around while waving her sword and yelling battle cries. So Harper let her, barely paying attention as she batted Nora’s blade away, occasionally letting her sister tap the blunted edge of the sword against her arm or knee or shoulder and yell, “I WIN!”
Things could’ve gone on like this indefinitely if Justin Hawthorne hadn’t appeared beside her.
“Mind if I cut in?” The sunlight blazing out from behind him turned him into an imposing backlit shape, blocking out the rest of Harper’s world.
Harper froze, completely unsure what she was supposed to say to him. Nora, however, had fewer qualms about responding to this new potential victim.
“I’m going to beat you!” she yelled.
Justin laughed as she whacked at his knees until he obligingly toppled backward onto the grass.
“You got me,” he told her, blond hair spilling across his forehead. The dimple in his cheek appeared as his lips widened into a grin. “I’m the deadest dead person on this field.”
“Dead people don’t talk,” Nora informed him, unimpressed.
“So?” said Justin, turning his head.
Heat kindled in Harper’s chest as the power of that carefree smile hit her. She tried to pretend it was rage. “What are you doing here?”
The smile disappeared. Justin propped himself up on the grass, the fabric of his gray T-shirt straining against his broad shoulders. “Apologizing to you. If you’ll let me.”
Harper had wanted an apology for years. Yet she could feel in her bones that his words wouldn’t be enough. When he spoke, he drew her back in. She couldn’t trust herself to hold out against him, even now, knowing that he was a lying hypocrite. Even as her hatred stirred to life beneath her skin, sending a shiver of fury through her.
Her hand tightened around the hilt of her blade—and, with the sudden rush of an idea, Harper lifted it up and pointed it straight at Justin’s chest.
“Go get a sword,” she said coolly.
His hazel eyes went wide. “What?”
“You heard me,” she said. “You want to apologize? Well, I want to fight.”
Justin sucked in a breath. But he didn’t protest, just got up, walked over to the crate, and grabbed the last remaining sword inside. It was dark yellow with stains that looked a lot like vomit, which gave Harper a petty rush of satisfaction.
“I guess I deserve this,” he said.
“Don’t you dare go easy on me,” she said, and they began.
It was clear in seconds that her secret midnight practices had paid off. It didn’t matter that Justin had a foot of height and half an arm on her. Her muscles knew what to do. She swatted his blade away and darted forward, nearly grazing his left arm. He stepped back just in time and met her sword with his.