To Best the Boys(54)

As if in confirmation of Seleni’s words, a large handful of bloodberries have been collected and piled next to the tent.

I swerve to the boys. “You guys didn’t touch those, did you?”

“No, but Germaine tried to get us to eat them.” Sam’s brow puckers and his mouth contorts. “Said he and Rubin found food and even pretended to eat some.” He shakes his head. “Must think we’re bloody fools.”

Beryll pulls the water bag from his lips. “Wait, why? What happens if you do?”

“They’re used as a quick death for crippled animals.” Lute glances at Seleni, studies her a moment, then extends me a questioning gaze while he says, “The three Uppers took off to go look around.”

Sam shoves his hands in his pockets and glowers. “After they claimed the tent.”

I give Lute a short nod—although I’m not sure whether it’s to answer who Seleni is or that, yes, she’s okay. Not that it matters because I’ve just noted that Beryll was not included in the comment about the Uppers. He’s out here with the rest of us. More than that, he seems content to be so.

I grab the spot between Beryll and Seleni and try to assess how he’s holding up. Is this what he expected? Is it what any of them expected? Beryll’s gaze keeps darting around at every single sound. As if he’s listening for creatures in the dark. “The ones seeking to kill,” according to Holm.

I shiver and reach over to set another log on the fire before I look back up at the words on the side of the tent. What do you want?

Lute is sitting beneath them with his eyes half closed but his body tense enough to tell me he’s wide awake and taking stock of what’s going on. I study him as Seleni burrows into her bedding until only her face is showing. “Wake me when it’s time to decipher the next clue,” she murmurs.

Voices and laughter chime out loud in the night air from the other camp, and a few minutes later, Vincent, Germaine, and Rubin boisterously stroll up.

“You guys are missing out,” Rubin says. “Vincent’s got Germaine telling the story of when he got Miss Chamberling to let him kiss her.” He chuckles and starts to duck into the tent. Then stops and waves at Beryll. “Come in, mate. Join us.”

When Beryll ignores him, he shrugs. “All right. Your loss.” And disappears inside.

“What a prig,” Sam says. “All of ’em. They win this thing, and they’ll end up just like their fathers—arrogant fools. You know Jake’s dad told us we should take ’em out while we had the chance?” His caustic laugh sounds like he wishes that were an option.

Beryll’s cheeks pale in the firelight, but he remains uncharacteristically quiet. His brown eyes are focused hard on the coals.

Another bout of laughter from inside the tent makes us jump again. Someone just passed wind. Seleni wrinkles her nose and whispers, “It’s a wonder any of them get a woman.”

As if on cue, their conversation turns to talk of girls, and Seleni peeks up at me as Vincent says, “It’s all right, Germaine. There’s always Miss Smith if no one else wants you.”

Germaine chuckles. “I think I’d rather go for your mum, and that’s saying something.”

“What about that sweet fish, Miss Parish?” Rubin adds.

“Now you’re talking. Who wouldn’t love a chance at her? But the only guy she notices is that uni boy from Kingsford.”

I freeze. And try not to let on to the fact that my blood just lit fire around my bones. The speaker was Vincent.

“What about you, Beryll?” Germaine calls out from inside the tent. “You into Laura Parish?” They all laugh, and then suddenly they’re stumbling out and taking seats beside Sam and Lute and Beryll, clearly unaware that the three boys out here all have their shoulders tensed and expressions narrowed. Even Beryll looks ready for a fight.

“Nah, Beryll’s already got his lass,” Rubin says. “Seleni’ll do anything for him—ain’t that right?”

“Don’t talk that way about her,” Beryll growls.

“Which doesn’t make sense because no offense, Beryll, she’s way above your league. Even if your parents aren’t sweet on her.”

“I’d suggest you boys drop the conversation before it goes any further.” Lute’s risen from his seat and casually stuck his hands in his pockets even as his eyes darken with anger.

“It’s not that they’re not sweet on her,” Beryll says quietly. “They just don’t know her.”

“Because they’re too highfalutin for their own good. They won’t even hang out with Vincent’s parents, and his father’s the bloody chair of parliament,” Germaine crows. “Or maybe it’s something about Miss Lake we don’t know. You sweet on her because you have to be, Beryll?”

The firelight flickers as Beryll’s cheeks redden. “Don’t talk about Miss Lake that way.”

Vincent chuckles as Seleni stiffens in her blanket beside me. I start to speak up, but her hand lashes out to stop me. Let it go, she squeezes.

“Or what? Something we should know, Beryll?”

Beryll rises to stand next to Lute, and his voice is trembling. “I’ll ask you once more to mind the way you speak about her.”

Vincent lifts a hand to rub his chin and looks straight at Lute. And says slowly, “In that case, how about we talk about Miss Tellur?”