The Deceiver's Heart (The Traitor's Game 2)

The gold band was plain on the outside, but it had an inscription inside. I held it up to catch the angle of the rising sun and read, “Behold with reverence the Scarlet Throne.”

This was no ordinary ring. But if it was connected to the throne, then why did Simon have it?

I dropped it back into his satchel, but it slipped between the weathered pages of his notebook. Not wanting it to get lost, I pulled out the notebook and it fell open as the ring tumbled to the bottom of the bag.

There I saw a sketch Simon must have drawn, done so well that I recognized myself instantly. Except he’d gotten a few details wrong. My eyes never had the fire in them that he portrayed, nor had I ever worn the mischievous grin he’d drawn.

I turned the page and saw more drawings of me, some of them only my eyes or a partially finished sketch. There were other drawings too, of places he must have visited in his travels or images that had captured his imagination. But again and again, his work returned to me. He couldn’t have done all of these since the other night when he took me from Woodcourt, nor even in the four days since I’d met him … if it had only been four days.

I scanned the pages again, comparing myself to the girl he’d drawn. And I couldn’t help but think of the way he had described the girl last night who he later claimed was me. He admitted that he’d had feelings for her.

For me.

These drawings were my proof of that. No one could have drawn these the way he had, with such detail and care, if he was indifferent to the girl in the picture.

And what if that girl had looked back at him through those mischievous, fiery eyes, and had feelings for him too?

I felt worse than empty inside. Brushing back tears, I replaced the notebook and folded over the satchel flap, then hung it across my shoulder, the way Simon wore it. I had to return it to him, or if … if that was impossible now, then I’d give it to Gabe. Maybe Simon had family here in Antora, or someone who cared for him. They had the right to his things.

The walk back to Simon’s camp seemed to take me ten times longer than it had to escape it. The closer I came, the heavier my steps felt, mostly because my thoughts were growing heavier than before.

One question weighed on me more than the others: What if Simon was right—what if Lord Endrick had taken my memories? Because the more I pondered last night’s dream, the more real it became.

When I approached the camp, Gabe was leaning against the side of the hill, clearly asleep. I tiptoed past him for one final look at Simon, who appeared far worse in the morning light than he had seemed during the night. The flesh of his cheeks had sunken in, his hair was damp with sweat, and his lashes were fluttering unevenly.

I knelt at Simon’s side and touched a hand to his chest. It was rising and falling, though not as deeply as I would’ve liked. I stared at him, studying every detail of his face. How much younger he looked now, how innocent. I pulled a few broken pieces of late-autumn leaves from his hair. My hand lingered on his cheek.

Had I known this boy once, maybe even had feelings for him? Did Endrick know that, rejoicing as he erased those memories? And if he had, then what else had Endrick taken from me? Last night when Gabe was angry, he had referenced something I was supposed to do for Antora. What could that possibly be? And was Simon trying to save me from this responsibility or trying to preserve me for it?

Whatever it was, I needed to find the answers, but I’d hardly get help from Gabe. Simon was alive, and I’d returned his satchel. That had to be enough.

At his side was a knife, still in its sheath. He’d offered it to me yesterday. If I was going to be on my own, I needed it now. As quietly as possible, I undid the latch holding the knife in place, then slipped it free. When I did, Simon’s hand moved to mine.

I caught my breath in my throat. His breaths seemed lighter, but his eyes didn’t open. Did he know I was there?

I put my other hand back on his cheek, and with that his face relaxed again and he released my hand with the knife. I rolled onto the balls of my feet, preparing to leave, when Simon began coughing.

Gabe woke up to the sound and immediately noticed me, crouched in front of Simon with the knife over his chest.

“No,” I said. “I wasn’t—”

Gabe leapt toward me and yanked the knife from my hand, then shoved me away from Simon, keeping one hand gripped like a vise on my arm. In the commotion, Simon’s eyes fluttered again and this time they opened.

“What …” he mumbled, then he saw Gabe with his knife and me nearly on my back. “Gabe, what are you doing?”

“She was about to stab you,” Gabe said. “This, after poisoning you last night.”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t … I mean, I did poison you last night, but I wasn’t trying to hurt you just now.”

“Then why are you here?” Gabe asked.

I nodded toward Simon’s satchel, which I had left by his side. “I accidentally brought that with me last night. I couldn’t keep it, not after …”

My voice trailed off when I saw Simon staring at me. I didn’t want him to know that I had seen the inscription on the ring or especially that I had seen his drawings … what the drawings revealed about his feelings for me. I didn’t want him to know what Gabe had said last night or that I had begun to have doubts about my memories. I couldn’t possibly apologize for almost killing him. I doubted a person could apologize for something like that.

“Let her go,” Simon mumbled. “Gabe, please.”

Gabe released me, and I immediately scrambled away from that knife.