He watched me for a moment. “That’s three questions.”
I frowned. “They’re all connected, really.”
He ran a hand across his jaw
as if he was debating whether he should answer me but then sighed. “The seal isn’t in a fixed location. And it’s not your choice to go to it—it will come to you. Different experiences, sights, might have made it reveal itself.”
My heart stuttered, this disturbing reality that I would be sought out settling over me. “How do you know this?”
“That’s another question.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
Another tie. The beginning of this game was easy, but each throw would get harder and harder.
“The Sisterhood. Can you leave it?”
I rolled the question around. “If I truly wanted to, yes.” If I welcomed the Shadowed side of myself, I could do anything. But the thing was, I was connected to my grandmother; if I decided to leave, I could only imagine the trouble it would cause her. And even though All Sister’s Day was creeping closer, I hadn’t given into the idea of staying yet, of marrying some stranger. The reality that it might be my only choice was settling over me like a dark cloud. I didn’t want to face it yet.
“How do you know so much about the seal?” I asked.
“My mother left a lot of research behind,” was all he said, and I didn’t think I wanted to force the sensitive topic, so I only got the stones to play again.
Tie.
“Was it you who stabbed my cousin?”
Amusement bubbled inside of me. Apparently Archer was refusing to tell anyone it had been a girl half his size. I lifted a shoulder. “He asked for it.”
Weston shook his head. “Do not egg my family on. They will return the favor when you least expect it.”
I pursed my lips. “I can take care of myself, Weston.”
He glanced at me sideways, his gaze annoyed at my words, but I ignored him.
“What were you doing in that Cameron tavern?”
He ran a thumb across his lip. “Ask another one.”
I blinked. “No. That’s my question, and you have to answer.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Then I pass.”
“Ugh, I should have known you were a cheat,” I grumbled. “Fine, I shall ask a different one.” Feeling ridiculous and like a child put in the corner, I fixated my gaze on him and asked, “Do you prefer dogs or cats?”
He laughed—at the question or my pouting attitude, I didn’t know. I listened to his deep laugh, as it sent a shiver through me, all throughout trying to pretend like it was very much an important question to me.
“Dogs, I think.”
“Why not cats?”
“They do not listen.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “I could imagine how that would bother you.” I chewed my lip, and frustrated with my wasted question, I came up with a solution: “We can only pass three times then. Use it wisely,” I warned.
He didn’t look so troubled about the new rule. It was I who should have been concerned. Who knew I would have run out before him?
And so we played another round.