Gigi stared at the scoreboard. One of the other teams had just gotten an answer correct.
“Probably my sister’s team,” Gigi said, because Savannah was
Savannah.
“Or your half brother’s, assuming they ended up on different teams.” Knox swiped his hand angrily through the magnetic words he’d been obsessing over and stood, finally vacating the throne of swords. “The Grandest Game is a real family affair this year, isn’t it?” he said bitterly.
Gigi could feel another nepotism rant coming on. “Sure is,” she said agreeably. “In more ways than one.” Now was as good a time as any for poking elephants. “You two are brothers, aren’t you? Or the closest thing to it.” Gigi was going, almost entirely, on the way Knox had said we. “Either that or—”
Knox didn’t let her finish. “Stop talking and hand over the knife, pipsqueak.”
“My knife?” Gigi asked sweetly. “The one you already tried to steal from me once? No, thank you.”
“We both know it’s not just a knife.” Knox walked toward her. “Objects in the Grandest Game have a use in the game. Where is it?” He raked his gaze dispassionately over her two-piece gown, which had a Cinderella silhouette with a thin strip of midriff separating the skirt from the bodice.
Gigi’s hand came to rest on the band of delicate jewels that marked the
top of the skirt. Directly underneath that band were the words she’d written on her stomach. MANGA. RA.
The knife was, of course, safely strapped to her thigh. “Leave her alone, Knox,” Brady said quietly.
Knox came to a standstill. “A real hero,” he commented.
Gigi noted that neither of them had denied her earlier assessment.
Brothers—or the closest thing to it.
“It’s okay,” Gigi assured Brady. “Knox might be surly now, but I’ll grow on him.” She beamed at the surly individual in question. “Give it a little time,” she promised, “and I’ll be like the annoyingly upbeat, brilliant, resourceful, better-than-you little sister you never had.” With that, Gigi moseyed over to the desk, hoisted herself up on top of it, and stood.
Knox scowled. “What are you doing?”
“The top of this room is rimmed with bookshelves.” Gigi looked up. “But no books. Is that suspicious to anyone else?” She bent her knees and pounced. Vertically! Her right hand skimmed the bottom of the shelf. She missed, but on the bright side, she bounced instead of falling flat when she landed.
If at first you don’t succeed… Gigi climbed onto the sword-chair this time. She stood on its arms, then eyed the back of the chair. If I can launch myself off its highest point…
“You’re going to fall,” Knox gritted out.
Gigi shrugged. “I’m a solid B at parkour.” Arm, arm, back, up, leap, and
—
Gigi fell. Knox caught her. His rehabilitation had officially begun.
“Almost made it that time,” Gigi told him, wriggling out of his grasp. “Hold the chair.”
“You’re going to break your legs,” Knox snapped. “Both of them.
Possibly an arm.”
Gigi was not deterred. “My bones are bendy. I’ll be fine.”
Knox picked Gigi bodily up off the chair and set her unceremoniously on the ground. “You,” he practically growled, as he stripped off his tuxedo jacket. “Stay here.” And then he climbed up on the desk and leapt, his fingers locking firmly around the bottom shelf.
Gigi watched as good old Grumpy Knickers pulled himself upward, every visible muscle tensed beneath his apparently thin dress shirt. Knox
grabbed onto the next shelf up, and a moment later, he had his feet braced against the lowest shelf and a steady hold on the highest one.
“A-plus in parkour,” Gigi called.
“Your bones aren’t bendy,” Brady told her, his deep voice mild. Gigi turned to face him. “Metaphorically.”
“You might have to explain that metaphor to me,” Brady said.
“Sure thing,” Gigi replied brightly. “But first, I was thinking we could try scratching the mirrored plate with the quarters and also, what if we compared the Scrabble letters to the words on the poetry magnets? And also-also—” Gigi cut herself off. “Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” Brady asked. Overhead, Knox was making his way around the shelves, bracing his feet against the wall and holding his body aloft like it was nothing.
“Habit?” Gigi replied. “I am, to use the clinical term, A Lot. And seriously, how are his muscles not on fire right now?”
“Training,” Brady murmured. Behind his glasses, there was a faraway look in his brown eyes. He blinked, and it cleared. “I already tried scratching the mirror with the coins,” he told Gigi. He smiled slightly. “And also? I triple-majored in undergraduate. My brain likes A Lot.”
Gigi smiled—and not slightly.
There was a faint scraping sound above. Knox had found something on the shelves. Multiple somethings, it sounded like, which reminded Gigi that it was probably more useful to dwell on the first thing Brady had said, instead of his statement about what his brain liked.
Training. Gigi heard Knox drop to the ground behind her, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “What kind of training?”
“All kinds. But, Gigi?” Brady leaned forward. “You aren’t going to be the little sister he never had. Knox doesn’t let people in.”
Except for you? Gigi thought. And Calla. She wanted to ask about the girl, but even she had more of a filter than that, so she opted for a different question instead. “Who’s Severin?”
Brady didn’t so much as blink—but he also didn’t answer.
“Here.” Knox thrust a hand between the two of them. In his palm there were three tarnished dimes. “This do anything for either of you geniuses?”
Dimes. Gigi thought about the puzzle, the locked room, the rest of their objects, especially the quarters—but she didn’t know where to go from
there.
“Didn’t think so.” Knox fixed Gigi with a look. “If your idea about comparing the Scrabble tiles to the poetry magnets doesn’t pan out, you’re showing us that knife.”
