aware of how odd their friendship was, so it had become more private, but no less real.
“That groundskeeper Jaen was attainable,” Ilena said, moving a tile. Mags scowled at the move and then at her fifteen-year-old sister.
“That lasted two hours,” Elene said. “Until he opened his fat mouth.”
“You must have had a crush on Pol at some point,” Mags said.
“Not really. He just loved me so much I thought I should love him back,” Elene said.
“At least Pol was real,” Ilena said.
“Ilena, don’t be a brat,” Mags said.
“You’re just mad because you’re losing again.”
“I am not!” Mags said.
“I’ll win in three moves.”
“You will?” Mags looked at the tiles. “You little snot. I, at least, am so glad you turned Pol down, Elene,” Mags said. “But it does leave you without an escort to our party.”
Elene had abandoned the quill and buried her face in her hands. She sighed. “Do you have any idea what I wrote to him last year?” She stared at the blank paper in front of her.
“I didn’t know Pol could read,” Ilena said.
“Not Pol. My benefactor.”
“Whatever you wrote, he didn’t stop sending money, did he?” Ilena asked, ignoring her sister’s murderous glance. Ilena Drake was only fifteen, but most of the time, she seemed in pretty good control of Mags, if not her oldest sister Serah.
“He’s never stopped. Not even when I told him that we had more than enough money. But it’s not about the money, Lena,” Elene said. “Last year I told him that I was in love with him.” She couldn’t quite bear to confess that she’d smudged the ink with her own tears. “I told him I was going to call him Kylar, because Kylar’s nice and I never found out my benefactor’s name.”
“And now you do like Kylar . . . who you’ve also never talked to.”
“I’m totally hopeless. Why do I let you talk to me about boys?” Elene asked.
“Ilena can’t help but talk about Kylar,” Mags said with the air of a big sister about to pull rank. “Because she has a crush on him herself.”
“I do not!” Ilena shrieked.
“Then why’d you say so in your journal?” Mags said. Mags’s voice lilted, mimicking Ilena’s, “‘Why won’t Kylar talk more to me?’ ‘Kylar talked to me today at breakfast. He said I’m sweet. Is that good or does he still just see me as a little girl?’ It’s gross, Ilena. He’s practically our brother.”
“You wytch!” Ilena yelled. She leaped over the table and attacked Mags. Mags screamed, and Elene watched, frozen between horror and laughter.
The girls were screaming, Ilena pulling Mags’s hair and Mags starting to fight back. Elene got to her feet, figuring she’d better stop them before someone got hurt.
The door crashed open, almost blowing off its hinges, and Kylar stood there, sword in hand. The entire atmosphere of the room changed in the blink of an eye. Kylar exuded a palpable aura of danger and power. He was primal masculinity. It washed over Elene like a wave that threatened to yank her from her feet and pull her out to sea. She could hardly breathe.
Kylar flowed into the room in a low stance, the naked sword held in both hands. His eyes took in everything at once, flicked to every exit, to the windows, the shadows, even to the corners of the ceiling. The girls on the floor stopped, a handful of Mags’s hair still clenched in Ilena’s hand, guilt written all over their faces.
His pale, pale blue eyes seemed so familiar. Was it just Elene’s fantasies that put that flicker of recognition in them? Those eyes touched hers and she felt a tingle all the way up her spine. He was looking at her—her, not her scars. Men always looked at her scars. Kylar was seeing Elene. She wanted to speak, but there were no words.
His mouth parted as if he, too, was on the edge of words, but then he turned white as a sheet. His sword flashed back into a sheath and he turned. “Ladies, your pardon,” he said, ducking his head. Then he was gone.
“Good God,” Mags said. “Did you see that?”
“It was scary,” Ilena said, “and . . .”
“Intoxicating,” Elene said. Her face felt hot. She turned away as the girls stood. She sat and picked up the quill. As if she could write now.
“Elene, what’s going on?” Mags asked.
“When he saw my face, he looked like death warmed over,” Elene said. Why? He’d barely even looked at her scars. That was