Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,45

switch outfits,” Saffy said enviously.

Rico didn’t say anything. But something in his eyes made even me blush. Rhea didn’t notice, being too busy fluffing out a couple of folds in the skirt. But then she looked up and caught his eyes.

And smiled at him. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” The voice was rough. “I like it.”

The implication was clear as crystal to everybody but Rhea: he’d like it better on the floor.

“Down, boy,” Marco said, putting a hand on Rico’s shoulder as he passed by.

Rico didn’t respond, still staring at Rhea.

And I suddenly wondered if I was going to have a problem there. And then I wondered if it was any of my business. Normally, the answer would have been no. Rhea was nineteen, and despite the fact that she’d been pretty darned sheltered at the Pythian Court, she had a right to make her own decisions—and her own mistakes. Not that I necessarily thought Rico would be one, but still. It wasn’t up to me.

Except that, in this case, it kinda was.

Because Rhea was in running for the top spot in the court, aka my heir. In fact, right now, considering my complete lack of other young acolytes, she was the only contender. And while I might live to be an old woman—unlikely—and while she might not want it now, after years of her mother’s indoctrination—more likely—she might change her mind later.

And that . . . created a problem.

Or maybe not. Because I didn’t know what the rules were anymore—nobody did. For thousands of years, the Pythian power went to a new Pythia in a very specific ceremony, one involving the marriage of the selected girl to the god Apollo. That made sense, since he had originally gifted the power to his priestesses at Delphi. But Apollo was dead, and good riddance, so what happened now?

The power seemed to be functioning fine so far, having taken on a life of its own after it broke away from its master. But then, nobody had tried to pass it on since his death. An avatar had been needed for the original ceremony, as a stand-in for the absent god. When the avatar and the selected priestess got busy, the power transferred over. And because it was considered a marriage and the old-timey Greeks were sexist as hell, the selected girl was expected to come to the ceremony a virgin.

Was she still?

It probably depended on whether that had been one of the original requirements woven into the spell when it was laid, or whether it had just been a cultural thing. Agnes had said something once that had made it sound like the latter, but I wasn’t sure. Agnes had said a lot of things.

But until I found out, Rhea—assuming she wanted to keep her options open—needed to play it cool.

And so did Rico.

Well, shit.

I really wanted to postpone this, but I’d finished my pie, and Saffy had just dragged Rhea off to help her find a new outfit, and . . .

And I was out of excuses.

I leaned over. “Can I talk to you?” I asked Rico, and had to repeat the question twice.

He finally glanced at me, blinked a couple of times, and nodded.

We got up and moved inside, at least far enough to put us out of hearing range of the kids. The younger ones were making a racket, splashing about in water wings or clinging to noodles, because the London court hadn’t had a pool and half of them didn’t know how to swim. The older girls were helping Tami lifeguard, or trying on outfits, even though the ones Augustine had promised to design for them weren’t ready yet.

That was another reason he was staying with us. Everybody needed new formal attire, because the old lacy dresses the court had once worn were seriously outdated, and because they’d mostly burned up in the bombing anyway. Silver linings, I thought, and watched the older girls pirouette in front of Tami.

“They think you’re going to let them choose their own outfits,” Rico told me, in an undertone.

“Yeah, no,” I said, watching two of the older girls, Belvia and Lettuce—and yes, her name was actually Lettuce—strut around in leather and lace. But mostly leather. It was couture biker chic, including, in Belvia’s case, an entire arm of colorful, real-looking tats.

“They come off with the outfit,” Rico informed me, smiling slightly at my expression.

“I hope so!” How had I ever thought that running a court full of little girls—and soon to be hormonal