Wicked As You Wish (A Hundred Names for Magic #1) - Rin Chupeco Page 0,135

brief flicker of resentment in his expression as he watched her leave the courtyard with Tristan, almost hurt, like it was she who had betrayed him somehow, despite never having met before.

She’d put the incident quickly out of her mind until her first literature class a week later, discovering that she shared it with Cole when the boy strode in twenty minutes late. He soon wasted no time informing her and the rest of the class that T. S. Eliot was an overrated ass, and things had gone downhill ever since.

There had been more fights between Tristan and Cole over the next year, though Zoe was always only informed about them after the fact, with the duels often ending in draws. She’d gotten closer to Tristan despite that; like her, he was a model student save for his clashes with the other boy, though he’d never given her a reasonable enough explanation for their mutual loathing beyond that their families had been at it for generations.

Zoe changed tactics. She sensed somehow that it was approaching territory where neither of them were willing to go just yet, given their newfound…friendship, or truce, or whatever this was.

“So, I’ve already seen you talk to wolves. Can you do the same with ice wolves?”

Cole smiled suddenly. “What would you do if I said yes?”

He was trying to intimidate her, Zoe thought, or at least trying to see how far she could be intimidated. Miffed, she was ready to put him in his place, but he withdrew the challenge just as quickly and answered instead. “No. Using Gravekeeper is the closest we can get to that, and never willingly on either side. Maybe if you’d thought to ask me all these questions back at Cerridwen, we wouldn’t be fighting as much.” He still wore his crooked half-smile, but some of the guardedness that marked his expression was gone. “Your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

Cole helped himself to another piece of chicken. “I’ve answered your questions. Only fair you do the same. New Yorker yourself?”

Zoe made a face. “There isn’t much about me to talk about, but yes, from Chelsea. My father’s an architect. My mother’s the one with the French peerage. They met, married, had me, then divorced when I was fourteen which, coincidentally, was also when I was sent to Cerridwen. I spend my time between France, with my mother, and New York, with my father. That’s about it. I’m nobody special.”

“The Cheshire wouldn’t have chosen you, if you were ‘nobody special.’”

“Maybe if you’d thought to ask me all these questions back at Cerridwen,” Zoe said, throwing his own words right back in his face, “we wouldn’t have been fighting as much.”

Cole shot her a startled look, and then actually laughed. “Point taken.”

Zoe bent and settled her feet against the ground, so she could hug her knees, stretching each leg in turn. He was right, in a way. It had thrilled her immensely when the Cheshire had chosen her. The only downside had been the argument with Tristan she knew was coming. Tristan hated Zoe doing anything potentially dangerous, and Zoe always resented his presumption that she had no say in the matter.

“He wanted to come along,” she said aloud.

“Who?”

“Tristan. His father told him about the Cheshire’s plan, and he was mad that I didn’t.” She eyed him warily, not sure how he would react upon her mentioning his rival, but that didn’t seem to bother him. “The Cheshire specifically forbade him from coming, and he thought I’d put him up to it. We’d argued about that before I left. And your bandages need changing.”

“I can do it myself.”

Zoe placed her hands on her hips and glared. Cole hesitated, then finally made the smarter decision. He tossed the remains of his dinner into the fire and settled back down.

“And that’s why I had no idea how you did it,” Zoe continued, as she gathered up the clean linen and some of the medicine, moving to seat herself beside him. “The Cheshire was very clear about keeping Tristan out, but then decided to invite you out of the blue.” She unwound the dirty bandages, was relieved to find that the wound on his side looked better, with no signs of gangrene. The village priestess’s medicines must have been more potent than she thought.

“Maybe you should ask him about that,” Cole said, wincing.

“I plan to. And then there’s Alex. Tristan never told me anything about their relationship.” It was her boyfriend’s right not to tell her, of