A Dangerous Game (H 1.6)

Watching the knife go through the cake, I can just tell how moist it is and how creamy the frosting will be. It's not that crusty, dried-out frosting I've had before. It's real. I'm so entranced by watching that I scarcely notice her calling me "ma'am" which isn't something I think anyone has called me before, except in jest.

She says the cake is mine and it's just sitting there waiting for me. Is it rude, though, to eat before "Mr. Wells" gets here? Is this a test?

I wait until she's gone before I sink into the chair in front of the cake, looking at it like it may disappear at any moment. "Are you seeing this?" I ask Nuport softly. "Incredible, right?" But I don't touch the fork yet. I'm still not sure what to do.

"You frelling idiot" is actually a more familiar name to me than "ma'am" and hearing it snaps me out of my indecisive haze. I want to do the right thing, and I don't want to offend anyone, but this is the first time in my life I've had a chance at something this luxurious. For all I know, I'll never have the chance again, though I hope to.

Instead of picking up the fork like a Vaulter probably would, I do exactly what I've been wanting to do since the cake appeared. I swipe my finger through the frosting and bring it to my mouth, sucking off the delicious sweetness and closing my eyes to savor the taste as much as the texture. "Mmmm."

Nuport's nearness nearly overpowers the ambrosia aroma of the cake and I want to tell her to back off so I can enjoy my treat in peace. But I push my selfishness aside and swallow the first taste of frosting before I open my eyes and turn to look up at her. "Oh, it's amazing, Nuport. Buttery and sweet and just the right amount of tangy." I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, savoring the lingering taste. "It's...heavenly." I hesitate, not sure I want to say the words I feel pressing their way up my throat, then like a child being coerced to share a favorite toy, I offer, "Do you want to try some?"

I draw back a bit when she turns away, questions pulling my eyebrows together. Does she avoid letting anyone see her face, or is it just me?

"Okay," I say quickly, trying to keep her calm. "Okay, you don't have to." I lick my lips, tasting the icing on them and a shiver of delight runs through my spine. I finally pick up the fork and cut a bite of sponge and frosting. I turn the fork to offer the handle to her, balancing the bite on the end. "Why don't you take this back to the corner then and you can try it where I can't see?"

My jaw tightens. "Frell the Whispers." I extend the fork a little further toward her, hoping she'll turn around and take it. "If it's my cake, I can do with it what I want. Have a bite, and then I'm definitely eating the rest of this myself. This isn't charity. It's because you got the crap beat out of you for defending me."

In my head, I yell at Whispers, "What is wrong with you? I thought you wanted me to gain her trust."

The Whispers chortle and guffaw at your frustration. A thin, reedy voice whispers back, "We do, we doooo. She fights us, but you save her. She wouldn't trust you without an enemy to face together. Silly girl, it's so easy. Now do the thing we ask."

"I might if you don't hurry up," I tell her when she asks how I'll eat my cake without a fork. I eye the icing again and dab my pinky into the frosting, bringing it to my mouth again, savoring the sweet flavor while Nuport's noises of delight continue in the background. I sneak a look over at her from my periphery, not wanting to stare and set her off. She's a sad little creature, all huddled over there, but hearing her voice clearly makes her seem a little more human at least.

The Whispers' answer about giving us a common enemy seems so obvious now that I hate myself for not thinking of it on my own. It's not exactly an encouraging omen for me trying to work out the dealings between Lucky and the Vaulters, but there's no turning back now. I just hope the Whispers won't abandon me when I need them most.

The doors from the hallway into this long room suddenly open, drawing your attention. Wells stands in the hall, waiting for the servant to finish opening the doors for him. When he judges the space wide enough for him to enter, he steps across the threshold into the room, moving to the empty space between the two long tables as if he's the object of presentation in this conference room.

My heart is a surging storm in my chest when the doors open and Wells enters the room. I am impossible waves and whipping wind on the inside, but outside I merely raise a hand to brush over my collarbone at his compliment, as if I am just now realizing what I'm wearing and how I look. "Oh, thank you," I answer with as much demure humility as I can manage. "The cake, as you promised, is nothing like what I've had before." I don't call attention to how I've only tasted the frosting. With my fork still in Nuport's possession, I'm a bit stuck at that. If I were at the Belly, picking the whole piece up with my hand and eating wouldn't make anyone bat an eye, but here? I don't dare. Not with Wells watching.

"I didn't realize how generous an offer it was when you made it last night. Now, I'm not sure I deserve it."

At Wells' words and the lingering brush of his finger across my shoulder, I'm certain I made the right call in bringing Nuport along instead of Regal. She may be a wildcard, but after the way Regal watched Verifi searching me, there's no way he would stand quietly aside here, not for long anyway and I need this dance to last. I haven't even had my cake yet.

I give Wells a pleasant nod. "Of course. I can't wait to try it." It strikes me that his words are very much like mine last night, when I told him I just wanted to watch him taste the whiskey so I could see how good it was.

I stand slowly, trying to give Nuport plenty of time to put her mask on again if she wants, then turn toward her. "Are you done?" I ask, then I start walking toward her corner, hoping that the view will keep Wells from demanding that Nuport should deliver the fork to me, rather than me fetching it from her.

Wells is watching. Will you pick up the fork and eat with it? It feels like a test.

I try not to react to catching that glimpse of Nuport's face, but when she catches her pinky stub in the straps I can't help but wince. I snatch the fork up and turn away as quickly as I can, not wanting to keep her in torment any longer than necessary. The moment I turn around, I go from the manic unhingedness of Nuport to the cool collectedness of Wells. It's like playing with fire and ice, and both will burn in different ways.

I pace back toward the cake, fork in hand, test on the table. When I reach my chair, I don't sit though. Instead, I look from the fork, to the cake, to Wells.

"It would be a shame to sully such a pretty cake with a dirty fork."