Page 101 of The Art of Exiley

Not to mention, very dangerous territory. I have been vigilant about keeping things very hands-off between us during training—this did make it difficult yesterday for him to teach me how to induce a harmless faint by overwhelming someone’s vagus nerve, since I refused to let him touch my neck, so I’m hoping I won’t need that particular trick on our travels—but getting cozy for an audience on the day of a hoverjoust tournament is, apparently, a full-contact sport.

“We don’t want anyone to question why both of us won’t be at the bonfire tonight or at breakfast tomorrow. I’m sure you can endure just one more day of this,” Rafe says, his tone packed with annoyance despite the soft smile he has on his face for everyone else’s benefit. “And you promised to help me make a good impression on the hoverjoust lodge.”

Sigh. I did.

But the problem with the fact that we haven’t touched in a while before now is that I’m not primed for how very potent it is.

Rafe and I have acknowledged that our particular blend of Sire pheromones has resulted in a certain… chemistry. (This is apparently, and disturbingly, a thing—that Sires exude My Body Likes to Create Things and I Would Like to Create Something with You vibes, and sometimes those vibes are particularly magnetic with other Sires’ vibes.) But we’ve chosen to ignore it and have settled on something that vaguely resembles friendship.

But Rafe is not content with looking like mere friends today.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Rafe says, pulling me closer against him as I try to hang back to feel less perceived. To those around us, the action probably looks possessive, but he’s just trying to keep me from bolting.

I grit my teeth and continue to smile and nod at all the people we pass who enthusiastically greet Rafe.

I’ll be playing my first ever official match today, and these additional nerves are really not helping.

Suddenly, the sun comes out. And by that I mean Rafe turns on his absolute most charming smile, which I have to look away from so I’m not blinded into forgetting just who is grasping me by the waist. I look over to see who it is he’s beaming at. It’s the table of stern-faced heads of the hoverjoust lodge.

I smile at them too. See, lodge people, those complaints about Rafe being mean to recruits couldn’t possibly be true. Ugh.

The truth is, it doesn’t bother me as much as it should. I don’t want to be complicit in helping Rafe get away with being a jerk, but I’ve come to know him better over the past few weeks—not that it’s been easy when he keeps his emotions locked down like a Vatican vault. But something I’ve realized is that hoverjousting is one of Rafe’s only sources of joy on this island. He left his life, his guild, and his whole family to come to Genesis with Hypatia,and now she’s gone too. When his position on the league was threatened, it wasn’t just a game that was on the line for him. If me helping him makes a difference to his standing in the league, I’m not mad about it.

Keeping away his conquests, on the other hand, still has me rolling my eyes. But that part is, I have to admit, kind of working.

A handsome boy saunters over and tries to give Rafe his handkerchief as a good luck token.

“I’m afraid I already have a good luck favor,” Rafe says to him. “Isn’t that right, my dove?”

I snort at how ridiculous that sounds but try to play it off as a flirtatious giggle. “Indeed,babe,” I reply.

He strokes my cheek as he gently tugs one of the green ribbons from my braid and ties it around his wrist.

“So, it’s true?” the boy with the handkerchief asks sulkily. “You’re really withher?”

Nope. He’s not really with me, folks.

Rafe holds me by the waist and uses me like a human shield to navigate past the rest of his admirers until we reach the front doors.

It’s time for the games to begin.

“Hypatia would love this,” I say wistfully as we follow the parade of people to the arena at the edge of the island. I’m full of guilt for enjoying my first hoverjousting match without the very person who introduced me to it in the first place.

Rafe tenses beside me, and I regret my flippancy. If I’m feeling bad and missing Hypatia right now, I can only imagine how he feels.

The expression on his face is as steely as ever, but I’ve been around him enough to see the signs that he’s working to maintain the cool facade.

It’s instinct more than anything that has me taking his hand to offer him some reassurance, some solidarity. I’m the only person who knows the stepshe’s taking to help his cousin. He laces his fingers with mine, squeezing gently, and—well, that doesn’t feel like just solidarity anymore. Our Ha’i reacts as always, but it feels different this time, solidifying instead of sizzling, making me feel an undeniability that our handsfittogether.

I glance up, but Rafe isn’t looking back at me; he’s casually waving at one of his teammates. Apparently, the handholding is no big deal to him, whereas I feel like I’ve just been downed off my hoverboard.

I have to stop getting lost in the act. Rafe is a master of acting this part without it meaning anything. Though I’m sure it helps that he has touched many, many more, um, hands, than I have.

Separating to sit with each of our teams is a relief.

My own match isn’t until midday, so I get to watch the games unfold from up close while enjoying crunch-bombs and spiced juice and the gorgeous ocean view from the open amphitheater built into the cliff.

There is a lot of pageantry. Each league has a herald, and as it’s the opening games of tournament season, they go all-out with their performances, introducing each player and their history and strengths.

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