Chapter 17

Seemingly countless columns and arches stretched out in every direction. I felt like I’d been transported into a fairy tale or a myth where magic was real and labyrinths were infinite and alive. Logically, I knew that it was an illusion, that nothing in this place was infinite except for Jameson and me.

But the mirrors were very convincing.

Beside me, Jameson turned three hundred and sixty degrees, and all around us, his reflection did the same.

“A mirror maze,” he said. “Very us.”

I smirked. “I thought so.” There was a distinct chance that I got more pleasure than I should have out of turning the tables on him. “I ordered a picnic, if you get hungry,” I told him.

And then I left him to navigate his way through the maze, to find the clue I’d left for him among the mirrors.

I was really starting to understand why billionaire Tobias Hawthorne had loved his traditional Saturday morning games so much.

It took Jameson three hours to find what he was looking for and meet me on the picnic blanket I’d set up at a point overlooking the castle. He sat down next to me, then flashed the black light at his arm, where he’d written the clue that he’d found:

I looked from Jameson’s arm to his eyes. “How long did it take you to realize you needed the steamer?”

He snagged a chocolate-covered strawberry off a tray in front of me and brandished it in my direction. “Longer than it should have, not as long as it could have. It also took me some time to find the right mirror. And then I spent far longer than I would like to admit trying to treat your clue as a map.”

I snagged the black light from him and aimed it at his arm again:

I repressed a smile.

“The arrow is pointing due west on a compass,” Jameson said. “But inside the maze, it was pointing north-north-east. And incidentally, it was pointing directly at another mirror, not an exit.”

“So you’re saying it wasn’t pointing out?” I knew he’d hear the challenge in my voice, plain as day.

He answered it by rising to his knees, closing the space between us, and bringing his lips very close to mine. “Not out,” he said, his voice low and smooth. He studied my face. I stared right back at him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have an excellent poker face, Heiress?”

I knew better than to take that to mean that my poker face was working. “What do you see?” I asked, another challenge.

“You’re happy.” Jameson sat back on the picnic blanket and stretched his long legs out. “A little smug.” He let his gaze travel over my poker face once more. “A lot smug.”

I shrugged. “I’m smug,” I told him, “and you’re on the clock.”

We ate. He worked. I watched him.

“Not out.” Jameson returned the favor and watched my reaction to his words. “Also known as in.”

My face gave away nothing, even to him. I was sure of it.

“In,” Jameson repeated. “Say it out loud, and you might as well be saying the letter. N.”

He was almost there—so close he could taste it. I could, too.

“N,” Jameson reiterated. “And an arrow.”

N plus arrow equals… It took everything in me not to give him the prompt, but I managed to do nothing but lean back on my elbows on the picnic blanket, the way he had the day before.

“N. Arrow.” Jameson smiled. “Put them together…” He snagged one last strawberry. “And you get narrow.”

He wasn’t wrong. The question was, having decoded the clue, did he know where in the City of Spires he was headed next?

With liquid grace, Jameson rolled to his feet. “Race you there.”