this vessel is a lie,

richard gansey and riddhi chauhan could not be from more opposing worlds if they tried. while gansey was a boy of tailored suits and polished shoes, riddhi was thrifted jackets and scuffed sneakers. many would wonder what possible commonality would have the two rifling through tall grass together on a hot and humid summer afternoon. a bead of sweat tricked down the side of her face and riddhi swiped it away with the back of her hand. she had to admit, while she had been ecstatic about her trip to henrietta, so far it had been nothing but a huge a bust. she wondered if the boy who rambled on and on about ley lines and welsh kings really had any clue what he was doing.

gansey had not stopped moving when she did. he was three paces ahead, one had parting the tall grass with the focused energy of someone unaware that this expedition had been declared over behind him. his khakis had a long streak of something dark that he had not noticed, or had noticed and decided it did not matter, which was a distinctly gansey way of approaching most things as adam would say. perhaps he was right.

he turned when the words 'no progress' reached him.

❛   we are not making no progress!   ❜ his hand came up, index finger first, the practised gesture of a boy who had given this exact speech, or different versions of it, multiple times before.     ❛   the soil composition alone in this quadrant suggests we are considerably closer than we were this morning. the gradient of the—    ❜

gansey stopped and looked at her. properly, this time, in the way that he sometimes forgot to do when glendower was loud inside his head. riddhi was standing in the middle of the field with her hand shading her eyes and an exression that communicated, with remarkable efficiency, that the soil composition was not her current concern.

although her ongoing predicament was that she didn't seem to be interested in anybody, not some obstacle preventing her from being with someone she wanted to marry. but she knows she hasn't exactly been trying either. "every family has that one member who never marries, don't they? i've come to accept that it will probably be me in mine."

the fire had burned low enough that neither of them had remarked upon it yet, which said something about the quality of the conversation. elizabeth hadn't intended to stay this long. and yet, here she was, with her tea gone cold & eloise bridgerton from her wearing the particular expression of someone who has just said something they have been thinking about for considerably longer than the moment suggested. elizabeth set her cup down.    ❛   I believed that too at one point,   ❜ and with equal conviction, as she'd remember it. ❛   I thought I was being practical. it was simply the truth in my perception. but that's all that it was — my perception.   ❜

it is a half-truth supplied to her. inej knows it so because ketterdam is a city of lies, deception, thievery. she knows it so because she has learned the art of speaking this language, without truly letting it touch her tongue. or so she believes. a piece of paper is retrieved from inside her vest which inej unfolds with care, as though handling the sharp edge of a blade. a contract.     ❛   there might be, but dirtyhands wants you. I am only the messenger.    ❜ and there she does it again, borrowing kaz's name like a shield and calling it honesty.

❛❛  now, wait just a moment — miss, ❜❜ he did not know her name. he had not asked. he had been too busy being handled. the words came out different than he'd intended. less command. more—something else. something that made his own men exchange glances behind him, something that would have earned him endless teasing from benedict if benedict had been present to witness it. he moved before he could think better of it. one step, then another, following her along the muddy lane with absolutely no consideration for what his boots would look like afterward. ❛❛   i spoke out of turn. it is a habit, a poor one, one my mother has been trying to break for the last three decades with no success. ❜❜

perhaps this would be her common ground with this stranger. she turned & found him standing a few feet from her with mud on his boots, wearing an expression that she assumed rarely left him — a dimpled smile and sheer certainty that it would be enough.

    ❛   three decades is a considerable effort.   ❜ elizabeth replied, the severity attempted in her tone was lost somewhere between intention & delivery. the corner of her mouth lifted despite herself.     ❛  today is no extraordinary day for it to be undone I suppose.   ❜ perhaps it was more than what he deserved, but it was certainly less than what she would supply if she wasn't trying to break habits of her own.