by Sophie Lark
He stands there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching us both until Dean picks himself up off the deck and resumes his sullen position at the railing, and I head back toward the bow.
I climb up in the net once more, making Ares stir and mumble in the midst of his nap, and Anna glances up from her book.
“What the hell?” she says. “What happened to you?”
She’s staring at my face.
I swipe my hand under my nose, seeing blood smear across my knuckles.
“Little family reunion,” I say.
“Dean?” Anna asks, eyes wide.
“Who else?”
“Why’d you have to go and fight him?” Anna says.
“He started it. I was willing to be friendly.”
“For how long, two seconds?” Anna frowns.
“He called my mom a traitor!”
“Of course he did! You know what he’s probably been told. Did you even try to talk to him?”
“It’s not my job to talk to him!” I scoff. “His family are the fucking traitors, and if he says another word about my mom, I’ll break his fucking jaw for him.”
“You’d better not,” Anna says darkly. “You know the rules—”
“He’s the one—”
“They won’t care!” Anna cuts across me. “This is exactly what Aunt Yelena was worried about—”
“Oh, get off it,” I grumble at Anna. “I heard enough of that before I left.”
I hate when Anna acts like she’s on my parents’ side about me not going to Kingmakers. She should be happy that I came here with her instead of taking my full ride to the University of Kentucky. Does she want to be here alone? I thought she’d be thrilled that we were both experiencing this together.
The thought of going to some school without her, any school, made me sick to my stomach. She’s my best friend. We’ve always done everything together.
I know Anna cares about me. But sometimes I think she doesn’t need me the same way I need her. She’s got siblings and I don’t. I would never admit this in million years, but sometimes I’m jealous of Cara and Whelan. I hate that Anna loves them almost as much as she loves me. I don’t want her attention divided between me and them.
I know it’s ridiculous because they’re just kids. But I want to be first in her eyes, the way she is in mine. Closer than blood.
“Leo, you can’t act like that at Kingmakers,” she says, her blue eyes fixed determinedly on my face.
“Act like what?” I say stubbornly.
“You can’t act like you usually do.”
I hear the edge of fear in her voice, and that’s what makes me smother my flippant retort. Anna isn’t scared of anything usually.
“I know,” I admit. “I know it’s not high school anymore. I’ll be careful.”
“You promise?” Anna says.
“Yes. I promise.”
“Alright,” she says. She gives me a small smile, leaning back in the hammock and picking up her book once more.
She’s reading an ancient, battered copy of Lord of the Flies.
“Let me guess,” I say to her. “Your suitcase is full of books you’ve already read.”
Anna smiles just a little.
“Not full,” she says. “But yeah, about half of it.”
“They have a library at Kingmakers,” I inform her.
“I don’t care,” she says. “This belonged to the Other Anna.”
Anna is named after her aunt, who died a long time before she was born.
Anna has a strange reverence for this namesake she never met. She talks about the Other Anna like her guardian angel. Like a piece of her soul lives inside of Anna herself.
I’m jealous of the Other Anna, too. A girl who died thirty years ago.
That’s how stupid I can be.
I’ve never been able to be rational when it comes to Anna.
“How much longer till we get to the island?” Ares asks, from beneath his t-shirt.
“I dunno,” I say. “All I see is ocean.”
Just like Matteo warned, the water gets rougher and rougher as we draw closer to Kingmakers. Long before we spot the island, the ship is pitching and tossing, and I can tell the crew is approaching in a kind of zigzag, to avoid rocks or sandbars beneath the surface, or maybe just because of the way the currents run.
Even more of the students succumb to seasickness, and I can smell the vomit even from up in the net. I must be turning green myself, because Anna says, “You better not puke on me.”
Ares looks completely undisturbed.
“I used to go out in fishing boats all the time,” he says. “Boats a lot smaller than this. You bob around like a cork.”
When we finally spot the island, it juts out of the water like an accusing finger pointing up toward the sky. The limestone cliffs rise up for hundreds of feet in a sheer pale sheet, with waves crashing against their base, sending up so much spray that we can feel it all the way over on the ship. Far up on the cliffs I see the stone walls of Kingmakers itself.
Part castle, part fortress, Kingmakers is built directly into the cliffs, so it rises up in three levels hewn out of the rock. Constructed in the 1300s, it has most of the gothic elements you’d expect, including six main towers, a portcullis, military-style gates, and a winding German-style zwinger, which forms an open kill-zone between the defensive walls.
The limestone walls are white as bone, and the steeply pitched roof is black. The pointed archways and the stained-glass windows are dark as well, as if there’s no lights on inside. To divert rainwater off the roof, the drainage spouts are carved in the shape of grotesque gargoyles, demons, and avenging angels.
I can hear the students falling silent below us, gazing up at Kingmakers just as Anna and I are doing. The school has us all transfixed. Even in the Mediterranean sunshine, there’s nothing bright or welcoming in its towering stone walls.
Our ship has to skirt the island to approach on the lee side. Even then, it takes our Captain several attempts, doubling back and trying over again, to shoot the narrow gap into the harbor.
We pull up to the only dock, the crew throwing down their ropes with obvious relief.
As the crew unloads our bags, the students climb into open wagons with bench seats running along both sides. Each wagon is pulled by two massive Clydesdale horses who stand even taller than me at the shoulder, thick tufts of hair hanging down over hooves the size of dinner plates.
“Are we going on a hayride?” one of the girls in our wagon laughs.
“I don’t think they have any cars on the island,” Anna says to me. “Look . . .”
She nods her head toward the unpaved road winding through the tiny village clustered around the bay. Sure enough, I don’t see so much as a moped anywhere around.
Once the wagons are loaded up, the drivers climb up on their tall bench seats and flick the reins to tell the horses we’re ready to go.
Our driver is a skinny, deeply tanned man wearing suspenders and a pair of trousers that are more patches than pants.
“Do you work at the school?” I ask him.
“Yup.” He nods.
“How long have you worked there?”
He glances over at me, squinting in the bright sun.
“Feels like a hundred years,” he says.
“Did you go there yourself?”
He snorts. “You writin’ a book, kid?”
“Just curious.”
“You know what curiosity did to the cat.”
I grin at him. “I’m not a cat.”
After a long pause, in which I think he won’t answer, he says, “No. I didn’t go to Kingmakers. I was born on this island. I’ve lived my whole life here.”
“Do you ever go to Dubrovnik?” I ask him.
“What’s Dubrovnik?”
He says it so drily that it takes Anna stifling a laugh for me to realize that he’s fucking with me. I laugh, too, and the man grins, showing teeth that are surprisingly white next to his
tanned face.
“I go once in a while,” he says. “But I like it better here.”
It doesn’t take long to leave the little village behind us, and to begin ascending the long, winding road toward Kingmakers. We drive through orchard and farmland, then up through rockier ground where goats and sheep graze.
I see olive groves and a vineyard so heavy with grapes that you could almost get drunk off the scent alone.
All the while we’re climbing steadily, drawing closer to the colossal stone gates of Kingmakers.
On one side of the gate stands a winged female figure brandishing a sword. On the other, an armored man holding an axe.
We pass between the two figures onto the grounds of the school.
Up close, the castle is even larger than I expected. It’s almost like its own self-contained city with greenhouses, terraced gardens, courtyards, palatial buildings, towers, armories, and more. I don’t know how the fuck I’m ever going to get to class on time.
Anna sits next to me, silent but looking everywhere at once.
“What do you think?” I ask her.
“It’s beautiful,” she says.
Trust Anna to skip right over “strange,” “terrifying,” and “intimidating” to land right on “beautiful.” I guess, considering the house she grew up in, Kingmakers probably feels more like home to her than it will to anybody else.
Since I grew up in a normal house with sunlight and stainless-steel appliances, I find Kingmakers just a little bit spooky.
As the wagons pull into the main courtyard, we’re met by a dozen students who look like they’re probably Seniors. They’re all neatly dressed, with their shirts tucked in, ties in place, and hair properly combed. They look cool and comfortable, and like they’re ten years older than us instead of only three.
By contrast, we tumble out of the wagons in various states of undress, sunburned and sweaty, with our hair salty and tangled from the sea breeze. The Seniors smirk at each other.
A tall black girl steps forward. She’s slim and elegant, with her hair twisted into a thick braid that hangs over her left shoulder.
“Welcome to Kingmakers,” she says coolly. “I’m Marcelline Boucher, and I’m a Senior year Accountant. This is Rowan Doss, Pippa Portnoy, Alfonso Gianni, Johnny Hale, Blake Wellwood, Grant McDonald . . .”
She points to her fellow students, listing off their names in such rapid succession that I can’t remember any of them a moment later.
“We’re here to take you to your dorms. So you can get . . . cleaned up,” she says, raising a disdainful eyebrow at the lot of us. “I’m going to read your names. Grab your bag and join your guide. And pay attention! I’m not going to repeat myself.”
She barks the last line at a couple of Freshmen who were whispering to each other. They snap to attention under her fiery stare.
Marcelline pulls a list out of her pocket and begins to read off our names.
Anna’s in the first group, and the smallest—there are only three female Heirs in our year, including her. She retrieves her suitcase and goes to stand beside Pippa Portnoy, a petite girl with a sly expression and thick, dark bangs hanging over her eyes.
The next two groups are Enforcers—almost all male, with a dozen students assigned to each guide. The Accountants are called next, then the Spies, and finally we’re down to the male Heirs. Marcelline reads off the names, pointlessly since we’re the only ones left:
“Bram Van Der Berg, Ares Cirillo, Erik Edman, Leo Gallo, Hedeon Gray, Valon Hoxha, Kenzo Tanaka, Jules Turgenev, Emile Gerard, and Dean Yenin.”
Fucking great. I’m going to be sharing a dorm with the two most obnoxious people I’ve met so far.
At least Ares will be there, too. He gives me a little fist bump as we line up next to our guide, a Polynesian guy with his hair shaved into a Mohawk and several piercings in both ears.
“I’m Johnny Hale,” he reminds us. “I’m supposed to help you get settled in. Remind you of the rules. Make sure you get places on time the first week. But I’m not your fucking babysitter, and I don’t give a shit about your problems. So follow the rules, and don’t expect me to bail you out if you don’t. Any questions that aren’t fucking stupid?”
He glares at us, challenging us to come up with a query that fits his criteria. Nobody dares to try.
“Good,” he grunts. “Let’s get going.”
He leads us across the courtyard in the direction of the towers on the northwest corner of campus. We pass through a couple of greenhouses, and then what looks like an Armory.
“Gym’s in there,” Johnny says. “That’s where your combat classes will be held, too. You can work out any time outside of class hours—it’s open all night. There’s an underground pool, too. And showers so you can clean up after.”
“Are all the dorms over here?” I ask him, wondering how far away Anna might be.
“No,” Johnny says. “They’re scattered all over. The Enforcers are in the Gatehouse. Spies in the Undercroft. Accountants over by the library. You lot will be in the Octagon Tower. The girls are separate from the boys—you’re not allowed in their rooms, so don’t get any bright ideas. There’s four guys for every girl at Kingmakers. You’re not supposed to be dating and the odds aren’t in your favor anyway. Half the girls here probably have some marriage contract lined up already, and if you get one pregnant, her family can have you castrated. So just keep that in mind.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Bram looks green at the thought.
“We’re in here,” Johnny says, shoving through a heavy wooden door studded with metal reinforcements. The thing looks like it weighs as much as a refrigerator, but Johnny pushes it aside easily.
He’s leading us into the second-tallest of the towers on the northeast corner of campus. Unlike the others, which are cylindrical, this particular tower is indeed octagonal. Its strange shape creates odd corners in the main common room, and awkward angles for each of the dorm rooms. At least our rooms are high up with good airflow and a stunning view of the limestone cliffs.
“Two to a room,” Johnny says. “Pick your own roommate, I don’t give a fuck.”
It’s an obvious choice to go with Ares. We only have to make eye contact and grin at each other to confirm it.
I expect Bram Van Der Berg to room with his Albanian friend Valon Hoxha, but to my surprise he gives a quick upward jerk of the chin to Dean instead, saying, “You wanna share?”
Dean eyes him warily. “Alright,” he says. “As long as you’re tidy.”
“Of course.” Bram nods.
They take the room down the hall from Ares and me. I can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing to have both my antagonists teaming up. At least it puts them in the same place, so I can keep an eye on both of them at once.
Valon Hoxha looks disgruntled at being abandoned without so much as a second thought. He’s forced to turn sullenly to the blond Norwegian Erik Edman instead.
“You have a roommate already?” he mutters.
“Nope,” Erik says. “And I don’t snore, so you better not either.”
Jules Turgenev turns to the French-Canadian Emile Girard.
“Serons-nous colocataires?”
“Pourquoi pas?” Emile shrugs.
That leaves the boy with the dragon tattoo, Kenzo Tanaka, to room with the sullen and silent Hedeon Gray, who I believe is from London.
Ares and I take the room at the very end of the hall. It’s the farthest walk away from the stairs, but it has the best view and hopefully will be a little quieter than the bedrooms closer to the common room.
It’s a small space with two beds on opposite sides of the room, two dressers, and no closet. No desks either—I guess we’re supposed to do our schoolwork in the library. If there even is any schoolwork. Do we write papers at Kingmakers? I have no idea.
That’s when the strangeness of this place finally hits me. I realize that I have no fucking clue what class is going to look like tomorrow. This is not
a normal college. I can’t picture what we’ll be learning, or how.
“You care which bed you get?” Ares asks me.
“Nope.”
“I’ll take this one, then,” he says, throwing his backpack down on the bed set against the right-hand wall of the room.
“Suits me,” I say, flopping down on the left.
The bed is hard and narrow. My feet hang off the end.
“Well, shit,” I say, realizing how poorly I’m going to fit in this room, especially with a guy as big as Ares. “Maybe we should have picked smaller roommates.”
Ares laughs. “It wouldn’t help you fit on that mattress any better.”
At least the rooms are clean—the stone floor is swept, and the walls have been freshly white-washed to remove whatever scuffs or scribbles the former occupants might have left.
“Does the window open?” I ask Ares.
“Yeah,” he says, trying it. “Careful though—it’s a long way down.”
He peers through the bubbled glass down the steep walls of the tower to the courtyard below.
“When do you think we get dinner?” I say.
I skipped breakfast and they didn’t feed us anything on the boat. My stomach is growling.
“Should we ask Johnny?” Ares says.
I weigh my hunger against Johnny’s obvious irritation at being asked to care for us Freshmen in any way.
“Yeah.” I grin. “Let’s ask him. But be prepared to run if he decides that’s a stupid question.”
5
Dean
I wake early, before the sun is even up. I know at once that I’m not in my old room at home. I can tell because the air isn’t musty and enclosed, with that awful lingering scent of neglect I could never seem to shake. Instead I smell the sea breeze and the fresh herbs growing in the terraced garden below my window.
Bram is still snoring in the bed across from mine. It’s weird sharing a room with another dude, especially one I barely know. Bram is an ally though, and that’s all that matters. I only just met him in Dubrovnik, but I’ve seen that he’s tough, aggressive, and reasonably intelligent, and that’s what I want in a friend.
