The Freshman (Kingmakers)

by Sophie Lark

  I’ve already made a fool of myself over Anna. I know Bram and the Penose think so. It’s eroding my authority. They still answer to me, but they don’t respect my fixation on Anna.

  They expect me to control my woman. Even if she is an Heir herself.

  I certainly can’t lose her to another man.

  Most of all not to Leo fucking Gallo.

  What is it going to take to beat him?

  He’s the thorn in my side. The arsenic that’s poisoning everything I want to taste.

  The root of all evil in my life comes down to the Gallos.

  If Sebastian Gallo didn’t murder my grandfather then I would have grown up in Chicago instead of Moscow.

  If he hadn’t burned and mutilated my father, then my mother never would have left.

  And if my aunt never betrayed our family and married the enemy, then Leo Gallo wouldn’t even exist.

  It would be my father who was best friends and allies with Mikolaj Wilk. It would be Anna and me who grew up side by side. We might have had a marriage pact by the time we were teens. We would have come to Kingmakers already betrothed to each other.

  Anna and I were meant to be together. It was only a diversion of fate that split us apart.

  I can see this clearly. Why can’t she?

  Because of Leo, that’s why. He’s blinded her. Confused her. Seduced her away from me.

  The only way to right the wrongs of the past is to set things back the way they should have been.

  Leo Gallo shouldn’t exist.

  Bram is ruminating on his own irritations. “Who the fuck does that Greek peasant think he is, taking a swing at me?”

  It looks like Ares took more than a swing—Bram’s nose isn’t nearly as straight as it was before, and he’s got the start of a hell of a black eye. Valon doesn’t look any better.

  “I guess I needed three of you to handle him,” I snarl.

  “He’s a fuckin’ ogre,” Valon complains.

  “And what are you? A debutante?”

  Bram and Valon both glare at me.

  I don’t give a fuck. They need a reminder of their own shortcomings. It infuriates me that Leo’s friends are better than mine at fighting. Why in the FUCK does he have everything, while all I have is shit?

  “He’s not winning the last challenge,” Bram says, having apparently decided that his hatred of Leo and Ares outweighs his desire to be Freshman champions.

  “He’s not surviving the last challenge,” I say quietly.

  Now the look that Bram and Valon exchange is distinctly uncomfortable.

  “What do you mean?” Valon says.

  “I mean I’m going to kill him.”

  A long silence stretches out in which you can only hear our feet treading on the sodden grass and the rain still falling down all around us. The courtyard is dark and empty, the rain insulating us from the possibility of being overheard by anyone else. I wouldn’t even say this out loud, except to my two closest allies.

  “You’re doing it here?” Bram says. “At Kingmakers?”

  I answer with a nod.

  “What about Sanctuary?” Valon asks. “What about the Rule of Recompense?”

  He means that if we’re caught, we’ll be executed ourselves.

  “There’s no recompense unless we get caught,” I say.

  I can tell Valon doesn’t like this idea at all, but he’s no rebel. He may be an Heir by title, but he’s a soldier by nature. He’ll do whatever Bram and I tell him to do.

  Bram considers the idea for a moment, then I see him accept it, a gleam of anticipation coming into his eyes, and his mouth twisting up in a smirk.

  “Accidents happen all the time,” he says. “Especially in the Quartum Bellum.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “That’s exactly right.”

  27

  Anna

  Hedeon Gray and Ares help me carry Leo to the infirmary. Leo’s a fucking mess, and not just because of Dean. I’m pretty sure he had a hefty concussion going already before he even got in that fight. Now he’s coming to in fits and starts, mumbling things that don’t make any sense.

  Even though we’re soaked in rain crossing the courtyard, Leo’s skin is burning.

  The infirmary is located in a long, squat building that used to be used as a slaughterhouse for all the poultry, pigs, and cattle that provided meat for the castle. It’s hard to know if the lingering scent of iron in the air is from those long -dead creatures, or from all the students who have shed blood on the floorboards since then.

  We hammer on the door, waking up Dr. Cross, who has his offices and apartments at the back of the building. Even after I see his light flick on, it still takes him a long time to pull the door open because he’s about a hundred years old.

  Finally he cracks the door, peering up at us through his inch-thick glasses, wrapped up in a paisley dressing gown with his feet in gardening clogs.

  “Why must you students always get yourselves in trouble at such inconvenient hours?” he sighs, by way of a greeting.

  “Sorry,” Hedeon says. “Leo got pretty beat up in the challenge earlier. And then . . . he fell down the stairs and hit his head again.”

  Hedeon isn’t dissembling for Dean’s benefit—while Dean would be in trouble for injuring Leo, Leo will be punished for fighting, too. There’s an unspoken agreement among students that fights are covered up at all costs, as long as both students remain alive.

  Dr. Cross just rolls his eyes, opening the door wider to let us inside. He’s heard too many feeble excuses to bother even pretending to believe ours. The truth is glaringly obvious, since both Ares and Hedeon likewise show clear signs of a fight—Ares with blood in his teeth, and Hedeon with a deep tear in the neck of his shirt that shows the tattoo on his chest.

  “Bring him in,” Dr. Cross croaks, shuffling across the uneven floor.

  Ares and Hedeon haul Leo inside. Because the roof is so low, Ares knocks his head against the overhead lamp, sending it swinging so the shadows in the room veer wildly from side to side.

  “Careful!” Dr. Cross says. “I don’t need any more patients at the moment.”

  He shows Ares and Hedeon the cot where he wants Leo placed.

  Hedeon throws Leo down hard enough that Leo lets out a groan.

  “Watch it!” I say.

  “He’s not exactly light!” Hedeon retorts. Hedeon has come a long way in improving his temperament this year, but he’s still sulky and quick to anger.

  Swallowing my irritation, I say instead, “Thank you for carrying him. You guys can go if you want. I’ll stay with him.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Hedeon says, smoothing back his rain-soaked hair. “There was a pretty little Accountant eying me. She probably ran away during the brawl, but if not . . .”

  Ares looks like he’s going to offer to stay, but then he glances between me and Leo and thinks the better of it.

  “I’ll head off to bed,” he says. “See you at breakfast.”

  The two boys file out, leaving me alone with Dr. Cross and Leo.

  “Where’s everybody else?” I say.

  I saw plenty of injured students hobbling over here after the challenge.

  “Patched ‘em up and sent ‘em off,” Dr. Cross says grumpily. “That’s why I’m tired—only finished with the last of them an hour or two ago. I was just settling down to sleep when you so rudely interrupted me.”

  “Sorry,” I say humbly.

  Dr. Cross is checking Leo over for broken bones and particularly nasty scrapes and bruises. He presses Leo’s right side, causing Leo to wince and groan and mumble something incoherent.

  “Those are broken,” Dr. Cross says matter-of-factly. “And this needs to be stitched.” He points to an ugly gash on Leo’s forehead.

  Gathering the necessary supplies, he washes his hands carefully at the industrial sink, then rolls over a steel trolly bearing antiseptic, bandages, ointment, nylon thread, and a wicked-looking curved needle.

  Watching Dr. Cross
attempt to thread that needle is one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life. His hands are shaking so badly that I can’t see how he’s ever going to get the thread through the near-invisible hole, let alone how he’ll stitch up Leo’s flesh. But after three attempts, he manages to line up the needle and pull the thread through.

  He mops Leo’s cut with iodine, then, without bothering to anesthetize the wound in any way, he jabs the needle right through, pulling together the edges of the torn skin.

  That wakes Leo up real quick.

  “Ow, Jesus!” Leo cries, jolting awake.

  “Hold him down so he doesn’t squirm around,” Dr. Cross says dispassionately.

  Gently I push Leo back down against the pillows, saying, “Hold still, this will only take a minute.”

  It takes a lot more than a minute because Dr. Cross is painfully slow, but I’ll admit that the stitches are surprisingly even when he’s done, and the cut looks clean and closed.

  “Why’d you bring me in here?” Leo asks me.

  “Because you were a damn mess,” Dr. Cross says before I can respond. “Those ribs are broken, boy, which I can’t do anything about, so you just behave yourself for the next six weeks and don’t be falling down any more stairs.”

  Leo raises an eyebrow at me, smiling a little at Dr. Cross’s unimpressed tone.

  “She pushed me, Doc,” Leo says.

  “If she did, I’m sure you deserved it,” Dr. Cross replies, snipping the end of the thread and setting down his needle. “Now . . . you can sleep here tonight. Just you, boy, not the girl. I’ll check on you in the morning. But you, young lady, tell the rest of the hooligans that I’m taking out my hearing aid and going to bed, so I don’t plan to respond to any more banging on the door.”

  “Right,” I say. “No problem.”

  While Dr. Cross is cleaning up his tray and washing his hands once more at the sink, I take the opportunity to squeeze in a few more words with Leo before I’m kicked out.

  “Are you really okay?” I ask him, taking his hand and searching his eyes for the lingering effects of concussion.

  In reply, Leo seizes me behind the neck and pulls me into him, kissing me hard.

  His lips are swollen and split, and I can taste blood in his mouth.

  But I also taste Leo—that sweet, warm breath that I’ve felt on my face a hundred times when we laughed and talked with our heads close together.

  He’s warm, so incredibly warm, despite the rain and the chilly night. His lips are soft and full, yet firm and strong against mine. It’s been a long time since his morning shave—the hint of stubble on his upper lip rasps over my skin in delicious contrast to his tongue, which slips into my mouth, massaging my own.

  I’m kissing my best friend. After all this time, I finally know what it feels like to kiss Leo.

  It feels shocking, and enlivening, and absolutely fucking wonderful.

  It feels like two puzzle pieces clicking together. It feels like finally remembering something you forgot. It feels like coming home.

  For all the times I imagined it . . . this is better.

  This is exactly right.

  Leo releases me, only enough that I can look into his eyes from a few inches apart.

  “I’ve never felt better in my life,” he says, smiling at me.

  Dr. Cross clears his throat, wanting me to leave so he can get back to sleep.

  “I’ll come back in the morning,” I promise Leo.

  “You better,” he says.

  I leave the infirmary with my heart soaring.

  My senses are heightened to a fever pitch. I can feel every single raindrop bursting on my skin. It feels cool and effervescent, like I’m swimming through soda. The grass smells fresh and alive, and even the limestone walls of the castle seem to give off the scent of the ancient ocean in which they were formed.

  I can still taste Leo on my lips. I can still feel his strong, warm fingers gripping the back of my neck.

  I’m floating weightlessly over the ground. If I were to go to the cathedral to dance right now, I think I could give the best performance of my life. I think I could literally fly.

  Without thinking I turn in that direction, crossing the dark campus mostly by memory.

  I force open the heavy double doors, stepping into the space that I haven’t visited in weeks, because I’ve been too heavy and depressed.

  It’s pitch-black in here. I find the candles I left stowed in the old altar and fumble with the matches that have grown damp from the humidity and the rain. The first two matches break, but the third sparks alight, and I light a half-dozen of the uneven and heavily-melted pillar candles I stole from the Keep.

  I set the candles all around the nave, and then I strip off my sodden camisole and pants so I’m only wearing my underwear. It doesn’t matter, there’s no one to see me.

  I have no speaker, but I don’t care about that, either. I can clearly hear the music playing in my head: “Love Chained,” the song that I know so well that it plays in my dreams.

  The moment I start to dance I feel that lightness again, that sense of lifting, floating, soaring across the stone. My brain and body separate, so I can almost watch myself dancing, whirling, spinning, dipping, while my mind is free to float around the cavernous space, untethered from the earth.

  I missed this almost as much as I missed Leo.

  I understand now that they’re connected—dancing is my way to connect with my deepest thoughts and emotions. And most of those center around Leo. When I was trying to deny my feelings for him, I couldn’t dance at all.

  Even this song . . . my favorite song . . . it was always about him.

  I’m chained to Leo. I am and I always have been. We’ve been bound together since birth. Even when we die, the atoms of him and the atoms of me will find each other.

  I dance until sweat runs down my skin like the raindrops sliding down the stained-glass windows overhead.

  Then I sink down on the floor of the church, listening to my heart beat in the echoing silence.

  The candles have burned down to stubs, the flames drowning in the last pools of melted wax. It must be two or three o’clock in the morning—the witching hour. The time when almost everyone in the castle will be asleep.

  Leo will certainly be asleep in his infirmary cot, his body trying to heal after the repeated damage it took today.

  I can almost see his face glowing in the candlelight before me. I want to see it in person, even if only for a moment. I want it immediately and intensely.

  Snatching up my soggy clothes, I slip out of the cathedral once more.

  Every window in the castle is dark, not a single sound to be heard over the relentless rain.

  Oh—actually, that’s not true. There is one light burning high up in the attic of the library tower. Up in Miss Robin’s room. She must be reading, unable to sleep.

  Her light feels friendly to me, as if she lit it just to help me find my way across the dark grounds.

  It’s a long way back to the infirmary past the dovecote, the bakehouse, the stables and the old wine cellar.

  As I’m nearing the dining hall, I see something strange: Hedeon Gray, descending down into the Undercroft where the Spies have their dorms. I’m sure it’s him, because he’s wearing the same shirt that was torn in the fight.

  Why is Hedeon going down there?

  He said he was meeting a girl, but the girl was an Accountant.

  His brother doesn’t live down there, either—Silas is an Enforcer, with his rooms in the Gatehouse.

  Could Hedeon have made plans with a different girl instead?

  I’ve reached the infirmary, so all thoughts of Hedeon exit my mind.

  I’m longing to go inside, but I hesitate outside the door. I’m not worried about waking Dr. Cross—we had to pound on the door for ages to get him out of bed the first time. It’s Leo I’m thinking of. I shouldn’t wake him, he needs his sleep. Still, I want to see him so badly.

  Pulling a pin o
ut of my braid, I slip it into the lock and work the heavy old tumblers until I hear them click into place. Then I push the door open, wincing at the creaking hinges.

  As soon as I step through the door, I can smell the warm scent of Leo’s skin and hear his heavy breathing.

  I creep across the floor, feeling that same sense of heady anticipation I used to feel on Christmas morning running down to the tree.

  There he is—passed out on his side, his broad frame stretching the limits of the thin infirmary blanket, his feet almost hanging off the edge of the cot, his dark curls messy on the pillow.

  As I draw closer I only intend to look at Leo, not to touch him or risk waking him up. But as I come around the side of the cot to look at his face, I see the gleam of his eyes looking up at me, and the white glint of his teeth as he smiles.

  His voice husky with sleep, he says, “Took you long enough. I’ve been waiting . . .”

  I laugh quietly. “You didn’t know I was going to come back. I didn’t even know.”

  “I know you better than you know yourself,” Leo says.

  There’s no teasing in his voice now. He means that. And he’s right.

  “Get in this bed,” Leo says.

  “I’m all wet and cold.”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” he growls. He lifts the blanket, showing me the perfect little hollow of warmth underneath, the space he’s been saving for me.

  I strip off my wet clothes once more, dropping them on the floor. Then I slide into the softest, most welcoming space I’ve ever encountered, with Leo’s broad chest up against my back and his long, powerful thighs cradling my legs. Leo wraps his arms around me and pulls me tight against him, his face pressed up against my neck.

  “Mmm,” he sighs. “That’s what I need.”

  A wave of warmth and sleepiness rolls over me. Sleep never comes easy to me—it’s a battle every night. But I could sink down into oblivion right now, into the deepest and most comfortable rest of my life.

  Except that I can feel Leo nuzzling his face against my neck, and hear him taking deep, full inhales of my scent. He’s breathing me in. As he does so, I can feel something hard pressing against my lower back. His cock is stiffening and swelling with every breath.