Kingmakers, Year Four

Chapter 7

7

Ares

B ecause I’m dreading befriending Nix Moroz, I put it off during the first week of school. I tell myself I’ll watch her first and learn more about her.

That’s not exactly easy to do, because Freshmen and Seniors don’t have any classes together. The one shared class was boxing, but that’s over since Snow returned to New York.

Nix is restless and highly active. Any time I catch a glimpse of her outside of school hours, she’s heading off for a run in the fields around the castle or making use of the shooting range or the gym. From the dampness of her hair when she leaves the Armory, I’m guessing she also likes to swim .

That’s why I find myself rolling out of bed at an ungodly hour on Sunday morning, pulling on the tight black swim trunks provided by the school.

I walk down the wide staircase of the Octagon Tower, skirting the edge of the terraced herb garden, then crossing the deserted grounds toward the Armory. Thick fog blankets the lawn, the buildings looming up unexpectedly like ships moving through the mist. I can smell the salt of the ocean far below us, and I feel the first chill that always comes in the autumn—subtle at first, before tightening its grip on the castle.

Very few students get up early on the weekends. Even fewer of the professors—the mafia world is nocturnal, and old habits die hard. You’re more likely to see Professor Lyons or the Chancellor himself strolling the grounds at 2:00 in the morning than at 6:00 a.m.

The squat Armory looks like a hut with its rounded walls and pointed roof. I push my way inside, hearing the steady thwack of someone hitting the heavy bag over and over again.

I already know it’s Dean Yenin before I see him standing, shirtless and sweating, on the opposite side of the gym. His hands are wrapped. He drives his fists into the swinging bag in relentless rhythm. With his back to me, I can see the ugly scars from the whipping he took last year, all but obliterating the Siberian tiger that once crawled up his spine.

His back looks almost as bad as Hedeon’s.

My stomach squirms guiltily .

Hedeon Gray has been digging for clues about his biological parents.

I could tell him everything he wants to know.

Instead I have to pretend to be his friend, his confidante, while secretly blocking him from ever discovering the truth—yet another task assigned to me that I loathe.

Dean hears my footsteps on the padded mats and turns.

“Morning,” he says, nodding to me.

“Working hard as ever,” I say.

“That’s right,” Dean says, hitting the bag again. “I used to come in here to blow off steam . . .” he grins. “Now I’m just trying to look good for Cat.”

I laugh.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” I say.

Cat can’t take her eyes off Dean—she melts like butter every time he comes near her. Leo and Anna are likewise completely besotted with each other. Zoe moved to Los Angeles with Miles. I barely see Chay outside of class hours because she sneaks away to talk to Ozzy on her contraband cellphone.

All my friends have paired off. It’s just me left alone. Always alone.

And now I’m supposed to make a new friend—the last person on the fucking planet I want to spend time around .

Sighing, I descend the stone steps to the underground pool beneath the Armory.

The pool is a massive sinkhole in the limestone, full of salt water. The cave in which it resides shimmers with green light. Deep ridges and folds score the chalky walls.

I don’t hear splashing, so for a moment I think I got up early for nothing. Then I see the long, sleek form cutting across the pool, swift and soundless.

I’ve already seen her athleticism in the gym.

That’s nothing compared to how she moves in the water.

She kicks off from the wall, flipping over and swimming below the surface for ninety yards before resurfacing for breath. Her legs move in fluid tandem like fins, her arms scything through the water without leaving a ripple.

Her motion is hypnotic. I watch her pass back and forth a dozen times before I realize I’m supposed to be getting in the pool myself.

I strip off my shirt, leaving it puddled by the steps on top of my shoes. Then I wade down into the water.

It’s cold, but I know I’ll warm up soon enough. I begin swimming laps, while keeping Nix in my periph eral view.

The underground pool is several times standard size. Nix and I are far apart from one another, yet it seems unspeakably intimate to be alone together in this private place beneath the school. I can hear her slightest splash in the cavernous space, and even her breathing. I’m sure she can hear mine, too.

I could grab her and drag her under the water. Hold her down while she kicked and thrashed and clawed at me. Keep her under until she drowned.

That would be justice. The ultimate revenge against her father.

You can capture a man. Torture him. Maim him. Kill him, even. But when the violence is over, the pain stops.

But if you kill the only thing he loves . . .

That pain is unending.

I know this for myself. When someone you love is torn away from you, the ache torments you every minute, every hour. You never stop thinking about them. You never stop regretting.

Marko Moroz has no love, no loyalty.

Except for this girl.

She’s the only way to hurt him.

I could make it look like an accident. No one knows we’re down here, except for Dean. He’d keep my secret, just like he kept Cat’s. Just like I’ve kept Cat’s secret .

My body blazes with anger so hot that I no longer feel the chill of the water. My heart pounds like a voice in my ears saying, Do it. Do it. Do it.

That’s not the plan, though.

I have to follow the plan.

The wolf hunts with the pack.

That’s what I was taught. The fundamental law of my family: alone we’re weak, together strong.

So I force myself to take long, steady breaths. I feel the cool water flow over my skin. I listen to Nix’s breathing on the other side of the pool. When I think she’s finally beginning to tire of her marathon swim, I cross to the stairs and climb out, grabbing a towel off the stack against the wall.

The Kingmaker’s towels are as rough as the blankets. Nothing here was made for luxury, only durability. These stone walls will stand for a thousand years beyond any one of our families.

And none will end sooner than the house of Moroz.

I dry my hair, pretending not to notice as Nix likewise finishes her laps, swimming toward the stairs.

I hear her climbing out. I can’t help looking up.

The water streams down her body. The black swimsuit and the dark auburn of her wet hair contrast her pale flesh. Her hair is reedy as seaweed, her skin taking on the queer green cast of the water. Her eyes are long and narrow, iridescent as abalone .

She looks like a mermaid taking human form.

The ancient kind of mermaid—mysterious and malevolent, luring sailors to their death beneath the cold, dark waves.

I hate her, and yet I’m transfixed by her.

I see her father’s height, his coloring . . .

Her body is all long, smooth lines: strong shoulders, athletic taper to her waist, and an endless stretch of thighs beneath the high-cut legs of the school swimsuit.

I’ve never seen a girl look so powerful.

I don’t want her powerful.

I want to destroy everything she knows and loves.

She must see some hint of this in my face because she pauses mid-step, droplets pattering down on the white limestone steps.

“Hello, Ares,” she says.

She’s watching me closely, tense in the shoulders.

I force myself to smile—friendly and disarming. Like Ares would do.

“Here,” I say. “Have a towel.”

I hand her a fresh folded towel from the stack. My skin crawls when our wet fingers briefly touch.

Nix takes the towel, still eying me warily .

I have to be more careful. I’ll never convince her to trust me if I’m holding back a snarl every time I look at her.

“You’re an excellent swimmer,” I say.

“Thank you,” she replies. “You’re not bad yourself.”

“Well, I grew up on an island.”

Now she smiles, relaxing slightly and wrapping the towel around her body. “I was born on one. Born in the ocean.”

“Really?”

I didn’t know that. And this is why I’m here, after all—to learn about this girl. Every last detail.

“Yeah.” She grins, her teeth glinting like pearls. “My mom didn’t realize she was pregnant. I was the mother of all surprises.”

“You mean the daughter of all surprises,” I say.

She gives a throaty laugh. “That’s exactly right.”

I already know about Nix’s mother. I know who she was and what happened to her. I know a lot of things about Nix, while she knows nothing about me. It might seem unfair . . . if the scales weren’t already stacked three years and $240 million against me.

“You come down here often?” I ask her.

“Yeah.” She nods. “It helps me relax. Away from . . . everybody. ”

She’s the most despised person at this school. Sabrina had to threaten and cajole everyone in our group just to get them to consent to Nix sitting at our table. Bram’s still pissed about it.

“It’s peaceful down here,” I say.

“Like the library,” Nix replies.

That startles me. I feel my eyes narrowing.

Nix colors. “Sabrina said you spend a lot of time studying,” she says.

I can’t tell if she’s as naive as she seems, or if this girl is conniving. I find it hard to believe that it was really such a shock to her finding out that her dad is a vicious, backstabbing monster.

Marko Moroz is a master at hiding who he really is until it’s too late.

His daughter must be the same.

In Russia, we say, Kakov pop takov i prihod: What the priest is like, so is the church.

Whatever Nix pretends to be, deep down, she’s as rotten as her father.

I give her the standard Ares story:

“I’m not as well-connected as the rest of the students here,” I say. “There’s no empire waiting for me. So I guess grades matter more for me than for some people. ”

“Does that bother you?” Nix asks me, her sea-green eyes fixed on mine. “Do the rest of us seem spoiled, like we don’t have to work as hard?”

There’s no challenge in the question. She seems genuinely curious. Sympathetic, even.

Even though I’m determined not to trust this girl, not to give her even a shred of honesty, something twitches in my brain.

I can’t help thinking how easy it is for everyone else to call their parents on the weekend, to go to parties, practice, and study, with no stakes to anything. No weight on their shoulders. No real consequences to their actions.

And even though I detest this girl, even though I have half a mind to wrap my wet hands around her pale throat and throttle her on these steps, I find myself doing something unexpected.

I tell the truth.

“Yes,” I say. “I resent it. I hate being here with everyone else . . . but not like everyone else.”

Nix nods slowly, her face filled with understanding.

“Me too,” she says.

Though I want no connection with her, though we have nothing in common . . .

I see the same loneliness in her eyes.