Kingmakers, Year One

24. Anna

24

ANNA

E very shower in the castle is in use.

Chay and I run down to the Armory, but even there, girls are clustered two or three under a showerhead, trying to scrub the red paint off their skin.

Our flesh is a map of welts, cuts, and bruises. The huge purple lump on my bicep looks like there’s something growing under the skin, ready to burst out. My hip hurts even more. I’m hobbling around like a grandma, wondering if it might be broken.

“Why in the fuck did they use weapons-grade paintballs?” I ask Chay, dousing my head in shampoo and trying to pick out the bits of dried paint in my hair.

“ ‘Cause they like to see us suffer,” Chay says, stripping off her gray pullover that has a sleeve almost torn clean off. “Did you see Erik? He got hit in the mouth and he’s missing two teeth!”

“Leo was a mess.” I shake my head at the memory of his banged-up face.

He had a black eye, a lump on his forehead, a split lip, two gashes on his cheek, and a huge bruise on the side of his neck, to say nothing of the parts of him covered by clothes. Still, he was grinning when I ran over to him.

“I dunno,” Chay says slyly. “He looked pretty happy to me when he was hugging you.”

I turn my face into the shower spray so I don’t have to look at her.

In the elation of the victory, Leo and I lost all our awkwardness.

I ran right up to him shouting, “That was fucking incredible!” and he said, “I knew you could do it,” and we were both smiling at each other like nothing bad had ever happened, like we were old friends again. And before either of us could say anything to ruin it, he hugged me hard, his body like a furnace compared to the freezing rain.

Then we were swarmed by other students and there was no time for anything else. All Leo could do was shout, “Are you coming to the party tonight?” and I called back, “Yes!” though I don’t know if he heard me.

I actually hadn’t heard about any party, but I knew there was sure to be one. Freshmen haven’t made it to the final round of the Quartum Bellum in twenty years. We all want to celebrate.

“Did Leo tell you what he was planning ahead of time?” Chay asks me.

“He told Ares, then Ares told me, and I told you. It had to look real, him going for the goal. Everybody had to be looking the wrong way, or it’s not a proper diversion.”

“I thought we were fucked still,” Chay scrubs her arms with a loofah. “Wouldn’t have worked if Ares wasn’t such a monster. Who knew he had it in him?”

I say, “He may be a sweetheart, but he isn’t soft.”

“No, he’s definitely not soft anywhere . . .” Chay gives a lascivious smirk. “Did you see him in that soaking wet t-shirt? Fucking hell, he’s got a body under those clothes . . .”

“Don’t get any ideas,” I warn her. “He doesn’t need his heart ripped out.”

“What are you talking about? I would never!”

There is no way she should be that offended.

“You already have. At least three times this year.”

“When?”

I list the names off on my soapy fingers. “Sam . . .”

“Sam’s an idiot. He thought narwhals were made up. Like unicorns!”

“Reggie . . .”

“He had terrible breath. Even gum didn’t fix it.”

“What about Thomas York?”

“He got mad when I beat him at target practice.”

“Doesn’t matter the reasons. They were all moping around for months after you dumped them. I don’t think Ares could survive that. He may look big and strong, but he’s got a vulnerable side.”

“I know,” Chay says, totally undeterred. “That’s what I like about him. He’s humble—not like the rest of the arrogant shitheads at this school.”

“Including you,” I tease her.

“Of course including me!” Chay cries. “But I have a right to be arrogant. Because I’m fantastic.”

I laugh. “Can’t argue with that.”

We head back to our dorms to change clothes. As we pass Zoe’s door I poke my head inside and say, “You coming to the party?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think I should.”

She hasn’t showered yet and her face is still spattered with a fine mist of paint like scarlet freckles.

There’s a letter open on her bed. From the look of the rigid, formal writing, and her expression of unhappiness, I’m assuming it’s another joy-gram from her father chewing her out for whatever his spies have reported.

I mutter, “Fuck what he says. He’s in Spain and you’re here. He can’t stop you having fun.”

“There’s only two months left in the semester.” Zoe sighs. “He’ll have his chance to punish me soon enough.”

Chay and I exchange unhappy glances. We want Zoe to come with us, but we don’t want to get her in serious trouble.

“Let’s have a drink together in our room, then,” Chay says. “Nobody will see you in there.”

“Alright.” Zoe smiles just a little. She pushes herself up off the bed, leaving the unwanted letter abandoned, and follows us to our room.

Chay and I haven’t had time to tidy up this week, so there’s a jumble of shoes and clothes that have to be tossed off the beds before we have anywhere to sit down.

I love our room, even when it’s messy. It finally feels like home.

Though Zoe’s reminder that the school year is passing by swiftly does give me a little pang for my actual home so far across the ocean. I’ve never been away from my parents and siblings so long. I wonder if they’ll think I’ve changed when they see me again.

Leo has changed.

I didn’t realize it in the heat of the competition, but thinking on it now, that was very unlike him to pass the bomb to Ares and to trust him to take it all the way to the end while Leo provided the diversion.

Leo did what he had to for the good of the team, not caring if it was Ares who got the lion’s share of the glory. And he took an absolute beating doing it. He was the leader we needed.

He wouldn’t have done that a year ago.

I wonder if he sees the change in himself.

Chay is getting out the bottle of vodka that came in her Christmas package.

“Don’t they search all the packages?” Zoe asks curiously. Her parents only sent three fresh school uniforms and a copy of Atlas Shrugged . They certainly wouldn’t mail her contraband.

“They don’t care if your mom sends you a bottle, as long as it’s sealed,” Chay says carelessly. “They only care about the really sketchy shit. Knives or guns or poison or whatever. Which is hilarious, because we have all that on campus.”

“It’s all locked up in between classes,” Zoe points out.

Chay rolls her eyes. “Right, and none of us know how to pick a lock.”

She unscrews the lid on the Iordanov, which has a grinning pink skull on the front and is already three-quarters gone, since this isn’t the first time we’ve all shared a nightcap. Three shots glue into water glasses stolen from the dining hall.

“To our covert operation,” Chay says, grinning and raising her glass.

I drink the vodka down, promising myself it will be my only drink of the night. I want to talk to Leo if I get the chance, and I don’t want to say anything stupid if I get too tipsy.

“We made a great team.” Zoe smiles. “Us and Ares—like Charlie’s Angels and Bosley.”

“Who?” Chay frowns.

“They—never mind.” Zoe shakes her head.

Zoe is a passionate fan of old TV shows. Her greatest disappointment came on the day when Chay confessed that she had never heard of Lucille Ball.

“I still think you should come to the party,” Chay says.

Zoe soberly shakes her head. “I’m going to stay in and study. I missed too many Chemistry classes and now I don’t know anything about secondary explosives.”

She stays with us while we get dressed, however.

I pull on a black silk camisole and a pair of velvet pants. It’s a softer and more romantic look than what I usually wear—especially once Zoe brushes my hair out and plaits it in a long and intricate braid with a black ribbon woven through.

“You’re so beautiful,” Zoe says, without jealousy.

“So are you,” I tell her.

It’s true. With her coal-black hair and light green eyes, Zoe has a kind of ethereal loveliness that is only enhanced when she looks unhappy, as she does right now. She looks like an elf-princess trapped in a dark fairytale. Which, in a way, she is . . . she’ll have to stay locked in this tower all night by the decree of her father while the rest of us are free to go where we like.

“What about me?” Chay says, more to break our melancholy mood than because she actually cares about compliments. Chay’s sense of self-worth is a perpetual-motion machine that needs no fuel.

I survey her cherry-red pants and cropped t-shirt.

“You look like Mick Jagger.”

“Oh,” she pouts. “I was going for David Bowie.”

I give Zoe a quick hug before we part ways at the door.

“Come down later if you change your mind,” I tell her. “When everybody is too sloshed to tell on you.”

Chay and I cross the courtyard quickly, holding our school blazers over our heads as makeshift umbrellas because it’s still raining. We’re heading to the stables where the havoc of a party underway is audible even over the sound of the rain.

The stables are on the far west side of campus, and a popular place for revelry when the weather is bad. It’s been a long time since any animals were kept here, but you can still find traces of hay between the wooden floorboards.

One end of the stables is used for storage of odds and ends—broken desks and chairs, moldy textbooks, worn-out mops and brooms, stacks of filing boxes containing the records of students long dead. The still-living students have cleared the opposite side so we can gather here without attracting attention.

The most functional of the broken furniture has been repaired and repurposed to give us somewhere to sit. This includes a large sofa that apparently used to reside in the Chancellor’s office until two of the legs snapped off. Now its green velvet is stained and torn, and it groans beneath the weight of a half-dozen Enforcers.

Music is playing from a speaker that looks like the same one Dean borrowed the night I met him in the icehouse. The sound quality is tinny, but nobody cares. It’s turned up full-volume, blasting Mac Miller.

I don’t see Dean himself, which is a relief. I doubt he’ll come—the last thing he’ll want to do is watch Leo celebrate his victory.

Bram, however, is over by a hollowed-out watermelon turned into a makeshift punch bowl, pouring in a foul-looking combination of liquors.

My eyes keep roaming until I spot the person I most want to see: Leo. He’s surrounded by a crowd of ecstatic Freshmen, assuring them that he thinks our chances of winning the Quartum Bellum have never been better.

As if he can feel me looking at him, he glances up and breaks into a grin, then immediately winces because the smile re-opened his split lip.

I’ve never seen him so beat up in my life. His right eye is almost swollen shut, and his entire face is a map of cuts and bruises. His bright eyes and huge grin shine through all the same, showing that nothing in the world can keep Leo down for long.

I wish there weren’t so many people around. The smell of alcohol and the noise of the party and the press of excited Freshmen crowding around Leo is bringing back painful memories. This is very like the night three months ago when he became Captain.

I went into that evening full of hope and anticipation.

I’m afraid to allow myself to feel those same emotions over again.

Leo and I have been recovering our friendliness, bit by bit. But I don’t know if we can ever go back to where we were.

Actually, I’m sure we can’t. Too much has happened since then. It’s just like I was thinking up in my room—Leo has changed. And so have I.

The night of that other party, when we walked down the path to Moon Beach, all I wanted was for Leo to kiss me. I wanted to see if the thing I’d been feeling could take physical form. I wanted to see if the attraction I felt would bloom if his lips met mine.

Now . . . now I want something much different than that.

I think of the trust, the companionship, and the connection we had. I want all of that as love, not just friendship.

But I don’t know if that’s possible. How could Leo and I truly give ourselves to each other after what happened? He hurt me, and I hurt him back. He fucked some girl almost in front of me, and I dated his worst enemy.

I know I made mistakes too. It wasn’t just Leo—I had a lot of growing up to do this year.

But it still jabs at me, thinking about it. My hopes that were so high that night, dashed on the rocks when I saw Leo with Gemma . . .

Can you ever really forgive something that hurt that bad?

Does Leo even want to forgive me . . . or to be with me?

The other day he practically gave his blessing for me to date Dean. It seemed like he didn’t even care.

Well, that’s all over now one way or another. I told that to Dean a few days after his disastrous attempt to fuck me. He cornered me outside my dorm, and I told him it was over. He narrowed his eyes at me and said, “No it isn’t.”

“That’s not up to you.” My fingers shook, though I willed them not to. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

He stared at me, not answering. Then he said, “We’ll see about that.”

I don’t know what the fuck that was supposed to mean, and I don’t care.

Maybe I should have told Leo that Dean and I broke up, but it hurt my feelings all over again, the way he didn’t seem to give a shit anymore. The way he almost seemed to be promoting it.

That’s why I don’t run over to Leo right now, pushing my way through the crowd of people around him. Because after all this time I still don’t know how he feels about me.

It may be that he just wants his best friend back.

As badly as I’ve missed Leo, I don’t know if I can be that for him anymore. Not with the way I feel. It would be torture.

“Hey!” Chay says, seeing the unhappy look on my face. “Come dance with me!”

She pulls me out onto the uneven wooden boards before I can answer, elbowing her way through the press of kids who are jumping around, singing along to the music without knowing the lyrics, grinding against each other, and doing everything else short of actual dancing.

Chay knows how to move. She has that effortless sensuality that draws every eye in the room toward her—not just the guys, but plenty of the girls too. She knows how to use her hips and her hands, how to bite her lip and toss her hair in a way that has four or five different dudes trying to cut in within five seconds.

“No, fuck off! I’m dancing with Anna!” she shouts, shoving them away unceremoniously.

But I can sense Chay’s eyes drifting over to Ares on the opposite side of the room. He’s leaned up against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets. Plenty of people want to come up and congratulate him. He shrugs them off in the nicest way possible. I can practically hear him saying, “It was nothing. It was Leo’s idea.”

Ares is allergic to attention—probably because so much of the attention he gets from idiots like Bram is negative. Also I just don’t think he likes it. If he weren’t friends with Leo, he’d probably never come out of his room.

Chay views that as a challenge. Now she’s turned to face Ares directly, showing him some of her best moves. She winks at him and beckons for him to come on over and join us. Ares blushes and shakes his head, determinedly turning his eyes somewhere else.

“How could he turn this down?” Chay scowls, gesturing to her tight gymnast’s physique.

I laugh. “Must have hit his head in that challenge.”

“Who wouldn’t want to dance with the two prettiest girls in the school?” a deep voice says.

I spin around, seeing that Leo has snuck up behind us. It was a silly compliment, something that could mean nothing, but already my skin is burning just from how close we’re standing.

“Fuck, you’re a mess!” Chay laughs, looking up at Leo’s battered face.

“Don’t I know it.” He grins. “Worth it, though. You girls were fucking flawless. All that target practice paid off.”

“It was your idea.” Screwing up my courage, I add, “I’m proud of you. Trusting Ares like that. Trusting all of us, instead of just doing it yourself.”

Leo looks down at me, his brows drawn together in a way I can’t interpret.

He says, “Sometimes the harder thing is to let go.”

My stomach drops like a rock.

Does he mean that about us?

Did he let go of the idea of what could have been between us?

He could have given up on it months ago. He could be miles past it now.

The music switches from upbeat pop to the mournful opening bars of Wicked Game.

Chay says, “I need a drink!” and abandons us on the dance floor.

Leo and I look at each other awkwardly.

Then it’s not awkward as his hands encircle my waist and I reach up around his neck. We fit together like we always have, Leo just the right amount taller than me even when I’m wearing heels.

He holds me and it’s easy, so easy, to move as one to the music.

I look into his eyes. They’re golden and clear in his deeply tanned face. I see that hunger burning in them—that expression when Leo sees something he wants desperately. When there’s a prize he’ll give anything to win.

My heart is swollen and hot in my chest. My cheeks are burning. I’m battling the tears.

Leo swallows hard, making his throat contract. His lips part, and I’m both terrified to hear what he’s about to say, and wildly anticipating it. Everything in the world hangs on this moment.

“I missed you, Anna,” he says thickly. “I’ve missed you so bad.”

I blink, and two tears run down my face, searing the skin in parallel tracks.

“All the light went out of my life,” I whisper. “I’ve been so dark without you.”

“Really?” Leo says, and his voice cracks.

I nod, dropping the tears to the ground.

Leo hugs me hard against his chest. I smell his scent—the thing I love most in the world. I don’t want to go one day without it.

Then someone shoves us hard, breaking us apart.

Dean snarls, “Get your fucking hands off my girlfriend.”