Kingmakers, Year Two

3. Cat

3

CAT

I leave for Kingmakers on the first of September.

I kept praying that something would happen to prevent me from going. My main hope was that I simply wouldn’t be accepted, applying so late in the year.

Then a heavy gray envelope arrived in the mail, sealed with wax the color of dried blood, stamped with the crest of the school: a crowned skull. The handwritten address bore my full legal name, Catalina Resmella Romero, in script that looked a hundred years old.

I already knew what it would say before I opened it—or at least, I thought I did.

Catalina Romero ,

I am writing to inform you that you have been accepted to Kingmakers Academy. Having reviewed your application and assessed your qualifications, we have assigned you to the Spy division.

School will commence on the 3rd of September. You will depart from the pier in Dubrovnik at 10:00 in the morning on September 2nd.

Admission to our campus is singular and irrevocable. If you decide to leave for any reason, you will not be permitted to return. Be sure to bring all items you will require for the duration of your program.

Enclosed is a list of our rules and regulations. Sign and return your acknowledgment of the contract, including your willingness to abide by our arbitration and punishment system. Your parents’ signature and imprint are likewise required.

We look forward to meeting you. You will be joining an elite institution with a long and storied history. Perhaps someday your name will be inscribed on the wall of Dominus Scelestos.

Your sister distinguished herself in the Quartum Bellum in her Freshman year. I hope to see you do the same when this year’s challenge convenes.

Sincerely ,

Luther Hugo

Necessitas Non Habet Legem—Necessity Has No Law

I recognized the envelope from Zoe’s identical missive the year prior. From its thickness, I assumed that I had been accepted, and that it would include the draconian list of school rules and the irrevocable contract on which my father and I would both have to press our bloody fingerprints, agreeing that Kingmakers has the right to discipline or even execute me if I transgress its laws.

I knew all of that ahead of time.

What I didn’t expect was to be put in with the Spies.

Kingmakers has four divisions: the Heirs, who are trained to lead their families as a general leads an army. The Enforcers, who are the soldiers. The Accountants, who handle the finance and investment arms of the business. And then the Spies.

The Spies are the least-numerous and most obscure division. Their job is to surveil and analyze enemy groups—both law enforcement and rival criminals. They predict threats against the family and sometimes liaise with the enemy. And most of all, they ferret out threats from within their own ranks.

I can’t imagine a job less suited to me.

Spies have to be bold and cunning. Ruthless and skilled .

I’m terrified of my own shadow. I cry if someone looks at me sideways. I have no skills at all, other than painting and drawing, and I’m pretty good with computers. I’ve never been in a fight, and I’ve never fired a gun in my life.

As a Spy, there’s no one to protect you. One wrong step, and you’ll be tortured and killed.

I feel like a crab ripped out of its shell.

Worst of all, Zoe and I couldn’t even travel to Dubrovnik together. The Freshmen start a week later than everybody else, so she’s already on campus, while I have to board the imposing ship all on my own, amid the throng of students from all across the globe.

I hear a virtual Babel of languages on the dock, though we all have to speak English once we arrive, as it’s the lingua franca of Kingmakers.

I try to find the most distant, unobtrusive corner of the ship so I can stay out of the way of the surly-looking sailors, observing my fellow students from a distance.

Everyone looks so much cooler and more confident than me. Plenty of them already seem to know each other, maybe because they’re from the same country, or because they’ve crossed paths with each other before.

I don’t recognize a single face. Until a merry girl with blonde curls taps me on the shoulder and says, “Cat? Is that you? ”

“Yes?” I say hesitantly.

“I thought so! It’s me, Perry!”

“Perry?” I say blankly. And then, “Oh, Perry! Oh my god, you look so . . . so . . . different!”

She laughs. “I got into swimming and lost a lot of weight.”

I would never have known her as the same girl I met three summers ago at a resort in Monaco. I was there with my family and Perry with hers. Our fathers seemed friendly. I’m sure they had the same purpose in “vacationing” that week, though I never heard what it was.

It’s not only the weight that changed Perry—she looked like a kid when we built sandcastles on the private beach in front of our hotel. Now she’s confident and stylish, dressed in a jaunty beret and jacket that perfectly compliment her school uniform.

I feel childish by comparison, with my thick knee socks, flat oxfords, and too-long skirt. I notice that the rest of the girls had their green plaid skirts tailored to hit mid-thigh, which is vastly more flattering. I flush, thinking of all the unspoken rules that other people seem to intuit, which sail right over my head.

“I didn’t know you were coming to Kingmakers!” Perry says.

“It was sort of a last-minute decision. ”

“What division are you?”

“Spy,” I say, with a nervous grit of my teeth.

“Ohh,” Perry raises her eyebrows. “Good for you! I’m an Accountant.”

“I don’t know why they put me there,” I admit. “Maybe it was a mistake . . .”

“You didn’t request it?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Definitely not. I expected to be an Accountant, too.”

“I wonder what happened?” Perry says curiously.

I hadn’t really pondered on it, since it seemed like just one more nasty surprise to pile on the shit heap.

“Well, I do know a bit about programming . . .”

In secondary school, I had a computer sciences teacher who was simply brilliant. She sparked my interest in all things technological. She told me I should go into programming, but I like art so much that I chose graphic design instead. Not that it mattered in the end, since I won’ t be studying either.

“That could be it.” Perry shrugs. “There’s a lot of security system analysis in the Spy division. Some hacking, too. Or at least, that’s what my cousin told me.”

“I wish I was in your division,” I say wistfully.

“Me too! We could have roomed together.”

My stomach sinks down further than ever. I’m going to be sharing a room with a stranger. Taking classes with strangers. Zoe and I will both be at Kingmakers, but who knows how much we’ll see each other. I feel so alone and so intimidated.

I don’t know how Zoe navigated all this on her own last year. She’s always been braver than me.

At least she told me where to board the ship and what the island is like. She went into all that blind. We don’t have any close friends who attended Kingmakers before us—just a few asshole cousins that we avoid at all costs.

I’m theoretically prepared as I cross the wide, empty expanse of ocean leading to distant Visine Dvorca. Zoe even forewarned me that the water will get choppy and rough as we draw close, so I feel the change in the pitching of the ship long before I see the limestone cliffs jutting up out of the waves.

“Wow,” Perry whispers next to me. She’s staring up at the castle fortress, as is almost everyone else.

I’ve never seen anything like it .

Kingmakers protrudes directly out of the rock, carved from the same pale limestone as the cliffs. It rises in tiers like a cake, rough and ancient-looking. Dark stains run down from the windows, as if the castle is crying. I’m sure it’s only the marks of rainwater, but it gives a strange sense of foreboding that isn’t helped by the grotesque and demonic gargoyles menacing each cornice.

Waves beat ferociously against the cliffs. Zoe warned me that the journey into the harbor would be difficult, and sure enough, the ship pitches and rolls so hard that it sometimes looks as if the masts will dip down into the water.

Once we’re inside the sheltered bay, however, the sea smooths once more and I’m able to look with interest at the little village encircling the docks.

It’s a pretty little town, the weathered wooden buildings stacked right up against the water on stilts, with spaces beneath so that rowboats can take the fisherman all the way to their doors.

The island rises up behind the village—fields and farms, orchards and olive groves, and patches of thick green forest. Then, at the highest and most distant point: the spires of Kingmakers.

The air carries the familiar salt tang of the sea, but also sharper, colder scents—pine and stone. Smoke and iron .

Several open wagons wait to take us to the school. I check to see if my suitcase was safely unloaded from the ship, but there’s too many students milling around to get a good look.

“Come on!” Perry cries. “Let’s grab a seat!”

I follow her into the closest wagon, where she squeezes us into a group of kids she apparently already knows. They’re pleasant and friendly, but a quick round of introductions reveals that they’re all Accountants or Enforcers. I haven’t met a single other Spy, which isn’t helping my nerves.

Worse still, every time I explain my division I’m greeted with a bemused expression. I really must look as incompetent as I feel.

The Accountants division is the usual catch-all for the studious and introverted children of mafia families. It’s the place we can be useful. A job intended to keep us safe.

As a Spy, I’ll be nothing but a liability.

I’m scared I won’t even survive the classes. Nobody’s pulling any punches in Combat. We’ll use live ammunition in Marksmanship. Worst of all is Torture Techniques.

“They hook you up to a car battery,” a stocky Enforcer says. “You do it in pairs, and you take turns. One of you has to pull the switch, and the other has to take the shock. It’s to desensitize you. If you can electrocute your friend, you’ll have no problem doing it to an enemy . . . ”

Perry’s friends are sharing the most outlandish and terrifying stories they’ve heard about Kingmakers.

“I heard at least five students die every year,” a slim Asian girl says.

“Bollocks,” a plump blond boy retorts. “It can’t be that many, or nobody would send their kids.”

“People do die,” a red-haired girl with a French accent says. “The year my oldest brother was here, a Senior hung himself in the cathedral.”

“Well that’s suicide,” the blond boy says stubbornly. “That could happen anywhere.”

“He only did it because they drove him to it with all the assignments and exams,” the redhead says, lifting her chin.

“I hate exams…” Perry lets out a dismal sigh.

I don’t mind tests. In fact, sometimes I take them for fun, if it’s something interesting like an IQ test or a personality quiz. But that’s a nerdy thing to say, so I keep it to myself.

“Who has siblings here?” Perry asks.

About half the kids raise their hands, including me.

“It’s so stupid that they don’t let us bring our phones,” a short, stocky boy grumbles .

“It wouldn’t do you any good anyway,” the red-haired girl says. “There’s no internet, no cell service.”

“No toilets either,” a skinny, freckled boy says. “You have to use a chamber pot.”

The Asian girl stares at him in horror.

“He’s fucking with you,” Perry laughs. “They have normal bathrooms.”

I force myself to laugh along with the other kids. Honestly, nothing would surprise me when it comes to Kingmakers.

At least the island is beautiful. Visine Dvorca is not unlike Barcelona in that it’s sunny and green, with a pleasant sea breeze. I’m guessing it gets colder in the winter, however, judging from the thickness of the pullovers and wool jackets that were included with our uniforms.

Thinking of the winter reminds me that I won’t be going home for almost an entire year. For the first time I feel a slight frisson of anticipation—the relief that I won’t have Daniela’s sharp eyes constantly fixed on me, or my father’s hot temper applied to me.

Several of our cousins attend Kingmakers. Zoe cautioned me that two in particular—the hateful Martin Romero and the arrogant Santiago Cruz—have been spying on her and reporting back to our father. That’s still less oppressive than living under his roof .

That infinitesimal glimmer of hope is immediately extinguished as we pass through the forbidding stone gates into Kingmakers. I swear the temperature drops twenty degrees within the towering walls, as the sheer size and scope of the castle becomes apparent. I see dozens of grandiose buildings, towers, greenhouses, balustraded terraces, and structures I can’t even name. I feel like I’ve been shrunk down to the size of an ant, dwarfed by the monumental architecture.

The friendly chatter ceases amongst the Freshmen in my wagon as we gaze awestruck all around us.

If I thought my fellow Freshmen were intimidating, it’s nothing to how the upperclassmen strike me. They’re tall and powerfully built, striding across the grounds with confidence I could never dream of possessing. They don’t look like students at all—more like royalty. They’re haughty and powerful, with an edge of ferocity that quite frankly terrifies me.

I’ve been around the children of mafia before. But never like this, never en masse . Every single person here is a born killer.

Except for me.

I don’t know why I didn’t get that particular gene. There’s none of my father in me.

I crane my neck, looking for Zoe. She’s nowhere to be seen. Her classes started a week ago, so she’s probably inside one of the ma ny buildings, diligently taking notes on some professor’s lecture.

The wagons jerk to a stop and the Freshmen unload. There’s a scramble as we try to dig our suitcases out of the wagon full of luggage. Once we’ve all secured our bags, we’re greeted by a handful of disdainful-looking Seniors who split us up according to our divisions.

The Enforcers are the most numerous, and almost entirely composed of male students. At Kingmakers, boys outnumber girls four to one. Not all mafia families care to send their daughters to be trained. My father had no intention of sending either Zoe or me, before Zoe refused to marry Rocco Prince unless she could attend college first.

She thought he’d send her to a normal university. Instead he ordered her to join Rocco at Kingmakers.

Now I’ve been thrust into that devil’s bargain right alongside her.

The Accountants are the second-largest group, and the only division with an almost equal split of girls and boys. Most of the kids in from my wagon happily head off together, taking Perry along with them. She gives me a little wave as they depart.

Now only the Heirs and Spies are left .

We’re similar in number, but our appearance couldn’t be more different. If Kingmakers were a high school cafeteria, the Heirs would be the cool kids: confident, well-dressed, already assembling their circle of admirers.

The Spies are, to put it bluntly, the misfits.

The baker’s dozen Freshman Spies show a clear tendency toward heavy piercings, strange tattoos, exotic hair colors, and dour expressions.

Then there’s me. I stand there like a lamb among wolves. A schoolgirl in the center of a biker gang.

I can feel the other Spies looking at me, and I don’t know how to wipe the stupid doe-eyed expression off my face.

Our guide is a tall, lanky Senior wearing an oversized olive-green sweater vest and a pair of shredded trousers tucked into military boots. His long dark hair hangs over his ears and his hoop earring makes him look a bit like a pirate.

I’ve already noticed that while Kingmakers students are required to wear uniforms, they seem to have no compunction about styling said uniforms according to their personal preference.

“I’m Saul Turner,” our guide says lazily. “I’ll show you to the Undercroft. ”

I have no idea what an Undercroft is, and I don’t want to be the one to ask. I fall in line behind Saul, pulling my suitcase along beside me.

Saul leads us to what looks like the very center of the Kingmakers grounds, to the largest and grandest of the buildings.

“This is the Keep,” he announces. “You’ll have a lot of your classes in here. Your combat classes will be over there in the Armory,” he jerks his head toward a squat building with rounded walls, “and straight past that is the dining hall. Library is waaaay down there.” He points to the northwest corner of campus where I can see a tall, spindly tower rising above everything else. “That’s basically all you need to know for now.”

I wasn’t paying attention to much after the mention of “combat classes.” When exactly are those going to start? I just know I’m gonna get punched in the face my very first day.

My stomach feels heavy as a stone.

Saul continues walking toward the Armory. We trail after him like a row of obedient ducklings.

“The Undercroft runs all the way under there,” he points to the long expanse of open lawn between the Armory and the dining hall .

“Where?” a grouchy-looking girl with a septum piercing demands. She looks around as if expecting a dormitory to materialize from thin air.

“Right under your feet,” Saul laughs.

“We’re sleeping in a basement? ” the girl sneers, crossing her arms disdainfully over her chest. Her long nails are filed into points, with silver rings on every finger.

“More of a cellar,” Saul says. He seems impervious to rudeness, or to any other emotion we might send in his direction. I get the feeling one of us could be struck with lightning right in front of him and he wouldn’t bat an eye. “We go in through here.”

We follow him inside a building much too small to house thirteen students. From the rusted empty racks on the walls and the pungent scent of fermented grapes, I think this used to be a wine cellar.

It’s not our final destination. Saul leads us toward a wide staircase descending even deeper into the earth, its dark opening gaping like a mouth.

I don’t like tight spaces. And I definitely don’t like the dark.

My heart is already hammering against my ribs before I even set foot on the stairs .

Even the sulky girl with the nose ring looks slightly unnerved as she falls into step beside me. Our footsteps echo on stone as we descend into the Undercroft.

I’m relieved to see warm light at the foot of the stairs. Even more relieved to see that the Undercroft is, at least, not cramped. The domed stone roof is almost twenty feet high, with thick supporting pillars running down the center of the space, forming a double set of archways.

The first portion of this long tunnel is a kind of common room, with couches, a bookshelf, and a large table with bench seats for studying. Further down, the space is divided into separate dorms.

“Two to a room,” Saul says. “Only the ones in the middle are empty, ‘cause the upperclassmen claimed everything close to the bathroom and the stairs.”

We walk down the hallway, cautious in the dim lamplight.

The double row of doors are identical, but it’s easy to tell which have been claimed, as their owners have decorated the scarred wood with stickers and patches. I notice that no one has put up a name tag. You wouldn’t be able to find a particular room without already knowing the patch on the door.

The bare doors in the center are the ones up for grabs.

There’s a flurry as the Freshmen Spies hustle inside their chosen spaces. It takes me a moment to realize that everyone has al ready paired off. I stand stupidly in the hallway until only me and the sulky pierced girl are left without roommates.

She stares at me with an expression of disgust even greater than when she learned we’d be rooming underground.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Her disdain hits me like a slap.

I know I shouldn’t care what she thinks of me, but I’ve never been able to ignore other people’s opinions.

Humiliating tears prick the corners of my eyes.

Oh my fucking god, I’m not going to cry in front of this girl. Not on the first day of school.

I squeeze my fists so hard that my nails bite into my palms.

“Tough break,” I say stiffly. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

The girl rolls her eyes and stomps into the nearest empty room.

Steeling my nerves, I follow her inside.

I expected it to look like a prison cell, but actually our dorm is neat and clean. The beds are low and narrow, rather pretty with headboards and footboards in carved dark wood. We each have our own dresser. The room smells of cedar, soapstone, and clean earth. No sense of damp or rot .

The only thing lacking is a window.

Two soft, golden lamps provide the only light, because we are indeed deep underground.

My new roommate looks around silently, appraising the space.

“I’m Catalina, by the way.” My voice sounds simultaneously timid and over-loud in the small, shared space. “My friends call me Cat.”

The other girl glares at me, like she wishes I would spontaneously combust.

“Don’t talk to me.”

She jerks a book out of her backpack and flops down on her bed.

I start to quietly unpack my own suitcase, neatly re-folding my clothes before slipping them into the dresser drawers.

My wardrobe is easy to organize because all the pieces of the uniform mix and match together: five crisp white dress shirts, six plaid skirts (three green, three gray), a sage-green pullover and another in white. Two gray sweater-vests and one in black. Five pairs of knee socks and five pairs of tights. One academy jacket, also black, with a crest on the breast pocket. Then our gym clothe s.

I spend much longer on the task than is strictly necessary, not wanting to sit in frosty silence with my sullen roommate.

I don’t even know her name—I was too distracted when Saul read his list aloud. A proper Spy would have paid attention, matching each name with its corresponding student.

That’s probably why she scoffed at me when I introduced myself—she already knew my name and everybody else’s.

God, I’m fucking this up so bad already.

I sneak one quick peek at the girl, propped up on her pillow with the book in her hands.

Her dark hair is cut short, probably by herself with the wrong sort of scissors, as the pieces are choppy and uneven. She has a narrow face, dark almond-shaped eyes, a long, slim neck.

The pages of her book are thin and colorful. It might be a graphic novel. The cover is bright yellow with a red splotch on it.

That’s all I dare to observe, scared that she’ll catch me looking at her.

I place my toiletries on top of the dresser, then stack my sketchbooks and pencils on the nightstand. I slide my empty suitcase away under the bed.

Then I sit down on my thin, narrow mattress.

There. I did it. I unpacked.

Now I just have to get through the rest of the year.