The Spy by Sophie Lark

27

Ares

Ihave to track Hedeon everywhere he goes.

I can barely let him out of my sight, in case he decides that’s the perfect moment to enact his revenge on Luther Hugo.

The Chancellor thought he covered up his little indiscretion so cleanly.

He seduced Evalina Markov. Impregnated her—accidentally I would assume. When she could no longer hide her belly under baggy school pullovers, he ferried her off the island on his private boat and sequestered her in a hospital in Dubrovnik. Shortly after the birth, he carried the baby away, never to be seen by its mother again.

Evalina Markov flew home to St. Petersburg, surprising her father, brother, and fiancé with her unexpected arrival. She told them she no longer cared to finish her schooling. Donovan Dryagin was only too happy to move up the long-awaited wedding date.

None of the men seemed to notice the difference in her figure or demeanor. Only my mother, having just gone through the same process of pregnancy herself, noted the tell-tale signs: the darker pigment on Evalina’s face, the bulge of her slowly shrinking uterus, and the aching breasts that likely were still producing milk the night of my parents’ party.

My mother liked Evalina Markov. She had no interest in exposing the girl’s secret.

However, she couldn’t resist tracking a piece of potentially valuable information. Knowing that Evalina could not have hidden a baby all on her own, she began to search for recent adoptions in mafia families.

It only took her a matter of months to find the Grays. She was surprised to discover that Kenneth and Margaret Gray had adopted not one but two baby boys that same year. The timing made obvious which one belonged to Evalina.

From there, it was no difficult task to confirm the father.

My mother kept that secret for eighteen years.

She keeps entire ledgers full of such leverage. It’s her nature to maintain blackmail and contingency plans on everyone. Most of it will never be used.

But in this case, three and a half years ago, we needed a favor . . .

Luther Hugo was just the man to provide it.

My mother arrived on the doorstep of his private compound in Monaco, informing him that he now had a long-lost niece . . .

He railed against the idea of allowing her on campus. For all his wealth and experience, nothing is more valuable to Luther Hugo than Kingmakers. His father was Chancellor before him, and his grandfather before him. The Hugos’ sigil of the golden skull is found on the university’s seal. By ruling the school, Luther rules the rising generation of every powerful mafia family across the globe.

I’m sure that’s why he went to such great pains to hide his illegitimate son.

If the Markovs discovered that he impregnated their daughter, he would have lost his position as Chancellor. To say nothing of the physical reprisal her family and the Dryagins would have sought.

So he hid the baby carefully, counting on Evalina’s shame and misery to keep her quiet.

He thought he got away with it.

Until my mother and Luther’s son came back into his life in the same year.

I’m not sure why he allowed Hedeon admission. My mother asked him that question once—he said it would have looked more suspicious if he denied the application. But hearing Hedeon’s story of how the Chancellor placed him in the Heirs division over Silas Gray, I think it was nothing more or less than pride. The Chancellor couldn’t resist seeing his son face-to-face, and he couldn’t bear the idea of his blood in a subordinate position.

Still, his fear of scandal is as powerful as ever. If Hedeon makes public what he knows, the Chancellor will surely expose my mother as well.

So I stalk Hedeon, trying to guess whether he truly intends to follow through on his quest for revenge.

It’s the worst possible task, because I am going through literal physical withdrawal for Nix. Not just for sex, though I’m dying to fuck her again. It’s her scent, her throaty laugh, and even the incendiary reaction that occurs in my brain when I catch sight of the particular shade of red in her brilliant hair. I need it all.

While I’m following Hedeon, I instruct Kade to do the same with Danyl Kuznetsov and his minions, by way of Dean Yenin.

We have to watch Danyl even closer than Hedeon.

The meeting of the high table did not go well. The Pakhans didn’t bother to hide their displeasure that once again my father sent Uncle Dom in his place. Danyl whipped them into a frenzy, demanding a video conference with Ivan at the very least. Dominik shut them down, departing Moscow under a cloud of barely-veiled threats.

As an additional bad omen, Bodashka Kushnir dropped out of Kingmakers, taking the supply ship back to Dubrovnik right after the dance.

I can’t help but think his father must have summoned him home. Which can only mean that the Foma Kushnir and Danyl Kuznetsov have plans they intend to execute before summer.

Meanwhile, my mother intercepts me on the way to Advanced Interrogation Techniques, my first class of the week.

She almost never speaks to me outside the library so I know at once this is no simple social call.

“Adrik says the mine looks good,” she says. “He’s seen military Hummers going in and out of the tunnels. The mine’s supposed to be decommissioned. But it’s definitely in use.”

“Kazakh military?” I say. “Or Malina?”

“He thinks both,” my mother says, eyes glinting. “I’m going there myself to check it out.”

“I’ll come with you,” I say at once.

“No—I’m leaving this afternoon. You stay here and keep an eye on Hedeon—if he blows this whole thing up, then Luther will fuck us over out of spite. We can’t have anyone raising an alarm while we’re still making arrangements.”

I stare at her hard.

“Don’t even think of doing it without me,” I say.

She holds my eyes, unblinking.

“I would never do that,” she says. “He’s your father and my husband. We’ll bring him home together.”

“Keep me updated,” I say.

I have a contraband cellphone, though not from Miles Griffin—I never trusted that he wasn’t monitoring the calls and texts on his clandestine network. Like my mother, Miles never misses an angle.

My mom and I have been in contact with Dom and Freya via our own phones. Because it’s difficult for me to find privacy on campus, Freya sends the complex or non-time-sensitive information via letters.

I can speak to my mom the same way. But as she turns to leave, already wearing a pair of trousers and a light coat, much more streamlined than Miss Robin’s usual cardigans, I feel a stab of fear for her.

As awful as the last few years have been, I knew my mother was secure on Visine Dvorca. Now she’s venturing out in the world again, with more fire in her eyes than I’ve seen in a long time. I’m worried what might happen to her.

The week passes achingly slow.

We’re in the doldrums of January, thick in some of the most dense and convoluted classes I’ve taken in my entire time at Kingmakers.

Worse, a flu is sweeping through the students, something that seems to happen every year despite our isolation.

Almost everybody in the Octagon Tower catches it, including Leo and me.

It takes me four or five days to recover, during which time I live off tea and toast from the dining hall. Luckily Hedeon caught it too, so I don’t have to drag myself too far to keep an eye on him. Leo hates laying around, so he pretends to be recovered, though he still sounds like an asthmatic seal. Hedeon looks like walking death—he’s been so sick that he hasn’t even been trying to “accidentally” sit by Cara at every single meal.

Every minute I’m expecting a call or text from my mom. When she does update me, her messages are encouraging but vague. She met up with Adrik and they’re gathering information, trying to make absolutely certain that we’ve found the right place. We’ll only get one shot at this.

I’m dying to see Nix. My constant excuses to her so that I can keep tracking Hedeon are really starting to piss her off. She thinks I don’t want to see her, when in reality I could peel my own flesh off my bones out of sheer desperation.

Finally my mother texts me late in the afternoon, telling me to find a private spot so we can speak.

As soon as I call her, she says, “It’s time.”

The word “time” vibrates in my ear like a bell. I’m frozen in place, hearing my lips say, “You found him? He’s there?”

“I’m certain of it,” she says, quietly.

I’ve never been so excited and so scared. All the clarity of what we’re doing here comes rushing back to me.

“What do I have to do?”

“Marko is here, and Kuzmo too. We need one of them to open the cell door—you can guess which one I’d prefer.”

“I’ll call in my favor with Miles Griffin,” I say. “The timing is perfect—Marko is due to see his accountant at the Four Seasons. Miles could meet him there.”

“Set it for tomorrow night. Take the Chancellor’s boat and meet me in Dubrovnik. Dom, Adrik, and Freya will pick us up with a plane. Don’t forget the scuba gear.”

“Do I tell Hugo I need to borrow his boat?”

My mother laughs. “Let it be a nice surprise for him.”

I leave the cluster of bare-branched trees in which I sequestered myself, walking in a daze across the chill, snowless ground. I almost plough into Nix, who’s striding with her usual aggressive speed, bright patches of color whipped into her cheeks from the wind.

“There you are!” she cries. “What are you doing way over here? It’s fucking freezing.”

“Artillery class,” I lie. “What about you?”

“Environmental Adaptation,” she says, abruptly adding, “Are you avoiding me?”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry, I’ve just had so much—”

“Oh, save it,” she says. “Do you want to see me tonight or not?”

She tilts up her chin in her usual forthright way, demanding an honest answer of me. Her nose has a slight upward tilt to it, like a ski jump, which prevents her features from ever seeming truly severe.

I’d love to run my finger down that adorable curve.

But she’d probably bite my hand off.

“I want to see you,” I tell her. “Badly.”

I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help myself. I want one last night with Nix where she looks at me with those fierce green eyes, and kisses me with that relentless hunger, and blurts out one of her awfully penetrating comments that makes me feel like she pulled another private file out of my brain, rifled through, and read it back to me in question form.

I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow night.

All I know for certain is that things will never be the same between Nix and me.

She’ll know that I lied. That I used her. That I was her enemy all along.

After tomorrow, she’ll fucking despise me.

So tonight might well be our last night together. And I’m not missing it, not for anything, not even if it’s fucked up to do this to her.

Hedeon shouldn’t be a problem, he could hardly hold his spoon up at breakfast. I bet he’s asleep by 8:00.

“Meet me at the underground pool tonight,” I tell her.

I want one last look at my rusalka in her natural habitat.

All that afternoon and evening, I can hardly sit still.

“What’s up with you?” Leo rasps, still barely able to speak.

“Gonna see Nix tonight,” I mutter.

“That’s great, man. I’m really happy for you,” Leo says.

God I wish I deserved that congratulations.

I fucking hate what I’m about to do to Nix. I regret that I ever allowed things to go this far. But at the same time . . . how in the fuck can I regret anything at all? I’m crazy about her. I can’t wish we never met.

I have no choice in any of this.

I have to help my father. That one goal has been the center of my universe for three and a half years now. I can’t stop this close to the finish line. I can’t even slacken my pace—not for a single step, not even for Nix.

So that night, I watch while Hedeon picks at his dinner, his eyes ringed with dark circles. He says, sleepily, to the table at large, “I’m going to bed, I feel like shit.”

“Good night,” Cara Wilk calls from across the table.

Hedeon doesn’t even look up.

I look across at Nix, catching her eye and mouthing, “One hour.”

She grins.

I spend that time in the Octagon Tower, making absolutely certain that Hedeon really went to sleep and won’t come wandering out looking for tea or another blanket.

I’m mildly concerned that Kenzo Tanaka might wake him up when he goes to bed.

“You planning to stay up studying?” I ask Kenzo, seeing the pile of books spread across the common room table.

“I’m gonna sleep right here,” Kenzo says, nodding to the blanket stolen off his bed, and the artfully arranged cushions on the sofa. “I’m the only one in this whole damn tower who hasn’t caught the flu yet, and I sure as fuck don’t want whatever strain is trying to kill Hedeon.”

Inwardly rejoicing, I head back to my room to grab my swimsuit.

Leo’s out with Anna, who apparently doesn’t share Kenzo’s fear of germs. She hasn’t stopped swapping spit with Leo for a single day, though apparently her constitution is stronger—she hasn’t caught so much as a sniffle.

Pulling on the rest of my clothes to counteract the cold, I hurry down to the Armory.

I don’t see Nix in the water yet. The shimmering, pale green surface of the pool is as smooth as a mirror.

I strip off my clothes. Then, following a strange impulse that wants nothing between my skin and the water, I pull off my suit, too, before descending the steps.

Compared to the chilly, windy night, the underground pool feels warm as blood. I walk down into the water, the pale limestone steps rough against the soles of my feet.

This pool is a hundred meters deep at least. We took scuba lessons here our first year at Kingmakers.

I’ve sunk all the way down to the bottom, the column of water as heavy as a building on top of us.

The floodlights set in the walls only illuminate so far down. They can have a blinding effect, shining upward. Anything could be beneath my feet.

At that very moment, something seizes me by the legs and yanks me down.

I’m so surprised that I don’t even close my eyes. The saltwater burns as I stare into the pale, unearthly face of Nix Moroz, her crimson hair floating around her head in a corona.

I Feel Like I’m Downing — Two Feet

Spotify → geni.us/spy-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/spy-apple

She’s completely naked too, her pale breasts with their rose-colored nipples freed of all gravity, assuming a shape of impossible symmetry. Her flesh glows pearlescent in the lights, her eyes greener than they’ve ever been.

She reaches out her hands to me, slow and sensuous under the water. She takes my face between her cool fingertips, bringing her mouth to mine.

Salt seeps into my mouth as I kiss her. Her mouth tastes all the sweeter by comparison.

Our naked bodies slide against each other as if we’re oiled down every inch of our skin. We’re floating suspended, swirling around in a slow circle in the ghostly green light.

Her wild curls float around my face like tentacles, tickling my bare arms and even my back, as if each lock has become sentient and teasing.

My lungs are burning, my heart is on fire.

And still I haven’t even considered that I might need breath.

It’s Nix who gives two strong kicks of her legs, rocketing us upward.

I gasp, the air as fiery as if I had never drawn breath before.

I blink salt out of my eyes, dazzled all over again by the crisp perfect lines of Nix’s face without the blurring effect of the water.

She kisses me again, my thigh sliding between her legs as she treads water in place. The churning motion rubs her pussy against the top of my thigh. I press against her, making her moan into my mouth.

“Let’s never leave,” she murmurs. “I hate when you’re busy. I hate when I’m not with you.”

“I hate everything that pulls me away from you,” I tell her, seizing handfuls of her wet hair and kissing her harder.

When I release her, Nix dives down below the water. I feel her warm mouth close around my cock.

I arch my back slightly, so I can float instead of kick.

I look up at the limestone ceiling a hundred feet overhead, dripping down into stalactites like melting vanilla ice cream. Below the water, Nix sucks my cock.

She comes up briefly for air and I kiss her again. Her mouth tastes saltier than ever, from the water and from the precum leaking out of me in this warm bath.

I feel utterly relaxed, floating in more ways than one. Each time Nix dives down to take me in her mouth again, I give in more fully and completely.

I want her to drag me all the way under. I want to stay there with her forever.

I don’t care about the world on the surface. I don’t care about anyone who lives in the sunshine and the wind. I want to be in the cool blue-green shadows, where the creatures are as bright and vivid as Nix, and time means nothing—no day and no night.

I give in to her . . . and I start to cum in her mouth.

Each surge of pleasure is as long and as endless as a wave sweeping across the ocean.

I have no idea how long she’s been under there. She might have broken an Olympic record for all I know.

At last she floats up to the surface, her iridescent green eyes peeking up at me before the rest of her face breaks the water.

I kiss her again, wanting to feel how swollen her lips and tongue have become.

“Let me do you,” I say.

“I don’t think you can hold your breath as long,” she says.

“Fucking drown me, then.”

I dive below the water, flipping over on my back with my head between her thighs. I plunge my tongue upward between her pussy lips, nibbling at her, tasting her. There’s no gravity, no stiffness, no awkward angles. I can eat her pussy any way I want, floating below her.

Only the need to come up for air prevents me making her cum in record time.

I take three deep breaths, then dive down again. With no sense of taste or smell, I focus on the pressure of my tongue against her clit, and the velvet-warm texture of her pussy when I slip my fingers in and out of her. I start to play with her ass too. The water is just enough lubrication to slowly work the tip of my middle finger into her ass as I lap at her clit.

When I surface again, Nix is too rabid to wait any longer. She wraps her arms and legs around me. I thrust into her, my cock only just recovering enough to rise to the occasion again. The interior of her pussy brings it all the way to life as she squeezes me hard, her pussy ten times warmer than the water.

We’re locked together, spinning and floating in the water, able to assume any position like astronauts fucking in space. We couple and break apart and couple again. Sometimes we rise to the surface, sometimes we sink ten feet below.

I don’t want air. I don’t want sun. I don’t want anything but her.

She starts to cum, each clench around my cock as slow and endless as the waves of my own climax. With little friction between us, each thrust of my cock against her clit seems to drag out another pulse of pleasure, without draining her entirely.

Meanwhile, my second climax is building—a river rushing faster and faster against a dam. Any second it’s going to burst.

Nix wraps her legs tight around me and her arms around my neck. She slides all the way down my cock, giving one last extended clench, her arms shaking, her whole body trembling as she squeezes me with all her might.

I erupt inside of her—an underwater volcano that could turn this whole fucking pool to steam. I’m cumming and cumming, my strangled yell echoing off the stone walls. I can’t stop, I’m pumping upward in her, I’m kissing her, biting her lips, biting the side of her neck.

It goes on forever, until finally it’s over.

We’re both floating, still connected, neither one of us wanting to let go.

“I love you,” I say. “I want you to know that. Now, tonight.”

She looks at me, searching my face.

“Is that true?”

“It’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.”

“I’ve never been in love before,” she says. “But I don’t know what else to call this feeling.”

She kisses me again, hungry as ever.

I don’t care if this is wrong.

I don’t care that I have no right.

I need her, and I love her.

* * *

I walk backto my dorm room. It’s so late that Leo will likely be asleep already. I’ll have to creep in without waking him.

I sneak through the common room first, though Kenzo is snoring so loudly on the sofa, I doubt anything short of a vuvuzela would wake him.

I pass Hedeon’s door. On impulse, I press my ear against the wood, expecting to hear long, rasping breaths.

Instead I hear . . . nothing.

He’s probably just deep asleep. Maybe with the blankets over his head.

Still, I can’t help the cold dread that seeps into my lungs. The sense that I did something wrong . . . and now I’m about to be punished.

I shouldn’t have met up with Nix. I shouldn’t have fucked her again. Karma demands payment.

Hurrying back to my room, I rifle through my drawers as quietly as possible, searching for a lock pick. Leo is asleep on his back, arms and legs sprawled wide, paddle-sized feet hanging off the too-short bed.

At last, my fingers close around the silver pick. It glitters in the dim light, pointed as a knife.

I hurry out of the room, slipping down the dark hallway once more to Hedeon’s room. Trying not to let the pick scrape in the lock, I jimmy the tumblers until the door pops. I crack it open, hoping I’m about to see the slumbering lump of Hedeon in his bed.

Both beds are empty.

Panic rising, I run to the bed and yank the blankets back like Hedeon might somehow have flattened himself to the width of a pancake. The bare mattress blazes back at me.

Now my heart is really racing. I have to find him. Right this fucking second. It might already be too late.

I sprint down the stairs of the Octagon Tower, flushed with dread, paranoid that an alarm might start blaring across the empty campus any second. Like a flood of burly grounds crew might come pouring in from every direction.

I’m running for the Keep. I don’t know where Hedeon went, but I have a pretty good idea where the Chancellor should be. His private quarters are on the top floor, next to his office. I know he’s here tonight—I’ve been checking his berth regularly to make sure he hasn’t snuck off the island in his private boat.

I run up the stairs of the Keep, making a swift detour out of the stairwell on the second floor as I hear someone coming down. I’m hoping it might be Hedeon chickening out, or the Chancellor strolling down, safe and sound. Peeking out, I see Professor Lyons instead, slipping out of her white lab coat and folding it over her forearm as she descends the steps. She must have been working late, probably mixing up one of her custom chemical compounds for an upcoming class.

I wait until she passes, then sprint up the remaining flights.

I only slow when I reach the luxurious oriental carpet running toward the Chancellor’s office. My feet pad silently along, the wall-mounted sconces casting distinct pools of light onto the floor, with dark wells between.

I plan to creep up to the Chancellor’s apartments. Until I hear a sudden scuffling and a crashing sound that brings me sprinting through the doors at top speed.

Hedeon and Luther Hugo are grappling in front of Hugo’s immense fireplace, silhouetted against the roaring flames.

Hedeon doesn’t look sick anymore—he looks possessed. His hands are locked on the Chancellor’s shoulders, half his shirt slashed away, baring the gruesome scars running down his right arm to the flickering firelight.

The Chancellor is wearing black brocade pajamas, as if Hedeon dragged him out of his bed. Despite being forty years older than Hedeon at least, the fight is not nearly as uneven as one might expect. Hugo still retains a portion of his once-great strength. Driven by desperation, he grapples with his son, the tendons standing out on his neck, his bared teeth glinting in the black beard.

It won’t matter. Neither skill nor experience will overcome Hedeon’s rage tonight. Not even the dagger on the floor between them—stained with Hedeon’s blood—is going to save the Chancellor. Slowly, inexorably, Hedeon is dragging Hugo toward the open grate, as if he intends to fling him into the fire.

Neither man has noticed me. They’re aware of nothing but each other’s sweating, snarling faces.

I run at Hedeon, grabbing him from behind and trying to drag him away as he did to me when I almost murdered Estas.

“Stop!” I bellow. “You can’t kill him!”

Hugo dives on the knife and snatches it up, wildly swinging it toward his son’s throat.

I block the strike with my forearm, with a deftness that should earn me an instant A in Professor Howell’s class. Seizing the outside of Luther’s hand, I twist his wrist over, forcing him to drop the knife from his boneless fingers.

Luther swings his other elbow around, knocking me across the jaw. I dive at him, taking out his legs and bringing him down to the floor. We grapple with each other, his limbs hard as petrified oak, the strength of his long years baked into the muscle. But age has no stamina—it’s two o’clock in the morning, and Hugo is fighting for his life against two much younger men. He’s flagging.

I pin him down on the carpet, my knee in his back and his arm twisted up behind him.

“Get something to tie him up!” I bellow to Hedeon.

Hedeon has picked up the knife. He’s holding it overhand, his dark blue eyes fixed on his helpless father. His own blood stains the blade, garish evidence of Luther Hugo’s utter disregard for his safety.

“Don’t,” I say, in a warning tone.

I know Hedeon wants to rush forward and plunge that knife into Hugo’s back. Maybe cut his throat for good measure, like Hugo did to Ozzy’s mom.

“He deserves it,” Hedeon says, his voice dull and emotionless. “He left me with those people. Dropped me off like unwanted luggage. Left me to be tortured. Or even to die.”

“I know,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “But you can’t kill him, Hedeon. You’ll be executed.”

“I don’t care,” Hedeon says, his eyes flat and unmoving. “I’ve never felt alive in my whole fucking life.”

“You can’t do this,” I say again, torn between threatening, begging, and trying to reason with him. “I can’t let you.”

“He has to pay,” Hedeon says. “It’s the only thing that kept me going, year after year. Thinking that someday I’d find my parents, and I’d kill them for what they did to me.”

“Don’t you want to know the whole story?” I ask, desperately. “Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“I know what happened!” Hedeon shouts, his anger flaring up again. “I know what he did to her, and I know what he did to me.”

He clenches the knife in his hand, but he doesn’t rush at us. Not yet.

Luther has stopped struggling beneath me. He’s waiting, listening. I’m not stupid enough to loosen my grip—the old viper’s only waiting for his chance to strike.

I haul him up, dragging him to the throne-like chair set behind his desk, and throwing him down on it.

“Don’t fucking move,” I tell him, “or I’ll help Hedeon hack you into pieces and throw you into the fire.”

The threat has no effect on the Hugo’s stoic expression or his dark, glittering eyes, but it seems to placate Hedeon somewhat. He slashes through the curtain ties with his knife, using them to bind the Chancellor to the chair.

Now we stand in a strange inverse of the usual power dynamic in this office: the Chancellor cowed and at the mercy of two students. Or at least, pretending to be cowed.

Hedeon strides over to the corner behind the desk, rips down the photograph of Evalina Markov, and brandishes it in Hugo’s face.

“Who is this?” he demands.

“Evalina Markov,” the Chancellor says, calmly.

“And what was your relationship to her?”

“She was a student here,” Hugo replies.

With one ruthless swipe, Hedeon slashes Hugo’s face from temple to jaw. The Chancellor doesn’t even flinch, only letting out a grunt as blood patters down on the silk thigh of his pajamas, disappearing on the black brocade.

“Answer my questions fully and truthfully, or I’ll cut off your nose next,” Hedeon hisses. “Do you know that’s how Kenneth Gray used to threaten me? He’d pick some little piece of me—a finger, a toe, an earlobe, and say, ‘You don’t need all ten toes to be a soldier. You don’t even need both eyes . . .’ ”

“Kenneth is maudlin,” the Chancellor says, dismissively. “He always was.”

“How did you know the Grays?” Hedeon demands.

Hugo’s upper lip curls in disgust at the idea of being interrogated by two students. But he isn’t stupid enough to keep stonewalling Hedeon. After a moment he says:

“Kenneth and I attended Kingmakers together when my father was headmaster. His wife Margaret was younger. I knew her family too. I used to visit her father in Oxfordshire. He’d always bring out the best brandy, offer me his favorite gun when we went shooting. The Vanbrughs are social climbers. He hoped I might take an interest in one of his daughters. Margaret would only have been too willing to offer herself.

“No chance of that—she had the face of overbred horse, as you know. She was no prettier at twenty than at forty. I wanted nothing to do with her, though I kept visiting whenever I needed anything from Connor Vanbrugh, stringing them all along, enjoying the ass-kissing.

“I had no intention of marrying anyone. Eventually Margaret gave up and Connor offered her to Kenneth Gray.

“I barely kept tabs on them. I heard once from Kenneth that Margaret was infertile. After seven or eight years he considered divorcing her, but he didn’t want the headache from her father.”

I’m watching Luther closely, making sure he isn’t trying to twist out of the curtain ties or reach some hidden button with his toe that might call the grounds crew. Hedeon shifts impatiently, caring less about the Grays than about his own, direct history. He’s still brandishing the knife, more than ready to cut another chunk out of Hugo.

“Then you met Evalina,” Hedeon prods.

Luther hesitates, not wanting to confirm what he’s kept hidden so long, even if Hedeon obviously already knows it.

Hedeon slashes him again, this time across his chest, opening a gash in the pajamas and Luther’s flesh.

Luther turns not to Hedeon but to me, narrowing his eyes and hissing, “We had a deal.”

Hedeon looks at me sharply.

“What does that mean?” he says.

Now the tip of the knife is pointed in my direction, not Luther’s.

“I made a deal with Hugo to come to Kingmakers,” I say, trying not to give too much away. “It has nothing to do with you. But that’s why I can’t sit back and watch you murder him!”

“You’re not going to stop me,” Hedeon informs me.

We’ll see about that.

For now, I only say, “Ask him for the whole story. He won’t be any use to you once he’s dead.”

Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, I’m searching for my own weapon. I don’t want to hurt Hedeon, but if it’s a choice between him and my father . . . I know who I have to pick.

A gold letter opener lays atop a neat stack of correspondence.

Hedeon doesn’t notice it. Through he’s vibrating with rage, he can’t keep his eyes off his father’s craggy face, deeply-lined and vulpine in the glow of the firelight.

Hedeon asks, “Did you love her?”

Hugo pauses, this time I think for a different reason—he’s not sure how to answer.

“She captivated me,” he says at last, his rough voice scraping against my skin like sandpaper. “I had seen the girls come and go in their short skirts . . . but Evalina was something else. I wanted her. I wanted to touch her, hold her, possess her.”

Hugo’s eyes glitter like a dragon crouched over a hoard of gold.

“You seduced her,” Hedeon says.

“She wanted it just as I wanted it,” Hugo says, with no hint of shame. No, he’s smiling beneath the dark beard, reveling in the memory. “Men desire beauty, women desire power. My name, my presence, was just as powerful an aphrodisiac to her as those long, shapely legs and those full breasts were to me.”

Hedeon’s fingers twitch on the handle of the knife. He wants to cut Hugo again, though technically Hugo is doing exactly what Hedeon asked.

“She was barely eighteen,” Hedeon says.

“What a convenient number eighteen is,” Hugo sneers. “Transforming a girl into a woman in a day.”

“You took advantage of her,” Hedeon snarls.

“I wasn’t the first. Remember that she was already engaged to a man barely any younger than myself,” Hugo scoffs. “She was no virgin when we met. Dryagin bored her—at least she enjoyed fucking me.”

“Was the pregnancy accidental?”

“Accidental and unwanted for both of us,” Hugo frowns. “But Evalina showed her usual stubbornness. She waited to tell me until she thought it was too late to do anything about it. I would have cut you out of her body until the last day of the ninth month, but Evalina wouldn’t consent, and she certainly wouldn’t have kept quiet if I’d forced it. I’d have had to kill her, too.”

“Why didn’t you?” Hedeon demands.

“I should have,” Hugo says.

I don’t believe him. Hugo can pretend indifference all he wants, but the picture hanging behind his desk all these years tells another story.

“So you took her to Dubrovnik,” Hedeon prods.

Hugo nods. “I waited as long as I could. Some of her closest friends were beginning to whisper. We induced labor early. Evalina was in hysterics—she thought you might die. It would have been better for everyone if you did.”

Hedeon’s face is impassive, Luther’s coldness having no effect on him. Hedeon has never felt wanted, never felt loved.

“Once you were born, I had her sedated and I took you out of the hospital. I should have thrown you off the sea cliff. Instead, I brought you to the Grays.”

“Why?” Hedeon barks. “Why them?”

“They wanted a child. I knew Margaret would be particularly partial to a baby with Hugo blood, even if it was tainted by illegitimacy. Kenneth was amenable. Until . . .”

“Until what?” Hedeon says.

I already know the answer.

“Until Kenneth realized he had a son of his own,” Luther says. “His own flesh and blood, born from some waitress in Westminster. Margaret Gray was furious—she didn’t want to take his bastard into the house. But he wouldn’t relent, particularly since she had just pressured him into accepting the other child.”

“Silas is Kenneth’s biological son,” Hedeon says, a look of understanding coming into his face.

“Indeed. And, to all accounts, a more impressive son than mine,” Luther snorts.

“Silas is a fucking automaton,” I snap.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Hugo raises one black and silver eyebrow. “A blunt instrument, yes. But I’ve heard he enjoys what he does.”

“He certainly enjoyed torturing me,” Hedeon says, quietly.

Hugo shrugs. “Would you prefer to grow up weak and ignorant? A civilian . . . a software engineer?” he sneers. “You’re mafia in blood, from both sides. I placed you with a wealthy and well-connected family. I did my duty by you.”

“You put me in hell!” Hedeon cries, the firelight reflecting in his eyes.

I can see Hedeon tensing, like he plans to run at the Chancellor. Quickly, I say, “Did Evalina Markov know where you took Hedeon? Did you ever tell her?”

Luther’s eyes are drawn, irresistibly, toward the photograph of Evalina, abandoned by Hedeon on the desk. Evalina smiles up from the frame—young, triumphant, ignorant of the fate in store for her.

“No,” Hugo says at last. “I never told her.”

There’s no roar of rage, no warning—Hedeon runs at the Chancellor, and I have no chance to grab the letter opener. I barely catch Hedeon’s wrist as he stabs at Hugo’s throat. Hedeon and I wrestle over the knife, the blade swinging wildly back and forth between us, once almost plunging into the Chancellor’s shoulder, and once sweeping in front of my face an inch from my eye.

Now is the moment where I have to choose: my friends or my family. Mercy or loyalty.

My scramble with Hedeon is brutal and brief. I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t let him kill the Chancellor. I hold nothing back. Perhaps Hedeon does—because I’m able to wrench the knife away from him and pin him down, both of us breathing hard, my cheek scraped and his nose bloody, but neither of us seriously hurt.

Maybe he doesn’t want to kill Hugo as much as he thought.

“Look,” I pant, “I’m really fucking sorry about this, but I don’t have a choice.”

I slash another cord from the drapes and tie his hands just like we did to the Chancellor.

“Those curtains are two hundred years old,” Hugo says, irritably.

“Time for some new ones, then,” I snap.

Hedeon isn’t fighting me anymore. He’s given up—on pretty much everything, from the look of it.

He only gives me one resentful glare as I cut Hugo free.

“And what am I supposed to do about this?” Hugo says, standing from the chair, sneering in the direction of the temporarily subdued Hedeon. “Pretend like he didn’t try to kill me?”

“Yes,” I say, testily. “I doubt you want to blow this thing up any more than I do.”

Hedeon is still watching the Chancellor mutinously.

“Try that again,” Hugo says to him, quietly, “and you won’t find me so easy to surprise.”

“You won’t see anything but oblivion,” Hedeon hisses back at him.

Not wanting the two of them to exchange any more words, or Hugo to consider more options for reprisal, I frog-march Hedeon out of the office—quietly pocketing the keys to Hugo’s cruiser on my way past the desk. I don’t want to have to come back for those tomorrow.

Hedeon is letting me lead him along, not struggling. I can tell he thinks the idea of me holding him captive is fucking ridiculous.

“What’s your plan now?” he says. “Keep me tied up the rest of the year so I don’t go blabbing about your weird secret deal with Hugo?”

I don’t have to keep Hedeon incapacitated the rest of the year—only until tomorrow night when I leave. But even that is going to be extremely difficult since I don’t have a private dorm room. I consider taking Hedeon to the library to lock him up in the archives, but my mother isn’t there to keep an eye on him.

I decide to simply take him to his own room, trusting that Kenzo is still on plague watch.

The Octagon Tower is so silent that the air seems thick and buzzing. I hustle Hedeon along, already starting to feel a sense of relief as we near his door.

Until Leo rounds the corner, heading back from the bathroom. He halts in the hallway, not sleepy enough to miss the fact that I’m marching Hedeon along with his hands tied behind his back.

“Uh . . . what the fuck are you doing?” Leo asks.

“That’s a great question,” Hedeon replies.

I shove Hedeon into his room, having no choice but to allow Leo to follow. Leo closes the door gently behind us, folding his arms over his broad chest and saying, carefully, “Is this consensual, or . . .?”

“No, it’s not fucking consensual,” Hedeon snarls.

Leo looks at me with an expression of mingled amusement and genuine concern.

“What’s going on, Ares?” he says.

I take a deep breath.

“I’m not Ares. My name is Rafe Petrov. My father is Ivan Petrov. He’s been imprisoned for three and a half years. Tomorrow, I finally bring him home.”

Leo and Hedeon stare at me with near-equal expressions of astonishment.

“Okay . . . that is not what I was expecting you to say,” Leo remarks.

Despite the fact that the night has been a fucking disaster, and I’ve now involved two more people in this mess, I feel the strangest sense of lightness, like my bones have been replaced with helium.

I’m finally telling the truth.

Hedeon frowns.

“Then who the fuck is Ares?” he says.

I tell them everything, starting at the beginning. I speak for almost thirty minutes uninterrupted, pausing only to set Hedeon free from the curtain ties.

When I’m finished, the stunned silence is even longer than before.

Leo breaks it by saying, “I’m coming with you.”

Now I’m the one who can’t speak. I just told Leo that I’ve been lying to him since the day I met him. That his roommate “Ares” doesn’t even exist. And now he wants to leave school to help me assault a near-impregnable compound.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I says.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s a very good chance that we’re all going to end up dead.”

Leo shrugs, tucking his hands in the pockets of his sweatshorts.

“Less of a chance if I’m there,” he says.

“I’ll go with you, too,” Hedeon says, quietly.

“Why do you want to go?” I say, feeling like the whole world is tilting sideways.

“Well, for one thing, I think Hugo’s gonna try to murder me back if he gets the chance,” Hedeon says.

“Wait, what?” Leo interjects.

“But mostly,” Hedeon continues, ignoring Leo, “I want to get the fuck off this island. I want to do something. And the only thing I planned for the last twenty years was kill my fucking degenerate father. So if I’m not going to do that . . . I’m going to need a new option.”

This is not what I expected, and it’s too much to process all at once.

All I can say is, “Look, I really appreciate it, but—”

“Don’t bother arguing,” Leo says. “What, are you going to tie both of us up in here? Don’t be stupid. You’re taking us with you, you don’t have a choice.”

As much as I’d like to keep arguing, Leo is right.

* * *