His eyes search mine. That tug between us pulls tight.
We both jump when the door opens and a new face peeks in. “Davis!” A tanned boy in a dress shirt and slacks ambles into the room, swirling a glass of sparkling water in one hand. His cool gaze lands on me for a second before it flows back to Nick. “Sar said you were here! This your Page?”
Nick’s eyes never left my face. I meet them with every ounce of determination I possess. Finally, after a long moment, he answers us both.
“Yeah, Fitz, she’s mine. Figured it’s about time I reclaim my title.”
PART TWO DISCORD
10
FITZ SLAPS NICK on the back, spilling his sparkling water in the process. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, Davis!”
Nick’s eyes slide from mine to Fitz’s. “Give us a minute, Fitz?”
“Not a problem.” Fitz backs out of the room with a wide grin. “My man!”
“That’s right!” Nick flashes a smile and points to Fitz, looking for all the world like a fraternity bro at a tailgate. When the door closes, he turns to me, expression solemn again.
“Questions: Was that your bro face? Because I super don’t like it. More importantly, your Page?” I exclaim, eyes narrowing. “Like I belong to you? Your servant?”
“No!” Nick says, flushing. “Of course not. Sorry. Not that kind of Page. Here—” He fishes under his collar and draws a long silver chain up and over his head. “A medieval Page’s service was voluntary, honorable, and mutually beneficial.” He nods toward my neck. “May I?”
I eye the jewelry in his palm. “I guess.” He drapes the necklace over my hair. A heavy silver coin like the one on Sarah’s bracelet drops down to the center of my chest. I run my fingers over the engraving on the still-warm surface: a circle with an elegant diamond shape etched in the center. A line with no end, and four points stretching beyond its curves.
“Calling you ‘mine’ means I’m the one who tapped you. That my bloodline—my family and I—vouch for you, and you have our protection and blessing.” He holds a hand up to stop the question on my lips. “Later. I’ll go along with you competing for now, only while I figure out an alternative. But if we’re going to do this—and I just need to state for the record, one more time, that this is a bad idea—then we’re doing it together. You and me. And on my terms. Agreed?”
I cross my arms, but he tilts his head expectantly. “Fine.” I relent. “What ‘terms’?”
“We literally just came up with this plan, Bree, gimme a second.”
The lights above us flicker once, twice. Outside, Sarah announces that the event will begin in ten minutes. When I look back down, Nick’s eyeing me speculatively. I can’t help but feel like he’s measuring me for a coat that I’m not going to like.
“Okay. First rule…”
* * *
When we leave the room ten minutes later, there are over twenty students milling in the foyer. Some are dressed like Nick and me, in jeans and T-shirts; others wear cocktail dresses and suits. Some Pages assess me with not-so-subtle glares, while others stare at Nick, blinking twice as if he’s a heaven-sent mirage.
Nick sports an expression I’ve yet to see on him. With each step into the crowd, he becomes some new iteration of himself: a combination of the confident, warm charmer from the first time we met and… something I don’t recognize.
A curvy, short girl with wavy red hair and a tall, lanky boy with cropped brown hair approach us. Although they walk close together, they seem like polar opposites: she’s dressed in loose slacks and a paisley blouse while his jeans and wrinkled button-down shirt look like he’d plucked them from a sad pile of clothes on the floor. Interestingly, they wear matching red leather cuffs on their right wrists with identical silver coins in the center.
What are these coins?
“Nick…,” the girl breathes, “Sarah said you were here, but…” A soft British accent curves around each word before her voice trails off in awe.
The boy squeezes her shoulder and steps forward with his hand out. “While Felicity here regains the power of speech, I’ll say it’s good to see you, man.” He doesn’t sound Southern at all. A New Englander, probably.
“Hey, Russ. Thanks.” Nick clasps Russ’s hand with a smile and nods in my direction. “This is Briana Matthews, my—” He clears his throat. “I invited her to join the Order.”
I shoot him a look that says real smooth, and his mouth quirks.
Russ notices our exchange but doesn’t comment. His mischievous eyes immediately put me at ease. “Nice to meet you, Briana,” he says while shaking my hand. “Welcome to the Lodge.”
“Thank you,” I say, keeping my tone light. Gracious. I force a goofy smile, hoping that I look overwhelmed and clueless. “I’ve never been in a house like this before. It’s so… fancy.” Nick’s first rule is still ringing in my ears.
“Remember that Sel thinks you’ve been mesmered twice: the Quarry and last night. So, behave as though you know nothing and have witnessed nothing. Everyone here has to think you’re an ignorant Onceborn brand-new to our world. Don’t let anyone know what you can do.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t really do things halfway.” Russ follows my gaze. “It has a certain museum-chic, don’t-touch-anything-or-else-someone-will-rap-your-knuckles charm, I suppose.” I giggle at that. The sound feels completely foreign, but I think I pull it off, because Russ gives me a wink. “Of course, fancy and formal means Flick made me wear something other than a T-shirt.”
Beside him, Felicity scowls. “I really hate that nickname.”
“Felicity is way too many syllables!” Russ exclaims. “Your parents were sadists.”
She rolls her eyes. “Ignore him.”
Somewhere a small chime rings, and double doors open at the back of the foyer.
As Felicity and Russ walk ahead, Nick and I follow at the back of the crowd. I lean in to him, my voice pitched low for his ears. “What’s their deal? And what are the coins?”
Nick replies quietly, without looking at me. “Felicity Caldwell, junior, and Russ Copeland, sophomore.” He waves at a tall boy with a gentle face and light-colored hair, who salutes him back with a wry smile. “Both Legendborn. They wear matching sigils because Felicity is a Scion, born with the title like me, and Russ is her chosen Squire.”
“Why do you hate them?”
He blinks. “Who said I hate them?”
I gesture over his shoulder to the undergraduates chatting around us, then to the opulent foyer. “Sel called you the prodigal son. You rejected all of this.”
A muscle twitches in his cheek. “The reason I renounced my title has nothing to do with the people here.”
“Then why—”
“Another story for another day.”
I frown but don’t feel like I know him well enough to press. But if I don’t know Nick, I think, then why do I trust him?
He bumps me with his arm, nodding ahead to where the crowd is moving into the great room. “We both need to be ‘on’ when we walk through those doors. Any more questions?”