The twist in my stomach tightens into a cold knot.
“Not a cheat, either.”
Vaughn stabs a particularly bloody piece of beef and only sits back to look at me after he shoves it in his mouth. His eyes are the same brown color as his mother’s, but where hers offered kindness, his deliver spite. “Then why’d you stay behind with the Legendborn last night even though we were given direct orders to return to the Lodge? What’d you think you’d do? Impress a Scion by showin’ off during a fight?”
“That’s not what happened, I…” Other Pages have fixed me with their own stares, some curious, some accusatory. “I froze. I tried to run back to the Lodge, but the uchel got to me first.”
“Right,” Vaughn sneers. “Then why are you spending time alone with the Scion of Arthur? Getting a pep talk? Giving him a helping hand?”
I freeze, stunned at his implication. Blood rushes in my ears like an angry ocean, but not loud enough to block out the snickers of the veteran Pages beside him. Ones I don’t know, Ainsley, and the two third-year wrestling twins, Carson and Blake.
“You think I…” I can’t even say it, what he thinks I’m doing to buy Nick’s favor.
Vaughn points his knife at my chest. “I think you’ve let that coin around your neck go to your head.”
“Put your knife down, Schaefer.” Whitty’s usually slow drawl is low with warning. “Nick can spend time talkin’ to his Page. Ain’t no harm there.”
“His Page, not his Squire,” Vaughn spits. “He brought her forth, but that doesn’t mean she’s gonna make it through the Trials. And even if she does, that doesn’t mean she’ll be Selected.”
“I know that,” I grit out, fingers digging into my thighs.
“Good.” Vaughn gestures at the rest of the watching Pages as he speaks, his voice charged. “Because a lot of us here have waited and trained our whole lives to become a Legendborn Squire. And we’re not gonna let some affirmative action bullshit fuck up our chances.”
The table quiets as everyone waits for my response. Some of the Pages look away. Some stare me down. Others sit, jaws open and silent. Vaughn’s smug mouth is half-twisted in a snarl.
I want to smash the damn scalloped potatoes into his face. I want to scream that preferential treatment for Vassals and rich kids is exactly how they got in the door. But Nick said I should disappear. Stay off the Vassals’ radar. Keep my head down to make it through the tournament.
He was foolish to think that was ever possible. For bigots, it doesn’t matter how or why I’m truly here; the fact that I’m here at all is wrong enough.
I’m going to make it through the tournament. I’ll do what it takes to finish my mission.
But I’m not going to disappear. And I don’t want to keep my head down.
Instead, I’m going to give Vaughn a glimpse of who I really am—and show him exactly who I’m not.
With my heart thundering through my chest and my throat tight, I answer him—and anyone else sitting at this table who thinks as he does.
“You’re a bigot and a bully, Schaefer. You insult me because you think you know what I’m capable of, but you don’t. I must make you nervous, though, for you to expose your insecurities about your odds of success in the tournament.”
“My insecurities?” Vaughn growls, halfway to his feet.
“Yes,” I bite out. “And your carelessness. You’ve just questioned, in public, the judgment of the Scion of Arthur himself by suggesting that he brought his Page forth without good reason.” I grin and look Vaughn directly in the eye. “Our future king does not owe you an explanation, and behaving as though he does displays insubordination, disloyalty, and fear. Not power. Not strength. In fact, I pity the Scion who chooses you as their Squire. That is, if you get chosen at all.”
A beat of silence—then Vaughn launches himself over the table. Carson catches him before he reaches me, just as I thought he would. Vaughn strains as Carson whispers in his ear. The curious gazes of his allies turn from me to him, as I’d hoped they would, and a dark flush consumes his features.
A heartbeat passes. Two. And Vaughn drops to his seat, violence in his eyes. “Not over, Matthews.”
No, it’s not. If Vaughn wasn’t my enemy before, he is now.
But right now, I just can’t bring myself to care.
Whitty breaks the silence, his voice casual as he asks, “Would ya pass the Brussels sprouts, Ainsley?”
Ainsley scowls and passes the bowl across my chest without saying “Excuse me.” Conversation resumes around us, and dinner starts up again, but underneath the table my hands are trembling.
A light smattering of sparks falls across the bridge of my nose and cheeks. Across the room, no one at the bustling, loud, laughing Scion table has noticed what just occurred on our side of the room. No one except Selwyn Kane. The Kingsmage sits with his chin in hand, gazing at me with a contemplative expression. Like he’d been watching—and listening—to the entire exchange with Vaughn. Could he have heard us through all of the chatter and clinking silverware?
Greer surprises me by grabbing the steak tongs, then my plate. “Do you eat beef?”
“Yes.” I nod, still dazed. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
They shrug. “If the world is simple, certain people will never be inconvenienced, never need to adapt. I disrupt those people, and you do too. You’ve been doing it since you walked in the door. I like disruptors and rhythm breakers. We should start a club.”
I spear a slice of steak. “Are there T-shirts for this club?”
They laugh. Beside me, Whitty leans forward, and I realize he’s still wearing that same comfortable, old-looking camo jacket. In a sea of button-downs and polos, he’s disrupting a few rhythms himself. “I think we should get matchin’ hats, y’all.”
Greer looks at my hair and then gestures to theirs. Tonight it’s thick double fishtail braids that extend from their crown to the bottom of each shoulder blade. “And cover up these gorgeous coifs? Get outta here with that trash idea, Whitlock.”
“You see how they treat me, Bree?” He tsks. “Rude.”
* * *
Just as people start drifting to the dessert table, Lord Davis enters the room. Nick stands at his father’s side. All eyes turn to them.
“Hello, everyone. Thank you for your well wishes. Our healer, Scion Sitterson, believes I will be fully recovered before the weekend.” All around me, members brush the pads of their fingers in circles for the shhshhshh of approval. “Unfortunately, it is premature for celebration. As I’m sure you all know by now, last night our fourth-ranked Scion, Felicity Caldwell, was Called to service by her knight, Sir Lamorak. And it is true that the fifth-ranked Scion of Kay was Called last week at our sister chapter in the North.”
“Last week?” Fitz shouts. “Why didn’t someone tell us?” Quiet nods of agreement.
“I understand your frustration,” Davis says. “The Regents wished to keep this Awakening quiet, since it has been more than fifty years since a fifth-ranked Scion was Called. The truth is, there have been increased Shadowborn attacks at all chapter campuses. More Gates opening and more partial-corp crossings. Last night’s fully corporeal uchel made it plain that the Shadowborn are gaining strength and may be coordinated. There is even talk of sightings of the Line of Morgaine.”