I wonder if the girl became famous later, and that’s why he kept this picture. Everyone else on his walls is someone important.
I’m more interested in the set of keys hanging on a small hook directly next to the photograph. I snatch them up, stilling their jingling with my fingers.
I slip back out of the office, making sure to re-lock the door behind me. I even check that I haven’t left footprints on the plush rug.
From there, it’s an easy jog down the staircase to meet Ares on the ground floor. He’s holding my laptop under one arm, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.
“What took you so long?” He hisses.
“That was less than five minutes.” I hold out my hand for the laptop. I want to keep it with me, as it’s a fairly crucial part of the plan.
“Let’s just go,” Ares says. “The sooner we leave . . .”
“I know, I know. The sooner you can get back in your cozy bed and pretend that none of this ever happened. Come on, follow me.”
“I thought we were going out?” Ares says, looking confusedly toward the front doors of the Keep, as I lead him further inside instead.
“Not out . . . down,” I reply.
I take him to a recessed door next to a musty old tapestry. The door is narrow and might well be a closet. If you didn’t know what you were looking for.
The lock turns with a screech. Ares winces, but I ignore it. There’s no one around to hear.
This staircase is darker and damper than the ones above ground, the stone smooth and slick in places. I use my phone to light the way. The roof hangs so low in places that Ares has to stoop to avoid banging his head. I try to give him a warning every time I duck under some new outcropping of raw rock.
The path winds and spirals. Sometimes we traverse an almost flat tunnel, and other times we descend stairs so steep that my quads burn.
“How far down does this go?” Ares says, sounding somewhat nauseated. I understand: picturing the hundreds of tons of rock and castle on top of us is not particularly pleasant. Especially when you remember that limestone is porous, and can degrade as water seeps through. Still, I like to think that any castle that stood for seven hundred years is unlikely to fall on my head tonight.
“Almost there,” I tell him, with slight exaggeration.
Ten minutes later, we do indeed arrive at the Chancellor’s own private sea cave. The boat bobs on the water, its pointed nose rising up and down like a horse tossing its head, anxious to be free to run. It’s at least sixty feet long, sleek and shining, painted graphite black with darkly tinted windows.
“You could be ten feet away from this thing and not see it on a night like this,” I say to Ares.
Ares stares, shaking his head slowly.
“I’ve never piloted anything like this,” he says.
“I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”
I toss him the keys. Ares catches them easily, left-handed.
“See. Those are the kind of reflexes I’m counting on to get us through the currents.”
Taking a deep breath, Ares starts to cast off. I can tell he knows what he’s doing, just by the way he handles the ropes. I’ve already jumped on deck, impatient to be on our way.
Ares joins me a moment later, throwing one last nervous glance back toward the doorway.
“Relax,” I tell him. “You’ve never noticed the Chancellor leaving any other night. Why should anybody see us?”
“I wasn’t paying attention,” Ares grumbles. “I was sleeping in my bed, like I should be right now.”
“Come on,” I grin. “Do it for Zoe. And for the fantastic leverage you’ll have over me. I can’t wait to see what you’ll make me do. Streak the Super Bowl? Assassinate the president?”
Ares ignores me, refusing to have fun while we’re risking our necks.
He starts the engine and carefully steers us out.
I thought this would be the tricky part, navigating the narrow stone passageway.
But once we’re in open water, it’s much worse. The waves batter us from all sides, without rhythm or reason, as if intent upon lifting us up and smashing us against the rocks like the boat is a piñata and the ocean a gang of rowdy partygoers.
Ares has to gun the engine hard, then pull back, steering us in and out, timing the gaps to shoot us forward again, always maneuvering the boat so we aren’t hit broadside and flipped.
It doesn’t help that it’s a black, moonless night. Several times rocks seem to rear up out of the water like sea monsters. Ares misses them by mere feet.
My heart is in my throat. All I can do is call out warnings, while Ares strains against the wheel, every muscle standing out on his forearms.
At last we’ve made it through the worst of it, and we’re out in open ocean, heading in a swift and regular course toward the unseen shore. Ares stands pale and silent, not wanting to celebrate with me.
“That was fucking insane!” I shout, clapping him on the back.
“We have to do the same thing on the way back,” Ares reminds me, “with the waves pushing us forward instead of holding us back, which might be even worse.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “If the Malina kill us, we won’t have to come back at all.”
Ares turns to glare at me. “Don’t joke. Don’t even think about trying to be fucking funny with these people. The only thing that would make them laugh is cutting your throat.”
“Hey,” I tell Ares, serious now. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m not going to let Zoe down.”
Ares looks at me, reading the truth in my face.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I agreed to this.”
The Chancellor’s boat is infinitely faster than the barquentine, but it’s still going to take us an hour or two to get to shore. I can only spend so much time looking out over endless black waves before Ares seems relatively intriguing by comparison.
“I know I was giving you shit about Zoe,” I say, “But how come you never dated her, or Chay, or any of the other many, many girls who like the strong, silent type?”
Ares shrugs. “I’m not interested in dating.”
“Girls, specifically, or . . .”
“I like girls,” he says, flatly.
“Just not the ones at our school.”
He takes his eyes off the water for a moment to scowl at me. “Why are you so curious?”
“It’s my nature. I like to figure people out. I have a hard time with you—you don’t make sense to me.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“You like cultivating that air of mystique?”
Realizing that I’m not going to drop it, Ares lets out an irritated sigh and turns to face me.
“There’s no point, is there? Any girl like Chay who thinks she might like to date me for a minute . . . she’d change her mind quick enough if she ever came to Syros. I may be at Kingmakers, but I’m not like the rest of you.”
“Why come here, then?” I demand. “Why not go to a normal school?”
“I wish I had, sometimes,” Ares says, and now his face is dark, full of some anger he’s barely holding back. “You do whatever you want, Miles. You don’t understand what it’s like to owe something to your family. They demand it from you, and you try to give it, even when it’s impossible.”