I have the oddest sense of foreboding. Maybe it’s because I watched The Birds with my Abuelita. That strange, sharp call of gulls has had a sinister sound to me ever since.
“Who knows why birds do what they do,” I say.
“There must be something down there,” Miles says.
“Who cares, let’s go eat,” I say, dismissively.
I don’t want to think about that particular cliff, having had too close a view of it myself.
Understanding me at once, Miles takes my hand and turns toward the dining hall, saying, “Hope they have fresh bread.”
“I’m not feeling well,” Cat says, in a small voice.
“All the more reason to eat,” Miles says, taking Cat’s arm as well.
Rakel is still gazing up at the wall.
“Somebody climbed up,” she says.
Irresistibly, I turn back. Someone has indeed scaled the stairs, and now they’re bending over the parapet, peering down. Silhouetted by the sun, I can’t be sure who it is, but by the lanky frame and the uncut hair, I think it might be that Senior Spy—Saul-something.
He shouts down to the students at the base of the wall.
“What’s he saying?” I ask Miles, unable to hear.
“I think . . . I think he said there’s someone down there,” Miles says.
Cat turns and vomits on the grass.
26
Miles
The body at the base of the wall is Rocco Prince.
The rumor flies around the school long before the professors confirm it.
And though this information is not publicly shared, one of the grounds crew tells me that Rocco was found with a noose around his wrist. On the other end of the rope, a canvas bag of stones.
“A noose around his wrist?” I ask, confused.
“That’s right,” the crewman says, shaking his head grimly. “This shit is gonna kick off a whole other round of fuckin’ headaches.”
The students are confined to the dorms while the death is investigated. The staff bark orders at us with a new level of tension. This is the first time in Kingmakers’ history that two students have been killed in a matter of months.
Nothing can stop the speculation.
“I think he killed himself,” Simon Fowler says to me. “He was always off his rocker.”
I don’t believe for two seconds that Rocco would voluntarily jump off that wall.
Still, I feel an immense relief knowing that he’s dead. The only problem is the suspicion bound to fall on my head.
For the first time in my life, I’m actually innocent. But nobody’s going to believe that.
Even Simon seems wary.
“If I hadn’t been standing right next to you all day, maybe I’d think you pushed him . . .” he laughs, giving me a sideways glance.
“I wish I could shake the hand of the guy that did,” I reply.
I suppose it’s possible Rocco tied himself to a bag of rocks and pushed them off the ramparts because he lacked the courage to jump. But I just don’t fucking believe it.
Which means there’s a killer on campus. Someone who hated Rocco as much as I did.
“Maybe it was Dax,” Simon says. “He was pretty fucking pissed about that week in the cell. Not to mention Rocco smashing up their room.”
“Keep going, Horatio,” I laugh. “You’ve got a whole lot of theories.”
Simon smirks, unbothered by the sarcasm. “It’s not hard to come up with a list of people who hated Rocco Prince.”
That’s true. But I do find the timing suspicious.
Inconveniently suspicious.
I’m hauled into the Chancellor’s office immediately.
He sits behind his scarred, ancient desk, his hands folded in front of him. I pretend to look around his office for the first time, like I wasn’t just in here a couple of weeks prior. His silver keys are right back on the hook where I returned them.
“Nice setup,” I say to Luther Hugo, nodding toward his array of photographs. “Is that the British Prime Minister shaking your hand?”
Hugo ignores me. He watches me with those graphite eyes, under black brows speckled with silver. Professor Penmark stands on his left and Professor Graves on his right. Not my two biggest fans, unfortunately.
“Were you involved in the death of Rocco Prince?” Hugo asks, bluntly.
“I think it was mostly the rocks that did it,” I say. “And a little bit the fall.”
“Now would be a good time to lose the insolence,” Hugo says, in the kind of voice that feels like a set of incisors closing around the base of your neck. “Unless you want to spend another week in a cell, you’ll answer my questions fully and honestly.”
“I get why you’d think it was me,” I tell him, looking him in the eye. “But if you haven’t heard, I already worked out a deal with Zoe’s father, and the Princes as well. Rocco wasn’t a problem for me anymore. Not to mention, I was competing in the Quartum Bellum while Rocco took his swan dive.”
“You expect us to believe that?” Professor Penmark snaps, his bony white hands twitching. He seems irritated by this relatively civil line of questioning. I bet he wishes he had me strapped down to a table with the full array of his nasty implements laid out so he could “persuade” me to cooperate.
“I don’t think you operate off ‘belief’ here,” I say. “Let’s look at the facts: there’s no evidence I killed Rocco. Because I didn’t.”
“Then who did?” Professor Graves demands, in his usual pompous way. “Enlighten us.”
“Half the school hated him,” I say, shrugging. “Or maybe he did it himself. He was kind of a pouty little bitch, after all.”
Luther Hugo hasn’t taken his eyes off my face, not for a second.
His black, glinting eyes are like uncut gems, pressed deep into the sockets.
“Truth is your only chance for mercy,” he says, quietly.
An absolute lie. There is no chance for mercy.
“The truth shall set you free,” I tell him, not allowing a hint of nervousness to show. “I never touched him, and I don’t know who did.”
That statement is ninety-nine percent accurate.
The one percent is the caveat I’d never share with the Chancellor, or the professors.
I don’t know who killed Rocco. . .but I have one wild, improbable suspicion.
Tediously, I have to repeat my conversation with the Chancellor that evening when Dieter Prince phones me.
He doesn’t sound like a man who just lost his son.
He sounds like a man who suffered a minor irritation on par with an unexpected tax bill, or the loss of his favorite golf clubs.
“Were you involved in Rocco’s death?” He demands, the moment I pick up the phone.
“No,” I say. “I was very happy with our arrangement. Rocco hadn’t said a word to Zoe or me. I trusted that he intended to abide by the agreement.”
Not entirely true . . . I wouldn’t trust Rocco to lick a stamp for me, but I don’t need to get into that with Dieter Prince.
“I assume the Chancellor told you I was in full view of the entire school at the time of the incident.”