Snow smiles, slowly. “I think you agreed.”
“You were right,” I nod. “I’d do anything for her.”
Snow rests his hand on my shoulder.
“You’re a man now. And that’s what a man does.”
Cat is waiting for me just outside the gym. She bounces on her toes, her eyes bright and excited.
“There’s an hour left before the wagons leave,” she says. “Want to walk around campus one last time?”
“That sounds ominous,” I tease her. “You’re not planning to take me up on the wall, are you . . . ?”
She smacks my arm.
“Don’t joke about that!” she hisses at me. “Don’t ever say it out loud. That’s how I—”
“Shhh,” I say, clamping my hand over her mouth to irritate her all the more. “You’re gonna spill all our secrets again!”
Cat is ready to kill me for real, but I can’t help it, I’ve always loved the way she looks when she’s furious—eyes glittering, cheeks flaming, body shaking.
“All right, I’m sorry,” I say, releasing her. “Look, there’s nobody around.”
Cat tosses her dark curls. “You better not plan on harassing me all the way home. It’s a long flight to Chicago.”
“Two long flights,” I say. “And a boat ride. But don’t worry, I’ll be pampering you the whole way. Rubbing your shoulders and letting you sleep on my lap . . .”
“Really?” Cat perks up at once, already willing to forgive me for teasing her. “That would be so nice, actually. I can stretch all the way out on two seats . . .”
We’re walking down the annex of the Armory together, down the double row of photographs bearing all the winning Captains of Quartum Bellums past, stretching back before the dawn of photography when the portraits were painted or sketched.
“There’s Adrik Petrov,” I say to Cat, pointing to the three photographs of the grinning Adrik, his black hair wild and windswept, his expression ferociously triumphant. “He’s Kade’s older brother.”
In the third photograph, the defeated Captain standing behind him looks battered and miserable, barely able to stand upright. That must have been an awful challenge.
“Oh, I’ve heard of him,” Cat says, pausing to stretch up on tiptoe so she can see the pictures better. “You met him in Moscow?”
“Just briefly,” I say. “I liked him, though.”
“He doesn’t look very nice,” Cat says, doubtfully.
“You don’t like nice,” I growl, slipping my arm around her waist.
Cat leans her body back against mine, arching her back with pleasure.
I stoop to kiss the side of her neck.
She turns all the way round to kiss me long and slow. The sun filters down through the high windows, turning the edge of her face gold. Her mouth is as warm as the sunshine.
When we break apart, I feel light-headed.
Cat leads me further down the hallway, her fingers linked through mine.
“There’s no other Captains that won three years,” she says, examining the photographs. “Barely any that even won twice.”
“Mm,” I say, still distracted by the kiss.
“I haven’t seen any girls that did,” Cat says, those keen dark eyes combing the walls.
“There’s less girls that attend the school. Probably barely any in the olden days.”
“I’m not looking at the olden days,” Cat laughs. “We’re only twenty years back. Oh, here! There’s one . . .”
She runs a few steps down, looking eagerly up at the photograph of a black-haired girl with bright blue eyes. Her mouth is open in gleeful laughter after her first win.
“And look! She was only a Sophomore.” Cat says, highly impressed. “Then next year . . .”she follows down to the next photograph, where the same girl stands in the place of honor, right in front. This time she isn’t laughing. In fact, she hardly looks triumphant at all. Maybe it’s because the losing Captain is so bitterly angry that she doesn’t like him standing right behind her.
“It’s funny though . . .” Cat says, walking down a few more steps. “She wasn’t Captain her Senior year . . .”
“Maybe she didn’t win.”
“No look, she’s not in any of the pictures even in the background.”
I scan the photos, seeing that Cat is right.
“That is odd . . .” I admit.
Usually a winning Captain is voted back every year, unless they fuck up. If the girl won in her Sophomore and Junior years, you’d expect that the Senior class would be desperate to have her lead them again.
“Maybe she didn’t come back to Kingmakers at all . . .” I say, slowly.
Miles and Zoe dropped out. The girl might have gotten married.
“Maybe she didn’t . . .” Cat replies, in a strangely distant voice. Her eyes look unfocused and dreamy.
“What?” I say.
Ignoring me, Cat dashes back to the first photograph of the black-haired girl. Then she returns to the second. She goes back and forth several times, examining the winning Captain closely.
“What is it?” I ask Cat again. I come to stand beside her, trying to see what she’s seeing.
“Do you think she looks . . . skinnier in the first picture?” Cat asks.
I squint closely, looking at the girl’s slim, athletic frame.
“I don’t know,” I say. “She’s a year older in the second picture. But . . . I guess . . . ”
There is a slight difference in her figure, or at least I think there might be. It’s difficult to tell in her loose uniform. And she’s so much more serious in the second picture. But still, she might be a little bit fuller.
“What does it matter?” I ask Cat. “What does it mean?”
“This will sound crazy,” she says, softly. “But I think that’s Hedeon’s mother.”
We fly from Dubrovnik to Chicago, with a short layover in Berlin where we part ways with Chay Wagner.
Anna and Leo sit directly across the aisle from Cat and me.
Leo leans over to talk to us so often that one of the flight attendants hits him with the drink cart on purpose, just to remind him to stay out of the way.
I can tell he’s trying to make me feel comfortable, and I have to admit, when I’m not doing my best to despise Leo, his warmth is irresistible. He almost makes me believe there won’t be any awkwardness at all in finally meeting the people I was taught to hate and despise all my life.
Ignoring the glares of the flight attendant, Leo leans his rangy frame across the aisle once more to say to me, “You like movies? There’s this outdoor theater we can go to, they show all these 80s slasher flicks late at night down by the lake. It’s nice and creepy with the trees all around, and the water . . .”
“You hate horror movies!” Anna says to Leo. “You almost leap out of your chair with every single jump scare.”
“That’s just my highly-tuned reflexes,” Leo grins. “If there is a murderer behind us in a hockey mask, you’re gonna be glad I’m not laying back in my seat half asleep.”