The front of Estas’ dress shirt is soaked red. He looks extremely grumpy as he unsuccessfully tries to staunch the flow from his nose with a filthy-looking handkerchief provided by the crew.
That’s the only comfort I get as the wagons lurch up the unpaved road—that at least Estas looks almost as stupid as Sabrina and me.
Sabrina doesn’t seem to mind. I guess she’s used to attention. She sits tall and proud on the bench seat, glancing around curiously as we pass through farms and vineyards, thick pine forest, and then wide-open fields, fragrant with the last of the sweet summer hay.
Kingmakers looms on the highest point of the island, a vast stone fortress with bone-pale walls and dark gables. Its gates are guarded by two monolithic figures: a knight with an ax to our left, and a winged woman with an upraised sword to our right. Their stone faces look down on us, coldly forbidding.
The inscription over the entrance reads:
Necessitas Non Habet Legem
Necessity Has No Law
The temperature inside Kingmakers is at least ten degrees colder. The grounds are shadowed by the thick stone walls, not to mention the many towers, parapets, and interior structures that make up the castle. It’s like a secret city, whole and entire unto itself, with vast glass greenhouses and terraced gardens and students striding around with a sense of purpose and self-possession that has entirely abandoned me at the moment.
A group of four Seniors wait for us just outside the main Keep. The rest of the students file out of the wagons, called to attention by a bright-eyed blonde girl wearing a pair of pink rhinestone cowboy boots with her school uniform. Even though she’s 5’4 at best and could be mistaken for a sorority sister, her tone more closely resembles a drill sergeant. She shouts, “Hurry up fresh meat! We haven’t got all day!”
She tips a wink at Cara Wilk, apparently recognizing her.
Then she frowns at the sight of Sabrina Gallo, hands tied, perched in the back of the luggage wagon.
“What’s this about?” she demands of the driver.
“Those two gotta go see the Chancellor,” he says.
“What for?” the blonde girl cries.
The driver shrugs.
The blonde gives him an irritated scowl but doesn’t argue further. Instead, she calls the rest of the students to order as the driver begins to unload the luggage.
“Welcome to Kingmakers!” she shouts. “I’m Chay Wagner, and this is Bodashka Kushnir,”—she nods toward a hulking boy with a blocky jaw and a dull expression—“Matteo Ragusa”—a slim boy with close-cropped dark hair, who gives the Freshmen a wave—“and Isabel Dixon”—a clever-looking black-haired girl with a crooked smile and horribly-bitten fingernails.
“I’m going to be taking charge of the Heirs today. My fellow guides will show the rest of you to your dorms. I should hope you know your own division by now, but just in case you’re completely stupid, I’m gonna call your name and you can grab your suitcase and go stand by your guide.”
Chay begins with the Accountants, reading the names off her list with the speed of an impatient auctioneer.
Cara Wilk is already retrieving her single suitcase. She gives us a worried look.
“What should I do?” she whispers up to Sabrina. “Should I try to call someone?”
“I’ll be fine,” Sabrina says, tossing her dark hair back over her shoulders. “Go on, don’t stress.”
Reluctantly, Cara joins Matteo Ragusa and the rest of the Accountants.
Caleb Griffin is next to depart, splitting off with the brawny and boisterous Enforcers under the care of Bodashka Kushnir. Caleb is less concerned than Cara, only sparing us one last amused glance before galloping off with his new dormmates.
Isabel Dixon takes charge of the Spies.
It’s interesting to see the clear physical differences amongst the divisions. The Enforcers are almost entirely male, with a clear preference for size and athleticism. The Accountants are, for lack of a better word, neat. They show the most deference to the school dress code, and every one of them appears to have woken up in time to shower this morning. The Spies, by contrast, look like they might have spent the night clubbing, chugged down a Bloody Mary, then pulled their uniforms on over whatever they were wearing before. One of the girls has a leather corset under her school blouse, and one of the guys bears several smeared stamps on the back of his hand from his last outing in civilization.
The Heirs are a mixed bag. Alyssa Chan—the Asian girl who snubbed me on the ship—Sabrina Gallo, and I are the only female Heirs in our year. The rest are an assortment of boys of every nationality whose only unifying characteristic is cocky confidence.
“You looking for a new roommate?” a redheaded Scot asks Chay, sidling up next to her and giving her a seductive grin.
“Afraid not,” Chay says. “No dogs allowed in the Solar.”
The rest of the male Heirs chortle at the brush-off, but Chay wastes no time wiping the smiles off their faces.
“I’ll walk you over to your dorms in the Octagon Tower,” she says, “Dean Yenin will take charge of you then—he’s not nearly as nice as me, so watch the lip or he’ll knock you on your ass.”
Estas Lomachenko joins the Heirs, picking up his suitcase and spitting a mouthful of blood out on the grass.
“I hope the Chancellor chucks you off the fucking cliff,” he snarls up at us.
“Aww, does your wittle nose hurt?” Sabrina mocks him.
Chay cuts between us before Estas can lunge at Sabrina.
“Join the Heirs,” she tells him sternly. Then, looking up at Sabrina, she says, “I’ll come up to Chancellor’s office as soon as I drop off the Freshmen.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sabrina says blithely. “You saw that big fuckin’ baby, he’s not even hurt.”
“Well,” Chay says, unconvinced. “I’ll still come check on you.”
Once we’re alone with the driver, Sabrina impatiently orders, “Will you untie us already? We’re not gonna run away. Where the fuck would we go?”
“Just doing what the first mate said to do,” the driver replies stubbornly. He chucks the reigns, encouraging his droopy gray horse to stumble forward again.
Rolling her eyes in annoyance, Sabrina starts wriggling her wrists free of the rope.
It’s not too difficult for me to do the same. While the sailors’ knots are impressive, the rope itself is too thick for the purpose. We had only remained bound out of a desire to avoid getting in any more trouble.
The driver takes us in a slow half-circle around the Keep, bringing the horse to a stop only twenty yards from where we were sitting before.
“We’re here,” he says.
“We could have just walked over!” Sabrina shouts at him, utterly annoyed.
“Just doing my job,” the driver says.
I can tell Sabrina wants to pop him in the nose too, but this time she restrains herself. She shakes the ropes off her wrists and jumps down from the wagon. I follow after her, likewise free, at least for the moment.
“Where’s the Chancellor?” Sabrina demands imperiously.
“Top floor,” the driver says. “I’m taking you up.”
“I’ll tell him myself what happened,” Sabrina says.