Page 14 of Reign

Haskins isn’t here. And now that I think about it, I didn’t pass one patrol car on my trek to the academy.

“You’re looking rather pale,” Marron says as he rustles papers on his desk, flicking a glance in my direction. “Do sit down.”

With stiff legs, I do as he asks, dropping my bag at my feet before taking a visitor’s chair.

“Now.” Marron stacks the same pile of papers. “I assume you’re curious as to why I’ve called you in this morning right before your first exam.”

“Actually, I know exactly why I’m here.”

At last, Marron’s gaze steadies on mine. He arches a brow. “Am I correct in assuming you will take responsibility for the dissemination of complete misinformation and the unauthorized use of parent and faculty email addresses last night?”

“I’d think you’d be more upset that your secret societies are outed,” I observe, neither confirming nor denying. “But in this place, I guess it takes a lot more than attributing a second girl’s murder to the Virtues to deepen your frown.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ivara Alling.” My voice shakes, and I fight for control. “Ivy. She was killed last night by Sabine Harrington.”

Marron leans back in his seat. His stare doesn’t leave my face.

I continue, “You know who Sabine Harrington really is. The queen of the Virtues, a secret society created by Rose Briar, and after her death, continued on by women anxious to claim power in a man-driven world. Namely, the Harringtons, which Sabine married into.”

“Good gracious, you have quite the imagination. I’m not surprised that it’s largely in line with the anonymous email sent out.”

I squint at him. “The Virtues weren’t the first. Thorne Briar created the Nobles, an elite secret society meant to groom and prepare boys for the ultimate status within college, then the workforce, and ultimately, key positions of political power.”

Marron sighs. “Miss Ryan, as much as I enjoy a good story-telling—”

“You’re one of them.”

A muscle under Marron’s eye twitches.

“A Noble Viscount. I saw you in your red robe, telling what I can only assume are high class escorts to strip for the freshmen’s initiation this year. I also heard your talk of soulmates—a lame attempt at controlling the Virtues, if I’ve ever heard one, but I’m guessing you Nobles haven’t mentally surpassed the whole ‘let’s marry the woman and that’ll keep her out of trouble’ trope.”

I wait for my theoretical mike to drop—I’m so angry, so helplessly enraged, that all I want to do is affect someone, hurt someone, wake them the fuck up.

“Why, yes.” Marron lays his forearms on his desk. “I read all this in the elaborate, paranoid rambling you sent to all faculty and parents last night.”

“There’s nothing delusional about an anonymous email I happen to agree with,” I hedge.

“You are treading such dangerous waters.” Marron clucks his tongue. “And I sincerely don’t think you care.” He lifts a sheaf of stapled papers, turning them so I can read the first page. “Indeed, your psychiatric transcripts assure me of your inability to discern fact from fiction when you’re in such a dissociated state.” He holds up a hand to prevent argument. “Allow me to elaborate.”

Marron licks his finger, turns the page, and reads, “‘The patient suffers from paranoid personality disorder. On a recent occasion, extreme paranoia occurred in the form of the patient’s insistence that her stepfather killed her mother. PPD can also include an unrelenting mistrust and suspicion of others, even when there is no reason for those suspicions to be cast, of which the patient also displays.’” Marron looks up at me over the top of the paper. “Does any of that ring a bell?”

“You bastard,” I hiss under my breath. Marron doesn’t react. “Ivy was stabbed in the neck by Sabine because that woman is so starved for power that she’d rather traffic, maim, and kill the girls she enlists, while you just sit there and preside over your over-priced, over-privileged, garbage dump of a school, uncaring of the senseless deaths of your own students.”

“Although you have yet to admit it, you’ve caused quite a stir with our parents. I assure you, I have easily quelled the hurricane you’ve attempted to create with one, simple attachment to your diatribe.” He lifts my hospital transcripts again. “This.”

“Throw my past at me all you want,” I seethe. “That doesn’t change what I saw last night. I had Ivy’s blood under my fingernails—”

“Ah.” Marron sits back, giving me the once-over. “You’re looking rather clean from my perspective. Did you shower?” His expression grows coy. “Did Mr. Stone help with the cleanse? Indeed, did he convince you to write this email that can so easily be discredited with your fragile mental state?”

My heartbeat kicks up, pounds, slams in my throat, but I keep my voice level. Pray for it. “My friend’s body is in your library. I saw the police lights last night. Soon, you’ll have to answer for another death on your watch.”

“Hmm.” Marron puts his index fingers to his lips and turns his attention to his desk. “I don’t normally break confidentiality, but I believe I have something you should listen to.”

I balk. “Why isn’t anybody hearing me? There’s no time for more stupid games! Your Virtue Queen is out of her—”

Ivy’s voice fills the room.

---