Page 146 of Kingmakers, Year Three

It’s not really a question. I’m just voicing the words aloud, as if that will help me understand how I feel about that idea.

“Not to see your mom,” Cat amends, quickly. “But I thought . . . maybe . . . you might want to see some of the rest of your family.”

She means my Aunt Yelena, Leo’s mother.

She was my father’s twin. They were best friends, growing up. The closest people in the world to each other.

I suppose Leo told her what happened. I wonder if she was upset?

“They’re not my family,” I tell Cat. “I’ve never even met them.”

Cat looks me in the eye, laying her hand on top of mine on the warm grass.

“They could be,” she says. “If that’s what you wanted.”

I turn my hand over so I can grip her fingers tight.

As always happens when I consider the ugly, bloody history of my forbearers, my stomach churns and my face gets hot. Usually a wave of anger and resentment washes over me.

But today, I feel something different. A little bit like fear, and a little bit like longing.

“I don’t think any of them would want to seeme,” I say, quietly.

Cat reaches up to touch my cheek, her hand softer than any pillow.

“Do you want to be with me always?” She says.

“Yes,” I tell her.

“Then you’re going to be tied to the Griffins and the Gallos twice over. We’ll all be connected to each other. We’ll all be family.”

I take her hand off my cheek and bring it to my lips, kissing it gently.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you, Cat. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy. If you want me to come to Chicago with you . . . then that’s what I’ll do.”

The morningwe’re due to leave Kingmakers, I visit Snow one last time.

He’s in the gym, straightening the mats and putting away any errant pieces of equipment, even though there’s no more classes and no students dedicated enough to train on the last day of school.

Not even me.

When he sees me standing in the doorway he straightens up, smiling without any surprise.

“Did you change your mind about coming to New York?” he says.

“No,” I reply. “But if the offer still stands in a few years . . . ”

“It will always stand,” he says, quietly.

“Thank you.” I pause, wanting to say this right. “Thank you for everything, Snow. You helped me, when I didn’t want it or ask for it. When I wasn’t grateful or even deserving.”

“You were deserving,” Snow says, his eyes as clear and piercing as ever. “I saw that from the start.”

I cross the mats and embrace him one last time.

I hope I can give that sort of hug to someone, someday.

“Cat asked me to come to Chicago with her,” I tell him. “Over the summer.”

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