Page 66 of Kingmakers, Year Three

“Yes.” I nod. “Blood doesn’t bother me.”

Cat’s breathing is slow and steady as she drifts off, heedless of the doctor’s needle and thread stitching her skin.

Sasha’s hands are wonderfully capable. Everything about her is calming, from her gentle voice to her clear blue eyes. She wears her blonde hair in a long plait down the back of her white lab coat.

“What did Snow say about me?” I ask her, unable to stifle my curiosity.

“He said he was very proud of your progress,” Sasha tells me.

For some reason, this makes my throat feel thick.

“That’s good,” I say after a moment. “He’s an excellent coach.”

“The best,” Sasha says proudly. “He trained our son Zane, and he’s sure to become a champion as well.”

“Where is he now?” I ask.

“In New York with our daughter Faye. They share an apartment together. She’s in med school.”

“Both of them follow in your footsteps,” I say.

Sasha nods. “We didn’t expect it—they could have done anything; it didn’t matter to us.”

I think about that.

My father has very clear instructions for what he expects from me. He won’t accept anything else.

Yet Snow and Sasha’s children choose to emulate them willingly. Because they look at their parents and they see a life worth imitating.

So do I.

Only when I look at Snow—not at my own father.

“She’s probably going to sleep for a couple of hours,” Sasha tells me, nodding toward Cat’s peaceful figure beneath the thick infirmary blankets.

“I don’t care,” I say. “I want to stay.”

12

THE SPY

Iwalk across campus to the library. It’s late enough that I know nobody else will be there. Not on a Friday, and especially not on a night when there’s at least two parties planned to celebrate the Seniors winning the first round of theQuartum Bellum.

I want to speak to Miss Robin.

It’s so ridiculous calling her that. But she insists. In fact, she gets furious if I ever slip and call her what she really is to me. She says we have to convince even our own selves of these identities. That’s the only way to be sure that we won’t slip up. One mistake could be fatal. It could undo two long years of work.

Sometimes I start to believe my own lies.

My old life seems like a dream, like it happened to someone else.

And this new life . . .

Sometimes I enjoy it. I want to believe it’s real. The part I play is so much easier than the truth.

It’s so lonely wearing this mask.

That’s why I have to go see her. Because she’s the only one who knows. The only time I can be myself is with her, even if she uses this name, and I have to use hers.

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