Page 19 of Kingmakers, Year Two

Ileave for Kingmakers on the first of September.

I kept praying that something would happen to prevent me from going. My main hope was that I simply wouldn’t be accepted, applying so late in the year.

Then a heavy gray envelope arrived in the mail, sealed with wax the color of dried blood, stamped with the crest of the school: a crowned skull. The handwritten address bore my full legal name, Catalina Resmella Romero, in script that looked a hundred years old.

I already knew what it would say before I opened it—or at least, I thought I did.

Catalina Romero,

I am writing to inform you that you have been accepted to Kingmakers Academy. Having reviewed your application and assessed your qualifications, we have assigned you to the Spy division.

School will commence on the 3rd of September. You will depart from the pier in Dubrovnik at 10:00 in the morning on September 2nd.

Admission to our campus is singular and irrevocable. If you decide to leave for any reason, you will not be permitted to return. Be sure to bring all items you will require for the duration of your program.

Enclosed is a list of our rules and regulations. Sign and return your acknowledgment of the contract, including your willingness to abide by our arbitration and punishment system. Your parents’ signature and imprint are likewise required.

We look forward to meeting you. You will be joining an elite institution with a long and storied history. Perhaps someday your name will be inscribed on the wall of Dominus Scelestos.

Your sister distinguished herself in the Quartum Bellum in her Freshman year. I hope to see you do the same when this year’s challenge convenes.

Sincerely,

Luther Hugo

Necessitas Non Habet Legem—Necessity Has No Law

I recognized the envelope from Zoe’s identical missive the year prior. From its thickness, I assumed that I had been accepted, and that it would include the draconian list of school rules and the irrevocable contract on which my father and I would both have to press our bloody fingerprints, agreeing that Kingmakers has the right to discipline or even execute me if I transgress its laws.

I knew all of that ahead of time.

What I didn’t expect was to be put in with the Spies.

Kingmakers has four divisions: the Heirs, who are trained to lead their families as a general leads an army. The Enforcers, who are the soldiers. The Accountants, who handle the finance and investment arms of the business. And then the Spies.

The Spies are the least-numerous and most obscure division. Their job is to surveil and analyze enemy groups—both law enforcement and rival criminals. They predict threats against the family and sometimes liaise with the enemy. And most of all, they ferret out threats from within their own ranks.

I can’t imagine a job less suited to me.

Spies have to be bold and cunning. Ruthless and skilled.

I’m terrified of my own shadow. I cry if someone looks at me sideways. I have no skills at all, other than painting and drawing, and I’m pretty good with computers. I’ve never been in a fight, and I’ve never fired a gun in my life.

As a Spy, there’s no one to protect you. One wrong step, and you’ll be tortured and killed.

I feel like a crab ripped out of its shell.

Worst of all, Zoe and I couldn’t even travel to Dubrovnik together. The Freshmen start a week later than everybody else, so she’s already on campus, while I have to board the imposing ship all on my own, amid the throng of students from all across the globe.

I hear a virtual Babel of languages on the dock, though we all have to speak English once we arrive, as it’s thelingua francaof Kingmakers.

I try to find the most distant, unobtrusive corner of the ship so I can stay out of the way of the surly-looking sailors, observing my fellow students from a distance.

Everyone looks so much cooler and more confident than me. Plenty of them already seem to know each other, maybe because they’re from the same country, or because they’ve crossed paths with each other before.

I don’t recognize a single face. Until a merry girl with blonde curls taps me on the shoulder and says, “Cat? Is that you?”

“Yes?” I say hesitantly.

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