Page 23 of Kingmakers, Year One

I slip out from under the heavy covers and walk over to the window. I never bother to pull the drapes, so the moonlight is streaming in. I can look down to the overgrown garden with its stone statues and fountains, its cobblestone paths slippery with moss.

A tall, slim figure dressed in black walks from the garden into the glass conservatory.

My father.

I leave my room, running down the wide, curving staircase, then across the dark and silent main floor of the house, to the conservatory.

The house is still, other than the usual creaks and groans of old wood settling. It’s chilly, even though it’s the end of summer. The thick stone walls and the heavy trees all around keep it cool no matter the time of year.

The conservatory is warmer, still trapping the last heat of the day. The heady smell of chlorophyll fills my lungs. It’s dark in here, only tiny pinpricks of starlight penetrating through the thickly-crowded leaves. It’s two o’clock in the morning.

I can hear my father, even though he’s almost silent. I know how to listen for the sound of human breath.

Likewise, he hears me coming no matter how quietly I walk.

“Can’t sleep,mala milosc?” he says.

“Won’t, not can’t.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t want to waste my last night at home.”

I’ve pushed my way through the trees and hanging vines to the bench where my father sits. He’s still wearing the cashmere sweater and slacks that are his usual work attire. With his sleeves pushed up, I can see the thickets of tattoos running down his arms, all the way across the backs of his hands and down his fingertips.

He’s told me what some of the tattoos mean.

And he’s added more, since I was born. Any remaining space on his body he filled with tattoos commemorating the dates of his children’s birth, tattoos for each ballet my mother choreographed, and tattoos that immortalize experiences between the two of them, unknown to me.

I have five tattoos myself: a swallow for my mother, a wolf for my father, a quote from my sister’s favorite book, a sprig of aconite for my brother. And a fifth that I’ve never shown to anyone.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” my father asks me.

“No,” I say honestly. “I am glad Leo’s coming, though. I’d be lonely without him.”

“I’m glad he’ll be there, too.” My father nods. “I know you don’t need anyone to protect you. But everyone needs allies. In your first week, be careful who you allow in your circle. Every bond you forge can open a door, or close another in your face.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t let Leo drag you into anything. He’s not strategic.”

“He leads with his heart,” I say. “But his instincts are usually good.”

“He has a temper.” My father frowns, his pale blue eyes narrowed and honed in closely on my face.

“Dad. I know what Leo’s like.”

“I know you do.” My father puts his arm around me, pulling my head against his shoulder. “I love you, Anna. And I trust you.”

My heart beats hard against my ribs. There’s something I want to say to my father, but I’m afraid…something I saw in my acceptance letter that I hardly dared believe.

I lick my lips, trying to find courage.

“Dad . . .”

“Yes?”

“In my Kingmakers letter . . . it said I was accepted to the Heirs division.”

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