Page 25 of Kingmakers, Year One

She would know—after all, she was Bratva. They send more children to Kingmakers than anyone.

It’s supposed to be a kind of sanctuary. A temporary detente between the grudges and rivalries of the various families. But for the children of criminals, rules are made to be broken. Even the school’s mottoNecessitas Non Habet LegemmeansNecessity Has No Law.

Our acceptance letters came with a list of strict school rules, along with their accompanying punishments. Our parents had to sign the contract for the Rule of Recompense, and so did Leo and I. We had to press our print in blood to the bottom of the page. It means that we submit to the authority of the school.

If we get ourselves in trouble, we’ll be disciplined by the Chancellor. He is—quite literally—judge, jury, and executioner. Our parents can’t intervene or retaliate.

As usual, Leo seems completely unconcerned by any of that. He hugs both his parents, lifting his mother off her feet and kissing her hard on both cheeks.

Aunt Yelena blinks like she’s forcing her eyes not to tear up.

“Be careful, Leo,” she says.

He shrugs that off, not even bothering to pretend like he’ll try.

“Love you, Mom.”

Cara puts her arms around my shoulders and squeezes me tight, while Whelan does the same with his arms around my waist.

I feel the worst about leaving Cara. She doesn’t let many people in. I know she’ll be lonely without me, even if she never complains.

“Why can’t I go?” Whelan demands.

“Because you’re six,” my father says calmly.

“That’s not fair!”

“It’s the epitome of fair. You can go at eighteen, exactly like your sister.”

“It’s not fair that I’m not eighteen,” Whelan mutters under his breath, knowing not to push our father too far.

Whelan is the only one of us who got my mother’s freckles and green eyes. They look much wilder on him because he’s a little demon in human form. His copper-colored hair is always sticking up, and you can’t tell what’s freckles and what’s dirt on his face. Even though he’s stocky, he’s fast as hell and surprisingly strong.

Cara is slim like me, medium height, with pale blue eyes. She’s got darker hair than the rest of us, so brown it’s almost black. She didn’t speak until she was four, and even now you might be forgiven for thinking she still hasn’t learned to do it.

“Can you call me on the weekends?” she asks me quietly.

“I think so.”

“Just write if you can’t.”

“I will,” I promise.

My mother hugs me, too. She always smells clean and fresh, like the inside of a flower blossom.

“I’m starting to regret this already,” she says. “Because of how much I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll try to find somewhere to practice on campus.”

“I never had to worry about you practicing.” My mother shakes her head. “Sleeping, on the other hand . . .”

I smile. “I’ll try to find time for that, too.”

Leo and I board the plane, sitting next to each other in the second row of First Class. Nobody else our age is flying from Chicago to Frankfurt. We’re the only mafia children from our city going to Kingmakers this year.

We do know one person who’s already there: our cousin Miles.

He’s a year older than us and left last September. He came home over the summer, but we’re not on the same flight going back out, because Freshmen start a week later than everybody else.

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