Page 21 of Kingmakers, Year Four

And now, so is Nix Moroz.

If Plan A fails, then we have to go through with Plan B.

I despise Plan B.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter what I like or what I want. We’re far past preferences.

I wait until the new female Heirs have followed Chay and Anna inside the Solar, and then I head west along the north wall, all the way to the Library Tower.

I know this part of campus better than any other—better even than my own dorm room. I come here almost every day.

I know I shouldn’t. Miss Robin has warned me several times that I’m being too obvious, taking too many chances.

I can’t help it. I never realized the toll it would take on me, lying every single day. Never answering questions honestly, even in casual conversation. Never hearing my own name spoken aloud. Never being hugged by a friend who truly knows me.

I’m separated from everyone I love—except for her.

So I push open the heavy wooden doors to the library, catching the scent of ancient paper, dusty rugs, spiced tea, and a hint of that perfume that reminds me so powerfully of home.

My mother’s scent reminds me of my father’s. There was always something similar between them. Like coffee and vanilla, or sea salt and cedar . . . things meant to pair together, each enhancing the other.

My parents were made for each other, partners in a way I’ve never seen in any other coupling. So alike that a novel’s worth of words seemed to pass between them in a glance.

Before they met, neither one believed in soulmates. Neither of them was looking for love. They were the most independent people imaginable—my father, a ruthlessPakhan,subduing the city of St. Petersburg, smashing any rivals in his path. My mother an assassin for hire, expert in the subtle murder of powerful men without a trace of evidence left behind.

My father was supposed to be another name on her death list.

She breached the security of his monastery. Crept into his bedroom in the dead of night. Held a syringe full of poison to the side of his throat.

And then . . . fate intervened.

His eyes opened and locked on hers.

They fought a desperate, bloody battle in his bedroom, each trying to slay the other.

Each had met their match, for the very first time.

When my father ripped off her balaclava, he saw not an enemy . . . but his own reflection looking back at him, in female form.

I climb the long, spiraling ramp of the Library Tower. Since it’s only the first week of school, most of the tables are empty of students. No one is yet burdened with enough homework or enough anxiety of upcoming exams to forgo the pleasures of the sunny day outside.

My mother sits at her desk, dressed in her ridiculous disguise.

It’s difficult to hide how beautiful she is. She’s dyed her hair a distracting shade of red. The repeated applications have caused her sleek curls to become frizzy and unruly. She wears several layers of chunky woolen cardigans, not only to ward off the chill of the stone tower but also to disguise the athletic figure beneath. Her granny glasses, thick tights, and orthopedic shoes are supposed to make her look older. None of it works, not really. The only thing that can mar her lovely face is the expression of unhappiness that settles over her when no one is looking.

These three years have worn on her even worse than on me. She was bound to my father, body and soul. They never spent a singleday apart if they could help it. She’s been in constant misery without him.

The only thing that keeps her going is that fire inside of her. It never goes out, not even for a second. My mother never gives up.

Even now, at this moment, she’s poring over maps. She’s scoured every fucking blueprint in the archives beneath the library, and now she’s searching them all again. Because even though she hasn’t found what we’re looking for, she won’t stop.

“Hello, Miss Robin,” I say quietly.

She looks up, her eyes red and exhausted behind the thick frames of her glasses. She doesn’t seem to have slept.

“Hello, Ares,” she replies.

She says we always have to use these names, even if we know for certain we’re alone where no one can hear.

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