Page 15 of Kingmakers, Year Four

Caleb Griffin is next to depart, splitting off with the brawny and boisterous Enforcers under the care of Bodashka Kushnir. Caleb is less concerned than Cara, only sparing us one last amused glance before galloping off with his new dormmates.

Isabel Dixon takes charge of the Spies.

It’s interesting to see the clear physical differences amongst the divisions. The Enforcers are almost entirely male, with a clear preference for size and athleticism. The Accountants are, for lack of a better word,neat. They show the most deference to the school dress code, and every one of them appears to have woken up in time to shower this morning. The Spies, by contrast, look like they might have spent the night clubbing, chugged down a Bloody Mary, then pulled their uniforms on over whatever they were wearing before. One of the girls has a leather corset under her school blouse, and one of the guys bears several smeared stamps on the back of his hand from his last outing in civilization.

The Heirs are a mixed bag. Alyssa Chan—the Asian girl who snubbed me on the ship—Sabrina Gallo, and I are the only female Heirs in our year. The rest are an assortment of boys of every nationality whose only unifying characteristic is cocky confidence.

“You looking for a new roommate?” a redheaded Scot asks Chay, sidling up next to her and giving her a seductive grin.

“Afraid not,” Chay says. “No dogs allowed in the Solar.”

The rest of the male Heirs chortle at the brush-off, but Chay wastes no time wiping the smiles off their faces.

“I’ll walk you over to your dorms in the Octagon Tower,” she says, “Dean Yenin will take charge of you then—he’s not nearly as nice as me, so watch the lip or he’ll knock you on your ass.”

Estas Lomachenko joins the Heirs, picking up his suitcase and spitting a mouthful of blood out on the grass.

“I hope the Chancellor chucks you off the fucking cliff,” he snarls up at us.

“Aww, does your wittle nose hurt?” Sabrina mocks him.

Chay cuts between us before Estas can lunge at Sabrina.

“Join the Heirs,” she tells him sternly. Then, looking up at Sabrina, she says, “I’ll come up to Chancellor’s office as soon as I drop off the Freshmen.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sabrina says blithely. “You saw that big fuckin’ baby, he’s not even hurt.”

“Well,” Chay says, unconvinced. “I’ll still come check on you.”

Once we’re alone with the driver, Sabrina impatiently orders, “Will you untie us already? We’re not gonna run away. Where the fuck would we go?”

“Just doing what the first mate said to do,” the driver replies stubbornly. He chucks the reins, encouraging his droopy gray horse to stumble forward again.

Rolling her eyes in annoyance, Sabrina starts wriggling her wrists free of the rope.

It’s not too difficult for me to do the same. While the sailors’ knots are impressive, the rope itself is too thick for the purpose. We had only remained bound out of a desire to avoid getting in any more trouble.

The driver takes us in a slow half-circle around the Keep, bringing the horse to a stop only twenty yards from where we were sitting before.

“We’re here,” he says.

“We could have just walked over!” Sabrina shouts at him, utterly annoyed.

“Just doing my job,” the driver says.

I can tell Sabrina wants to pophimin the nose too, but this time she restrains herself. She shakes the ropes off her wrists and jumps down from the wagon. I follow after her, likewise free, at least for the moment.

“Where’s the Chancellor?” Sabrina demands imperiously.

“Top floor,” the driver says. “I’m taking you up.”

“I’ll tell him myself what happened,” Sabrina says.

This girl is fucking insane, and I’m loving it.

I always prefer action over waiting, boldness over apology.

“Let’s get this over with,” I say to Sabrina, grinning.

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