Page 50 of Kingmakers, Year Four

“Somethinghascome between us,” he says.

“My brother is only saying what I already feel,” I tell Marko.

“Yourbrother,”Marko spits, lip raising in a snarl. “A brother is an equal. If anyone in this room is your brother?—”

“There’s no need to choose,” I say, cutting him off once more. I hold out my hand to Marko, looking him in the eye. “You’ve been a strong partner and a better friend. Let us part that way. When we meet again, it will be as kings of our respective cities.”

Marko looks at my outstretched hand. I see the flicker behind his eyes—his demon battling with his more rational brain.

I don’t know if he will take my hand or not. He’s never been predictable.

At last, he grasps my hand in a bone-crushing shake. I can almost hear Dom’s sigh of relief.

“Goodbye then, myfriend,”he growls. “Until we meet again.”

With that, he stalks out of the room.

12

Nix

It’s near dark by the time Ares and I return to the school, the sky purplish and starless, the pale stone of the castle walls taking on a gloomy tint.

The school grounds are quiet, with only a few students crossing between dorms or walking across the lawn toward the library, their faces difficult to discern in the dark.

We missed dinner. Luckily I’ve got some snacks stashed away under my bed, or I might starve to death in a single night after all that exercise.

A brief silence has fallen between Ares and me, after easy conversation all the way home, centered on our classes and the upcoming first event of theQuartum Bellum.

The quiet is companionable.

I’ve never been so tired, and I’ve never had so much fun.

I love being out in the woods by myself. Having someone with me was even better. And not just any person—someone whose speed and stamina matched my own.

Ares fascinates me. Every time I peel back a layer of his reserve, I find something unexpected beneath—something stronger and more intense than I anticipated.

Everyone thinks he’s some gentle giant.

I don’t think he’s gentle at all.

I only think he’s careful.

I don’t know why he’s holding back, but I want to see more.

I look at Ares, more handsome than ever in the twilight.

He has a long face with a straight, patrician nose, a sharp jaw, and a deep cleft in the chin. The curve of his upper lip reminds me of my bow. The dark stubble on his cheeks is rich and velvety. His hair, dark with a few lighter streaks from the sun, has dried windswept. The faint scowling line between his eyebrows never seems to entirely fade away. It’s not a mark of anger—more like stress or worry.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask him.

“Nothing,” he says. “Only that I should probably?—”

He breaks off with an infinitesimal jerk of his head, like a hound sighting a rabbit. I look in the same direction, toward the Armory, but I don’t see anything.

“What is it?” I ask him.

“Nothing,” he says. “Only . . . I thought you might like to see the hall of winners in the Armory. Since you were curious about theQuartum Bellum.”

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