He looks thoughtful for a moment. “My mom might accept you. She loved her sisters a great deal. But our grandfather is head of the Family and I’m not sure he’ll want anything to do with you. I can’t tell you what to expect out there. You might have Bear support. You might not.”
MY BOOTS CLICK against the stone corridor as I speed-walk toward the dining hall. Layla and Ash were in their classes for a good hour longer than I was and so I spent that time stewing in my room. I’ve had an awful knot in my stomach ever since my encounter with Nyx this morning, and I’m crossing everything I have in the hopes that I can make it through the rest of the day without incident.
I push through the enormous arched door with iron rivets that leads to the dining hall. Maroon velvet chairs, long tables laid with white linen tablecloths, and sparkly silver await me. There are centerpieces made from green ivy and clusters of white flowers, and from the ceiling hang cast-iron chandeliers alight with real candles. On a platform at the end of the room is a table of nineteen teachers presiding over the hall and an empty chair where Conner used to sit. The students speak in polite and quiet voices, exactly what you wouldn’t expect from a room full of a hundred teenagers eating dinner.
I walk between the tables, avoiding the probing glances from the other students. No one has said anything to me about Conner’s death, but as I make my way across the room, everyone I pass follows me with their eyes. There were times this happened to me in the cafeteria in Pembrook, once in sixth grade after I scaled the flagpole and strung up a pair of enormous underwear and once in ninth grade when I put all the supplies for a dreaded science practical on the roof of the school. Only, back then I was met with hoots and cheers and pats on the back. But this attention is neither congratulatory nor good-natured, and instead of strutting I find myself wishing I could pull up the hood of my cloak.
I’m halfway to my usual spot, where Ash and Layla are already seated, when Brendan suddenly pushes his chair back. He stands up, still chatting with a group of guys, and takes a wide stance, placing himself and his chair directly in my path. I slow my pace, unsure how to navigate this obvious challenge and aware that everyone is now paying attention. It’s not as though I can turn back and go a different way; it’ll look like I’m scared of him. Nyx, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen.
I stop in front of Brendan. He makes no effort to move, and by the way his chest is puffed out, I’m certain he has no plan to.
My shoulders tense. “Excuse me,” I say with as much civility as I can muster, but he doesn’t even look in my direction. “I know you hear me, Brendan. You’re not that subtle.”
Now he does make eye contact with me. “Go around,” he says like he couldn’t care less that I’m being inconvenienced. He wears a smug smile and his voice is confident. His platinum hair reflects the candlelight above.
From farther down the table Aarya leans back to get a good view. Ines gives me a sympathetic look.
I stare at Brendan. “Or, you could literally move over a foot and push in your chair so I can get to my dinner,” I say. I could try to squeeze past him, but it would be tight and if he shifted his weight and knocked me over, I would fall into the table and probably land on a strategically placed knife.
He considers my suggestion. “Nah, I’m pretty comfortable where I am.”
So much for not starting a fight.
I exhale, scanning the room for an alternative solution, and find none. “Since we’re going to be here for a minute until you decide eating is more interesting than blocking my path, what should we discuss?” I say in a relaxed voice. “The weather, sports…or your friends helping Conner kill other students? Which makes me wonder, how were you involved in Stefano’s death, Brendan?”
Brendan smirks. “Not bad. Not bad. But I was thinking more friendly chitchat.” He glances to the side to make sure the people near us are listening. “Maybe I should wish you well on your trip.”
Aarya is practically falling out of her chair to listen.
My heart thuds. He knows.
Brendan scans my face. “Oh, you thought that was a secret?” He laughs. “Just another reason you’re going to fail.”
I’m not sure whether he means I’ll fail to find my father in time or fail to retaliate against the Lions or maybe both. And I can’t help but wonder if he’s right.
“It’s odd,” I say, outwardly dismissing his comment. “No one in this school saw me coming. No one thought I would be any good. And yet I keep beating you at every turn. Does that mean I’m that good? Or you’re that bad?”
His smirk suggests he knows something I don’t. “Maybe you’ll last a week…if you’re lucky.”
“I’ll take that bet,” I say, doing my best to convince him and the onlookers that I’m not worried. “You’re in the running to be the head of the Lions, right? And technically we’re cousins. So does that mean I’m also a contender for the throne? Or whatever you power-obsessed Lions like to call it?”
His chin juts out and his nostrils flare—not one but two indicators that he wants to hurt me. Brendan might not have tried to kill me with his bare hands thus far, but it’s obvious he wants me dead, and now I’m wondering if I inadvertently stumbled onto the reason he and his friends went after me so aggressively. I glance at the small gap between him and the table. If I make a move now, it won’t end well. But I also can’t stand here; he knows I’m leaving and he has every reason to want to incapacitate me, even if it does earn him a punishment.
I make a flash decision and take the only other option available—I slip into his empty chair. I don’t dare look back at him. Instead, I scoop some mashed potatoes onto his clean plate.
“How’s it going?” I say casually to the guys he was chatting with, who all stare at me, unsure, which I’m fairly certain is the Strategia version of shock.
I keep a close watch on the guy directly across from me as he shifts his attention to Brendan. By the way the guy’s eyes move down and the slight pressure I feel on my chair, I’m pretty sure Brendan just gripped the back of it. If he yanks the chair backward, there is no way I won’t fall on my butt.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say with a mouth full of garlic mashed potatoes. “There is an entire table of teachers keeping close watch on this room, and if I go flying onto the floor—which I will make sure I do—it will look like you started a fight.”
“Do you imagine I care if they think I started a fight?” he says with an arrogant tone, and he’s so close to the back of my head that the hair on my neck stands up.
“I do, actually,” I say without turning around. “Because the one thing no one’s been able to figure out about me is how I did what others couldn’t—get into this school at seventeen. Maybe I have more influence than you think. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll use that influence to make your stay in the dungeon particularly unpleasant.” It’s a gamble. I’m banking on the assumption that he’s never been sent to the dungeon, considering he’s practically catered to at this school. And if I’m right, he probably fears it more than most. “Now as you said, if we get in a fight, I’m out of here. But you?”