The Heir

“In your dreams,” I say, snatching them back. “I’m hungry, too.”

“Then why haven’t you eaten them yet?” He grins.

“Because I’m not a rabid animal that inhales food in five seconds.”

“You would if you were as big as me,” he says, trying to steal them back again.

He’s fast as fuck, but so am I. I manage to keep the torn packet away from his grasping fingers, just barely.

“Paws off,” I say. “And don’t be thinking you’re going to put your elbow over that armrest, either. I don’t care how big you are, you’re not using any of my precious personal space on this flight.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. Look at these legs!” Leo cries, sprawling out his massive thighs, each the size of a small tree trunk. His leg presses up against the outside of mine, and I can feel the warmth of his flesh through my jeans. I shove him back, my face getting hot.

“Should have bought two seats, then,” I say.

“My dad’s too cheap,” Leo replies sourly. Then, gri

“Probably,” I say, “but I wouldn’t ask him, because I’m not a spoiled baby like you.”

I lift a pretzel to my lips and Leo manages to snitch it out of my hand, tossing it into his mouth. He crunches it up deliberately loud, just to a

“I’m going to flick you every time you try to fall asleep,” I tell him.

“No fucking way am I falling asleep!” Leo says. “I’m too excited.”

Ten minutes later he’s snoring with his heavy head flopped over on my shoulder.

Leo and I switch planes in Frankfurt with a six-hour layover. Refreshed from his nap, Leo convinces me to pop out of the airport so we can find a proper Biergarten, where he orders us two massive foaming pints and a sizzling platter of sausages served with thick black bread.

Once we’re up in the air again, the beer seems to hit me much harder than normal. My head feels pleasantly light on my shoulders, and I’m warm and relaxed.

I’ve got the window seat. The airplane seems like a ship floating over a sea of clouds with peaks tinged pink from the setting sun.

“Look . . . I say to Leo.

He leans across me so he can peer out the window. His shoulder presses against my chest, and his soft, dark curls brush my cheek. His hair smells nice, like sandalwood. Below that, I smell the richer and more dangerous scent of his skin. It has the same effect on me as other scents that are both stimulating and upsetting: smoke from a fire, iron and blood, spilled gasoline. It makes my heart rate jump.

“Beautiful,” Leo says, glancing back at me with his face right next to mine. The sun hits his irises, illuminating every fleck of gold in the brown. His eyes are lighter than his deeply ta

I notice details. Things that make one person different from anyone else. Leo has a lot of things like that. More than anyone. There’s nobody who looks quite like him.

I push him off so he’s not so close to me.

“Alright,” I say. “Back to your own side.”

Leo brought a pack of cards. We play some ridiculous game that involves betting on a hidden card that your opponent can’t see. Leo’s good at trying to convince me of what he’s got, but I have a better poker face. It’s hard to keep from laughing too loud when the cabin lights dim and everyone else tries to get some sleep.

We have to switch planes again in Zagreb at some ungodly hour, and we both fall asleep on top of our duffel bags, barely waking up in time to sprint down the concourse to our last flight.

Sweaty and grumpy, we finally fly into Dubrovnik. It’s a port city on the edge of the Adriatic Sea, right at the very southernmost tip of Croatia.

The plan is to stay the night here, then take a boat to Visine Dvorca the following morning.

Dvorca is a tiny rocky island in the Adriatic Sea. There’s one small town on the island, with a few hundred locals scratching a living on the hillsides, raising sheep and goats, cultivating little farms and vineyards. Most of their produce is sold to the school.

My father told me that. He didn’t attend Kingmakers himself—he’s not from a legacy family. But his adoptive father Tymon Zajac was. My father visited Kingmakers twice with Zajac, to meet with the Chancellor. He said that he had never been to a place with such a sense of history. The school has stood on that spot for seven hundred years. The most brilliant and ruthless criminal minds of the last several centuries passed through those halls.

In fact, Kingmakers influenced my father to buy our house in Chicago. Both buildings are ancient, remote, and castle-like. And both are stuffed with secrets.

Because of the high rocky cliffs and the currents that dash against the island, you can only approach from one side. There’s only one place where a boat can make harbor. And that’s what makes Kingmakers so defensible. You can’t sneak up on the island una

For now, Leo and I will be spending the night in a hotel in the Old Town part of Dubrovnik. The Grand Villa Argentina is perched on the cliffs above the blue ocean. The red roofs of the Old Town are spread out below, leading down to the medieval-looking Ploce Gate with its squat stone towers.

“I wonder if they’ll let us come into Dubrovnik often?” I ask Leo. “There’s not much on the island. What if we need new clothes or something . . .”

We were only permitted to bring one suitcase each.

“You won’t need clothes,” Leo says grimly. “We’re supposed to wear those stupid uniforms.”

“It’s to prevent us wearing gang colors or whatever the fuck, I guess,” I say.

“That wouldn’t matter for you,” Leo says, “since all you wear is black. How are you go

The school uniforms are mostly black, with a few pieces in shades of charcoal, silver, sage, and olive. It’s all fairly muted, but of course Leo can’t resist an opportunity to give me shit.

“I don’t only wear black,” I inform him.

“Midnight and onyx are also shades of black . . .” he says.

“Did you look those up ahead of time for that joke?” I say. “Admit it, you didn’t know the word ‘onyx’ . . .”

Leo snorts. He loves trying to wind me up, but what he really wants is for me to hit back at him. He wouldn’t respect me if I didn’t. Everything is a competition to him.

“There’s probably some other kids from the school here by now, don’t you think?” he says.

I wish we could have flown out with Miles. He would have been our guide the whole way. He could tell us where to eat di

Of course Leo and I grilled him about what Kingmakers is like, but it’s hard to get a straight answer out of Miles. He’s sarcastic as fuck and not one to show emotion. He wouldn’t admit if something was seriously scary or difficult. He acts like nothing affects him.

“Probably,” I say. “We can’t be the only ones who got in today.”

After stowing our bags in our adjoining rooms, we head down to Old Town to look for someplace to eat.

Old Town sits within high stone walls, preserving the city in its original medieval state—or as close to it as you’re likely to find. It’s stuffed with Baroque churches and monasteries, and stone palaces with two-foot-thick walls. The streets are roughly cobbled, and the squares are paved with flat slabs of marble. The air smells of salt, thyme, wild orange trees, and the spray of dozens of fountains that keep the greenery lush.