The Heir

Leo knows that. He doesn’t jump to intervene. In fact, out of the corner of my eye, I can see him gri

If I was going to guess, Leo’s favorite thing about me is probably that I don’t take shit from anybody. It feeds his desire for playful chaos. Plus, Leo’s a steamroller. He can’t be friends with anybody who gives in to him too easy—they’d be chewed up and spit out in his wake in a matter of days.

Bram is not nearly as amused as Leo. His top lip is curled up, practically snarling at me. I can tell he wants to push this further. The odds aren’t quite as good anymore, though—Leo, me, and Ares against Bram and his five buddies.

It’s Leo who speaks up first, cutting the tension.

“Why don’t you come sit with us?” he says to Ares. “I’ve never heard of—where did you say you were from?”

“Syros,” the boy says softly.

“Come educate me,” Leo says, his bright smile flashing in his lean, ta

“Yeah,” Bram scoffs. “Go sit with the Americans. Maybe they’ll pay for your di

“You don’t have to pay for my di

“We’re not go

Sure enough, before we’ve even sat down, the waiter carries out a heavy tray full of the mussels, Leo’s beef, and a half-dozen side plates of what looks like spinach pastry, marinated salad, pickled vegetables, and fragrant rice stuffed full of nuts and raisins. It smells phenomenal.

Ares sits across from me, looking awkward and embarrassed. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, lean and rangy. His skin has an olive tone, but when he looks directly at me, I see that his eyes are a surprising shade of blue-green, like a turquoise sea.

“I’m not afraid of them,” he says, giving a little jerk of his head back toward Bram and his friends, who are sitting down at their table once more, laughing and talking with obvious jeers in our direction.

“Of course not,” Leo says. “We didn’t come over to save you. Just the absolute level of doucheyness caught our attention.”

Ares chuckles. “I was on the same flight over with them,” he says. “Can’t say I was enjoying my first introduction to Kingmakers students.”

“Do you know anyone else coming?” I ask him curiously.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I barely know anybody. What Bram said is true—my family’s tiny and poor. Syros is tiny and poor. We’re mafia in name only. My father works as a tour guide. I only got accepted because the Cirillos have been going to Kingmakers since it was founded.”

“You’re one of the first ten families,” I say with interest.

“Yeah.” Ares shrugs. “The smallest and least impressive, though.”

“Who gives a fuck!” I say. “That’s still cool!”

“A

“No, I don’t,” I correct him. “I’ve never even seen it, and I’m sure some of the other kids have.”

“Anyway, tell us more about Syros,” Leo says.

“It really isn’t very interesting,” Ares says, taking an enormous bite out of a spinach pastry. “Just a little Greek island. Not as pretty as Mykonos or Santorini. You said you two were from Chicago?”

“Yeah.” Leo nods proudly. He loves Chicago more than any place on earth.

“Have you ever been there?” I ask Ares.

“I hadn’t even been on a plane before today,” he admits.

I can’t help laughing at that. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling a little. He has a nice smile—slow and warm. I think Ares is a gentle giant. I like him immediately, though I don’t know how gentleness will fare where we’re about to go.

“There must be something cool in Syros,” Leo says, spearing a huge chunk of beef and stuffing it in his mouth.

“Well, I really do have a whole farm full of goats,” Ares says. “But not for what Bram said. They’re fainting goats. If you startle them, they stiffen up like a board and keel over. It’s kind of adorable.”

“Do you have siblings?” I ask him.

“Two brothers and a sister. I’m the oldest. I feel bad for leaving them . . .”

“Me too,” I say.

We talk about our siblings for a few minutes, and I can see Leo looking mildly jealous. He always says he wishes he had a brother, but I don’t know how he’d actually handle that, since Leo loves to be the center of attention at all times.

The waiter carries away our rapidly emptying plates, then brings out chilled dishes of rožata, which is some sort of custard pudding. Bram and his buddies got bored and left, so there’s no one throwing unpleasant sneers in our direction anymore. We drink several cups of sweet, fruity brandy, the sky darkening and the ancient stone walls glowing from the row of lanterns all along the sea wall. The night air is fragrant with orange blossoms and sea salt.

Leo and I get a bit tipsy, pleased to finally be in a country with a reasonable drinking age. Ares relaxes too, though he’s not drinking as much as we are. It’s fu

“Let’s get another round!” Leo says, finishing his brandy.

“The boat comes at seven in the morning,” I remind him.

“All the more reason to stay up all night,” Leo says. “I hate getting up early.”

“Your logic is impeccable,” I say drily.

“Come on,” Leo coaxes me.

I look over at Ares, who doesn’t seem to mind the idea of another drink.

“Alright,” I say. “Just one more . . .”