The Heir

“I know,” I admit. “I know it’s not high school anymore. I’ll be careful.”

“You promise?” A

“Yes. I promise.”

“Alright,” she says. She gives me a small smile, leaning back in the hammock and picking up her book once more.

She’s reading an ancient, battered copy of Lord of the Flies.

“Let me guess,” I say to her. “Your suitcase is full of books you’ve already read.”

A

“Not full,” she says. “But yeah, about half of it.”

“They have a library at Kingmakers,” I inform her.

“I don’t care,” she says. “This belonged to the Other A

A

A

I’m jealous of the Other A

That’s how stupid I can be.

I’ve never been able to be rational when it comes to A

“How much longer till we get to the island?” Ares asks, from beneath his t-shirt.

“I du

Just like Matteo warned, the water gets rougher and rougher as we draw closer to Kingmakers. Long before we spot the island, the ship is pitching and tossing, and I can tell the crew is approaching in a kind of zigzag, to avoid rocks or sandbars beneath the surface, or maybe just because of the way the currents run.

Even more of the students succumb to seasickness, and I can smell the vomit even from up in the net. I must be turning green myself, because A

Ares looks completely undisturbed.

“I used to go out in fishing boats all the time,” he says. “Boats a lot smaller than this. You bob around like a cork.”

When we finally spot the island, it juts out of the water like an accusing finger pointing up toward the sky. The limestone cliffs rise up for hundreds of feet in a sheer pale sheet, with waves crashing against their base, sending up so much spray that we can feel it all the way over on the ship. Far up on the cliffs I see the stone walls of Kingmakers itself.

Part castle, part fortress, Kingmakers is built directly into the cliffs, so it rises up in three levels hewn out of the rock. Constructed in the 1300s, it has most of the gothic elements you’d expect, including six main towers, a portcullis, military-style gates, and a winding German-style zwinger, which forms an open kill-zone between the defensive walls.

The limestone walls are white as bone, and the steeply pitched roof is black. The pointed archways and the stained-glass windows are dark as well, as if there’s no lights on inside. To divert rainwater off the roof, the drainage spouts are carved in the shape of grotesque gargoyles, demons, and avenging angels.

I can hear the students falling silent below us, gazing up at Kingmakers just as A

Our ship has to skirt the island to approach on the lee side. Even then, it takes our Captain several attempts, doubling back and trying over again, to shoot the narrow gap into the harbor.

We pull up to the only dock, the crew throwing down their ropes with obvious relief.

As the crew unloads our bags, the students climb into open wagons with bench seats ru

“Are we going on a hayride?” one of the girls in our wagon laughs.

“I don’t think they have any cars on the island,” A

She nods her head toward the unpaved road winding through the tiny village clustered around the bay. Sure enough, I don’t see so much as a moped anywhere around.

Once the wagons are loaded up, the drivers climb up on their tall bench seats and flick the reins to tell the horses we’re ready to go.

Our driver is a ski

“Do you work at the school?” I ask him.

“Yup.” He nods.

“How long have you worked there?”

He glances over at me, squinting in the bright sun.

“Feels like a hundred years,” he says.

“Did you go there yourself?”

He snorts. “You writin’ a book, kid?”

“Just curious.”

“You know what curiosity did to the cat.”

I grin at him. “I’m not a cat.”

After a long pause, in which I think he won’t answer, he says, “No. I didn’t go to Kingmakers. I was born on this island. I’ve lived my whole life here.”

“Do you ever go to Dubrovnik?” I ask him.

“What’s Dubrovnik?”

He says it so drily that it takes A

“I go once in a while,” he says. “But I like it better here.”

It doesn’t take long to leave the little village behind us, and to begin ascending the long, winding road toward Kingmakers. We drive through orchard and farmland, then up through rockier ground where goats and sheep graze.

I see olive groves and a vineyard so heavy with grapes that you could almost get drunk off the scent alone.

All the while we’re climbing steadily, drawing closer to the colossal stone gates of Kingmakers.

On one side of the gate stands a winged female figure brandishing a sword. On the other, an armored man holding an axe.

We pass between the two figures onto the grounds of the school.

Up close, the castle is even larger than I expected. It’s almost like its own self-contained city with greenhouses, terraced gardens, courtyards, palatial buildings, towers, armories, and more. I don’t know how the fuck I’m ever going to get to class on time.

A

“What do you think?” I ask her.

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

Trust A

Since I grew up in a normal house with sunlight and stainless-steel appliances, I find Kingmakers just a little bit spooky.

As the wagons pull into the main courtyard, we’re met by a dozen students who look like they’re probably Seniors. They’re all neatly dressed, with their shirts tucked in, ties in place, and hair properly combed. They look cool and comfortable, and like they’re ten years older than us instead of only three.

By contrast, we tumble out of the wagons in various states of undress, sunburned and sweaty, with our hair salty and tangled from the sea breeze. The Seniors smirk at each other.

A tall black girl steps forward. She’s slim and elegant, with her hair twisted into a thick braid that hangs over her left shoulder.

“Welcome to Kingmakers,” she says coolly. “I’m Marcelline Boucher, and I’m a Senior year Accountant. This is Rowan Doss, Pippa Portnoy, Alfonso Gia

She points to her fellow students, listing off their names in such rapid succession that I can’t remember any of them a moment later.