19. Daren
Chapter 19
Daren
T he basement was dark, nothing more than candlelight illuminating the temporary raised stage against the western-facing wall. The air was thick, nerves of the first year students almost tangible, excitement of everyone else much the same. Counting Fletcher and myself, there were fifty-four people in the basement, but only three of us really mattered.
Fletcher, myself, and the offering…Bellamy.
I’d been correct in my guess about his role in the Thorns, but the fact I hadn’t been sure was enough of a reminder of just how deep secrets in this society ran. The offering was always the closest kept secret, proof to all of us that we had no control over our own lives. There were men older and far more powerful than us who pulled the strings in all things.
In all ways.
The leather strop creaked under my grip, the original use of the tool-long forgotten when it came to its need between these four walls. There were no blades to sharpen here, only free will to dull. I swallowed, my wary stare shifting toward Fletcher in the middle of the stage, still shirtless but looking far more sure of himself than he had when we were together in his bedroom.
“Together tonight we stand on the precipice of our destiny,” Fletcher said, voice steady and clear. He gestured broadly before curling his fingertips against his palms and letting his hands fall to his sides. “We find ourselves reminded that we are the guardians of knowledge, the keepers of secrets.”
He paused, and I looked toward Bellamy, the secret that neither of us had kept. Bellamy swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing in his throat, and he tangled his fingers together in front of him before giving up and shoving his hands into the pockets of his white linen pants.
“Outside these walls lurks chaos and discontent, the likes of which we must never succumb to. In pursuit of our highest good, we are stronger than all of the wants of the world combined,” Fletcher said, turning his back and raising his voice to finish the recitation passed down by his father, “I’ll take my vows before you now. My blood a promise. The offering a seal.”
“Go,” I said to Bellamy, who turned and ran so fast from the room, it was like he’d never been there at all.
Fletcher turned and flattened his palms against the brick wall in front of him, fingers splayed, the spread of his arms drawing attention to how broad and strong his shoulders and back were. I stepped up behind him, knowing better than to wipe my sweaty palms before saying my piece of the vow.
“Five promises,” I said loud enough for him and everyone behind me to hear. “One oath.”
“My life belongs to the Thorns,” he said.
I cracked the strop through the air, the thick leather landing hard and loud across his back. The spot immediately burned red, but no blood was drawn.
“Secrecy,” I recited the first promise.
“I vow to guard the secrets of the Thorns with my life,” Fletcher said with a grunt.
I raised the strop and hit him a second time.
“Tradition.”
“I honor those who came before me.”
I flexed my grip on the leather strap, delivering the third hit.
“Unity,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek. I’d yet to break skin with the ancient leather implement. If only they’d let me use my hands…
“We are stronger together,” Fletcher offered the return to me, and I could hear the anger in his voice. He knew I hadn’t broken skin yet and we were running out of promises to make.
“Discretion,” I called out next, landing the fourth strike. Blood pebbled just beneath his skin, but not enough to count.
“My secrets are solely my own and what’s yours is mine.”
We both knew that was a lie. We weren’t allowed to have secrets, at least not for long. Even with Luca across the campus, it was only a matter of time until someone found out about the two of us. It was only a matter of time until our free will was fully stripped, either by promise of power or threat of loss.
Fighting back my knowledge of how untrue the vows of the Thorns truly were, I worked my jaw, doing everything I could to block out the labored breathing coming from the group assembled behind me. They were nobody of substance. Their secrets were Fletcher’s and mine were his, and they wouldn’t be anyone who mattered in their hopefully long and definitely insignificant lives. Being a Black Thorn didn’t count for much, beyond ensuring you were beholden to the men who ran the Thorns.
Men like my father, like Fletcher’s father.
Their fathers before them.
And soon, us.
Regardless of my own displeasure over the unfairness of the hands we’d all been dealt, the initiation ritual was clear. In my role as the deputy, I reminded Fletcher of the five tenets that had held The Black Thorns together for generations, that secured our place toward the top of politics, finance, society. He offered his oaths in return, a combination of the five promises making one whole, then he sealed his vow with the two most meaningful things a man possessed.
Blood and seed.
It was up to me to draw the blood, him to offer the rest.
Tightening my fingers around the strop, I raised my arm high and struck him for the fifth—and hopefully final—time. Fletcher’s knuckles went white against the brick wall and two parallel lines of blood bloomed across his back, a clear stripe from his shoulder blade across his spine. Blood prickled up from the angle of the fourth strike as well, the skin finally pulled too taut to hold him together any longer.
“Loyalty,” I demanded of him, watching the droplets roll down his back.
“Above all,” he said, rolling his shoulders and straightening to his full height.
“Above all,” the rest of the Thorns uttered the promise from their place below us.
Fletcher turned to face me, to face the room. With his shoulders pulled back and his chest puffed out, he truly looked like the powerful man he was meant to be. Dark hair fell across his bright eyes, and his lip curled up in a predatory and hungry way that had me stepping to the side.
“Bind yourself with the Thorns and go forth with purpose,” I offered up the final piece of my promise to Fletcher, letting the strop fall at my feet.
As planned, Fletcher said nothing. He jumped off the stage and set off at a run.
The chase of the offering was on.