Chapter 42 Lex
LEX
My one and only class I could not avoid is done, and the energy I’ve tried to contain all morning threatens to burst straight out of me.
No way will Sable be walking around the school with nowhere to go while Arabella Aragona comes and goes from the room meant for Sable as she pleases. I won’t stand for it.
Stepping into the dean’s office, I speak before anyone has even acknowledged me. “I want to see Julian Hollow,” I tell the secretary.
She’s a small thing, even shorter than Sable, with tortoise-shell glasses and curly brown bangs. She narrows her eyes at me. “Mr. Hollow is busy.”
The excuse is a rehearsed one, I’m sure.
Julian is a bastard, and student care is far from his top priority.
He’s self-important enough to refuse to see any student, but I’m not here as a fucking student.
I’m here as a Founder. Whether he likes it or not, he accepted this position, and that means answering to every one of us.
“Tell him Alexander Morwen is here.”
Her mouth opens and closes, as if whatever she planned to say next no longer fits. Her chin dips in a little nod as she lifts the phone and presses the button to connect with Julian. She speaks into the phone, eyes lifting to mine as she repeats my name. She nods once more before hanging up.
“You can go ahead, Mr. Morwen.”
“Thank you,” I say out of pure force of courtesy.
I walk toward the office, not entirely sure what to expect from our conversation.
I know the dean well through rumor, but I’ve only seen him in person a handful of times.
Parker’s family follows our traditions, and certain honors extended between the Founders are hard for most to ignore.
The Offering is one of them, so I hope there is some common ground to be found here.
With my guard up, I push the door open and face Julian.
A man who vaguely resembles an older version of Parker sits behind the desk, looking tall even from this position.
That’s a trait of the Hollow family, all giants.
However, Julian doesn’t have the jock muscles that Parker has.
Instead, he’s overly lean and wears a round set of glasses.
He gives me a glance for no longer than a second before turning back to the documents spread over his desk.
“Hello, Mr. Morwen.”
The dismissal is obvious. My dad plays the same game. It’s supposed to make you feel small and uncomfortable, hovering over a man’s desk while he works, but these wolves raised me. I sit comfortably in front of him, one arm thrown over the back of the chair, and I put a fake smile on my lips.
“I need to discuss Arabella Aragona with you.”
“Who?” he asks with a lazy tone.
“You don’t know who she is?” I ask, wondering how that could be possible, given that he personally holds the final signature that approves the Offering each year.
“There are a lot of students at Bellthorn, Mr. Morwen. I suggest that if your friend is in trouble, you let her deal with it herself.”
“She is not my friend, and you’re going to stop trying to take me for a fool,” I say with perfect calmness. “You know she’s been sent as our new Offering.”
The mood in the room shifts, and I abandon my relaxed posture. My eyes narrow, and I lean over the desk, giving Julian a slow look. The games bore me anyway, and I have no interest in wasting my whole day on this dance.
“I’ve never paid careful attention to the names of your whores,” he says.
“I wasn’t fortunate enough to be at Bellthorn without one of my older brothers, so I’ve never had the pleasure of an Offering.
” He gives me a look that suggests I shouldn’t complain, a gift horse in the mouth perhaps, but dropping a poisonous bitch off for us to deal with isn’t a gift.
“Why do we have another Offering?” I ask slowly, making sure he’s watching me as I spell it out for him.
“You get a new Offering every year, Mr. Morwen,” he says, like it’s as obvious as the sky being blue.
“Yes, I’m aware. But we already have one this year, and we don’t need a second.”
He gives me a sharp look. “Mr. Rook reported her missing. They sent a request for a replacement, and I signed it.” He shrugs. “I’m not sure what you think you’re going to discover.”
“Last year, when the girl went running, you guys never sent anyone new.” Further, why would they send someone who was already a student here, a wealthy heiress with no need for a scholarship or to act like a literal whore for an education?
Offerings are people who can’t afford the academy, not heiresses.
“This year is different,” he says, like there’s no choice in it for any of us, but I have to admit this year has been different for so many reasons.
My fake smile comes back. “And since when has Bellthorn wanted to ensure I’m wetting my dick?”
The crude words work exactly as I intend. Julian never had an Offering, and he’s more than just jealous. He’s embarrassed. He flashes me a look, cheeks reddening like a fucking old lady in church. I’d laugh if I had any time for theatrics.
“I’m afraid you’re confused about the role of the Offering at this university, Mr. Morwen,” he says, taking the stupid round glasses off. “The Offering is a paid position. Yes, to serve tradition, but they are as much a part of the university staff as anyone.”
I openly laugh. “Staff?”
“The role isn’t any different from a TA or a work-study program like you do with your cadavers. The four families fund it. They are the ultimate overseers. Your gripe isn’t with me. I just signed the last x.”
“I want her gone, and I want her gone now. You have complete authority to move her to other housing and disabuse her of the notion that she is our Offering.” I don’t mean for my anger to slip into my tone. Calm efficiency will get me much farther, but it’s hard to stay in control.
“What I’m trying to explain, Mr. Morwen,” he starts once again, “is that Bellthorn Academy itself has no power over the Offering. For all intents and purposes, the Offering is a work-study program funded by the donations of the four families. The money comes in, we let the chosen Offering in, and we allow her to take classes. That’s all. ”
Assuming any of that is true, I’m more interested in how the Offering is chosen than I’ve ever been. Which of the four families has the most control, and why? Suddenly, I feel very poorly informed for someone who’s usually on top of things.
“Someone programmed Arabella’s fingerprints into the scanner that controls the doors,” I say, hoping a different approach might help me avoid the impending failure I feel coming. “The Offering doesn’t come and go when she pleases. That is not part of the deal.”
He chuckles. It’s weird and dry, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I used to have everything under control, but I’m starting to think Soren and Hadrian are right, paranoid as they are. The four families have too much on us, and for years, I didn’t protect myself as I should.
“An oversight, I’m sure,” he says like none of it is very important.
“Then fix it.”
He shoots me a cutting glare, and I sense we’re finally approaching the truth of the man. “You don’t understand much about Bellthorn bureaucracy, do you, Mr. Morwen?”
“Rather, I don’t care,” I correct him, but deep down I’m starting to fear he’s right.
“Well, why would you? With your nose stuck in a cadaver, just like your father. Semi-gods like you don’t need to know the ins and outs of little people, do you?” It seems like Julian Hollow is jealous of more than just never having gotten to play with an Offering.
“I suppose we overlook the details occasionally.”
“I’ll do you a favor,” he says. “Not because you’ve been such a wonderful guest in my office today but out of founder loyalty.” Julian searches through the pile of documents on the right side of his table.
“Here,” he says, taking something from the pile.
I take the paper from him and read it through quickly.
His is the final signature, just like he said.
Arabella was put up to be the new Offering within days of Orion fucking with his dad, and everything was put quickly into place.
All of this is reassuring in one way. It means what he’s told me so far is likely true, but my eyes stop in their tracks toward the bottom of the page.
When Sable arrived, I grabbed her from the front of the school and brought her in.
I signed off on it. In that same place is a signature I recognize well. Cillian.
Why the fuck would he bring her to that room and not tell me? Hot anger and betrayal run all over me as I think of the tense interactions we’ve had since I’ve been back. He’s known since before I even got here.
“This is a good lesson for you, Mr. Morwen. Everything you have comes from the founding families, including the information in your hands right now. The Founders decide what perks you get this semester or how many Offerings arrive. If they want them to have the ability to come and go as they please, they will. It’s best for you to understand where you sit in the food chain before you leave this office and make any more mistakes. ”
His warnings and vague threats are disregarded. The paper in front of me is proving far more interesting. There are a few lines at the bottom with dollar amounts paid. I realize immediately that the total is for several years at Bellthorn.
“This means that once the Offering is chosen, their school tuition is paid regardless of how long they stay?” I ask, pointing at the line. “This money doesn’t get returned.”
“Of course it doesn’t get returned. Unless the university hears otherwise from the Founders, they are a student at Bellthorn for whatever degree they choose to pursue.”
“Okay,” I finally agree. “I get it. Can I ask for just one more favor, though? I need the Offering papers from Sable Briarwick. Just like these.”
“Why?”
I smile. “Because I’m sentimental.”
He searches for a moment before passing them over to me, clearly not believing a word I said.
“Have a good day, Mr. Morwen,” he says as I finally leave.