CHAPTER 12
The Blues rose to power because they were engineered for endurance, the greatest virtue of all. What is the use of courage if it fades? Of strength if it breaks? Of will if it fails?
—HUBBEL GRANT, ACTOR
The moment Charlotte and I step into my suite, I push through my wall of Pinkies and throw my arms around her. Relief crashes over me in a sudden, freeing wave, as if I’ve been holding my breath since stepping off Harrison’s jet. The words spill out before I can stop them, tumbling over each other.
“Forget what I said on the jet.” I squeeze her tighter. “I was hurt, embarrassed, and pissed off, but Harry was right. We need to stick together. If you hadn’t helped me on the train, I’d already be dead. Please, Char. I don’t want you to leave.”
Charlotte is stiff at first, as if deciding whether to hug me back. Then, slowly, she softens and wraps her arms around me in that warm, familiar way I’ve missed so much.
“I wasn’t planning to leave you,” she says quietly. “I just needed some time to get my shit together.”
I pull back to look at her. She’s wearing a full face of makeup, heavy enough that I can tell she’s trying to hide behind it, but there are cracks. Her nose is pink at the tip, and her eyes are glassy, as if she’s been crying.
“You mean about Jack and Edmund?” I ask.
Charlotte’s mouth quivers, and she presses her lips into a hard line. “I know I said I’m ready to talk, Lore, and I am—just not about that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Her voice breaks on the word. “What happened between the three of us was my fault.”
I suspected as much back in the blue first-year carriage. Jack barely acknowledged her, and when he did, the pain in his expression was louder than any outburst. Unlike Edmund, Jack didn’t seem to want revenge. He just wanted her out of his sight.
“I’m not going to judge you, Char,” I say. “We all screw up.”
“Not this bad. I know I made a big stink about the shot duel, but…” She pauses, her eyes darting away from mine. “If the scorpion had stung me, I would’ve deserved it.”
She pulls away and sinks onto the window seat, where a stream of sunlight harshly highlights the puffiness under her eyes. She looks like she hasn’t slept well in days.
I drift over, still curious, but I don’t push. Instead, I sit beside her and say quietly, “We can talk about whatever you want.”
“Thanks, Lore.”
Charlotte shifts into a cross-legged position and fishes an emerald-studded lighter from her pocket.
I recognize the lighter as the one her mom gave her before she died.
During our friendship, Charlotte never went anywhere without it.
Seeing the lighter is comforting, a small sign that not everything about her has changed.
Charlotte’s fingers shake as she works a cigarette free from a gold case, and they shake even more as she tries to light it.
I take the lighter from her, flick the flint wheel, and hold the flame steady at the tip of her cigarette.
She leans in, takes a drag, then exhales a ribbon of smoke toward the glass.
“There’s a party in the Speakeasy on Sunday,” she says. “The spider’s going to be there.”
“The spider?”
“Rosamund,” Charlotte clarifies. “Edmund’s twin sister.”
I recall seeing Rosamund in the dining hall earlier, one hand holding Edmund’s, the other clutching Jack’s. Her grip was possessive, as if the boys were the two halves of her heart, whether they wanted to be or not.
“I saw Rosamund with Edmund, Jack, and Dickie at lunch,” I say. “Does she have a thing for Jack?”
Charlotte coughs mid-drag, blowing out smoke in short, irritated bursts. “Hell, I wish it were just that. Rosamund is obsessed with Jack… and with Edmund, too. Dickie says she can be perfectly nice when they’re not involved, but the second you get close to either one, you’re on her kill list.”
Charlotte flicks her cigarette ash. “That’s the only version of Rosamund I ever knew.
She was everywhere when I was with Jack—always turning up, flirting with him right in front of me, showering him with expensive gifts as if she thought she could buy her way into his pants.
You know that hovercar Jack picked us up in at the train station? ”
“Yeah,” I say.
“The spider’s the one who gave it to him.”
I nod, understanding why Charlotte sat on her coat the whole ride. “Jack rejected her, though, right?”
“Yeah, but not in the ‘screw off’ way I wanted. Now that Jack and I have split, Rosamund knows I’m wide open. Worse, Dickie told me she found out Jack helped us on the train. She thinks I’m trying to get back together with Jack, so she’s gunning for me again.”
Charlotte drapes her hands over her knees, her gaze hardening as if she’s staring down a demon she chose to run from rather than face. And now it’s finally caught up to her.
“Why don’t you just skip the party?” I ask. “I put in for a dismissal with the Office of Student Affairs. You should, too.”
Charlotte lets out a dry laugh. “Ha—yeah, right. The Stag Leap Gala is a first-year rite of passage. Nobody skips it. Why don’t you want to go?”
Two Pinkies wheel in a steaming dinner trolley and park it by the window seat. I wait until the robots are gone before saying, “Because I’m pretty sure Irene is going to come after me during the party… maybe even try to kill me.”
Charlotte snorts, as if I’m joking. But then, realizing I’m serious, her smile falters, and she sits up straighter.
“How, exactly? The Speakeasy’s got security up the ass.
Even Irene can’t get away with shanking you in public for no reason.
She’d disgrace herself and her whole family.
And even if she’s crazy enough to risk it, you can fight back. ”
“No… I can’t.”
“Why not?” Charlotte glances at my hand. “You’re healed now, so what’s the problem?”
I run my thumb over the smooth new skin.
Dad warned me to keep my weapons restriction secret, and I would with anyone else, but Charlotte is different.
She’s the person I trust most, more than Vivian and Hillaire, even more than Dad.
If I want to rebuild things with her, I can’t lie.
Back when we were closest, she always knew when I was lying, even to myself.
“What I mean is, I’m not allowed to fight,” I say.
Then I tell Charlotte everything, from the attack in the locker room to the weapons restriction that followed. Apart from my witness testimony, it’s the first time I’ve told the story aloud, and recalling it in detail is painful, as if every word cuts my tongue.
By the time I finish, Charlotte’s frown is so deep it seems to carve new lines into her face. Her lighter sits abandoned on the table, and a burnt-out cigarette hangs forgotten between her fingers. “Shit, Lore,” she says hoarsely. “Which Blue?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I get up from the window seat and pace around the sofa, hoping Charlotte won’t dig any deeper.
Talking about what happened is one thing, but talking about Charles Blackwell is another.
“What matters is that unless I can convince the judge to suspend the ban, I can’t touch a weapon for the next two years. ”
Charlotte presses her fingers to her mouth as if fitting puzzle pieces together. “The judge who sentenced you… that wouldn’t be Judge Bradford, would it?”
“Yeah.”
She nods slowly, understanding why I wanted to help Jane.
“I don’t know, Lore. Judge Bradford might want to help you, especially after what happened to his daughter, but he’s in a chokehold.
If he lifts your restriction and word gets out, they’ll throw the whole damn book at him—corruption, favoritism, bending to personal politics.
Anything they can use to bring him down. ”
“So, what do you suggest?”
Charlotte falls silent, as if weighing options. The way her fingers tap against her knee holds the rhythm of habit, the kind you develop after having to plan your escape too many times. I think about how life must’ve been for her with Rosamund relentlessly circling.
Finally, Charlotte stands from the window seat. “I think we should map out the Speakeasy. I’ve already looked at the blueprints, and the place might as well be its own fucking district. But if we study every room and learn the ins and outs, not even the sixth years will be able to find us.”
In other words, hide. Again.
“It’s a good idea, Char, but I’m getting tired of running. If we keep this up, maybe that’s who we are.”
“It’s not who we are,” she says firmly. “But right now, it’s who we have to pretend to be.
” She grabs her lighter from the table, curling her fingers around it as if drawing strength from its weight.
“Winning isn’t about fighting every battle.
It’s about choosing the right ones. There’s gonna be a time for you to deal with Irene and for me to get even with Rosamund.
But that time isn’t now. In the Speakeasy, we hide. ”
Subject: Stag Leap Gala Attendance
Dear Miss Loredana Waldsten,
Please be advised that attendance at the Stag Leap Gala is required of all first-year students, in accordance with the longstanding traditions and standards of propriety at Grandmaster University. Accordingly, your request for a formal dismissal has been reviewed and, regrettably, denied.
You may bring private security to the event. However, I assure you that the safety of all students on the Grandmaster University campus is our utmost priority, and we take every measure to ensure a secure environment during events such as the Stag Leap Gala.
I appreciate your understanding. May you always be virtuous.
Sincerely,
Lars Wagner
Director of Student Affairs
I stare at the email with a heavy, sinking heart.
It feels as if I’ve been pushed off a cliff, but there’s no rush of wind, only a horrible, crushing silence as I wait to hit the bottom.
The only way forward now is through. In two and a half days, I’ll be trapped at the Stag Leap Gala, forced into a dark, pulsating crowd with a Blue who wants me dead.