CHAPTER 20 #3
She runs through the formalities, reminding us to log the introduction in our Blood Rings, then returns to the duel.
Vincent lowers himself onto the bench beside me.
For a moment, the only sound is the clashing of blades on the piste.
His left hand is clenched on his knee, revealing a long, winding saber scar across his wrist. It must be his honor scar, the one mark we’re allowed to keep from the duel we consider our most noble.
The rest we heal with rejuvenation cream.
I have an honor scar on my chin from my very first duel.
But there’s something about seeing this traitor with one that makes my blood boil.
What does Vincent want from me? And why now?
The duel ends with a decisive final touch.
William Lee stands victorious, while his opponent lowers his blade in defeat.
Cheers and stomping erupt as the crowd applauds.
Kegs of dark beer are rolled out, and students swarm the tables, their voices rising as they launch into an old Fraternity song, Drink, Brothers and Sisters, Drink.
Two students climb onto the bar, their laughter echoing as they tap dance between the beer tankards.
The room feels lively and warm, but Vincent sits in silence, staring ahead.
His jaw works, and his mouth opens, then closes again, as if he’s practicing lines that still don’t sit right in his mouth.
His shyness reminds me of the first time I saw him.
He was standing on our front porch, waiting to pick up Harrison and Vivian for drinks at the Silver Stiletto Lounge in the Green District.
I was coming down the stairs, but Vincent didn’t notice me because his eyes were fixed on Vivian.
He blushed when she opened the screen door, a deep red that contrasted with his pale green suit.
I wasn’t surprised. Most men react the same way when they see her. But with Vincent, it looked sweet, in a handsome way. That’s why it never made sense that this man was the one who tried to kill me, and even worse, that he tried to kill his own friend.
But that’s what Bliss does.
As the song transitions to another, Vincent finally takes off his cap and says, “During our prior meeting, Miss Waldsten, I was not myself. There is no excuse for my actions, and no way to justify them. However, if there is a path to make amends, I hope you will guide me toward it and, in time, forgive my shameful conduct.”
I scoff so sharply that he flinches. “With hopes so high, Mr. Lee, you could be a Blue.”
Color rises in his face, and he clears his throat, fingers twisting the cap as if he wants to crush it. For a moment, I think he’ll walk away and pretend this never happened. But then he leans back against the bench and laughs—slightly bitter, yet amused and oddly self-aware.
“I do not expect us to be friends, Miss Waldsten. I seek only to offer my apologies. To right a wrong.”
“Why?”
“Because when the Bliss withdrawals ended…” Vincent falters, his voice trailing off.
Desperation flashes in his eyes, like a man surfacing from deep water, his lungs still burning. “When the withdrawals ended and I finally broke free of it, I realized your father was right.”
Vincent turns away, jaw tightening, mustache bristling like the pelt of a proud animal. His eyes scan the crowd, laughing, singing, and clinking glasses, but I know he’s not truly seeing them.
He’s still waiting on me.
I know I should say something. Dad’s warning about not making enemies comes back to me, sharp as a cut in my mind.
I’ve been waiting for this, hoping for an apology in every hallway and on every street corner.
Now that it’s here, I’m surprised by how hard my heart has become and how bitter my first weeks as a Public Person have made me.
I can’t forgive Vincent, and it’s not only because I don’t want to.
I don’t know how.
I don’t know how to reach out and shake the hand that tried to kill me, even if it’s trembling, even if it’s sorry. Dad would. He’d know how to lift someone out of their shame without bending himself.
But I’m not Dad, even if I want to be.
Vincent seems to sense he’s not getting the forgiveness he hoped for. He clears his throat and stands slowly, but the fact that he hasn’t put his cap back on tells me he’s not finished.
“Pardon the intrusion,” he says. “Is it true you have joined Mr. Prew’s entourage?”
I stand abruptly from the bench, knowing where this is headed. “Yes. However, I do not have the influence to—”
“I am not requesting a favor, Miss Waldsten. I simply wish to warn you—well, to remind you…”
“Of what?”
“There is no family outside the home.”
December is when students unpack their fur coats, shake off the dust, and start strutting around campus like a sleuth of bears on a stage.
Mom says it never used to snow at Grandmaster, but time has a way of changing things, even the weather.
Now, the beaches lie under drifts of snow, a cold blanket covering what was once the warm edge of the world.
Despite the campus’s paleness, the mood is dark.
Right now, all of us should be packing up and jetting off for two weeks of freedom.
I should be in the mountains, skiing with Vivian and Hillaire, or wedged between Mom and Dad at a theater show.
Instead, I’m still here, buried under snow and a pile of unfinished assignments.
Frustration hangs over the Lecture Halls as thick as the frost on the windows. Everyone knows this is the Blues’ fault. We’re stuck here because their dormitory renovation delayed the start of the semester by two weeks. Now we’re paying for it by not getting a winter break.
But no one dares say the truth out loud.
Instead, we do what we’ve been taught to do: keep our mouths shut and our posture perfect.
The days blur together with lectures, training sessions, and carefully measured conversations with Edmund, where I’m still trying to be polite, holding back half of what I want to say.
All the while, Vincent’s warning looms over me like a shadow I can’t shake. Asshole. Who does he think he is, preaching to me?
There is no family outside the home.
I know what Vincent meant. I thought the same thing on Harrison’s jet when he told me he’d joined an entourage. Blues can’t be trusted. Stick with your own. Breaking ranks leads to disaster.
But Vincent is wrong if he thinks this betrayal was mine alone. He knows what happened. The Greens and other low-citizen groups pushed me into this corner. They turned their backs and made it clear they wouldn’t help. So I picked the only color left: blue.
I keep telling myself that joining Edmund’s entourage was the right choice. There wasn’t a better one. Still, Vincent’s words keep festering inside me like mold spores in the bloodstream.
The weight of them hits harder every time I check my civil credit score and see the slow, relentless bleed from trying to keep up with Edmund. It’s always his world and his whims. There’s hardly a club we go to that doesn’t charge civil credits for entry instead of money.
And last week, Edmund even tried to persuade me to paraglide off the Blue Dormitory roof with him, Jack, and Dickie—completely illegal, and an automatic loss of at least twenty civil credits.
For the first time, I understand what Dad meant when he said money doesn’t matter in the Civilized World.
Every married citizen receives a yearly civil income, enough to live comfortably without ever working.
You can take a job if you want more status or luxury, which many people do, though even without it, you’re insulated.
But I see now what Dad was really talking about. Civil income keeps you fed and housed, but it doesn’t protect you. Civil credits do. They decide how much you’re forgiven, how harshly you’re punished, and how much room you’re allowed to make mistakes. They’re the real currency.
I’ve managed to scrape together a few extra civil credits through decent grades and civilized behavior. Still, when I’m hemorrhaging fifteen a week because of Edmund, the loss outweighs the gain.
It makes me wonder if Edmund thinks the fear will fade.
Does he think his kind will challenge him again?
Is he trying to push me out before he’s forced to fight another death duel?
Is he trying to sabotage me slowly, tank my civil credit score, and trigger my expulsion so I’ll be shipped back to the Green District, where he won’t have to keep me safe?
There, his badge can protect me from a distance. There, I’d no longer be his burden until he needs me to testify, to take the stand and point the finger at Irene.
But I won’t be a tool Edmund keeps on a shelf, gathering dust until it’s convenient to pull me down.
I have a future to protect.