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She’s smart too, I’ll admit it. We’re battling for the top grade in our year. Leo might be up there too, if he weren’t equal parts lazy and arrogant.
Sometimes they’re joined by Miles Griffin and that Australian punk he pals around with. But Miles isn’t really part of their group.
I wouldn’t call him part of any particular clique. He’s a lone wolf, an agent of chaos. Useful, though—if there’s contraband you want, he can get it. I’ve made use of his services myself, even though he’s related to the murdering, backstabbing scum who killed my grandfather and burned my father alive.
I fucking hate the lot of them.
But I’ve got more important things to focus on.
I work my ass off studying during the week, and on the weekend the divisions throw secret parties that can be pretty fucking fun, sometimes on campus and sometimes in hidden nooks and crannies around the island.
I’m beginning to feel secure in this place. In fact, I’m actually starting to like it.
I never liked my father’s house and I fucking hated Moscow.
Visine Dvorca is beautiful. So is the castle. It’s old, but not filthy and musty like my father’s house.
Here, it smells like stone and clean sea air, and sometimes warm yeast from the bakehouse and the brewery. There’s fresh oranges, warm bay leaves, wild mint, and sweet sorrel all growing all over the grounds. The sun always comes back after cloudy days, and the castle is cool and damp, with no fucking snow, no slush or ice.
No father, either.
I wondered if I would miss him. I used to see him every day, after all. He’s my only family.
But I haven’t missed him at all.
I barely even think about him.
He sends a letter once a week. It’s cold and formal, asking how my grades have been, telling me that he hopes I’m making a name for our family here.
I write back to him in the same way, listing off the exams where I took top marks, telling him in the blandest possible terms what we’re learning.
The only time I don’t feel entirely at ease is late at night when I can’t sleep, when I’m lying on my bed with Bram snoring on the other side of the room, and the waves hitting hard against the limestone cliffs.
Then I think of my mother.
I miss my mom. I fucking miss her. I know you’re not supposed to admit that. You’re not even supposed to feel it. I’m eighteen, I’m an adult now, a grown man. I shouldn’t give a fuck about my mommy. Especially not a mother who’s a drunk. Who left us.
But I miss her anyway.
And I hate that even worse.
It’s been eight years since she packed a bag in secret and got on a plane. Five years since the last card she sent for my birthday.
I was only ten when she left. She could have taken me with her.
I know why she didn’t. My father would have hunted us down. I’m his only child, his only son. His heir.
But she didn’t even try. And I’m so fucking angry at her for that.
The birthday cards came from Barcelona, Lisbon, and London. Then they stopped.
My father never commented on the cards when they arrived, or when they ceased. He’s never spoken about her at all since she left.
I wonder if he knows where she is.
I wonder if he knows what happened to her.
As soon asthe Freshmen get into the rhythm of their new classes, the most popular topic of conversation switches from occasional mentions of theQuartum Bellumto a fixation on nothing else. Anticipation is high, as the new students allow their fantasies of glory to run wild.
