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“Sure,” I agree.
My legs are already jelly. What’s another few minutes of walking?
We cross the lawn, the grass dark as ink now that the sun is all the way down. Only a little soft, golden light leaks from scattered windows. No floodlights illuminate the Kingmakers grounds.
Ares leads me into the annex of the Armory. He seems to be looking around, like he isn’t quite sure of the way, though he must know the school ten times better than I do, this being his fourth year.
“It’s right in here,” he says in a strangely hushed tone.
Up ahead, someone else is speaking, low and intent, like they don’t want to be overheard.
I hesitate, not wanting to interrupt the two figures up ahead, one tall and one short, engrossed in conversation. But Ares hurries on, saying loudly, “Cat! Hedeon! What are you two doing?”
Cat Romero and Hedeon Gray startle, their gazes tearing away from the wall of photographs.
“It’s alright,” Hedeon says to Cat. “I don’t mind if you tell them, too.”
Cat examines us, her dark eyes liquid and glimmering in the golden lamplight of the corridor. She’s frowning slightly.
It’s Hedeon who rushes on, his voice tight with excitement, “Cat thought the girl in this picture might possibly be my mother . . .”
We all turn to look, irresistibly drawn—even Cat and Hedeon, who had already seen the photograph before.
I see a girl no older than me, with dark hair and deep blue eyes. She’s extremely beautiful, only more so because of the expression of wild triumph on her face. Something about her—maybe the sensual edge to her beauty, or the air of recklessness—reminds me of Sabrina Gallo.
The girl is the winning Captain of theQuartum Bellumin her Sophomore year, and then again , the next picture over, as a Junior—an achievement even I know to be exceedingly rare.
The losing Captains, all male, glower at her furiously.
“Why would you think that’s Hedeon’s mom?” Ares asks. He sounds skeptical and confused.
I glance between the girl’s face and Hedeon’s. “She does look a bit like him . . .”
“Not really,” Ares says. “Just ‘cause she’s got dark hair and blue eyes . . .”
Hedeon’s face falls. He examines the photograph again, searching for evidence to counteract Ares’ disbelief.
It is true, their features aren’t entirely alike—the girl has a soft, oval face, with a narrow nose and gently arched eyebrows. Hedeon’s bone structure is rougher, his jaw broad and his nose, before it was broken, more Roman in shape.
Still, children don’t look precisely like one parent. Or either parent, sometimes . . .
I read the name beneath the photograph. “Evalina Markov . . . Who is she?”
Now Cat speaks up in her soft but penetrating voice.
“I looked her up. She lives in St. Petersburg. She’s married to a man named Donovan Dryagin. They have three children.” She pauses a moment, her eyes fixed on Ares, not Hedeon. “She’s related to Neve and Ilsa Markov—you know them, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Ares says, in a slightly strained tone. “I took Snow’s boxing class with Ilsa last year. She’s one of the only female Enforcers.”
“Her older sister Neve already graduated,” Cat says, explaining to me now, and maybe Hedeon, too. “But Ilsa’s still here. We could ask her?—”
“No!” Ares interrupts. “You can’t do that!”
“Why not?” Cat inquires calmly.
“Because think what you’re accusing this woman of! Getting pregnant at Kingmakers, which is completely against the rules, then having a secret baby and giving it away without her family knowing?—”
“How do you know they’re not aware?” Cat demands.
