Page 70 of Divine Oaths

But now that I knew how dangerous Westfield was, I understood the panic in Vivian’s expression.

“Sigma is filled with assholes,” I said, nonchalant. “You don’t want to join that.”

Vivian smiled, pleased.

“Like you should talk,” Luke said. “Weren’t you guys at a Theta party? Without me.” He turned to Vivian. “And you’re in a sorority already. I don’t see the difference. What’s so wrong if I rush?”

She crossed her arms, irritation flickering in her gaze. “My sisterhood isn’t officially recognized by Westfield. Ԑnhye don’t have a house. And we don’t haze. Sigma hazes. Hence the asshole crown on campus.”

“Look, it’s not that serious,” Luke said. “I’m just keeping my options open.”

At my curious glance, Luke gestured to the notebook Vivian had been flipping through, where a feather had been pressed into one of the pages. In black ink, someone had managed to inscribe words across the surface of the feather. It looked like the Greek alphabet, though I couldn’t make out which letters. Beneath that was a date, a brief message painted in a glittering ink reminiscent of gold leaf—but as if someone had trapped rays of moonlight in a fountain pen, making the words only visible in the right light.

Sigma Qoppa Nu invites you to rush. Answer with wisdom to pledge.

There was an empty section below the message for the person to write their student ID number and response to a riddle.

What does it take to untie a wise knot?

Luke’s response was blank.

“It’s not like it’s an official bid or anything,” Luke said. He didn’t meet either of our gazes, but his cheeks flared red.

Across the dining hall, some of the frats had set up tables. One of them was Sigma, the other was Theta. The other frats and sororities vying for members were on the other side of the dining hall, too far for me to read their insignias or logos. As students streamed through the dining hall, the Greek life members stopped freshmen to apostolize their respective Greek house. Some prospective members were waved away after a brief encounter, but others were slipped the same feather Luke had received.

Honey stood among the members of Theta, enticing freshmen to their table with snacks for the weekend and ugly little trinkets desecrated with the sorority’s garish insignia. She was accompanied by Professor Enlex and a teacher’s assistant from Piano I, a younger woman who sat beside them handing out informational packets about Theta. Meanwhile, Honey chatted the ears off of those that walked by. Even over the chatter of the dining hall, I caught fragments of their conversation and the repetitive cadence as they repeatedly pitched their house.

“Theta Omicron Delta has a legacy of service, leadership, and empowerment,” Honey pitched. “Our faculty and alumni chapter advisers are here today to explain how pledging Theta or our brother frat, Sigma, can change your undergrad experience. Our Greek houses are the oldest and first at Westfield, and our members have thrived beyond its grounds.”

An identical conversation was parroted at the Sigma booth across from them. Except Alaster, Kasem, Jojo, and another man were at their table, all doing their best to ignore one another.

Alaster’s voice boomed in the dining hall as he spoke with a group of freshmen boys who seemed desperate to kiss his ass. On his left, Jojo stood, collecting names of students who might be interested in a study he was conducting about legacies whose families were connected to the history of Westfield.

And then, there was Kasem.

He sat on the far right of Alaster, as far away from Jojo as he could sit.

Unlike them, Kasem was spaced-out, ignoring one boy’s attempts to start a conversation. A few freshmen who had received the initial invitation returned with their responses to the riddle filled out. The man sitting next to Kasem took the completed invitations, thanked the freshmen, and then handed the feathers to Kasem, who read through them and placed them all in a wooden box. Some he plucked raw, while others he stuffed inside with their responses untouched.

“You don’t know the answer to the riddle, do you?” I said, turning to Luke.

He ran his hand through his hair, abashed. “Yeah, not at all.”

“Hand it over,” I said.

“What?”

Ignoring him, I reached over and took the invitation, dropping it quickly in front of me before a vision could flash in my memory.

“What does it take to untie a wise knot?” I repeated.

Vivian laughed. “Morons, both of you,” she said.

“You know the answer?” I asked.

“There are, like, ten of them. Most of which are ancient proverbs that the Sigmas don’t understand, from cultures they didn’t take the time to learn. They cycle through a few of them once every four years. The lazy brutes can’t bother to update them. Even Sigma’s motto isn’t as it once was, and yet their members keep Greek letters devoid of their original meaning. It hasn’t been the same for either of the societies, not since they conned their way into being university-sanctioned.”

“And how long ago was that?”