Page 29 of The Villains of Winter

For nearly the first time in Æscwulf’s history, a student of affluence was expected to be selected as the honorarium to the winter solstice.

James’s mother couldn’t grieve her loss from the grave, which was why he would be another favorite vote. His parents would not miss him. His father hadn’t stepped foot in Banebury in years.

“Sorry for your loss, Elliott,” Heather Tần consoled comfortingly, offering him a mug of her famous hot chocolate. Her eyes were misted. “James was a light. We’ll miss him.”

One of the juniors shook his head. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I’d lose my mind if I lost my best friend.”

Isa Herrera murmured softly, “If you ever need the lecture notes after the new year, or someone to talk to, let me know. My condolences for your loss, Elliott.” Isa had baked frosted cookies with Santa Clauses and elves for Elliott. He ignored all of them.

Elliott went to his own room to put on a thicker corduroy jacket to search for James. He jogged across campus, ankle-deep in fresh snow, his mind careening towards implosion, his breath stark in the December freeze. The Brattleborough Athletic Facility–the BAF–had a rowing machine on the first floor that was hardly ever used by anyone else except James after the newer facility was erected.

James rowed crew for Æscwulf College, but it was the off-season in December, where he conditioned himself for the spring.

He wasn’t there.

Slowly, Elliott heard the distant locker room shower running, and he headed inside. Hot steam cascaded down James’s hair. Soapy streams carved down the broad shoulder blades of his back, dripping down the valley of his spine, coursing between his calves. His eyes were shut as though contemplative in thought.

James was safe. James was alive.

Elliott began unbuttoning his shirt, soaked in perspiration from his jog. “Are you alright?”

There wasn’t an answer. Elliott ignored the sweat trickling down the back of his ear.

His breaths slid down his throat. “Are you alright?”

Elliott’s heart skipped a note in his chest, dying for a moment when another minute went past. The shower head patted the stone ground with hot water. James couldn’t hear him, his head pressed against the communal shower slate in cerebration. Elliott cleared his throat for his attention. Then his heart thrust alive, as always, when James’s golden eyes landed on him and smiled with warmth. He stared at Elliott’s empty palms. “You didn’t come bearing gifts, Elliott? How horrible of you.”

James slid his gold eyes to the underclassmen’s worn backpack after, where a letter rested on the edge. “Is that for me? I’m not dead yet.”

It’s for Lucien. Elliott’s fingers crushed the paper, tossing it away. “You won’t be dead. Don’t be concerned with that.”

Elliott removed his belt, socks, sweaters, and trousers, leaving it in a heap as his skin thawed with the warm water when he stepped inside the stall beside James.

James’s voice lowered, his tone reflective underneath the spray of steamy water, his mind still heavy in excogitation. “What happens to everything beautiful on this earth, Elliott? It returns to where it came. When it’s my end, I pray I can gaze up at you for the rest of time.” I pray I can gaze up at you.

Elliott must’ve heard him wrong. Why would James imagine that he would gaze up at Elliott? Wouldn’t he peer down from the Heavens? Elliott shook his wet waves, it didn’t matter.

“You’ll be fine. Nothing will happen to you.” A puncture of pain hit Elliott’s sternum like an ice pick, and his throat closed. Why were his eyes prickling with tears?

“Everything will happen.” Even James seemed to know his life would be marred on December 22nd. The date that would alter Elliott’s world as he knew it, despite his best efforts. It was a matter of impending fate.

Elliott’s heart rate picked up, like a badger thrashing in a cage with stubborn willpower, refusing to give into despair. He would protect James. At all costs. “We’ll find out on the solstice then.”

“I need you to make a promise to me.” His tone darkened. “If I am dead before the ceremony, and Lucien nominates Finch, you will tell Knox to kill Lucien. Swear to me.”

You will tell Knox to kill Lucien. Swear to me. Elliott’s hand latched onto the shampoo instead, and he cleansed his hair with a rising scent of apricot, trying not to wring out his strands in bundles of anxiety. Finch wouldn’t be nominated; their peers weren’t that soulless. Knox lived in Arkansas now. He drove out of Connecticut, left behind an address, and never returned.

How could Elliott write him to commit murder?

How could he drive over there himself to tell Knox to commit another murder? Everything would be fine.

Why couldn’t any of the Winterthur Hall young men ever remain calm? Why were they being restless and violent?

Elliott, himself, needed to keep calm.

James’s timbre softened beside him, reaching for a towel. “Meet me at the Thornery at midnight, will you promise me that at least?”

Elliott promised. He would meet James anywhere.