Page 98 of The Villains of Winter

“Treasonist isn’t a word,” Callum retorted sharply. “It is not treason to remove a threat from power. Even Julius Caesar himself was removed from power.”

“I am not Julius Caesar.” I am not Apollōn. I am not Alexikakos. “If it brings you solace, however, all hail Caesar.”

His hail chilled Callum to his bone marrow. For only a split second, for nearly a millisecond, it was as if Callum had seen James Wilde for the very first time in his life.

He was seen for who he was. Perhaps who he always had been. If not, who he had become.

At that moment, Callum made a tragic mistake. Callum winced in horror of him.

Callum’s expression vanished, but not quickly enough, James had assessed his fear.

It was the equivalent of an antelope revealing its vulnerable throat to the half-grown lion, who had leniently decided not to leap for the kill. James lent him mercy. It was not mercy given. It was mercy that could be revoked.

The hail would be echoic in his mind for long to come. All hail Caesar.

He could murder Callum and he had the secretive system to get away with the homicide. He truly did have the structural power of an ancient statesman.

Callum hesitated, glancing at Elliott. “My family has homes in New London and Oxford. I have an apartment in northern Woodstock as well. You can stay with me, if you need to in the future.” Callum kept his eyes on Elliott. In that moment, James had underestimated how deeply Elliott would mean to Callum and how deeply Callum already meant to Elliott after they’d saved each other’s lives. How futile it was to keep them apart. “You might need to live somewhere else outside of your circle. The College has a way of inducing madness, stirring you into a frenzy, and making you think that’s a good thing.”

“I’m not in a frenzy,” Elliott promised him.

Callum centered his eyes on Elliott. “A person would never realize it, until it’s too late.”

“Thank you, Callum. I won’t let that happen to me.” Elliott handed him a few capsules of painkillers. “You can always head to my dorm, if you see or hear anything in the night.”

“Do you have a spare key?” Callum asked.

“I don’t keep a key. It’s always open,” Elliott assured him, and Callum imparted him with a final word of advice.

“Keep a key.”

“Have a restful night, Callum.” James opened the door for him hospitably. “Let us know if you need anything.”

Callum departed and he shut the door behind him. The early morning air settled. James ran his thumb over Elliott’s temple. “Are you alright, Elliott?”

Elliott nodded. James pressed his mouth against his forehead.

“Are you hurt?” A fierce pair of golden eyes stared at Elliott, searched him for injury, and Elliott felt the weight of a man’s life in his hands. “Did he hurt you?”

“Mr. Montclair spoke with me, that’s it. He hurt Callum.” Elliott sat at the edge of his bed. He buried his head in his hands. “I had a massive panic attack. I thought Mr. Montclair was the spirit of Lucien. I feel horrible that I’m relieved it was his father instead.”

James left for a moment, then returned.

He handed him a cup of melted hot chocolate. Three marshmallows. Three teaspoons of sea salt. Three cups whole milk. Six ounces of dense milk chocolate bars. Heavy cream in the sweetened condensed milk. Whipped cream on top. It was Elliott’s favorite. “Are you certain you’re alright?”

“Yeah. I feel better.” Elliott sipped the steamy chocolate. “Thank you.”

He ran his hand through Elliott’s hair, as he always had after Elliott had a panic attack. “I apologize I wasn’t there. The summer solstice ritual happened at midnight. I…” James paused for a moment, then thought better of it. “I paid my respects.”

James uncapped a bottle of Scotch, pouring it into Elliott’s cup for him to rest. For the second time, he foolishly believed that Elliott could forget about a murder. He thought Elliott could pay little mind to rituals. Elliott was not him.

“You attended the vigil?” Elliott asked him.

“Yes. A woodwork student was selected.” James left the Exeter Athenaeum badge in the seam of his pocket. Hidden from Elliott’s sight. “It was death by eagle.”

The honorariums of Tiberian College were sacrificed on Eaglecry Mountain in Montana. It was a ceremony of masculinity. The summer ritual was a competition of grit and will. It wasn’t televised, not widely, but the Æscwulf students held vigils for them as with all of the rituals.

Elliott was surprised. “You never attend the vigils or ceremonies.”