Page 6 of Because I Killed Him
“Then, at the very least, consider a different university.”
“Why? You went to Grandmaster, too.”
“Yeah, because it was a completely different place back then.” He whips the air with his ascot. “Grandmaster used to be worth the hassle, but now it’s full of rats in shiny shoes, and it’ll chew you up and spit you out, even if you manage to steer clear of—”
“But Grandmaster has the best fencing program,” I say. “I know you don’t think fencing is important, Dad, but it’s important to me.”
“Of course, fencing is important, honey. It’s just not themostimportant.”
There’s no heat in his words, but my stomach still bottoms out as if he punched it.
Vivian has his smile. Hillaire has his cunning. I have everything else, from his looks to his humor to his temper. For a long time, I knew Dad secretly hoped I’d follow in his footsteps and pursue a political career. When I eventually chose a different path, the hammer pin on his lapel seemed to glint at me judgmentally, telling me that fencing is selfish and irrelevant in a world losing its freedoms to the high-citizens.
But I’m not a politician. Even if I hate Blues as much as Dad does, hatred isn’t a qualification for leadership. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past year, it’s that no matter how skilled I might be or how badly I want to accomplish great things, not everyone is capable of changing the world.
“I’ve made my decision,” I say.
“You’resure?”
“Yes.”
Dad sighs in resignation. His strong-boned face, which still holds onto youth at forty-four, is beginning to look tired and worn, like a stone slowly eroded by an endless drip of water. He moves to the window and gazes out over the freshly manicured lawn where we hosted thousands of guests for the Green Ball last month; where we waltzed until midnight, then gathered in groups around the stage, waiting anxiously to see whether we were accepted to Grandmaster University; and where the light went out of Dad’s eyes when he found out I was.
“I need a stronger drink,” he mutters, heading for the door.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” I call after him.
He stops in the doorway.
“I’m not saying your advice is bad,” I continue, “or that I know more about surviving as a Public Person than you do. But I can’t keep living my life on pause. I know being a student at Grandmaster won’t be easy, and maybe someday I’ll regret ever setting foot on campus. But if you’ve taught me one thing, it’s that even hell can turn into an opportunity if you’re able to put up with being burned.”
Dad flicks a glance at me, his mouth set in a hard line. “The worst part about hell isn’t the fire, honey. And it’s not who rules it either… It’s that once you’re there, you can never leave.”
He continues down the corridor.
I wait until his footsteps fade into a distant echo before checking the walnut tree. Hillaire and Vivian have gone—climbed down midway through the execution—but not the blue jay. Perched on the highest branch, ruffling its brilliant feathers, the bird stayed and watched until the very end.
Of course, it did.
The bastard is blue.
We must always strive to show gratitude for our blessings. We earn little, yet we receive much from our great and glorious Civilized World. In acknowledgment of these gifts, we must dedicate ourselves to lives of civility and obedience, for it is through virtue alone that we become worthy of paradise.
—CONSTANCE FONTENAY, THE VIRTUOUS CITIZEN
CHAPTER 2
Death leaves a bitter aftertaste.
I walk down the corridor toward the waiting elevator, my legs growing weaker with each step, and sink onto a cushioned chaise inside. The mirrored walls, made of tiny silver tiles, reflect my image in fragments. A strange face stares back at me, warped and distorted by the angles of the glass. The features are all wrong. My eyes are too large and off-center, my lips are twisted as if broken, and my blonde hair is too pale against an ashen, unfamiliar skin tone. Only the scar on my chin remains unchanged, a thin, white line still sharp from the fencing saber that left it.
There’s a carafe of cool mint water on the trolley, and as I pour myself a glass, my hands tremor, spilling water onto my dinner gown. They never shook like this while holding a fencing saber, not during duels with more skilled opponents or even when I killed the Blue. With the nanobot hilt pulsing in my grip, I felt grounded, anchored in purpose. But now, without my saber, I feel adrift in a vast, endless sea, with only a distant light from Grandmaster University to guide me.
So, that’s where I have to swim.
“Which floor, Miss Waldsten?” an automated voice asks from the control panel.
“First,” I reply, checking my wristwatch. It’s almost time for family dinner, my last one at home. Dad’s private jet is already fueled and waiting in a hangar at the airport. As soon as dessert ends, I’ll head to Roaring Rails Station, one of only two terminals servicing trains to Grandmaster University.
