I feel like a fool, embarrassed at the simplicity of his argument.
“He’s right,” I say, not turning around. “Love has never won a war.”
A warm hand rests on my shoulder. Another on my hip. I feel a kiss press on the top of my head. I don’t need to turn around to know that Rupert, Miya, and Armin are behind me.
“Every true relationship is a battle,” Miya says quietly. “Sharing souls with another is a fight for survival that involves tearing down walls and sustaining injury. Agis knows that. Probably more than the rest of us.”
“He’s scared, Hildi,” Armin whispers.
I turn around and study the warriors closely.
“Of what?” I ask, searching their faces for an answer.
Rupert finally replies. “Of you.”
The knock comes before daylight, again.
This time I’m sent to the kitchen, where another set of Alante are hard at work, preparing breakfast for two hundred students and faculty. By dawn I’ve cracked five hundred eggs, carried pounds of bacon from the ice box, and sliced loaf after loaf of bread.
Don’t even ask about the butter.
I eye the dishwashing station hopefully, but the Alante in charge, a woman with a hairnet and red knuckles, shoves a platter of food in my direction. “Keep the food replenished, the royals don’t like to see an empty dish. Remove empty platters, dirty dishes, and any other trash.”
“Can’t I wait until everyone has left?”
She shakes her head. “Not my rules. I’m just following orders.”
Of course she is.
I push the trashcan out the door and into the busy room. Yesterday was bad enough, but I’d only been in a few specific floors of the building. The dining hall is massive and every student in the school comes through each morning. It seems extra crowded today—they probably all got the memo that the Valkyrie would be on display and showed up early.
The back of my neck prickles in warning.
Every school dining hall has its own social hierarchy. Academy of Immortals is no different. Underclassmen near the door. The herd in the middle. Popular kids in the back. The overbearing eyes of the faculty on the platform. It was intimidating enough as a quasi-student, but as servant? A cleaning lady? A marked person?
I keep my eyes away from the platform where I sense Miya and Armin watching my every move. They know better than to interfere. I’d told them what was at risk. The Alante, for one. The key is another.
Victorine won’t win.
I push the tray with fresh, steaming platters of breakfast food toward the first set of tables. It’s a group of boys, shoveling forkfuls of eggs and sausage into their mouths. The dishes are half empty, and I replenish them one after the other. A group of students passes me by and I hear a familiar, cackling laughter. Marielle.
“So embarrassing,” she says, pushing her hair over her shoulder. An arm is looped around her waist. Slim fingers, a distractingly attractive forearm.
Marshal tugs her along. “What did we talk about yesterday? No fucking with the help. She’ll spit in your food.”
“I’ll gouge her eyes out
,” Marielle replies. I try to remember when we were friends. Or friendly. It seems like a long time ago.
Marshal directs her to a table across the room. I don’t miss his glance over her shoulder or the smug grin on his mouth.
I look up at the platform, catching the eyes of Armin, Rupert, and Miya. I think about the tavern. The peace I felt. The strength that flowed through us.
“Stop daydreaming, bitch.”
My eyes pop open and one of the boys glares at me as he sloppily chews a mouthful of food. He points to his empty juice glass. “More.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”