Chapter Seven
He failed the history test despite spending all of Monday with Solan, going over the textbook so many times he’d dreamed he was in one of the described battles and woke up in a cold sweat just before dawn on Tuesday. He was only a few points off a passing grade and at least he’d bothered to try, but he was still reluctant to show it to Solan when they met up at lunch. Solan eventually had to pull it out of his hands and retreat to the desk chair to look it over while Kyr sat on the bed and fidgeted.
“You just got a few of the names and dates mixed up,” Solan said after a few long minutes. “No big deal, you’ll make it up.”
“I failed. Studied my fucking brains out and still a crash and burn.” Kyr picked moodily at a loose thread on Solan’s blankets, trying and failing miserably to stop thinking about the weekend they’d spent at the cottage.
Sunday had passed quietly and they’d left just after 8 in the evening to get back before curfew. Solan had said nothing about what had happened in the car but as far as Kyr could tell there was no lingering awkwardness between them. Jax, on the other hand, had first almost picked a fight with Solan on the way home, and then actually picked a fight with Kyr once Solan had gone to his own room. They had ended up yelling insults at each other so loudly that someone called security, and Jax was escorted back to his own dorm. Kyr hadn’t spoken to him since.
“Hey.” Solan snapped his fingers. “Pay attention. You didn’t crash and burn. You made a few mistakes and got a bad grade on your first test. Next time—”
“Fuck next time.” Kyr let himself flop back across Solan’s bed. “I give up.”
“You’re not giving up.”
“I am. I’m too fucking dumb for this. I should’ve taken my first-year flunk for what it was and gone into fast food or something.” He blinked when a balled-up piece of paper bounced off his head. “Hey!”
“If you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, we still have fifteen minutes to go over what you got wrong.”
“Nope.” He pushed himself up. “I’m going for a quick run. I’ll see you tonight when we head over to paint those murals. Walking, I promise. Fuckin’ car’s still in the shop.” He headed out, ignoring Solan calling his name, and jogged down the stairs to the nearest exit.
He let his mind go blank while he ran, concentrating just on the feeling of his muscles stretching and the cool autumn wind on his face. By the time he had to go to his next class he was feeling a lot more relaxed, even when the teacher announced a pop quiz. The questions looked less like they were written in a foreign language, like they would have even a week before, and at the end he felt confident he’d at least passed that one, even if he still couldn’t spell.
He went for another run after his last class, killing time until he was supposed to meet Solan and go down to St. Sebastienne. In the zone, listening to nothing more than his breathing and the slap of his sneakers against the dirt track, he completely lost track of time until someone yelled his name. Slowing down to a walk, he shaded his eyes against the slanting sun and squinted until he spotted Solan standing at the edge of the track, one hand lifted in half a wave.
“Sorry,” he called as he jogged over. “I forgot about you.”
“Thanks. You need to change or anything?”
“We’re painting, right?” He looked Solan over, taking in the faded jeans with the holes in both knees and the old, snug T-shirt. “These clothes can get paint on them.”
“Good.” Solan fell into step beside him as they headed towards the street. “So what do you do in the winter? Instead of soccer.”
“Hockey. You should try out for the team.”
“I don’t do sports.” He shrugged. “Don’t have time anyway, and don’t know how to play. Or skate.”
“You’re fuckin’ deprived. Depraved? Whatever, you’re missing out. I’ll teach you to skate when it gets cold, and then I’ll teach you to play. It’s fun. You get to hit people.”
“I thought the point of the game was to get the puck in the net?” Solan asked, the corner of his mouth curving up slightly.
“That’s just a bonus.” Kyr felt a sudden urge to take his hand and lace their fingers together, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts instead. “The real point of the game is to beat the shit out of as many other guys as you can. On the other team if possible.”
“You’re lying,” Solan said, laughing.
“I’m not. It’s right there in the fuckin’ handbook. If someone gets in your way, beat the shit out of him. Ten points.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s your life philosophy too.” Solan reached out to open the door into St. Sebastienne and they walked past the security guard with little more than a wave.
“It’s a good one.” Kyr helped him collect the paint Ms. Patel had left for them and carried it down to the other end of the school, where they’d finished outlining the murals on the walls. A comfortable silence settled over them as they started to paint, broken only by Solan’s occasional instructions about what colours he wanted where.
An hour in the mural had started to take real shape, the colours bright and cheerful against the plain beige wall. Kyr sat back on his heels to admire the grass he was filling in, and looked up when Solan pushed himself to his feet and stretched. The movement made his shirt ride up and Kyr saw with some amusement that he’d somehow managed to streak paint across his stomach.
“Need to go stretch my legs and get some fresh air,” he said, pulling his shirt back down with paint-splattered fingers. “Want to come?”
“I’m good.” Kyr checked his phone, trying not to get green paint all over it. “If you’re not back in ten minutes, maybe I’ll come find you.”
“I’ll be back.” Solan leaned over to inspect the patch he was painting. “Looks good. See you in a few.”
Kyr watched him go then returned to painting, humming absently to himself to break the silence that settled over him. He was just finishing the edges of the grass, leaning in and making careful strokes to avoid going over the lines, when cold fingers pinched the back of his neck. He jumped and streaked a line of paint across the wall, twisting to glare at Jax, who stood grinning behind him.
“Nice one, asshole.” He grabbed the cloth beside him and carefully cleaned the streak off. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d come to help you paint.” Jax sank down into a crouch, resting his arms on his knees. “Where’s loverboy?”
“Shut your face. He’s out getting fresh air. I thought you got your detention over with last week.”
“I did. You know your boy comes from Fae territory? Arian Mawr, to be exact.”
“So?” Kyr stuck the end of the paintbrush in his mouth so he could wipe his hands off, mumbling around it, “It’s neutral still.”
“I’m just saying. You might want to keep an eye on him. The news has been talking about Fae sympathizers recently.” Jax shifted his weight. “You coming out with us tonight, or are we not good enough anymore?”
“I’ve gotta finish this.” Kyr gestured to the wall. “And fuck you, untwist your panties. I don’t need a jealous girlfriend.”
“We’ve been friends since we were ten, right? Just don’t throw that away ‘cause something shiny’s caught your eye.” He shoved himself to his feet. “Call me, I guess. I’ll see you around, Kyr.”
“Tomorrow night,” Kyr called after him. “There’s that new bar I want to check out downtown.”
Jax glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, then lifted a hand in a negligent wave. “Tell loverboy I said hi.”
“Dick,” Kyr muttered under his breath, and turned back to the mural.
Solan came back a few minutes later and they finished up the little scene on the wall before agreeing that was enough paint fumes for one night. Kyr took the paints back to the office beside the principal’s, leaving Solan to clean up the rest of the mess, and was on his way back when his phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket, curled his upper lip at seeing his stepmother’s name on the caller display, then answered it after a moment.
“Kyrianos.” His stepmother sounded about as pleased to be calling him as he felt at hearing her voice. “Your father would like you to come to dinner on Friday night. He said to tell you to bring your new friend, the Yorke boy. We eat at 6. Get here at 5:30 and don’t be late.”
She hung up before he could answer. Kyr stared at his phone for a moment then stuck it back in his pocket, trying to decide why his father wanted him to bring Solan over for dinner. Either he was going to get the lecture of a lifetime and then possibly disowned, or his father was attempting to force what he probably saw as a ‘better’ friendship for his son. Still unsure which option he preferred, Kyr headed back to meet Solan, staying quiet until they’d left St. Sebastienne and were walking back towards the Academy.
“So, uh, my dad’s invited us for dinner on Friday,” he said. “Probably going to be a fucking freakshow with my stepmother and my little sister there, but the chef does a good spread. Might make it worth it if my stepmother isn’t on a diet again.”
“You don’t exactly sound like you want to go.”
“Like I said, freakshow. But it’s kind of hard to refuse, right?”
Solan smiled a little. “Yeah. You never know, it might be nice.”
“And I might suddenly become a straight-A student.” Kyr snorted. “Hey, I’m going out tomorrow so I won’t be able to paint with you. I’d invite you along but Jax is being a shit and you probably won’t have any fun.” He stopped outside the Academy’s front doors and looked up at Solan, trying to read his expression in the shadows. “I’m headed to the caf to get some food. So, Wednesday?”
“After class. I volunteered to do something in one of the labs at lunch.”
“You have time to volunteer but not time to play hockey?” Kyr shoved his shoulder, making him stumble a step to the side. “That’s really fuckin’ sad.”
“Night, Kyr.”
“Night.” Kyr watched him go inside then turned and jogged for the cafeteria.
The rest of the week seemed to pass by both in the blink of an eye and so slowly that Kyr found himself sprawled across his desk more than once, listening blearily to teachers drone on and on for what felt like forever. He went out on Tuesday night and got drunk with Jax and Ravi, sneaking back in at just past 1 am and sleeping in past his morning classes on Wednesday. The rest of the week was spent working on the murals, struggling to get his mind around what Solan was trying to teach him—and the teachers, but it was even harder to pay attention to them—playing soccer, and dreading Friday evening.
He skipped his last class on Friday and went running, leaving Academy grounds to run the pavement and not stopping until he was soaked in sweat and breathing hard, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He took his time walking back and had a long, hot shower, just standing under the spray for most of it. By the time he was done classes had finished and he met Solan on the way back to his room.
“Parking lot in half an hour,” he said, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. “Jeans are fine, holes will get you bitched at.”
“Uh, thanks.” Solan looked him over. “You all right? It’s just dinner with your parents, Kyr.”
“It’s never just dinner with my parents,” Kyr muttered, and went into his room to get dressed.
He got the parking lot first and spent a few minutes inspecting his car—picked up the night before—for any evidence that he’d crashed it. He was still running his hand over the hood, checking for any tiny imperfection, when Solan arrived, looking so ridiculously attractive in dark jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a leather jacket that Kyr forgot all about what his car looked like.
“This is okay, right?” Solan asked, a little uncertainly. “It won’t get me bitched at? You’re just looking at me funny.”
“You look good.” Kyr slid into the driver’s seat. “Get in.”
He waited until Solan had settled in the passenger seat to turn on the engine, then pulled out of the parking lot, driving the speed limit more because he didn’t want to be heading to his father’s house than because he respected the rules of the road. They arrived at 5:30 exactly and Kyr led Solan up the raked seashell path to the front door, unconsciously clicking his tongue stud against his teeth as he rang the doorbell.
His little sister—half-sister really, twelve years younger than he was—flung the door open and put her hand on her hip, affecting a haughty look she’d learned from her mother. “You’re late.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.” She stuck her tongue out then looked Solan up and down, her expression turning slightly uncertain. “Hi. I’m Marigold.”
“Hi Marigold. I’m Solan.” He offered a hand that swallowed hers when she took it. “You look pretty tonight.”
Marigold blushed and smoothed down the skirt of her neat blue sundress. “Mommy says it’s real silk. Why are you friends with Kyrianos? He’s a loser.”
Solan looked taken aback then managed a smile. “’Cause I don’t think he is.”
“Get out of here, you little shit,” Kyr said. “We’re not here to listen to you be a brat.”
“I’m telling Mommy you said shit!” She turned on one bare heel and ran back into the house.
“She’s... something,” Solan said, following Kyr into the wide front hallway.
“Yeah,” Kyr said absently, thinking of the little girl who had called him Kyri and followed him around relentlessly only a few years ago. “Sorry. She’s obnoxious and her mother pretty much lets her do whatever she wants.” He looked up in surprise when Solan squeezed his shoulder, and grinned. “Hey, man, I’m not hurt because a seven-year-old thinks I’m a loser. She’s seven. The only thing in her head is oatmeal.”
Solan snorted a laugh, squeezed his shoulder again, and let him go. “I guess we should go meet your parents then?”
“If we have to.” Kyr led him down to the sunroom at the back of the house, where his stepmother spent most of her time either tanning or yelling at people on the phone. A former-model-turned-fashion-designer, she had a sharp head for business, an excellent nose for the latest trends, and absolutely no patience for anyone she employed. She was on the phone when they walked in and held up one perfectly manicured finger to tell them to wait until she was finished her conversation. Kyr fought the urge he always had when she did this, to walk over, grab her phone, and throw it in the pool outside.
“You’re late,” she said when she’d finally hung up. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“What do you care?” Kyr asked, slouching. “You’re not cooking it, getting your pretty fuckin’ hands dirty.”
“Don’t swear in my house, Kyrianos. I will kick you out so fast your head will spin.” She looked at Solan and her mouth moved in a smile that looked warm and friendly, if the person she was smiling at didn’t know her well. “Solan, right? Please excuse my stepson. He was never taught any manners.” She got up from her seat and extended a hand. “I’m Magdalin.”
“Nice to meet you.” Solan shook her hand and shot Kyr a raised-eyebrows look when she turned away to lead them out of the sunroom and into the dining room.
“See what I mean?” Kyr asked, leaning in to keep his voice low. “Freakshow.”
“It’s only a few hours. I hope.” Solan gave him a grin and took the seat he was offered down one side of the long dining room table. Marigold appeared out of nowhere and hopped into the seat beside him, flashing a bright if slightly buck-toothed grin. Taking the chair across from them, Kyr leaned his elbows on the crisp white tablecloth and clicked his tongue stud against his teeth, until he caught the glare Magdalin shot his way.
They were halfway through the appetizer—a heavy lobster bisque served with fresh-baked bread—when his father came in to join them, still dressed in his suit, though he’d loosened his tie around his neck. Kyr sat silently, poking at bits of lobster with his spoon, and listened to the conversation around him as it turned to the Academy.
“So you’ve been helping Kyrianos with his schoolwork, Solan?” his father asked, and Kyr debated whether it was possible to drown yourself in lobster bisque. “Helping, not doing it for him?”
“Uh, no, sir. Just... trying to explain it.”
“Need to brush up on history, I think. Didn’t you fail your first test, Kyr?”
Kyr glanced up and saw his father looking at him. “Yep. Maybe I should’ve just taken a page out of your playbook and bribed them to pass me.”
His father gave him the same cold look he’d seen on his own face once or twice, looking in the mirror. “You’re nineteen. Drop out if you’re not capable. Otherwise, I expect to see you putting more effort in.”
“Yessir,” Kyr muttered, dropping his eyes.
“So, Solan,” Magdalin said brightly as the main courses were brought out and served. “Where are you from? Yorke isn’t a familiar name to me.”
“I’m, uh, I’m from Arian Mawr. It’s a little town down near the coast. A couple hours away.” Solan offered a smile but Kyr could easily see how uncomfortable he was.
“Isn’t that Fae territory?” Magdalin made a tsk noise as she cut up her salmon. “A dangerous area these days. Did you have trouble there? I hear the Fae are beginning another march.”
“No trouble. It’s neutral, people try not to fight.” Kyr saw him reach up to the cuff in his ear, seem to realize what he was doing, and wrap his fingers around his knife instead. “Just kind of... kept my head down.”
“Still,” Magdalin sniffed, “raising a child there. At least your parents had the sense to send you here, where at least most people are civilized.” She glanced at Kyr as she said the last word, and Kyr very deliberately flipped up his middle finger, earning himself a frosty glare.
“They want me to make something of myself,” Solan said with a frozen little smile.
“And what do your parents do?”
“My mom’s an artist. Painting, some sculpture. And my dad’s got his own business. He’s a mechanic.”
If Kyr had been close enough, he would have kicked Magdalin for the slightly pitying, mostly amused look she gave Solan. “An artist and a mechanic. How sweet.”
“Better than a whore and an old bastard,” Kyr said brightly, pushing his chair back. “Solo, you done? I’m done. I’ll treat you to an ice cream for putting up with this bullshit for even five seconds.”
He stormed out of the room, ignoring his father’s command for him to come back and sit down, and heard Solan apologize before coming out to join him. They walked out of the house in silence, but just as they reached the car, Kyr heard Solan make a funny choking noise. He looked over, a little alarmed, and saw Solan struggling not to laugh, biting his lip and ducking his head. Their eyes met and Solan lost the fight, leaning against the car and burying his head in his arms as he laughed, his shoulders shaking.
“My parents are dickheads,” Kyr said, and that only made Solan laugh harder. “I’m really sorry. They’re rich jerks and they like to show it off.”
“Not the first, won’t be the last,” Solan managed between snickers. “Sorry. I’m okay. That was just the most awkward thing I’ve ever sat through, but the look on their faces when you walked out...” He put his head back in his arms, trailing off into weak gusts of laughter. “Now my ribs hurt and I’m still hungry.”
“Get in the car. I was serious about the ice cream.” He poked Solan in the ribs to get him out of the way, and nearly yelped in surprise when Solan suddenly pulled him into a tight hug. His first thought was that Solan smelled really good; his second was disappointment that Solan let him go after only a few seconds, smiling sheepishly.
“Sorry. I don’t usually...” He shrugged and smiled again, then walked around the car and got into the passenger seat.
Kyr stood outside for a few seconds longer, then glanced at the house, snorted a laugh, and got into the car, happily reversing down the long driveway and pointing the car’s nose towards his favourite diner.
“You just got a few of the names and dates mixed up,” Solan said after a few long minutes. “No big deal, you’ll make it up.”
“I failed. Studied my fucking brains out and still a crash and burn.” Kyr picked moodily at a loose thread on Solan’s blankets, trying and failing miserably to stop thinking about the weekend they’d spent at the cottage.
Sunday had passed quietly and they’d left just after 8 in the evening to get back before curfew. Solan had said nothing about what had happened in the car but as far as Kyr could tell there was no lingering awkwardness between them. Jax, on the other hand, had first almost picked a fight with Solan on the way home, and then actually picked a fight with Kyr once Solan had gone to his own room. They had ended up yelling insults at each other so loudly that someone called security, and Jax was escorted back to his own dorm. Kyr hadn’t spoken to him since.
“Hey.” Solan snapped his fingers. “Pay attention. You didn’t crash and burn. You made a few mistakes and got a bad grade on your first test. Next time—”
“Fuck next time.” Kyr let himself flop back across Solan’s bed. “I give up.”
“You’re not giving up.”
“I am. I’m too fucking dumb for this. I should’ve taken my first-year flunk for what it was and gone into fast food or something.” He blinked when a balled-up piece of paper bounced off his head. “Hey!”
“If you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, we still have fifteen minutes to go over what you got wrong.”
“Nope.” He pushed himself up. “I’m going for a quick run. I’ll see you tonight when we head over to paint those murals. Walking, I promise. Fuckin’ car’s still in the shop.” He headed out, ignoring Solan calling his name, and jogged down the stairs to the nearest exit.
He let his mind go blank while he ran, concentrating just on the feeling of his muscles stretching and the cool autumn wind on his face. By the time he had to go to his next class he was feeling a lot more relaxed, even when the teacher announced a pop quiz. The questions looked less like they were written in a foreign language, like they would have even a week before, and at the end he felt confident he’d at least passed that one, even if he still couldn’t spell.
He went for another run after his last class, killing time until he was supposed to meet Solan and go down to St. Sebastienne. In the zone, listening to nothing more than his breathing and the slap of his sneakers against the dirt track, he completely lost track of time until someone yelled his name. Slowing down to a walk, he shaded his eyes against the slanting sun and squinted until he spotted Solan standing at the edge of the track, one hand lifted in half a wave.
“Sorry,” he called as he jogged over. “I forgot about you.”
“Thanks. You need to change or anything?”
“We’re painting, right?” He looked Solan over, taking in the faded jeans with the holes in both knees and the old, snug T-shirt. “These clothes can get paint on them.”
“Good.” Solan fell into step beside him as they headed towards the street. “So what do you do in the winter? Instead of soccer.”
“Hockey. You should try out for the team.”
“I don’t do sports.” He shrugged. “Don’t have time anyway, and don’t know how to play. Or skate.”
“You’re fuckin’ deprived. Depraved? Whatever, you’re missing out. I’ll teach you to skate when it gets cold, and then I’ll teach you to play. It’s fun. You get to hit people.”
“I thought the point of the game was to get the puck in the net?” Solan asked, the corner of his mouth curving up slightly.
“That’s just a bonus.” Kyr felt a sudden urge to take his hand and lace their fingers together, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts instead. “The real point of the game is to beat the shit out of as many other guys as you can. On the other team if possible.”
“You’re lying,” Solan said, laughing.
“I’m not. It’s right there in the fuckin’ handbook. If someone gets in your way, beat the shit out of him. Ten points.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s your life philosophy too.” Solan reached out to open the door into St. Sebastienne and they walked past the security guard with little more than a wave.
“It’s a good one.” Kyr helped him collect the paint Ms. Patel had left for them and carried it down to the other end of the school, where they’d finished outlining the murals on the walls. A comfortable silence settled over them as they started to paint, broken only by Solan’s occasional instructions about what colours he wanted where.
An hour in the mural had started to take real shape, the colours bright and cheerful against the plain beige wall. Kyr sat back on his heels to admire the grass he was filling in, and looked up when Solan pushed himself to his feet and stretched. The movement made his shirt ride up and Kyr saw with some amusement that he’d somehow managed to streak paint across his stomach.
“Need to go stretch my legs and get some fresh air,” he said, pulling his shirt back down with paint-splattered fingers. “Want to come?”
“I’m good.” Kyr checked his phone, trying not to get green paint all over it. “If you’re not back in ten minutes, maybe I’ll come find you.”
“I’ll be back.” Solan leaned over to inspect the patch he was painting. “Looks good. See you in a few.”
Kyr watched him go then returned to painting, humming absently to himself to break the silence that settled over him. He was just finishing the edges of the grass, leaning in and making careful strokes to avoid going over the lines, when cold fingers pinched the back of his neck. He jumped and streaked a line of paint across the wall, twisting to glare at Jax, who stood grinning behind him.
“Nice one, asshole.” He grabbed the cloth beside him and carefully cleaned the streak off. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d come to help you paint.” Jax sank down into a crouch, resting his arms on his knees. “Where’s loverboy?”
“Shut your face. He’s out getting fresh air. I thought you got your detention over with last week.”
“I did. You know your boy comes from Fae territory? Arian Mawr, to be exact.”
“So?” Kyr stuck the end of the paintbrush in his mouth so he could wipe his hands off, mumbling around it, “It’s neutral still.”
“I’m just saying. You might want to keep an eye on him. The news has been talking about Fae sympathizers recently.” Jax shifted his weight. “You coming out with us tonight, or are we not good enough anymore?”
“I’ve gotta finish this.” Kyr gestured to the wall. “And fuck you, untwist your panties. I don’t need a jealous girlfriend.”
“We’ve been friends since we were ten, right? Just don’t throw that away ‘cause something shiny’s caught your eye.” He shoved himself to his feet. “Call me, I guess. I’ll see you around, Kyr.”
“Tomorrow night,” Kyr called after him. “There’s that new bar I want to check out downtown.”
Jax glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, then lifted a hand in a negligent wave. “Tell loverboy I said hi.”
“Dick,” Kyr muttered under his breath, and turned back to the mural.
Solan came back a few minutes later and they finished up the little scene on the wall before agreeing that was enough paint fumes for one night. Kyr took the paints back to the office beside the principal’s, leaving Solan to clean up the rest of the mess, and was on his way back when his phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket, curled his upper lip at seeing his stepmother’s name on the caller display, then answered it after a moment.
“Kyrianos.” His stepmother sounded about as pleased to be calling him as he felt at hearing her voice. “Your father would like you to come to dinner on Friday night. He said to tell you to bring your new friend, the Yorke boy. We eat at 6. Get here at 5:30 and don’t be late.”
She hung up before he could answer. Kyr stared at his phone for a moment then stuck it back in his pocket, trying to decide why his father wanted him to bring Solan over for dinner. Either he was going to get the lecture of a lifetime and then possibly disowned, or his father was attempting to force what he probably saw as a ‘better’ friendship for his son. Still unsure which option he preferred, Kyr headed back to meet Solan, staying quiet until they’d left St. Sebastienne and were walking back towards the Academy.
“So, uh, my dad’s invited us for dinner on Friday,” he said. “Probably going to be a fucking freakshow with my stepmother and my little sister there, but the chef does a good spread. Might make it worth it if my stepmother isn’t on a diet again.”
“You don’t exactly sound like you want to go.”
“Like I said, freakshow. But it’s kind of hard to refuse, right?”
Solan smiled a little. “Yeah. You never know, it might be nice.”
“And I might suddenly become a straight-A student.” Kyr snorted. “Hey, I’m going out tomorrow so I won’t be able to paint with you. I’d invite you along but Jax is being a shit and you probably won’t have any fun.” He stopped outside the Academy’s front doors and looked up at Solan, trying to read his expression in the shadows. “I’m headed to the caf to get some food. So, Wednesday?”
“After class. I volunteered to do something in one of the labs at lunch.”
“You have time to volunteer but not time to play hockey?” Kyr shoved his shoulder, making him stumble a step to the side. “That’s really fuckin’ sad.”
“Night, Kyr.”
“Night.” Kyr watched him go inside then turned and jogged for the cafeteria.
The rest of the week seemed to pass by both in the blink of an eye and so slowly that Kyr found himself sprawled across his desk more than once, listening blearily to teachers drone on and on for what felt like forever. He went out on Tuesday night and got drunk with Jax and Ravi, sneaking back in at just past 1 am and sleeping in past his morning classes on Wednesday. The rest of the week was spent working on the murals, struggling to get his mind around what Solan was trying to teach him—and the teachers, but it was even harder to pay attention to them—playing soccer, and dreading Friday evening.
He skipped his last class on Friday and went running, leaving Academy grounds to run the pavement and not stopping until he was soaked in sweat and breathing hard, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He took his time walking back and had a long, hot shower, just standing under the spray for most of it. By the time he was done classes had finished and he met Solan on the way back to his room.
“Parking lot in half an hour,” he said, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. “Jeans are fine, holes will get you bitched at.”
“Uh, thanks.” Solan looked him over. “You all right? It’s just dinner with your parents, Kyr.”
“It’s never just dinner with my parents,” Kyr muttered, and went into his room to get dressed.
He got the parking lot first and spent a few minutes inspecting his car—picked up the night before—for any evidence that he’d crashed it. He was still running his hand over the hood, checking for any tiny imperfection, when Solan arrived, looking so ridiculously attractive in dark jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a leather jacket that Kyr forgot all about what his car looked like.
“This is okay, right?” Solan asked, a little uncertainly. “It won’t get me bitched at? You’re just looking at me funny.”
“You look good.” Kyr slid into the driver’s seat. “Get in.”
He waited until Solan had settled in the passenger seat to turn on the engine, then pulled out of the parking lot, driving the speed limit more because he didn’t want to be heading to his father’s house than because he respected the rules of the road. They arrived at 5:30 exactly and Kyr led Solan up the raked seashell path to the front door, unconsciously clicking his tongue stud against his teeth as he rang the doorbell.
His little sister—half-sister really, twelve years younger than he was—flung the door open and put her hand on her hip, affecting a haughty look she’d learned from her mother. “You’re late.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.” She stuck her tongue out then looked Solan up and down, her expression turning slightly uncertain. “Hi. I’m Marigold.”
“Hi Marigold. I’m Solan.” He offered a hand that swallowed hers when she took it. “You look pretty tonight.”
Marigold blushed and smoothed down the skirt of her neat blue sundress. “Mommy says it’s real silk. Why are you friends with Kyrianos? He’s a loser.”
Solan looked taken aback then managed a smile. “’Cause I don’t think he is.”
“Get out of here, you little shit,” Kyr said. “We’re not here to listen to you be a brat.”
“I’m telling Mommy you said shit!” She turned on one bare heel and ran back into the house.
“She’s... something,” Solan said, following Kyr into the wide front hallway.
“Yeah,” Kyr said absently, thinking of the little girl who had called him Kyri and followed him around relentlessly only a few years ago. “Sorry. She’s obnoxious and her mother pretty much lets her do whatever she wants.” He looked up in surprise when Solan squeezed his shoulder, and grinned. “Hey, man, I’m not hurt because a seven-year-old thinks I’m a loser. She’s seven. The only thing in her head is oatmeal.”
Solan snorted a laugh, squeezed his shoulder again, and let him go. “I guess we should go meet your parents then?”
“If we have to.” Kyr led him down to the sunroom at the back of the house, where his stepmother spent most of her time either tanning or yelling at people on the phone. A former-model-turned-fashion-designer, she had a sharp head for business, an excellent nose for the latest trends, and absolutely no patience for anyone she employed. She was on the phone when they walked in and held up one perfectly manicured finger to tell them to wait until she was finished her conversation. Kyr fought the urge he always had when she did this, to walk over, grab her phone, and throw it in the pool outside.
“You’re late,” she said when she’d finally hung up. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“What do you care?” Kyr asked, slouching. “You’re not cooking it, getting your pretty fuckin’ hands dirty.”
“Don’t swear in my house, Kyrianos. I will kick you out so fast your head will spin.” She looked at Solan and her mouth moved in a smile that looked warm and friendly, if the person she was smiling at didn’t know her well. “Solan, right? Please excuse my stepson. He was never taught any manners.” She got up from her seat and extended a hand. “I’m Magdalin.”
“Nice to meet you.” Solan shook her hand and shot Kyr a raised-eyebrows look when she turned away to lead them out of the sunroom and into the dining room.
“See what I mean?” Kyr asked, leaning in to keep his voice low. “Freakshow.”
“It’s only a few hours. I hope.” Solan gave him a grin and took the seat he was offered down one side of the long dining room table. Marigold appeared out of nowhere and hopped into the seat beside him, flashing a bright if slightly buck-toothed grin. Taking the chair across from them, Kyr leaned his elbows on the crisp white tablecloth and clicked his tongue stud against his teeth, until he caught the glare Magdalin shot his way.
They were halfway through the appetizer—a heavy lobster bisque served with fresh-baked bread—when his father came in to join them, still dressed in his suit, though he’d loosened his tie around his neck. Kyr sat silently, poking at bits of lobster with his spoon, and listened to the conversation around him as it turned to the Academy.
“So you’ve been helping Kyrianos with his schoolwork, Solan?” his father asked, and Kyr debated whether it was possible to drown yourself in lobster bisque. “Helping, not doing it for him?”
“Uh, no, sir. Just... trying to explain it.”
“Need to brush up on history, I think. Didn’t you fail your first test, Kyr?”
Kyr glanced up and saw his father looking at him. “Yep. Maybe I should’ve just taken a page out of your playbook and bribed them to pass me.”
His father gave him the same cold look he’d seen on his own face once or twice, looking in the mirror. “You’re nineteen. Drop out if you’re not capable. Otherwise, I expect to see you putting more effort in.”
“Yessir,” Kyr muttered, dropping his eyes.
“So, Solan,” Magdalin said brightly as the main courses were brought out and served. “Where are you from? Yorke isn’t a familiar name to me.”
“I’m, uh, I’m from Arian Mawr. It’s a little town down near the coast. A couple hours away.” Solan offered a smile but Kyr could easily see how uncomfortable he was.
“Isn’t that Fae territory?” Magdalin made a tsk noise as she cut up her salmon. “A dangerous area these days. Did you have trouble there? I hear the Fae are beginning another march.”
“No trouble. It’s neutral, people try not to fight.” Kyr saw him reach up to the cuff in his ear, seem to realize what he was doing, and wrap his fingers around his knife instead. “Just kind of... kept my head down.”
“Still,” Magdalin sniffed, “raising a child there. At least your parents had the sense to send you here, where at least most people are civilized.” She glanced at Kyr as she said the last word, and Kyr very deliberately flipped up his middle finger, earning himself a frosty glare.
“They want me to make something of myself,” Solan said with a frozen little smile.
“And what do your parents do?”
“My mom’s an artist. Painting, some sculpture. And my dad’s got his own business. He’s a mechanic.”
If Kyr had been close enough, he would have kicked Magdalin for the slightly pitying, mostly amused look she gave Solan. “An artist and a mechanic. How sweet.”
“Better than a whore and an old bastard,” Kyr said brightly, pushing his chair back. “Solo, you done? I’m done. I’ll treat you to an ice cream for putting up with this bullshit for even five seconds.”
He stormed out of the room, ignoring his father’s command for him to come back and sit down, and heard Solan apologize before coming out to join him. They walked out of the house in silence, but just as they reached the car, Kyr heard Solan make a funny choking noise. He looked over, a little alarmed, and saw Solan struggling not to laugh, biting his lip and ducking his head. Their eyes met and Solan lost the fight, leaning against the car and burying his head in his arms as he laughed, his shoulders shaking.
“My parents are dickheads,” Kyr said, and that only made Solan laugh harder. “I’m really sorry. They’re rich jerks and they like to show it off.”
“Not the first, won’t be the last,” Solan managed between snickers. “Sorry. I’m okay. That was just the most awkward thing I’ve ever sat through, but the look on their faces when you walked out...” He put his head back in his arms, trailing off into weak gusts of laughter. “Now my ribs hurt and I’m still hungry.”
“Get in the car. I was serious about the ice cream.” He poked Solan in the ribs to get him out of the way, and nearly yelped in surprise when Solan suddenly pulled him into a tight hug. His first thought was that Solan smelled really good; his second was disappointment that Solan let him go after only a few seconds, smiling sheepishly.
“Sorry. I don’t usually...” He shrugged and smiled again, then walked around the car and got into the passenger seat.
Kyr stood outside for a few seconds longer, then glanced at the house, snorted a laugh, and got into the car, happily reversing down the long driveway and pointing the car’s nose towards his favourite diner.
