Page 6 of Crush

I look at him sidelong.

“Shit. Fine.” Jaxon puffs out an exhale. “Then at least tell me we don’t have to wear those fucking cloaks for the Virtue initiates. They aren’t even our responsibility.”

I stride across the sand in answer, heading to the unzipped sports bag where those cloaks lie.

“Goddammit,” Jaxon mutters.

“I don’t like it any more than you do. This is the kind of medieval shit my father loves to keep current.” Draping both cloaks over my shoulder, I return to his side, handing him one of the heavy velvet capes. “And he’s not satisfied with the queen’s memos. He wants to know about the effectiveness of the Virtues’ challenges firsthand through me.”

Jaxon grunts, but he throws it around his shoulders, tying the woven rope at his neck. The recent members will be here any minute, so I do the same, but my movements are slower and careful not to twinge my complaining spine.

“Speaking of,” Jaxon says, “why don’t any of the higher-ups come to these things? Like the regents or the viscounts, or hell, your dad? Why is it left to us to be the henchmen?”

The mention of dear old Dad has my lower back screaming to life again. “High school vigor is something those old bats can barely remember. They play the game of human chess now, quietly manipulating and ruining reputations in secret. These types of physical and mental tests are meant for the princes and princesses to think up.” To abate the pain rippling through my body, I jostle him and pretend to find enjoyment in our situation. “Plus, it’s fun.”

Jaxon doesn’t respond. Instead, he gives me a once-over. “Where were you today, man? I thought you couldn’t wait to see the effects of Ember’s last trial play out at the academy.”

Clearly, I’m not doing a good job of hiding my pain. Either mentally or physically. “Home.”

I don’t expand on the matter, but I have the heavy feeling Jaxon is aware of the reason for my stiffness anyway. I’m not the only one brutalized by a father figure.

You had one job, son: send the Weatherby girl into public ruin. Watch her and destroy her. And what do you allow her to do, instead? She comes onto my property dressed up as her. Do you have any idea what that could do to my connections? What a reminder that was to people who’d prefer to keep Savannah Merricourt buried? It’s clear you can’t control Ember Weatherby the way I command. Take off your shirt. Go on, you pithless disappointment. Take it off and receive your consequence to failure. My father points at the southern-most wall where he showcases his most entertaining finds. Then choose the weapon I’m to use on you.

“Yo, Thorne. You good?” Jaxon clasps my shoulder.

I jerk out of my trance, noticing the creeping waters coming closer to our shoes. “Let’s take our positions.”

“Yeah, ’cause you won’t want to miss this.”

Our shoulders bump as we tread side-by-side up the small hill until we hit the start of the trail. “Obviously. This is the last year I’ll be able to oversee the freshmen competitions.”

“No, I’m talking about Ember.”

I halt in my tracks. “What do you mean, Ember?”

Jaxon regards me with wide-eyed surprise. “She’s coming tonight. To participate. You didn’t know?”

Each vertebra in my spine clicks painfully as I spear it straight. My tone doesn’t betray the physical agony. “Ember’s not a freshman, and she’s just finished her last trial. There’s no reason for her to complete a challenge so soon.”

Jaxon shrugs. “You said this was up to the princes and princesses, right? Well, Aurora chose to have her here. Ember is a new member and all.”

Crackling fire replaces the numbing dampness in my soul. Images of Ember falling in the ballroom, of the agony on her face when it was announced she lost the fellowship and the force with which she shook me off flash forward. How she stood on shaky legs and stared at me with lightning flashes of hatred behind her eyes.

“No. It’s not time. Ember is not coming here tonight.”

“There she is, man.”

I follow Jaxon’s grim focus to the line of figures traveling across the bottom of one of the sheltering cliffs, a graceful, haughty form leading the way with a flashlight. Aurora.

And coming up last, white-blond hair needing no torch to set it alight flies in the wind as she slips on the wet stone and mouths silent curses.

Ember.

She’s fucking here.

4

Ember