Page 96 of Cross My Heart
We return to the party. They’re all having fun, drinking and catching up with old friends, but as pleasant as the vibe is tonight, my impatience is growing. I keep waiting for some special moment or sign, anything that might be a connection to Wren. I’ve been thinking her attack was some hazing ritual, or an initiation to the society, but looking around, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s expecting a big event.
Then, just as I’m about to explode, there’s the sound of metal ringing out against glass. The crowd hushes, and everyone turns to the top of the stone stairs, where Cyrus Lancaster moves to address the crowd.
My heart leaps, but Max sighs loudly beside me. “Some stirring words his speechwriter whipped up, no doubt.”
Someone hushes him, as Cyrus begins to speak. He’s just as imposing as when I met him at the last party, outfitted in an impeccable suit with his steel-gray eyes looking around the audience, like they see everything.
“Welcome, brethren, to our four-hundred-and-fiftieth gathering. Give or take a few.”
There are chuckles. I lean closer, anxious to hear what’s coming next.
Is this what I’ve been waiting for?
“Some people might wonder why we keep these rituals and traditions alive,” Cyrus says, his voice ringing with importance and authority. “After all, we live in a very different world now than the one seen by our forefathers when they first joined together and swore their oaths. Progress has been made, fortunes built and lost, and then built all over again. Our members don’t just span the nations now, but the globe, reaching the highest echelons of power in every corner of industry and politics…”
Around me, there are solemn smiles and nods. I just feel a shiver of unease. So much for democracy and equality, when the people on this terrace apparently determine the fate of the free world.
“But I say to you,” Cyrus continues. “This ever-changing world requires our loyalty more than ever. Loyalty to one another, to upholding the virtue of those who have come before. Sacrificed their blood and sweat to remake this world for us, the keepers of their legacy. For as we say… ‘Legatum donum est, et juramentum nostrum!’”
He chants in Latin, and everyone around me echoes the refrain.
“Legacy is our gift, and our sworn bond,” Cyrus repeats, translating. “The past points our way to the future. Enjoy the evening, everyone, in good health.”
He raises his glass in a toast, and the whole crowd cheers. “Hear, hear!”
There’s applause, and then Cyrus steps back. The party resumes, with drinks brought out, and food circulating. A band takes up position on the patio below and begins to play.
I blink.
“So… That’s it?” I ask Saint, confused.
He gulps champagne. “I think there might be karaoke later.”
I look around at the elite crowd with their drunken revelry and feel a chill settle in my bones. I came to Oxford for answers, and ever since that mysterious note arrived with the secret society motto, I’ve been imagining some vast conspiracy connected to Wren’s attack. Villains plotting dark deeds that would somehow reveal themselves, so I could bring them to justice. But instead…
It’s just a bunch of rich idiots sipping champagne.
Tears sting in the back of my throat, the bitter taste of humiliation. I’m a fool—and I’m no closer to getting answers for Wren.
With a sob, I turn on my heels and flee, slipping down a side staircase and racing through the gardens, out of sight of the party, to where a small woodland looks over the lake.
“Tessa, wait,” Saint calls after me, but I don’t stop, not until I’m hidden in the trees, gazing out at the placid water, where I can finally give into my aching sobs and let the tears flow.
What the hell am I even doing here?
Lying to Saint’s friends, making a liar out of him, too… Searching every stranger’s face I see for some sign of guilt or evil intentions. I’m acting crazy. Maybe Iamcrazy. All I want is to make sense of Wren’s horrors, the nightmare that drove her to her death.
Give her the justice that she never lived to see.
I weep with the grief of it all, and my own futile hopes, until finally, footsteps come through the trees, and Saint finds me by the water’s edge.
“Tessa…” he says softly, tenderness on his face.
I lift my face from my hands. “I’m an idiot,” I sob, still wretched. “What was I thinking, Saint? That these people arranged to hurt my sister, and I could just poke around, asking a few questions, and somehow uncover the truth? I just… I thought there was a reason. A reason she’s gone. Someone I can blame.”
“There is,” he says immediately. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close. “Whoever hurt Wren, they’re scum. You're right about that. And I wish I could find them, I really do. They deserve justice, for what they did. They deserve hell,” he adds grimly as he cups my face in his hands. “But sometimes there is no grand conspiracy.” Saint gently wipes my tears away. “Sometimes it’s just evil men, acting out their own sick fantasies. Wren’s not the only one who’s been hurt, who’s had to endure that kind of pain. It happens too often. Without any secret society, or powerful people pulling the strings.”
“I know,” I sob, feeling like everything is slipping away from me, the rage that’s fueled me all this time, burning in my heart, making me keep going in a world without her. “But don’t you see? If that’s true, if it was just a random attack, then I have no chance of finding them. I’ll never be able to make them pay for what they did.”