The Spy (Kingmakers) by Sophie Lark

Author:Sophie Lark [Lark, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

I head to the library, following the advice of Lucy Turgenev, who told me that she saw Ares walking in that direction an hour earlier.

Once inside the still, dry space, I walk all the way up the ramp looking for him. The library is one continuous spiral, with curved shelves set against the wall, so it’s not difficult to see who’s inside.

I don’t find Ares anywhere.

I’m about to leave, assuming I missed him, when he emerges from the pointed archway directly behind Miss Robin’s desk.

“Ares!” I call, making him jump.

“Hello,” he says, in his deep, smooth voice.

I don’t know how one single word can have such an effect on me. The greeting vibrates my whole body like a gong, seeming to hang in the air between us for far too long.

“What were you doing?” I ask curiously.

“The archives are down there,” he says, nodding toward the archway with its heavy wooden door still ajar. “I was looking for an organizational chart for the ‘Ndrangheta.”

“You didn’t find it?” I say, noting his empty hands.

“No.” Ares pushes back a dusty shock of hair with his forearm. “Just a lot of loose papers and mildewed books.”

Miss Robin sweeps out of the archives, pulling the door shut behind her. Unlike Ares, she apparently did find what she was searching for—she clutches several crumbling scrolls against her chest, her thick glasses slipping down her nose, her red hair speckled with dust and fragments of ancient paper.

“Someday I’ll finish organizing that mess,” she sighs. Then, to me, “Can I help you with something, Nix?”

“No, thank you,” I say hastily. “I was just . . . here.”

I feel silly telling her that I was looking for Ares.

It doesn’t help that Miss Robin has a remarkably sharp and inquisitive stare behind those granny glasses. I thought her eyes were brown at first, but now I see they’re more of a dark hazel, with a burst of bronze radiating from the iris, inside a ring of olive green.

She’s incredibly beautiful. I’ve seen her before in passing, though not as often, I’ll admit, as my fellow students who spend more time in the library.

I’ve never spoken to her. Her low, husky voice, has that same quality as Ares’—the ability to thrill, to slide over your skin like a physical touch.

I get the sense that she’s examining me as I’m examining her. Each of us curious for our own reasons.

I don’t know what she’s thinking, and I’m glad she can’t read my mind.

I’m remembering a rumor I heard once, that there was some kind of romantic connection between Miss Robin and Ares . . .

I thought it was funny at the time—just one of those things people say, jokes and speculation to enliven a boring school day. Miss Robin is in her forties at least, maybe even fifty.

Seeing her now, it doesn’t seem as ridiculous. She has a powerful presence at odds with her loose, knobby cardigans and thick stockings.

Not to mention the fact that Ares seems distinctly uncomfortable, glancing back and forth between us.

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