I’m ripping back my goggles and wrestling off my skis on my staggered way to the chairlift.
Landon moves just as quickly, and that lights a fire under my ass, because if he’s rushing, then I have good reason to.
Mildred might catch up.
I hug the skis to my chest before the bar comes down on our laps. As the wires start to whir above, and the lift takes us up the slopes again, I search the white mist for a glimpse of Mildred.
I spot her, not far from the bottom, speeding through her descent.
The breath I loosen is curt.
I turn a look on Landon, one filled with blame.
But the moment my gaze touches his crisp cheek, he peels back his goggles and sighs. “I had to.” His tone is steady, but his eyes are far away. Not nearly as panicked as my own. “I saw the opportunity to make the statement—and I told you I would have your back.”
The frown is slow to settle into my red face.
But once it does, it settles with the understanding—that Landon schemed that whole thing.
He knew that if he said those things to Mildred, in front of a queue of students, he would bedeclaringhis loyalty to me.
He knew she would come find us, ambush me on the slopes, and that would be his moment toprovehis loyalty to me.
But he threw me into her warpath to make his statement, so my jaw tightens on vicious words, and my mind flashes with Eric’s face.
Fucking schemers everywhere.
Everyone is a viper.
Within the walls of the academy looming ahead, within the gardens of my home estate, in this damn chairlift, everywhere I go, every face is a mask.
I watch the fumes rise from the chimneys spotted around the academy. Whispers of smoke blend into the greying skies, and I wonder if the rain is coming in to turn the snow to slush, then maybe I can drown Landon in it.
The bitterness sticks with me as I clammer off the chairlift, then carry the skis and poles to the storeroom.
I prop them against the wall for Landon to deal with on his own.
He just huffs, then mutters something about, “It’s not like you got hurt,” but I make a point of ignoring him as I storm through the corridors.
The dorms call to me.
The promise of my bed, a flaming hearth, pyjamas, it all lures me. My only safe place in this hell.
I shove through the door to the grand parlour—
Into another dimension of hell.
13
Snow clings to my gloves, a lacing of frost along the grooves of my fingers.
I swipe at them, the scent of hot chocolates and coffee thick in the air, blending in with the layers of burning firewood.
Laughter slides along the wooden walls of the grand parlour, and every corner hums with soft chatter, so much so that it lifts my frown and turns it about the room, from the nooks by the windows to the curtained alcoves.
A lot of people around, too many for just after noon on a Saturday. Most of them should be down at VeVille or on the slopes or at a game.
But it looks like the bulk of the seniors stuck around today.
