Page 31 of Ruthless Chaos

The terror in their voices is a hit of dopamine, gets the blood pumping in my veins. I’m annoyed I have to leave before things get bloody.

The upperclassmen are in the process of putting the Associates through their first rite of passage—the Walk of Truth.

It’s one of the tamer tests, a warm-up.

We force them to walk across a path littered with hot coal and broken wine bottles. If they try to run or walk too briskly, they start over carrying two fifty-pound dumbbells. The ones who can’t make it to the end, we strip them down to their underwear, slather them in honey and take them a few miles away to the thickest part of the woods—bleeding feet and all.

If they make it back to the House within an hour, they get to stay.

Most of them don’t.

Seeing all of them, who were so sure of their place in the world just a few hours ago, turn into screaming babies because of alittlepain never gets old. Most of them have no clue what real pain is because they can’t endure long enough for the sharpness to become euphoric.

The Walk reveals their true strength.

I chuckle, climbing the rickety wooden steps two at a time. The stairs deposit me on the landing behind the main kitchen.

Though Kingmaker House is hundreds of years old, it’s been renovated over the years to keep the lodgings modern. In the most recent renovation, some of the rooms were repurposed—the one I’m heading to is one of them.

It used to be a servant’s quarters, but now it’s our war room.

When I grasp the handle, the security scanner picks up the electronic signature of my signet ring and the door unlocks.

It’s a nifty security feature that got added when I was a freshman. One of the guys from my cohort broke into the room during class hours and tried to steal sensitive information—the only reason Council didn’t kill him was because of Saint Frederick’s bullshit Peace Treaty. That fucking thing protects you fromeverythingexcept lying about who you are.

In lieu of death, they sent him to Hell House with two broken ribs and a concussion. Now the door only opens when it detects the ring of a council member.

I’m one of the last to make it into the room. Ezra and Vance are already inside, as well as that snake Keller. We’re only missing Cesare, but he’s always late.

Nodding a greeting to my friends, I take the empty seat at the head of the table.

Ezra and Vance are on either side of me. The room is barely big enough for the huge wooden table, but it’s a key part of Kingmaker history. World history, really.

Some of the world’s most influential ideas began in this very building, concocted by the five men seated at this table. Wars have started and ended here. Wealth created and destroyed. Power brokered.

It’s comical that we’re gathered around it today to create a fuck list.

“What’s taking De Luca so long,” Vance mutters, drumming his fingers on the table. “By the time he gets here, the best part will be over.”

Vance enjoys seeing the hopefuls suffer, too. Ezra’s making quick work of a bunch of grapes from the fresh fruit basket in the center of the room. He requests one for all our meetings.

“If I didn’t know you better, I would think watching all that shit makes you horny,” he says, grinning at Vance.

Vance isn’t amused. “You’re one to talk.”

He doesn’t go any further, but Ezra’s smile turns into a smirk.

Out of the three of us, Ezra’s the most fucked up. Last year, he almost killed a handful of hopefuls with one of his crazy initiation ideas. Sometimes I wonder if the reason he’s studying medicine is to figure out better methods of torture.

He’s about to retort when Cesare enters the room carrying a thick manila envelope. He holds it over his head, grinning.

Cesare doesn’t really talk much unless it’s about something like this.

“I’ve got it!” he exclaims, ripping the envelope open as he moves to his seat. “The office was a little slow with the list, but it’s all here.”

Dozens of papers spill out of the envelope onto the table.

Every year, the Kingmaker Council creates a fuck list for the Associates.