I try to find a harmony that will balance what the others are playing, but I can’t seem to find the right notes. I start to play something different, something underneath the whole of the music. Before I can ask Gorham what I am hearing, though, someone shoves me out of the circle. Taken by surprise, I smack into the wall behind me, the wind knocked out of me. My flute clatters onto the flagstones. I snatch it quickly. I look up, fuming, and come face-to-face with Nadia. Her eyes are fire-hot coals.
“What did you do that for?” I ask.
“You know what for!”
This is the first time I’ve seen her attend the Eventide feast. I’m pleased, but also utterly confused; the closeness of her body near mine creates a strange sensation I’ve not felt before. “What?” I blurt.
“My family doesn’t need your charity. We may not be as rich as you, but we have pride.” She jabs her finger into my chest.
“It wasn’t charity.” I fumble my words.
“We’re just as good as anyone, especially some half-Nightsider.” She starts to walk away. Her hips seem different somehow, wider.
Why am I staring at her as she walks? I shake my head to snap myself out of it.
“Just remember who pulled your clumsy butt up off the cliffs,” she adds as she turns back.
“I was just . . . ,” I mumble. “I was just trying to thank you.”
She stares at me like a hooked lumo-fish. “Oh,” she mutters as she stalks off.
I trudge back to the circle of musicians.
“Trouble with your girlfriend?” Gorham asks with a sly smile.
“She’s not my girlfriend!” I respond a little too vehemently.
“She seemed upset.”
I explain to him what happened in the market. He nods. “I don’t get it!” I confess with exasperation.
“Edmon,” Gorham intones, “everyone has their weaknesses. If someone mentioned your father—”
“I hate my father!” I cut the old man off.
“If someone mentioned him,” he goes on, “you might feel upset even if what they were saying came from the intention of helping.”
“I wouldn’t get mad if they were trying to help,” I insist.
“You wouldn’t?” Gorham arcs an eyebrow at me. “What if this girl didn’t know you were trying to help? Making your intention clear is all you can do. Many think of you as the lord of the isle.”
Lord of the isle?
“Many, in comparison to you, have very little. Maybe to this girl, it seemed you were showing off, playing the bountiful lord by being kind to a poor islander.”
“But I wasn’t!” I insist.
“Did you make that clear to her?”
“I think so,” I mutter.
“That’s all you can do.” He beats his drum. “Now keep playing. Day’s end is only just beginning.”
I make the notes sound pure like Gorham instructed. It still doesn’t work. They sound shrill rather than clear.
“Try what you were playing before,” he suggests. “Find your own tune. Make it work with the other musicians’ notes.”
I start again. I glide underneath the main song. My tune punctuates the rhythm of the drums. There’s sadness to it that maybe wasn’t there before, but it makes the main melody sound richer, more intricate.
“Yes!” Gorham exclaims. “You’ve found a counterpoint, Edmon. Very good.”
The song goes on through the night. I can’t help but feeling, though, that I didn’t find a counterpoint at all. Rather, a counterpoint found me.
The next day, a sondi lands on the shores. The town is buzzing over the arrival, but for me, a deep fear like a clenched fist squeezes my belly.
My father.
I don’t go to the docks. I don’t want to see him.
Why is he here? What could he want?
Nadia finds me at the cliffs, gazing at the Southern Sea. She sits beside me. The warm breeze blows our hair as we listen to the crashing waves.
“Hey,” she says. “You didn’t come to the docks this morning.”
“I didn’t.” My voice sounds lifeless.
“I’m sorry,” she says tentatively. “About last night. I didn’t mean to be so angry. You were trying to help. It’s just—”
“It’s fine.” I cut her off.
A silence sunders us. I should just let it be.
“I don’t know if it’s worse for you or me,” I say. “You’re ashamed of your family, but mine is ashamed of me.”
“I am not ashamed of my family!” Nadia’s eyes flare.
“I didn’t mean . . . sorry.” It’s all I can manage. I keep making mistakes it seems.
“Your mother isn’t ashamed of you,” she says.
“Not her,” I concede. “But House Leontes, my father, and everyone who carries the family name.”
“You think they count more than she does?” Nadia asks.
Maybe.
“Your father hasn’t summoned you or visited Bone in three years. He has another son. Why should you care about what he thinks? If your father is ashamed of you, he’s the one who shouldn’t count.”
“You were wrong,” I say. The gulls caw in the distance. She looks at me. “You said that my father wouldn’t return for me.” My voice is tinged with bitterness.
Nadia shakes her head. “No. I said that you are free to be your own person whether or not your father returns. I never said he wouldn’t come back.”
She stands and walks away. Over her shoulder, she adds, “Besides, your father wasn’t on the sondi that landed. It was a big man with a metal hand. And a red-haired boy he brought with him.”
A red-haired boy?
“What?” I turn, but she’s walked off.
There’s only one red-haired boy I know of. Is it the same one? The one from the christening? I run back up the path toward the manse.
“Phaestion of the Julii,” Alberich’s voice rings out as I burst into the foyer. I stop cold as everyone turns to me.
My mother waits on the staircase flanked by her handmaids. She nods at Alberich. “What brings the scion of House Julii to the shores of Bone?”
“Lord Edric and Lord Chilleus of the Julii invoke the tradition of fosterage,” grunts Alberich. “Phaestion will remain here as your guest; he’ll serve as regent. Your son, Edmon, will be his companion.”
“I see.” My mother’s voice is cold. “Unfortunately, it is not Edric’s right to command here.”
Alberich sighs as if he expected this. “My lady, you know that it is. Edric is the ruler of this island, entitled by the High Synod—”
“The people of Bone were here long before the High Synod, long before the Great Song, long before any Nightsider set foot on planet Tao and pretended that one could own the land. Bone does not recognize—”
“Bone recognizes the soldiers of House Leontes.”
There is a beat of silence as my mother simmers. “It’s my understanding that in the tradition of fosterage, the hosts will receive equal hospitality in return,” she responds.
“Edmon will leave for Meridian in a quarter cycle’s time and receive the tutelage of House Julii’s private academy,” Alberich says.
My mother’s face turns to stone.
“M’lady, I remind you this is a great honor. House Julii is one of the four High Houses, descended from the generals of the Great Song. They hold many seats among the Electors, including their traditional seat on the Synod.”
“I’m aware of the political status of the Julii,” my mother replies acidly.
“Edmon will receive an education of the finest order, an opportunity he wouldn’t otherwise have on Bone. I will oversee the boy’s tutelage in combat training.”
“Instruction? In martial skill? Why would he need such an education, Alberich?” she asks, her voice edged with anger.