Drawers pop out from the wall. Phaestion crosses to them. He pulls out a linen shirt and holds it up.
He smiles. “You can go now.” He delivers the command with the ease of someone who is never disobeyed.
Instinctively, I take a step toward the door, then stop myself.
This boy has shown up unexpectedly, to my house, tells me to carry his luggage, comes into my room, claims it for his own, and belittles me and my customs. He struts naked in front of me, takes my bed and my clothes, and dismisses me without thought as if I’m his servant.
I am not his servant.
He looks up and realizes I haven’t left. He cocks his head to the side, as if daring me to speak.
“I come and go as I please,” I state boldly.
He holds my gaze, saying nothing. I stand there for another awkward beat. I could demand that he leave my room, but what if he refuses? I certainly can’t force him.
He sits, watching me.
“What do we need armies for?” I ask again. I don’t know why I ask that. It’s just something to say.
He thinks. Then he says, “Alexander the Great—do you know who that was?”
I shake my head.
“Alexander the Great was from a small country of sheep herders, but he and his army conquered the known earth. Rome was a small city state that became a Republic then a whole empire. Genghis Khan and his tribes of horsemen conquered even more. Small places with great men made small people into great armies, up to the time of Conn the Magnificent and his first Anjin mechs of the Miralian Empire. Every time there was conquest, it brought trade, new ideas, and inventions. They made civilization evolve to new heights. Humans soar on the wings of our violent nature. There’s no other way.”
He sounds like he’s repeating something from an aquagraphic. I feel something horrible and ominous inside.
Run as fast and far as you can, it says.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say. I back out of the room, trying to make it seem as if I’m in control, that it’s totally my decision to leave. The door slides shut behind me.
“Were you impressed?”
I spin around at the sound of the voice. Mother. She stands imperiously in the hallway.
“Did the little killer impress you with his weapons?” she asks coldly.
My mother has never talked to me this way before. She sounds angry, cruel. I look down, ashamed. I was mesmerized by the red-haired boy and his shiny weapons, if the truth be told.
She kneels in front of me. Her finger gently lifts my chin. Her gaze is soft again.
“The ability to kill someone doesn’t make you a leader, and it doesn’t make someone great,” she says. “There’s nothing great about dying or taking a life. Remember that tomorrow?”
I nod. I hope I do.
CHAPTER 4
CONTINUO
The sun blazes high in the blue sky as Alberich leads us down the cobbled streets through the town. I carry Phaestion’s cases slung on my back.
Whispers echo from doorways. “House of the Julii . . . Little Lord learning to fight . . .”
My face flushes with mentions of the “Little Lord.” After the incident with Nadia in the marketplace and now the whispers that surround us as we walk, I feel keenly how I am different. I live on the high hill. My skin is pale. I’m not a fisherman, nor do I fit in with the Nightsiders. The red-haired boy makes me carry his things, like a servant.
I don’t belong anywhere.
We arrive at a narrow patch of white gravel and sand surrounded by large boulders where the foam of the sea licks the edge of the land. Alberich stakes several practice spears and swords into the earth.
“The Great Song’s army wandered the Nine Corridors for a decade before they found planet Tao. Ten years passed in the vacuum before Supreme Bushi Tamerlane Song finally stepped on the Twilight Lands as an emperor. He swore to uphold the Balance that his masters had forgotten. What is the Balance?”
Phaestion immediately parrots an answer. “Elder Stars illuminate only because there is darkness. A warrior can know righteous cause only because there is evil. Heart to thought, thought to voice, harmony rises from discord. This is the Balance.”
The grizzled seneschal nods. “Without shadow, there cannot be light. Song’s men were warriors, but with no war. They had thrown off the yoke of slavery their masters placed on them, but what was their worth without conflict? Without trial? They created the Combat: the ultimate test of strength, speed, and intelligence.” He says it with pride. “Contestants compete throughout the year in sparring matches until the end-of-the-year final. Twelve spots for nobility, one for each house of the Pantheon, twenty-four for the underclass. The one who survives the arena lives to rule. Both of you as scions of noble houses are fated to compete one day.”
I am to be forced to do this? My heart begins to pound.
Phaestion only nods, not only aware of his fate, but determined to meet it with deadly confidence.
“Phaestion,” the seneschal commands. The red-haired boy steps forward. “Pick your best weapon.”
Phaestion pulls a long trident and some sort of net out of his cases. My eyes narrow. These are not his “best weapons.”
“Retiarius.” Alberich nods. “Very well. Come at me.”
Phaestion looks puzzled. Alberich scowls. “Edmon, Phaestion, I’m not your friend. I’m here to teach you. You will call me Master. If you don’t learn, you’ll end up dead. If you end up dead, I end up dead. Therefore, if you don’t follow my instruction, you’ll be punished.”
“Yes, Master,” Phaestion says without hesitation.
My voice is a beat behind. I feel totally out of place.
“Come at me!” Alberich commands.
Phaestion feints with the trident, then swings the net, trying to trip the big man. Alberich merely uses his large trunk of a leg to tear the net from Phaestion’s grasp. Phaestion refuses to let go. He rolls with it. The metal-capped stump of Alberich’s hand slams into the sand where Phaestion stood a split second earlier.
The red-haired boy draws into a crouch. He thrusts the trident forward. It almost catches Alberich square in the back, but the big man spins away deftly. His hand springs out and grabs the shaft of the trident. He yanks it, but Phaestion holds on. The boy flies into the air and releases his hold on the shaft. He somersaults midair and lands on Alberich’s shoulders. He wraps his arms and legs around Alberich’s throat.
A choke hold!
Alberich rears back and slams Phaestion into a boulder. The boy gasps and drops like stone to the earth. Still, he refuses to give up. He reaches for the net, but Alberich kicks it from his reach. He touches the captured trident to the boy’s throat.
“Hold!” he calls.
Phaestion immediately stops and stands.
“Good,” the big man says. “But you waited too long to release the trident midair. Sometimes letting go sooner will give you openings.”
Phaestion nods.
“Now show me your weakest weapon,” Alberich commands.