I look back toward the doorway. Phaestion leans against the frame.
He came here with all of his weapons, all of his haughtiness. He thinks his people’s ways are superior and that my gifts are worthless. This is my arena, I think. Let’s see how he feels when he’s not always winning!
I bring the flute to my lips. The other instruments pick up my cue. I lose myself in the beat. I play a riff. Gorham mimics on the guitar. The drums punctuate our call. Then I pull the flute away, and I do something I’ve never done in the center of the circle. I sing.
I call out a line, “We, the islanders, have a home!”
The circle responds, picking up my call. “We, the islanders, have a home!”
“Yes, we call it the Isle of Bone!”
“Yes, we call it the Isle of Bone!”
“You can’t take me across the sea!” I shout.
“You can’t take me across the sea!”
“’Cause I be where I be!”
“’Cause we be where we be!”
The guests burst into an exultant cheer. They clap with celebration. Someone lifts me up on top of their shoulders. I’m floating on a wave of hands that pass me overhead. I see my mother standing, her smile broadening on her lips as I am carried. I find myself placed down on the edge of the circle where Nadia stands. She cracks a crooked grin. I beam back at her.
She gave me the courage for this, I think. She and my mother.
I glance at the doorway, but Phaestion has vanished.
Later. It’s dark in the hallway and the noise of the last guests echoes through the corridors. I’m near the servants’ rooms in the basement levels. Maybe I shouldn’t be here, but I want to see if Alberich is really alive. I hear his gruff voice coming from a door at the end of the hall.
“My Lord, he’s not without talent. He’s your son, after all.”
I hear my father’s voice in response. “Don’t honey your words, Alberich. Had the Julii boy not been there . . . But for the emperor, I could still send him to the Pavaka.”
I peek through the doorway. Alberich, a bandage wrapped around his abdomen, converses with my father via aquagraphic. A large tank full of yellow gel like Phaestion’s healing ointment sits in the corner.
“I’ve no need to flatter, my lord,” Alberich replies. “It was your son who injured me. A child of twelve, who has never fought before. Considering his lack of experience—”
“This fosterage was a mistake,” my father interrupts. “That bitch, Cleopatra, no doubt objected?”
“She still claims Bone does not recognize the deed granted you by the Synod.”
“But she recognizes I could send in my soldiers and declare martial law.” My father laughs. “It’s by my grace that they live free as they have.” His voice softens for a moment. “Tell me, is she still beautiful, Alberich?”
“She is still beautiful, my lord. And strong.”
“Good,” he says almost kindly. “That is very good . . .” His voice trails off. Then Edric returns to his hard self. “Train the Julii boy. Teach him well, and he may remember the debt when he claims the title of Patriarch.”
“And of Edmon?” Alberich asks.
“You know what’s intended. If he’s not strong enough to complete the ritual . . .”
The screen winks out. I back from the doorway, intending to sneak off unnoticed.
“I know what he intends, Edmon.” Alberich’s graveled voice catches me. “But what do you intend?”
“You tried to kill me” is all I can say.
“And you survived.” He seems pleased. “Every creature has within him the will to fight, from the fiercest shark to the meekest minnow. Conflict is in the nature of all things. You can be strong, but only if you use the violence within. And you did.”
I stare, not knowing what to make of this.
“I’m commanded to train Phaestion. If you choose, I’ll see that you receive equal attention.”
I say nothing because I truly don’t know if that’s what I want.
“Edmon, I can’t replace the years you haven’t trained. More importantly, I can’t replace desire. Your father anticipates your failure. He’s made your brother his heir, but beware: you’re the elder. Others may use your status to weaken House Leontes. You’d be wise to become strong enough to make your own choices whether that means fighting or not.”
Others may use my status . . .
With the arrival of Phaestion on Bone, I’m beginning to understand who he means.
I think on his words and say, “The meekest minnow does not choose to fight the mako who hunts him. He has to because that’s the way it is. Still, he will lose. Does struggling gain him anything?”
After returning to my new room, I find Phaestion waiting for me.
“What do you want?” I accuse more than ask.
“How do you do it?” he fires back.
“Do what?”
“The music?” He looks almost desperate.
I lie down on the gel mattress. “It’s music. It’s nothing special.”
“How can you say that!” He leaps at me and pulls me to my feet. His strong, sculpted hands wrap around my arms. I struggle, but he’s too strong. His gray eyes bore into me. “They love you!”
“Let me go!” I say.
He releases me. I rub my arms as blood flows back into my limbs.
“I have to know how. How do you make them love you?” He paces the room frantically.
“I’m told you’re the best fighter of this generation. Even the emperor said you were competing when you were only five. Surely, the cheers of an arena are enough. They love you plenty. Leave me alone.”
He looks at me dead in the eye. “They love me like an idol, but not as one of them. You sing with their voice. Do you understand the difference?”
“No,” I say. “You’re in my room. Get out.”
“Teach me to play like you play.”
“I can’t.” I lie back down and roll over, turning my back to him.
Then something occurs to me . . .
Two can play.
“What if I teach you? Will you teach me?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I teach you to play. You teach me to fight,” I propose.
“You want to fight?” The mask of innocence is stripped from his face. I see him for real now: shrewd, tactical, competitive, calculating.
“You need me. I need you,” I say. “And you’ll give me back my room.”
“Don’t press your luck.” He grins.
“If you want my help . . .”
He turns to leave. Then over his shoulder, he says, “Perhaps this was meant to be after all, Leontes. Chilleus had Cuillan. Phaestion and Edmon.”
The Chironiad again. Cuillan was the foster brother, some said lover, to the hero, brilliant Chilleus. They were the closest of friends, but Cuillan betrayed Chilleus for a woman. They ended up on opposite sides of the civil war. In the end, Chilleus bested Cuillan in mortal combat. He held his brother’s broken body in his arms and wept after he delivered the deathblow.
“What about my room?” I ask.
“Sorry. It’s mine now.” He smiles and walks out the door.
I lay my head back against the gel.
How can I beat him? I wonder.
Slumber takes me. Chilleus had his Cuillan, but both ended up dead.
CHAPTER 5