Out in the main hall, drumbeats reverberate. Phaestion grabs my hand. “Come on.”
The feast brings the dance. I look for my mother, but she does not attend. She comes less and less to the festivities, always locking herself in her chambers with the village elders. They are discussing something secret. She knows the days are running short until the sondi will arrive to take me to Meridian and House Julii. I don’t think my mother plans on letting me go.
How can she think to fight them? I wonder. Do I even want her to succeed in preventing me from leaving if she tries? That is the greater question that hangs in my mind. There must be more to life than the simplicity Bone has to offer.
I watch Phaestion mingling among the islanders, observing. I wonder if my mother keeps me from her plans because she sees the heir of House Julii and I have become friends? Or is it so that if she fails, my father cannot hold me accountable? The music pulls me from my dark thoughts.
I play and sing while Nadia teaches Phaestion to dance. He’s actually much better at dancing than playing music, almost as graceful as when he’s fighting. They smile at each other. I see Nadia laugh as he tells her some joke I cannot hear. The villagers call for him to take center stage. They clap and sing for him to move his fancy feet as Nadia watches with admiration. My chest burns.
Now he takes the thing that I’m best at from me, too.
“You’re as good as him,” the old, worn voice says, catching me. Gorham smiles his kindly gap-toothed smile. “In your own way, young lord. You play beautifully. He can’t do that.”
“But look at him dance. He’s so good in so little time. Everyone loves him. Even Nadia,” I say venomously. “It’s not fair.”
“Does the star of Tao burn any less brightly than the star of Lyria?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
He knows I’ve mentioned Lyria often. He knows I’ve dreamed of it, the people, the capital city of Prospera with its libraries and schools and opera houses. Now, though, I’m in no mood for his old-man riddles.
“Loving Phaestion doesn’t mean they do not love you,” he answers.
I’m not about to give up self-pity so easily. “I’ve never seen the star of Lyria. How should I know which is brighter?”
“Someday you will, I think, young lord.” Gorham grins sadly. “And you’ll understand the light from one star does not eclipse that of another. Each star has its own to give.”
I try to understand his wisdom but don’t allow myself to see it. “If each star shines equally as bright, how do we measure them? There is an objective truth, old man.” I turn on my heel and leave, shoving the guilt of my insult aside.
Phaestion and I lose ourselves in the darkness of the shaded house when the feast is over. We skirt through the halls or sometimes we just sit and talk.
One night, he steals some fruit from a kitchen table. We return to his room. He takes three golden sea peaches and hands me six more.
“Watch,” he says. He juggles them. His perfect, white hands move with practiced ease.
“Toss another!”
I throw one, and the new peach becomes part of the mesmerizing loop.
“Another!” he calls out.
I do it again, laughing at his preternatural skill.
“Another!”
I stare, incredulous, but I toss it in anyway. It is too many for anyone’s hands to manage. A peach drops to the floor, but he doesn’t let it touch the ground. He traps it in the crook of his ankle, then tosses it seamlessly back into the loop, creating a new pattern with hands and now feet.
“Another!” he says.
Is he serious?
“Another!” he insists.
I toss it into the mix. He deftly includes it. “I should try this blindfolded next time. Now you!” he says.
“What? No!” I shout.
He throws the peaches at me. One. Two. Three. I manage for a few seconds, and then they all tumble to the floor, rolling everywhere.
He bursts into laughter. “Bed!” he calls and falls on the gel mattress, which slides from the wall. “You should have seen your face!”
“Thanks,” I mutter as I chase down rolling fruit. “I’ve never juggled before.”
“Neither have I.”
I stare at him in disbelief. He gazes back innocently.
“How were you able to do that then?” I ask.
“It probably has something to do with the way I was born.” He lies back on the bed.
What does that mean?
“My mother was a sea goddess,” he says very seriously.
There is a moment of deadly silence before he bursts into laughter. Then we’re interrupted by a musical hoot from the sea.
He sits up, alert. “What was that?”
“A siren calling for a mate,” I respond, annoyed by the interruption. “Don’t you know anything?”
Phaestion cocks his head to the side. “Have you seen one before?”
“I’ve caught glimpses. They usually stay in the depths.”
“Let’s go.” He springs from the bed.
“What?”
“To see a siren.”
“It’s past Eventide!” I protest.
He grabs my arm. “Gotta train for the unexpected!”
We sneak through the darkness of the house, then out into the light of the never-setting sun.
“Come on!” he hollers as he takes off at a clip down the path.
“Phaestion!” I shout, but all I can see are the soles of his feet licking the air like tongues as he sprints down the path.
A distant rumble sounds. Bloated, cottony clouds bloom on the horizon. A storm is brewing, not far off. If we are quick about it, we might not get caught in it. Then, again . . . I sigh and take off after my rash friend.
I find Phaestion near the shore, not another soul in sight. I’m panting, out of breath. Rivulets of sweat glide down my forehead.
“What took you so long?” He smiles, not even winded from the sprint. “Come on!”
He skips along the sand bar that forms a rudimentary dock and untethers a small canoe from its moorings.
“That doesn’t belong to you!”
“Why does that matter?”
I start to protest, but he interrupts me. “Edmon.” He puts his hand on my arms. “Your father’s Patriarch of House Leontes. Bone is his. As his son, it’s yours. By the rights of fosterage, I have the rights and privileges that you do. So it’s mine, too. The whole world could be ours between your family and mine and the friends we make with other scions. If you don’t start acting like you are worth it, then you never will be.”
Nadia wouldn’t see things that way, I think. I wish she were here.
“What if—?”
“Enough talk.” He shakes his head. The puffy clouds in the sky seem much closer now. A siren calls, her mellifluous sound beckoning. “I’m not missing this because you’re afraid, Edmon!” He hops into the canoe. “You coming or not?”
I scowl, but I get into the boat just the same.