“Come, Phaestion,” the old man says.
Phaestion escorts his father from the chamber. “I’ll be seeing you around, Cadet Leontes.”
What does he mean, Cadet?
The hairless man, Talousla Karr, looks at me with his cat eyes. “I was led to believe your Daysider race was the less intelligent of the two. Perhaps you’ll have more surprises for me in the future.” Then he, too, is gone.
Alberich looks down at me. “Remember what you’ve learned. We are precarious guests here, but Edric will still be watching.” The seneschal strides off into the building. The rest of my father’s guards return to the sondi as it revs its engines.
“Cadet,” a tall man in a smart black Julii uniform says. “This way.”
I follow the man down a marble hall, his polished boots clacking with every step. The hallway widens. One whole wall is a glass panel. I peer through it into a cavernous space. Scores of boys, all Nightsiders, dressed in black body armor form ranks in the room below. They ready shiny shields on their arms. High-powered pistols rest in their other hands. They fit the pistols into a groove at the top of the shields. On command, they march forward in formation.
Turn, pivot, pivot. Stop.
It’s almost musical, I think.
“I am Commandant Vetruk,” the man with the pointed face and graying hair beside me states. “I’m the principal of House Julii’s Academy. Here you will be trained in the way of the pen and the sword.”
“What are they doing?” I ask, indicating the boys below.
“Drilling,” he responds. “Exercises are compulsory for all students. Lowborn as well as high.” He emphasizes the word low as he scans my island garb.
I remember the disdain Nightsiders had for the clothes I wore at the christening all those years ago. I also remember that my father was, himself, a commoner before he rose to claim his titles.
The man’s tone is clear—I’m not worthy enough to be here.
A pneumovator takes us several floors up to a barracks. The door slides open, revealing several other boys waiting for me.
“Attention!” Vetruk shouts.
Three pale-haired boys dressed in sleek black uniforms stand rigid-backed.
“This is Edmon of House Leontes. He’s your new roommate. Edmon, this is Sigurd of House Flanders.” Vetruk indicates a large, beefy boy with hair the color of pale straw and a broad face.
“Perdiccus of House Mughal.” Vetruk indicates a slim athletic youth with hair of spun gold and large buggy eyes.
“And Hanschen of House Julii.” He is the smallest of the three and pale of skin. He eyes me with a furtive gaze. His lips curve in a twisted smirk.
“Prepare him. Teacher Michio’s astrophysics lab commences within an hour.”
“Yes, Commandant!” the boys reply in unison.
Vetruk turns on a dime and leaves.
“Edmon of House Leontes,” begins Hanschen.
Hanschen of House Julii, Vetruk had said. Phaestion’s cousin maybe?
“Curious they would send us one so lowborn,” the boy says, sneering. “Phaestion must have seen something in you if he wants you as one of The Companions.”
Companions? I thought I was the only one.
“You should close your mouth, snail guppy,” the one with the crazy eyes says.
Perdiccus of House Mughal. Mughal is one of the four High Houses of the Pantheon along with Flanders, Julii, and of course Old Wusong. They’re all represented here. All except House Wusong, which has no male heir. It has only Miranda.
Miranda, my betrothed . . .
“Look at his dark hair and raggedy clothes!” exclaims Perdiccus. “You look like a whale-turding Daysider.”
“I am a Daysider,” I say defiantly.
They stare.
“You must be a good fighter,” says the thuggish one, Sigurd.
He steps close, almost a full foot taller than me. He slams his fist into my solar plexus. I double over in pain, gasping for air. Perdiccus howls with laughter and leans against Sigurd as he slaps his own thigh.
“Hurts so much, Sig! Can’t stop laughing!”
Sigurd grins, but he doesn’t seem amused.
Hanschen kneels and pulls my chin toward his face. “Not a fighter then. You must have some other qualities Phaestion thought redeemable. You’re pretty enough.”
A chime sounds. The boys collectively sigh.
Sigurd cuts in. “Save the new-fish hazing for Combat practice. We’re going to be late for astrophysics. Your bunk is the bottom, snail guppy. Don’t cry tonight. I hate criers.”
“I’m really scared,” I mutter sarcastically.
“What did you say?” The tendons in Sigurd’s neck flare like a bull’s.
“You’re clearly the smartest of the group,” I say as I stand.
Damn it! Stop talking, Edmon.
The thug’s brow furrows as he tries to discern whether I’m mocking him or not. Hanschen giggles under his breath.
“Shut up!” Sigurd commands. Hanschen quiets, and Sigurd stalks off. Perdiccus bursts into hysterical laughter before following like a hyena eel.
Hanschen lingers for a beat. “That was dumb, snail guppy. Now Sigurd will kill you.”
“Would it be different if I’d said nothing?” I hold my stomach.
Hanschen shrugs. “Enjoy your licks while you can get them.”
I walk into the classroom wearing the black military suit and shiny boots of a Julii cadet. Teacher Michio motions for me to take a seat next to the other “companions.” The kimono that’s hastily wrapped about his waist, his smooth pate, and his small stature tell me he isn’t from Tao.
Perdiccus kicks the stool out from under me as I sit. I fall to the floor with a thud, and the other boys snicker.
Teacher Michio lets out an exhalation of frustration. “No interruptions, please.”
I scramble to pull my stool underneath me.
“Where were we? Ah, yes, the propulsion force needed from a rocket to break Tao’s high gravity atmosphere.”
Teacher Michio goes on for the next hour about Tao’s high level of gravity. He waxes on nuclear fuel production. He drones on about the synthesis of polymers for shuttle construction and the durability of high-grade transparent plastics against cosmic rays.
Sigurd yawns. Perdiccus draws shapes on his aquatablet. Only Hanschen listens intently, but even he doesn’t appear to be taking notes. Meanwhile, I furiously write. I don’t understand even half of what I transcribe.
Why am I here? I was so stupid to come. I miss home already.
Then Teacher Michio says something that catches my ear. “All matter and energy is created from tiny strings that vibrate.”
I think of Gorham and his gap-toothed smile. Everything is music, Edmon, he would tell me. Even the ancestors who have risen to the Elder Stars or those who became one with the great Mother Ocean are a part of it.
Teacher Michio says the frequency at which everything vibrates creates the matter and energy of the known universe.
Gorham was right! Music is everywhere and everything. The fabric of existence is music.