Are my eyes gone?
Hanschen’s fist slams into my chest, knocking my sword from my grasp. It clatters to the floor. I clamber to reach it.
A faint voice echoes behind me, “Duo a mano!”
My fingertips scrape the katana’s pommel. Almost there!
A trident slams down, piercing the back of my hand, skewering it to the mat. I scream as lightning shoots up my arm.
“Uh-unh,” Perdiccus taunts.
He lifts the trident, its barbs pulling my arm with it. Perdiccus shakes the weapon violently. Chunks of my flesh tear away.
“Twisted!” He laughs.
“Come here, snail guppy.” Hanschen limps to join his friend.
I crawl away. Hanschen lunges and slices my foot open. I lose a toe. I grab my sword in my uninjured hand and swing it wildly. It cuts Perdiccus’s hand.
He shrieks and shakes his golden locks. He backs away, sucking on bloody fingers. “I’m hurt, snail guppy,” he says. “After we showed you such kindness.”
He stabs with his trident again. I roll. He keeps stabbing; I keep rolling. He catches me, spiking my already-maimed foot to the floor. I cry out, and he laughs.
“Trio a mano,” Alberich calls.
Sigurd, nearly a head taller than the others, looms into view with his monstrous mace.
“You left nothing for me,” he says, admonishing the others.
“We cut the meat,” Hanschen says casually, “and left you the bones.”
Perdiccus yanks the trident from my foot. My spurting blood paints their chests in swaths of red.
Sigurd’s eyes dull as he approaches. I pull myself toward escape.
Why run, boy?
“Come on, Edmon!” somebody in the crowd shouts.
Another echoes, “Don’t give up!”
Sigurd smacks the sword from my grasp with his mace. It skitters out of the ring. He raises his weapon again.
I do the only thing I can in that moment. I leap off my still-good leg and fling myself toward them, latching onto Sigurd like a leech. I sink my teeth into his neck, feeling hot, salty blood in my mouth. The thumb of my good hand digs into his eye. I press harder until I feel it pop. He screams.
From the corner of my eye, I see Perdiccus lunge with his trident. I drop out of the way. Sigurd takes the full stab of the barbs.
“Edmon! Edmon! Edmon!” I hear the crowd chanting.
I’m half-dead but emboldened. I know I’ve no chance. It doesn’t matter. I roll toward Hanschen, tripping him. He crashes on top of me. My good fingers find the wound on his thigh. I dig into it, ripping back the skin. He howls, and I push him away.
Perdiccus jumps on me. He slams a fist into my face. I feel the bones in my nose crunch like a bundle of twigs. My fingers find his hair. I grab a fistful and slam his head against the floor again and again until he’s out cold.
Sigurd stands. I see him through a bloody haze. Puss oozes from his ocular orbital.
“Edmon! Edmon! Edmon!”
I paint a trail of red as I crawl toward my sword. Before I can reach it, the mace comes down on my leg, smashing it to gelatin. Sigurd raises the club again.
I scream, “Go to hell, you piece of—”
An amniotic sleep. Voices. They slip in from the edge of consciousness. I hear a song, a lullaby my mother used to sing before Eventide sleep. I float on an ocean that stretches forever. Then I find myself washed ashore. It’s twilight. I can see the Elder Stars. Something swims out in the music beyond. The monster . . .
You’re mine, he says, laughing.
Light blurs in from the edges. I ache all over. I try to move and can’t.
“He’s waking,” says a voice. “It will take him several weeks to function. Perhaps months to fully cope with the changes.”
Changes?
“Leave us,” another commands. I recognize the timbre. I heard it once in the throne room of Old Wusong.
Edric? I blink, and the chiseled features of my father glower at me.
His voice is ice. “You’ve survived.”
When is he not angry?
“The next time you step into the arena, you won’t lose. Do you understand?”
I try to speak, but no sound emerges.
“Prepare the sondi, Alberich. I’m leaving.” He turns on his heel, his blue cloak flowing behind him.
Alberich comes into view. “Edmon, I’m sorry,” he says.
Then he’s gone, too. I close my eyes. I don’t know for how long.
When I wake again, I see a flash of fiery hair.
“Phaestion?” I ask.
“Don’t try to talk too much,” he says. “You’ve had feeding tubes so your throat is probably a little sore.”
“Where . . . ?”
He raises his hand to silence me. “You’ve been in House Julii’s infirmary for almost two months undergoing reconstructive surgery. You almost died.”
“You should’ve let me,” I mutter.
I immediately regret speaking. My whole body thrums with a dull ache.
“Funny way to say thank you.” He pulls up a chair and sits next to my bed. “Several ribs broken, massive concussion, your legs shattered, hand mangled, and a missing toe of all things.” He smiles. “That shouldn’t have happened. We usually train to first blood. Fortunately, the match was stopped before any blows landed on your head. I don’t know why Alberich let it go on so long.”
I can’t say I helped him prevent it, but I wonder if the seneschal was motivated to let it happen the way it did.
If I had died, I’d clear the way for Edgaard as heir . . .
“They said you wouldn’t last the night. If you did, you wouldn’t walk again. Your father wasn’t convinced we should try to save you.”
Of course he wasn’t. I’m weak. They were all right, the teachers, every one of them.
The realization hits me—I’ll never walk again . . .
I wish I were dead.
“I knew Talousla Karr could repair you, though. Your father refused to pay for it, but it doesn’t matter. I always get my way. But he did stay by your side almost every day,” Phaestion adds.
“What?” I cough.
My father stayed? Perhaps he was waiting for me to die? I don’t think he’ll have to worry about me embarrassing him in the ring again.
“Don’t worry,” Phaestion says. “You’ll earn your keep.”
“Earn what? I’ll never walk again, you said,” I answer bitterly.
Phaestion bursts out laughing. “Edmon, didn’t I just tell you? I always get my way.”
“But my legs.” I try to move. Everything hurts. Everything, I realize, including my legs.
He lays his hand on my shoulder. “We regrew new bones from osteografts cultivated from your old ones. Talousla Karr oversaw the procedure.”
Talousla Karr—the slithering, hairless space gypsy.
“The last surgery was only a week ago. We reinforced the lacunae with a lattice formed from Nontheran spider silk. The engineered cells will eventually replace your whole skeleton. Your bones will be light and virtually unbreakable. Your tendons and muscles will be stronger, too. You will heal from injury extremely quickly. The bad news is you’ll be in a lot of pain for the next year or so. A lot.”
“Teacher Croack said artificial enhancements are against the law.”
“What does he know?!” Phaestion says a little too angrily. “The law doesn’t apply to people like us.”