“Would you like to record something?” he asks slyly. “Perhaps an aria or some other small piece of music?”
The offer is tantalizing. If I record, then there will be no denying my talent. Perhaps my father would see fit to utilize those skills in some way. Maybe he’ll understand how I could bring acclaim rather than shame to our family name?
“Edmon, if music is what you want, we continue. If it’s not, then I think my time with you is over.”
I want to argue, but I know he’s right. If music won’t be my life, then I’ve come as far as I can with him. I imagine my life like a mirror fractured down the center, each showing a different future—
One reflection shows me something not unlike the celebrity of Andreas Catalano. I am a student at the Sophia Academy on Lyria, studying in great libraries and concert halls. I am walking down the great steps of the palazzo, talking with the grand masters and the other artists and musicians of the age. I am traveling the stars, singing for kings and diplomats. I see green worlds of woods and forests, I see desert palaces, and I see Nadia beside me as we stargaze from the cupola of a grand cruiser, young and free, exploring the Fracture together.
The other life shows me in an arena with the blood of underclass gladiators splashed across my skin. I wear the black Julii uniform and stand among the other Companions behind Phaestion as he addresses the Electors from a Synod podium. Edgaard is there, too, only he sits on the Synod alongside Phaestion. Our father looks at him proudly, while I remain in the background, unnoticed, barely tolerated. Nadia is nowhere to be seen, and the sun of the island is gone, but Miranda Wusong is there. I lift a wedding veil to reveal a white face and black teeth. I see myself pretending to listen as Phaestion teases me and boasts of how he accomplishes great things, Hanschen adds a sly comment, Perdiccus laughs like a hyena fish, and Sigurd threatens me. My heart beats faster because I want to scream and run from this vision, but I can’t. There’s nowhere to go.
I take a deep breath, calming my fears. This is no choice at all.
“I’ve made my decision, Maestro. I want to become a singer. The greatest I can be.”
He smiles, pleased.
“Then I’m happy to tell you that I’ve actually already recorded you,” he says.
My jaw drops. He’s already . . . ?
“I had an aquagraphic mixer placed in the room to capture last week’s lesson.”
“Maestro!” Betrayal, elation, and excitement all comingle.
“Forgive me,” he says. “I feared you would say no. Or somehow the Julii would interfere. It took some doing, but I bypassed tower security and released the recording anonymously on the nets.”
“Did people listen?” I’m scared to know the answer.
“Siegfried’s song is ‘warrior music,’” he says. “Forging swords, fighting, a mythical dragon . . . the people of Meridian go for this sort of thing, yes? Edmon, they’ve gone, how does your planet say it? Wave?”
Wave! I let out a whoop.
“Practically the whole of Meridian has heard it,” he continues over my excitement. “I also transferred them to binary code cylinder for shipment via UFP courier to the dean of admissions at the Sophia School of Music.”
The Sophia School of Music in Lyria?
“Edmon, if you want it, I believe there will be a place for you there.”
“Maestro . . .” My breath comes fast. I think back on our first lessons and The Maestro reprimanding me for merely breathing wrong. I’ve worked so hard, and now my dream is coming true.
Is this real? I think of Nadia. I haven’t seen her in years. Still, I wish she were here to share in this moment.
“Edmon!”
We both turn at the new voice. Perdiccus stands in the doorway. Wild strands of gold hair hang in his eyes.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“What is it?” I try to cover my excitement.
“It’s Phaestion. He’s set up a special training exercise for The Companions, the last of the season. Come on!” He grabs my arm, and all my thoughts slip away. The next thing I know, we’re running down the hall, and my heart drops to the pit of my stomach.
Phaestion’s test has arrived.
The wind whips my hair. I stare out my Plexiglass face mask at a searing drop. The other Companions are next to me in front of the open sondi carriage door, decked out in black body armor. The armor will unfold into a winged flight suit when we jump. And we are jumping.
I toe the edge and look down out the open door. The caps of the towers of Meridian just peek above the fog cover from the nearby sea. The moons of Chang and Hou are visible in the gloaming. Chang is a green sickle, while Hou is but a mere sliver of silver. My heart pounds.
This is too damn high.
“The rules have changed.” Phaestion’s voice pipes in over the helmet comms. “Over the centuries, young fighters of the Combat have grown in skill and prowess, attempting more daring feats. It is no longer enough to simply win with martial skill. You must entertain. That is what drives the economic viability of our most hallowed blood sport. It is what the people demand of their Electors. So the High Synod has decreed an advancement in the technology of the arena. No longer will the Combat simply pit fighter against fighter. The arena itself will be armed with obstacles and mechanized weaponry to murder her challengers.”
I wish he’d cut the monologue, but I know he records this for the same purpose, to broadcast our feats for the latest episode of The Exploits of The Companions.
“You have already been well trained by Alberich and the automatons of our practice arena. Now it is time to test your skills in the real world. House Julii and the students of her academy will be second to none!”
“Aroo!” the other Companions shout in response.
“The game is simple. You each have been given coordinates in your heads-up display.”
My face mask lights up with the time, date, altitude, wind speed, and information on the skyscrapers that claw from the city streets up into the sky. Then a bright red beacon blips.
“At these coordinates is a data card. Jump into the city, travel to the coordinates, and recover it. Return to the sondi that waits above the Banshee Rail. Whoever returns first with the data card in hand wins the graduation prize.”
“What’s the trick?” Hanschen interrupts over the headset. He smirks behind his mask. In the years since our first fight, I’ve grown physically stronger than him, but he’s always been the cleverest of the others, the most likely to strike when my back is turned.
“The trick”—I feel Phaestion grinning over the comm—“is that the rest of the academy members wait at points throughout the district to stop you.”
“Lovely,” Sigurd growls.
“Easy, Sig,” says Perdiccus. “This is going to be fun. Right, Ed?” He nudges me.
“We haven’t heard what the prize is,” I say bluntly.
“Oh, Edmon,” admonishes Hanschen. “Must there always be a reason?” He winks and eyes me flirtatiously.
“Yes,” I say, deadpan.
Sigurd snickers.