“Come on!” Edgaard shouts, though the words are lost in the wind. He helps me up off the floor.
Perdiccus and Sigurd crash through the door behind us, flanked by a cadre of soldiers. Edgaard and I sprint after Hanschen while Perdiccus and Sigurd run after us. Seal chases fish; shark chases seal. Out the back door, wind whips my hair. I grab a ladder bolted to the exterior of the train and climb. Hanschen is already plastered to the roof like a bug. He punctures his retracted pike into the metal like an ice pick, pulling himself hand by hand. I duck as the train whips through a small tunnel.
I look ahead. The train approaches the sondi, which hovers in the sky above midcity. We are going to have to jump from the sonic train onto the sondi at just the right moment to win. This is madness.
Edgaard takes his pike and follows Hanschen. I jam my own pike into the roof, my chest pounding with fear. I use the pike to claw my way along the surface. Every time I pull the pike out, my heart skips a beat as I am free, holding on to nothing. The speed of the train threatens to dust me off and into the purple sky. Perdiccus and Sigurd follow, meters behind.
This is too slow.
I signal to Edgaard. I’m going down.
He shakes his head. I know. It’s too dangerous. Doesn’t matter.
I swing my body around to the side of the train and crash through a window. Passengers scream. I shove two stunned Julii soldiers to the ground, then shove my way through the throng, sprinting for the front of the train.
Not much time left.
I reach the front and push past the conductor.
“What are you—?”
I ignore him and smash my fist into the Plexiglas of the windshield. It feels like paper against my strengthened knuckles. I vault myself back onto the roof, teetering, but I manage to slam my pike into the roof again.
Steady, Edmon.
The sondi balloon hangs like a fat, bloated beetle on the horizon. We are all so close to death that it seems absurd. You can do this! I say to myself.
Hanschen has reached midtrain. He’s sandwiched between me and the others. He stands.
He’s going to jump, I realize. I can’t let it happen.
The train rounds the bend. I let go of my pike and jump in the air. Hanschen rushes toward me as the train hurtles him forward. I smack into him, tackling him. We careen across the roof. I grab his wrist and pry the data card from it.
We slide past the others. Someone snags my ankle before I fall into the ether. Sigurd and Perdiccus pull me back onto the train, but now they’re on top of me, punching me, clawing for the data card. Everyone wants to be the strongest. No one wants to lose Phaestion’s favor.
I can’t beat all of them, I realize.
I see Edgaard out of the corner of my eye, the only one not on top of me, clawing for the ring. He stands slowly, using his pike for support. I do the only thing that makes sense.
“Edgaard!” I scream. I toss the data card as high as I can. He catches it midair and leaps from the Banshee Rail . . . safely into the carriage of the hovering sondi in one spectacular move.
The sondi’s side panels light up in an aquagraphic display of electric brilliance.
Edgaard wins!
The others let me go, and I fall. The beauty of the twilight rushes away. My stomach sinks with a weightless, floating feeling. I spin to face the earth, spread my arms, and accept death.
CHAPTER 11
PRIMA DONNA
The wings of the suit splay out, and I glide, barely a meter above the cement. I soar. I hear the faint sound of cheers like a distant wave crashing to shore. The people watch the live stream on the nets. They cheer for me.
Later, the heavy double doors of the throne room open. I stride behind the others, my ears still ringing from the fight on the train. Perdiccus’s arm is in a sling, Hanschen’s torso is bandaged. Sigurd’s face is bruised. Academy soldiers fill the hall. Michio, Croack, Alberich, and Commandant Vetruk stand by. I search for The Maestro’s face in the crowd but cannot find him.
Chilleus Julii doesn’t sit on his throne. None have seen the old Patriarch for the last half of this yearly cycle. Rumor is the old man is in ill health as he approaches his 125th year. On Tao, the only good death is a death in battle, and so the ritual of patricide was instituted. A son must kill his father in order to claim the rule of his house and be branded with a Patriarch’s tattoos. While anyone who wins the Combat may ascend to the College of Electors, only a Patriarch may be elected from that body to a seat on the High Synod. Phaestion has not yet been branded, but that is only the first step along his path to rule.
The Julii prince lounges on the orca throne, leaning on one elbow. His leg lazily dangles over the other massive arm of the chair. Two gorgeous girls attend him, blonde, slender, and full breasted. One of them pets his coppery hair. He bats a camglobe out of his face.
Talousla Karr skulks in the corner, watching everything silently. I want to ask the renegade spypsy about the little girl I met on the streets of Meridian, but it will have to wait. I have more important matters to think of.
“All hail the fearless Companions!” Phaestion awakes from his whimsy.
He stands and straps a purple cape jauntily over a bare, muscular shoulder. As he descends the steps of the throne, he spreads his arms wide and embraces Perdiccus and Sigurd in a hug.
“My sea lions,” he says, smiling, “you’re truly fearsome!”
Perdiccus grins. Sigurd nods. The giant believes he should have won the contest, no doubt.
“Hanschen, my cousin.” Phaestion hugs his lithe kinsman. “Cunning, graceful, and so, so beautiful,” he teases flirtatiously. Hanschen, usually so confident, actually blushes. I wonder what other flirtations the two have partaken in behind closed doors. “Leave it to you to figure out the game. None of you could win on his own. You might have played your allies a bit longer, though,” he chides.
“Sage advice, my lord.” Hanschen winks.
“And little Edgaard”—Phaestion turns to my brother—“victor.”
Edgaard bows. He presents then opens the small velvet box to reveal the “data card.” Phaestion plucks the diamond from the box and holds it up to the sunset light.
“You are truly your father’s son.” Phaestion smiles. “You’ve earned the prize. Julii Academy will join you at House Wusong-Leontes for the duration of the next yearly cycle. You will host, and we will be your companions.”
Edgaard grins from ear to ear. Hosting is a tremendous honor.
Edric will be so proud. Would he feel the same if I’d won? I’ll never know. I gave up my chance at victory.
“Let’s not forget you, Edmon.” Phaestion grins wryly. “Edgaard wouldn’t have been victorious if not for your help. In the Combat, you assume alliance only for it to be broken later. ‘Never sacrifice yourself for another.’ However, this exercise was more than the Combat. In war, victory is only achieved through self-sacrifice. You chose brother and house over yourself. That selfless act proclaims you the true winner of today.”