I remember the last time a boy from Meridian wanted to see a siren.
“We won’t be doing any of that,” Sigurd interrupts. He folds his arms across his muscled chest. “We’re going to train,” he says with disdain. “We’ll not be softened by lazy sun or backward people. We must maintain integrity.”
“Aye-aye, Captain Puckered Nuts.” Perdiccus salutes derisively.
Sigurd smirks, willing to take the gibe because he doesn’t think Perdiccus is a real threat to him physically. He’s overconfident.
“You trained alone here with Phaestion, didn’t you, Edmon?” Edgaard asks.
“He did,” a deep voice rumbles. Phaestion enters the passenger cabin from the cockpit. His timbre is no longer a boy’s. His maturity has come faster than the rest of ours, perhaps because of his enhancements. He’s more confident than ever, too. “We trained on the beaches before he became a companion.”
The others eye me with jealousy. I’m the only one of us who has ever been with Phaestion alone. The only one who’s ever seen his skill with a sword close up. They don’t know that I’ve seen even more. I’ve seen how he trains in the Arms of Agony. I’ve seen how he stands in his little control room and watches us all. I’ve seen not only what his body is capable of, but what his mind can process and accomplish. The mystery around him is as intimidating as it is tantalizing for the others.
He’s just a boy, like me, though. When he’s wrong, he’s wrong just like anybody else.
Whatever his special abilities are, his isolation has sparked a disconnect that has allowed him to view people as pawns. Love and affection are merely ways to manipulate, no matter if the feelings are true. Killing is a necessary evil to achieve his goals, too, I’ve learned.
And what of my feelings for him? Our friendship? Is it real or just another tool? Either way, I won’t allow my friendship with Phaestion to permit him to hurt others again, I promise myself.
“Don’t underestimate the heat of sun and sand when you train, Sigurd.” Phaestion claps the giant’s back. “Island pleasures can be delightful.” He winks at Hanschen. “The surf definitely is intense.” He nods at Perdiccus.
“Prepare for docking,” the pilot chimes in over the speakers.
The sondi engine sighs a low hoot as it slows over the bay.
“I’m excited to see your home.” Edgaard looks up at me. I tousle his hair. “Aw, come on, Edmon,” he says and pulls away.
Commandant Vetruk gathers the other teachers, including Croack and Michio, at the entrance to disembark. They’re in the black uniforms of House Julii. Alberich has donned the blue and silver of House Leontes in honor of Edgaard’s win.
Perdiccus is smart in turquoise and white of House Mughal, while Sigurd looks ostentatious in violent red and gold of House Flanders.
Edgaard eyes me nervously. I’m not wearing Leontes colors. Instead, I’ve insisted on the white linens of the islanders. The teachers cast their eyes at me with disdain. I don’t care. This is my mother’s house, and I’ll return to it as a member of her people.
Talousla Karr meanwhile skulks in shadows, watching us like lab animals from beneath his hood.
Maestro Bertinelli wears a frock coat over a doublet and britches of Lyrian origin. He glances at me over his tiny round spectacles under the wide brim of a straw hat. I smile back anxiously. He was not initially invited, being only my private tutor, but I insisted that he make the journey with us. I think he’ll enjoy the music of the island. More than that, I need the support. I don’t know that we’ll have a chance to talk much, but I’m glad he’s here. Perhaps he and I will figure out a way to announce a leave from Tao so that I may study music on Lyria. I just have to get through the next few days.
The doors open. Sunlight streams into the ship. The teachers and Companions step out of the carriage. Phaestion’s hand is on my shoulder.
“Edmon, I tried to tell you before we left. There’s something about your homecoming I need you to know,” he says.
But I’m too impatient. As much as I appreciate his friendly demeanor, I still haven’t forgiven him for what has happened. “Later,” I say, shrugging him off perhaps a bit more harshly than I should.
The glare of hot light hits me. My ears are assaulted with a gigantic roar. I hold up my hand to shield my eyes, peering through the cracks in my fingers. They frame a crowd. The whole of the Isle of Bone is gathered at the docks. Their cheers ring in my ears.
“What’s going on?” I turn to Phaestion.
“It’s good to be home,” he says, arcing an eyebrow. “They’re here for you.”
I turn back to the multitude. I raise my hand, and they cheer. Drummers bang a rhythm as the crowd parts, creating a pathway for me to walk through.
“What were you going to tell me just now?” I ask.
He shifts uncomfortably.
“Phaestion?”
“Go,” he says. “Today’s your day.”
There’s a look in his eye. He’s proud for me, but also something more . . .
I stride down the ramp. The other Companions wander behind with looks of disbelief on their faces. I reach the bottom, and the crowd rushes me. I resist at first, not used to letting people touch me. Eventually, the onrush is too much. I give in. They lift me toward the sky. The music plays. I’m floating on hands, gliding on a sea of fingers. They carry me in their arms, on their shoulders, through the town, up the hill toward the summit. The moment is surreal.
This is what it means to come home.
Before I know it, I’m gently placed on the doorstep of the lonely white house my father built for my mother. The crowd disperses. The drums fade. Voices linger, and clasped hands part.
“Welcome home, Little Leontes. We need you,” they say.
I no longer feel little. I feel stronger than ever. The pale-faced Companions and teachers of House Julii remain, confusion painting their faces. I’m the boy they’ve mistreated, and they’ve just seen me worshipped like a king. Maestro Bertinelli steps forward. He places a hand on my shoulder. “Well, Master Edmon, aren’t you going to invite us in?”
I nod. The manse is barely a cottage compared to the gargantuan scrapers of Meridian, but still I’m the lord.
“Wait,” Phaestion starts. “That thing I tried to tell you—”
For some reason I don’t heed him. I open the double wide doors and step into the foyer. “Mother!” I call like a child. To the abyss with the decorum of noble houses. “I’m home!”
I’m greeted by a hollow silence. The summer breeze whisks through the dead building, fanning tattered curtains from an open window.
Hanschen snorts. “This is it? I expected at least a little barbarian hospitality.”
“Quiet,” Phaestion says, cutting him off.
“Mother?” I call again.