My mother gently nudges me front and center. We bow low before the throne.
“Cleopatra Muse, how could I forget your exotic beauty?” I feel rather than hear an arrogant laugh hidden within his words. His eyes glide over my mother with a thirsty look, and I see my father’s hands flex open and closed with suppressed rage. The muscles of his forearms writhe, making the leviathan tattoos that snake along their length undulate. These tattoos are the mark of a Patriarch of the Pantheon. In my mind, I see a deep ocean and a battle between the sea dragon and a demonic, grinning sea monkey.
“Many of us Nightsiders find your island people very attractive. I myself took a Daysider to bed on more than one occasion. Though, I never sired a child by her.” The emperor laughs.
“A wise ruler embraces all her people, Daysider and Nightsider.” My mother nods deferentially to Edric upon the dais. “But my island name is of no great import, Grand Patriarch. It’s my son’s name that will be remembered.”
Old Wusong’s narrow gaze falls upon me. I feel his look bore into me, through my skin, past my rib cage, to my heart. “What’s your name then, boy?” he asks softly.
My mother’s hand grips my shoulder tightly.
“You know my name,” I blurt, startled by the pressure. The crowd breathes a collective gasp. “I’m his son.” I point to the tall, pale warrior on the dais. My father’s eyes widen. Lavinia, behind me, suppresses a giggle.
How could I have spoken so insolently? To Old Wusong? My cheeks are hot with embarrassment. My eyes dart back and forth over the pale faces of the murmuring crowd. They are all staring at me, whispering, laughing. I want to run home, dive into my bed, and cover my head with my pillow, but there is nowhere to escape. I am trapped.
My gaze is pulled to a pair of steel-gray eyes in the crowd. They behold me not with derision but calm curiosity. The eyes belong to a boy, my age or thereabouts, dressed in a smart, black uniform. His skin is the color of alabaster. On his head is a silver circlet, and underneath, his thick, straight hair looks like molten flame. He returns my stare with a slight upward tilt of his chin conveying a sense of expectation.
I deserve to be looked at, it seems to say.
Strange. In this moment of utmost crisis, I find an anchor of calm in this boy. I have the unsettled feeling I am gazing into a distorted mirror, an alternate version of myself looking back.
Old Wusong surprises the crowd by not skipping a beat at my insolence.
“I do know your name, boy. When you were born, your father made much of it to everyone. ‘A worthy son and heir,’ birthed on the day the heavens opened with the Fracture Point. ‘A child of destiny,’ he boasted. But he has not said your name lately. Perhaps there’s nothing more to say about you?”
I stay silent, not sure how to respond to this information. My father no longer speaks my name?
“What say you, son of Leontes?” The old man leans forward on the sea-ape throne.
I’m nervous, scared. I’ve already embarrassed myself. The old man is frightening. I wish I could fly to the stars where people know the secrets of chocolate and kind words.
“Look me in the eye, boy. Didn’t your father teach you that?” Old Wusong says acidly.
“He has not taught me much of anything, Grand Patriarch,” I say quietly. “I’m told I met him the day I was born, but I don’t remember it, and I’ve not seen him since. You say he no longer speaks my name?” Coldness tinges my voice, a bitterness I didn’t know was there, but I am not dissuaded. This time, I don’t look away. My mother’s hand behind me, Lavinia’s encouragement not to be frightened, the calm gaze of the strange fire-haired youth, somehow all push me forward. I become someone else in this moment.
“You try and scare everyone, old man. But you don’t scare me. Why should I do what you or anyone else says?”
“Edmon!” Edric shouts. His pale eyes are terrifying.
The audience bursts into a shocked hush of confusion and fear. I am going to die, I realize. My lower lip quivers. I bite down on it, causing the metallic taste of blood to enter my mouth.
Old Wusong slams his staff to the marble floor, silencing the hall. My heart pounds.
“You said he was not a warrior yet, Leontes. Yet he dares speak like this to the descendant of the Great Song,” the emperor hisses through black teeth. “Your father is a great Combat champion, Edmon Leontes. Will you fight in the games one day?”
“No. I’m a musician!” I declare.
The emperor stares for a moment and then laughs hysterically. The audience joins him.
“Are you sure, Little Leontes?” the emperor asks through his gut-wrenching scorn. “It looks like you have more fight in you than you think!”
The crowd chortles at the jest.
“Lord Julii’s son’s not much older than you.” The emperor points to the boy with gray eyes and hair of flame. “He’s already fighting in the children’s bouts. What do you think of that?”
I clock this—Lord Julii’s son. “Good for him!” I exclaim defiantly. “But he’s not better than me at the flute.”
The audience laughs harder.
“Can he ride a dolphin or catch fish? I know the sirens’ calls and the pattern of whale migrations. I’ve even taken a boat past the breaks myself to see them!”
With each mention of my accomplishments, the audience only laughs more. All of them do, except one—the boy with red hair. His perfect features remain placid, though his eyes flash.
There is danger there, I realize. His body tenses under his black-caped uniform.
“Those are very important things, indeed.” The emperor grins sarcastically.
“They matter on Bone,” I say with conviction, but I fear I’m grasping for purchase on a slope of derision, and only find myself sliding farther down. “They matter more than fighting . . .”
Old Wusong taps his cane for silence, and the effect is immediate. Something I’ve said causes him to lean forward.
“Why is that, Little Leontes?” he asks shrewdly. “Why do these things matter more than fighting?”
“Because . . .” My voice quivers. I notice camglobes hovering around me. I see the irises within their silver orbs dilate as they record everything I say. I glance at Edric furious in his silence, yet he says nothing against the will of the emperor. This is the answer, I realize.
“Old Wusong, my father fights, but he’s never come to Bone to see me. He’s supposed to rule there, but doesn’t know anything about what matters to the people. How can he rule that way? He won’t, and he never will. Edric is supposed to be the strongest warrior on Tao. He won the Combat twice. You’re just an old man, but somehow you know what matters to these people. There’s something you know that he doesn’t, and it has nothing to do with fighting.”