“Then I will have bettered my position by calmly accepting the situation, rather than drinking myself into oblivion. Don’t think you are the only one who chafes under the confines of tradition, Edmon Leontes. I may not be an aquagraphic star, a musical sensation, or a freedom fighter, but I am an emperor’s daughter. I demand to be treated as such.”
I want to strike her, and an image flashes through my mind of my father striking my mother in front of a crowd like this when I was a child. I am horrified at the memory. What is happening to me?
“Your arrogance presumes you know anything about my life,” I sneer. “I will treat you accordingly, wife.” The word sounds wrong. I shove myself back from the table.
Phaestion stands on the outskirts of the party, holding a court of his own. The Companions crowd around him. The rest of the young men of Tao hold him in their eyes like a god. He sees me looking from across the room and raises his glass. My head explodes with images—a haughty boy arriving at an island manse, claiming my room for his own.
I never lived in an island manse, did I?
“He’s the perfect specimen, is he not?” the sly voice of the spypsy, Talousla Karr, whispers in my ear.
I don’t deign to look at his hairless face beneath the hood. Somehow, I know this snake of a man.
“Depends on your definition of perfection.” I sip my wine.
“Your people are so curiously fascinating,” he goes on. “There are others throughout the cosmos who have used genetic manipulation as means to adapt to niche habitats . . .”
“Like space gypsies who craft hollow bones or hairless bodies?” I ask.
He nods and prattles on. “Most humans merely change the color of their hair or the shape of their eyes to suit some arbitrary beauty trend, but yours is an entire culture obsessed with physical perfection. The whole of Tao society is built around achieving it. Politics, economics, cultural behaviors, mating rituals . . .”
“The Combat, the Pavaka,” I add sarcastically.
“The strong survive. The weak are cast out. Your race is remarkably resilient, all without microcellular science to achieve it. Some humans in the known cosmos may be stronger, or faster, or fit some unique function better, but the median level of physiological and mental capability here is astounding. It’s a considerable achievement. Rarely do you see government becoming an environmental pressure that impacts evolution.”
“You don’t know your ancient history.” I wash down the last of my glass. “How many warlike empires from Ancient Earth sought to control their people? How many cultures threw away a child because it was the wrong gender or because it suffered some deformity? Do you know what happened to all those cultures? Those empires? They all ended, choking on their own perfect blood and ashes.” My voice is filled with venom rather than veneration. I am deeply disturbed. I am supposed to think the Nightsider way is the pinnacle of human success.
“I said it was rare, not that it’s never happened,” the man corrects. “I marvel at what they were able to create for their brief moments in time. Here is Tao, an entire planet dedicated to the principles of such excellence.”
“We call that arête,” I say bitterly. “The idea that each being should strive for perfection of the self—physically, intellectually, and morally.”
“Imagine what a geneticist like myself might accomplish were they to have access to such a specimen as, say, your father? Already superior in strength, speed, and athleticism. A hormone activated, a gene transferred . . .”
“You want my father as an experiment?” I ask.
The man shrugs. “I’ve made do with other options.”
He means me, the pale reflection of the great leviathan. I am his experiment. He did something to me, I remember.
He leans close. “In all my studies, I’ve come to a conclusion about what pushes humanity forward, makes us better than we are . . .”
I hang on his words.
“Pain, struggle, obstacle,” he whispers. “Push a man to his limit, push him past what he thought those limits were, break him. If he’s strong enough to survive, he becomes something more.”
“What’s that?”
“A god. A monster. Who is to say?” he answers cryptically.
For some reason, his words fire me with anger. I find my legs are not as wobbly as they should be. “The eel that devours every last minnow eventually turns to its own tail. Don’t be surprised if your experiments blow up in your face.” I stalk off, feeling his eyes on my back the whole way.
I grab a drink from the bar. I’m not drunk enough. Not nearly enough. If I cannot burn the images from my mind, I’ll burn myself. It does no good. With each sip I imbibe, my head swims with more dark memories.
I must do something. I don’t know what.
“Look at you wallowing,” a voice says. I spin. “The great Edmon Leontes, voice of a generation, reduced to a blubbering drunkard.”
Voice of a generation? That’s what they called me.
“Or do you not remember?”
Lavinia. The delicately boned woman arcs a dark, wicked eyebrow.
“Sister, you hardly know me.” I pound the liquor in the glass to the back of my throat. It tastes of fire.
“What I know is what I see in the aquagraphics.” She smiles. “Someone with idealism and charisma, someone who makes others believe in something. You are a Leontes, after all.” She casts her gaze to our father, who sits at the head of the feast table, concubines doting on him.
“I’m nothing like him,” I answer.
She merely smiles. “You’re just like him. You don’t like to lose. And right now, you are losing.” She grabs a drink of her own and sips. “It’s ironic, really.”
“What is?”
“You’re the one born to the power, and you’ve done nothing but try to be rid of it. Me? I’m given nothing, but I would take that power gladly if I could.”
“Would you?” I mutter acidly.
“I should’ve been born a man. But for my gender, on this planet anyway, I would have been our father’s heir. After all, I am the eldest, dear brother.”
“Sounds like you’re the one who’s losing.” I smile.
“Some things can’t be changed.” She purses her lips tightly. “But there are more ways to fight than with a sword. Sometimes truth is enough.”
“And what’s the truth, dear sister?” I ask.
“I know everything that happens within these castle walls.” She gestures to the surroundings of the glass skyscraper. “I manage all our house’s finances. Without me, House Wusong-Leontes would be bankrupt within a year.” She shakes her head. “None of that is important to you, I’m sure. This is your day. You must be so happy with your blushing bride. She’s really charming, isn’t she? That white, dough-painted face? Those beautiful black teeth?”
I do not love Miranda. I am supposed to love her. I’m told I love her and no other. It is a lie. I clench my fists. My head pounds. “What do you want, Lavinia?” I seethe.
Her voice drops low. “I want what you want. Father defeated . . .”
I want Father to succeed in his plans for our people.
“I want you and Edgaard absolved of all noble duties . . .”