Unless you’re the daughter of the emperor, I think ironically. Now I’m one of the uglies. Handsome Prince Leontes, banished to a prison in the cold wastes, slowly becoming a monster. I carry this sense of self-loathing with me to the mines every morning. If I’d been the man I should’ve been, none of this would’ve happened. My mother would be alive. I’d have been able to save Nadia. It will take a monster to escape this place and claim revenge against those who did this to me.
My muscles become wiry, my face gaunt and haggard. My beard mostly remains, scraggly and coarse. I don’t lose my eyebrows. Thank the twisted star for that. I know I shouldn’t care about such vanities—they’re wasted here in the Wendigo—but I take solace that what little shallowness I have left means I’m somehow still human.
We get news of the yearly Combat. Inmates aren’t allowed to watch on aquagraphic, but guards talk, and word spreads. Hanschen of House Julii is declared victor. The news washes over me like a cold wave. He’s the first of The Companions to compete. And he’s won.
This year, the rotunda was transformed into a fully automated chamber that every hour filled with another meter of water. Combatants were forced to kill as they climbed an obstacle structure, or else they drowned. Hanschen’s agility gave him advantage in climbing.
I overhear a conversation between Sookah and another guard as he details the drama—
The House Julii clansman had initially allied with one of the stronger combatants, a boy from House Temujin. Of course, the Julii scion betrayed his ally when they were the last two fighters left. He stabbed the boy in the back just before the massive chamber filled with water. Not the most honorable win, but a win nonetheless, and a place among the College of Electors as prize.
I’d put siren steel on one companion competing each year until they all sit in the government. When Phaestion takes his place among them, he’ll have a strong block within the ranks to be voted to the High Synod.
I could have been part of it all, I realize.
One man stands in the way—Edric Leontes. He will resist. He has moved to consolidate his own allies. With old Chilleus Julii unable to attend council, there may be room to counter Phaestion’s ascension to the Synod. That is if Edgaard can win a Combat and join him.
Edgaard is younger than the other Companions. If and when he is able to compete in the games, I don’t know where his loyalties will lie. Phaestion has sought to make an ally of him as he did me. Will he stand with The Companions, or will he follow my father’s will?
Friendships become plans. People become pawns. I want no part of the game. I’d rather smash the board. Phaestion, however, is in action and so is my father. I must do the same.
A shout comes. “Leontes!”
Survival first. I cut off my daydreaming.
“Baldy Patch!” Carrick yells from somewhere above.
“Hark!” I scream back.
“I’m working ’round a big vein here. There’s a nice fissure I want to exploit. Move your ass, or it gets rained on with chossy.”
I grip rock and traverse as far as my line will take me. I’m fondly reminded of Nadia’s lessons from my youth. I miss her so much. Carrick’s drill pulses. A cracking sound reverberates through the cavern. Rock and ore rain down. I snag the wall fiercely and gravel sails past. I suck in my breath so as not to inhale particulate. The dust settles. Just another typical day on the rock, I think.
“Carrick?” I call out. “Carrick?” I call again.
A scream sounds from below. I flip the switch on my auto-belay and rappel down. Sifters stand on a ledge collecting chunk we’ve dumped. I unhook myself from the cables and rush to a pile of rubble where several of them have crowded. A badly broken leg juts from the debris, its foot dangling at a horribly odd angle.
Carrick! I dive into the pile of rock.
“By the star!” one of the Sifters shouts. “He must be dead!”
“Not until my eyes see it,” I return hotly.
“He should be left,” someone responds. “That”—he indicates the leg—”might as well be a death sentence.”
I ignore them and remove the rock that covers Carrick’s upper half. The big man groans. “He’s alive,” I growl. “Help me.”
“Shue just told you, Leontes—he’s a dead man. Best to put him out of his misery.”
I grab Carrick’s stocky frame and hoist him over my shoulders.
“Get me to a tram,” I say.
“The nearest lift is a kilometer up the switchback,” someone says, pointing.
Ancestors, kill me now. My auto-belay can’t carry both me and the big man. Carrick moans in delirium. If I do nothing, he’ll die. If I get him to Faria—
He’ll probably die anyway. I stop myself. You’ve been here before, Edmon. Remember Toshi. Leave him.
I lay him on the ground. Letting Carrick die would be the smart thing.
Abyss. I’ve already made the choice. I hook Carrick’s harness to my auto-belay.
“What in the depths are you doing?” The man called Shue gets in my face.
I shove him out of the way. “Something you wouldn’t understand.”
He steps up to fight, but I glare the Sifter down. Shue must see something in me that makes him shrink. I move past him and continue to work. I double-check the knots and hit the auto-belay. It winches Carrick upward. I see his dangling foot wobble, hanging on by mere tendons and skin.
Stay alive, I silently pray. Then I sprint up the switchback all the way to the top. I shove past Sifters and Haulers, forcing them out of my path. They look at me with annoyance. I don’t care. My arms and legs pump blood until they’re burning acid. Only a few more paces to go, and I collapse at the top from the exertion. Carrick dangles as the motor of the auto-belay grinds. I scramble over the lip of the ledge and haul him to solid ground. He groans as I slip him over my shoulder and trudge toward the tram.
The engineer is in the cabin with his feet up on the control dash when I arrive. I bang my hand against the window. He startles and flips the intercom switch. “Tram doesn’t leave for four hours!” he shouts.
“Open now! This man needs medical attention.”
He takes a sidelong look at Carrick. “That guy needs a mortician.” He resumes his posture of Ancestors don’t give a sarfish.
“Open up now, or I open you up!” I shout.
“You and what army, worm?” He waves me off.
I lay Carrick on the tunnel floor, then slam a fist into the tram window. The first blow ricochets off. The glass is thick-paned, designed to resist scrapes of falling rock, but bone is composed of the strongest stuff in nature, and my bones are stronger than most.
It’s only pain that stops us, only lack of intention. Without fear, my limits are broken. I slam my knuckles into the glass once more. The engineer sits up in his chair, startled. I concentrate, imagining the force of my fist narrowing to the pinpoint of a laser. The pain is nothing. The engineer’s face pales behind the glass. I strike again and the glass spiderwebs. I cock my fist back ready to unload a final time.
“Okay, okay!” screams the engineer. He flips a switch, and the door flies open. I pick Carrick up and settle into the cabin. I pull my helmet off. The patchwork of my balding scalp revealed, the driver gasps as if I’m some sort of horrific creature. I bore my eyes into him the way my father used to bore his.
“Drive,” I command. “Back to upper cavern. Now.”
He nods quickly and steers the tram into locomotion.