I shut off these thoughts and concentrate.
One, two, three men wearing heavy boots. Guards in full spider-silk body armor. Another step—heavyset but deliberate and athletic—Alberich. A final pair of feet, creaking, shuffling, accompanied by an erratic heartbeat. The syncopation of something tapping the floor? A cane. Edric, too.
They’re coming for me.
If they were here to kill, they could do so more easily. If it was surprise training, why bring guards? Why would they surprise me under the threat of armed guard. I’ve made it clear that I will not fight for Edric . . .
That’s it, I realize. They are going to force my hand. Should I try and escape?
My gaze flicks to the ventilation system. I could easily defeat them all, but then what? I’d be on the streets, a fugitive with no means of transportation. They’re at the door. At least I’ll not be caught unaware.
“Lights,” I call out. I stand as the door slides open. My father is silhouetted in the frame.
“You’re awake,” he observes.
“Let’s get this over with.” I brush past him and stride through the doorway.
Later. House Wusong-Leontes is in full celebration. I’m accorded the privilege of leaving the barracks to attend a banquet in the throne room in honor of my first “victory” in the arena. I don’t bother. I want no part of any celebration. I run through the hallways of the Wusong-Leontes Palatial Towers instead. Running, running in circles. Sweat drips from my eyes, and I angrily wipe it from my brow. My thoughts are a cacophony, full of doubt and fury.
Grinner, Goth, Bruul Vaarkson, even Toshi—all would have ended me if I hadn’t ended them first. The men of the Under Circuit who I just battled may not have been innocent, either. I could smell the faint ozone pouring from their veins, the mark of a tag user. Tag is an enhancement drug from the jungle world of Thera, the same place that originated the poison that slowly kills Edric. It makes one stronger, faster, some say even smarter at the expense of years of life and extreme addiction. If the underclass is now turning to such narcotics and fighting in death matches, it’s a sign of how desperate they have become to escape their poverty. But then I remember Jorund’s words from so many years ago: We’re here to stop the theft of our sons and daughters for the Combat. The men I fought might have been conscripted, forced to fight for the amusement of others. No matter how they ended their lives, none of them started that way. Each was a child with a mother once. Somewhere at some time, someone loved them at least a little, at least once.
Now they are all dead. My stomach twists with sickness. What happens that turns men to monsters capable of taking a life so easily?
Why run, boy? the leviathan in my dreams speaks.
Suddenly the lights switch off, and I am in darkness. “Mentor?” I ask.
“Your father has ordered you to cease your exertions. He commands you to enjoy the celebrations or rest and recuperate for your next competition.”
To the abyss, you son of a whore!
I stomp through the narrow corridors toward my room. Though I lived a year in darkness, I’ve no desire to return to such a state. The lights turn back on, and I find Lavinia leaning languidly against my door in a low-cut silk kimono.
“All hail the conquering hero.” Her overt display of sexuality is disconcerting.
“I don’t have the time, Lavinia.”
She blocks me from entering. “Does it feel good?” She grabs the back of my head with a small but strong hand and pulls me close to her lips. “Does it feel good to be a killer? The hot blood of the last victim pouring over you? To know you finally have what you always wanted, Father’s love.”
I want to burst with laughter at her advances, but I’m too sickened. “Edric knows that I didn’t win. I only didn’t lose.”
Lavinia leans in and kisses me with her cold lips. “You’ve proven your strength. We can rule, you and I together. Let me handle the politics. You can have everything and everyone else.”
My hands encircle her slender hips. I lift her off the floor and gently remove her from the doorway. “Everyone I want is already dead. Go to bed,” I say coldly.
“Fool!” she shouts. “I’m your only hope of escape. Otherwise, face your friend in the arena and the civil war that follows. Are you so confident now after killing in one bout?”
“I killed no one!” I roar. The ensuing beat of silence is deafening.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“They brought me to the arcologies, to a death match in the Under Circuit. Father thought I’d at last be forced to take life in self-defense . . .”
“And you won, of course.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I evaded them, allowing each combatant to kill one another until only I was the last man standing.”
“You cheated!”
“I used the rules against them.”
“Father must be furious!” She laughs.
“I can only imagine the celebration upstairs.” We laugh together with mutual hatred. It feels good, but it doesn’t last.
“You can’t do it indefinitely, Edmon,” she insists. “You won’t kill, so there’s only one other choice. Escape. There’s too much pain for you here. I can help, but you have to help me.”
I’ve known that my freedom will not come from a physical battle. I’ve known that I would have to wait for my opportunity. Here it has arrived, and all I feel is revulsion. Lavinia’s lust for control and power has spurred her to seek this alliance. She’ll try any tactic to succeed our father. I reach into my pocket.
It’s time to know the truth . . .
“You poisoned him, didn’t you?”
She hesitates, and I know it’s true.
“Mentor, deactivate all listening and recording devices on the training level,” she says.
“Affirmative,” Mentor’s metallic voice rings out.
Lavinia holds my eyes with a dead stare. “We all poisoned him in our own ways, Edmon. Alberich, Edgaard, Phaestion, all the other houses,” she says. “And you.”
“I was no part of your games. Don’t include me in them now,” I growl.
“You are part because you refuse to play. It was a year ago, after Perdiccus of House Mughal won the Combat. Edgaard was announced to compete the following year, but Edric wanted insurance. He hedged his bets.”
He feared for his perfect son’s life.
“He sought conciliation with Phaestion. There was a feast following the Pavaka. Revels lasted into the night. The bargain was to be the dissolution of your nuptials, our claim to the throne of Wusong removed, and in return, I would wed the heir of House Julii.”
“You and Phaestion?” I laugh with bitterness.
“Father promised to provide Wendigo resources and a new fleet of ships to the Juliis’ armada. I would be placed in Phaestion’s court, more spy than wife. Father would buy time.”
“For?”
“For Edgaard to win, become an Elector? Who knows?” She shrugs. “It hardly matters. Phaestion refused.”