I no longer think of escape. If I left Tao, there would be nothing for me. The music of the universe is dead. Even in my darkest moments, I could hear the music, the voices of my mother and Nadia. Even with revenge, I could go on. I have nothing now. I am bereft.
The pretty boys of lesser noble houses fall to my skill. I’m declared the “Silent Assassin.” Some doubt it’s truly Edmon Leontes returned from exile. Rumors persist that Edric found some lowborn from the slums to pose as his long-lost son. Gossip is beside the point because I win again and again.
At night, I wake from sleep in cold sweats, panicked because I don’t know where I am or who I am.
Father glares, but he no longer terrifies. His pale eyes are faded by the inevitability of his death.
At dinner after my latest win, the others argue about the state of the Pantheon and the food lines in the arcologies while I stuff meat into my mouth. I chomp, letting bits dribble down my chin in a flagrant display of disrespect. Edmon Leontes is no more. The animal left in his place will soon follow.
“Come, Alberich. I’ve lost my appetite.” The seneschal helps the hobbling old Edric from the room. The rest follow.
“Champion of the Combat?” Lavinia whispers as she passes. “A pig porpoise would be more suitable.”
If any of them had hopes that my return from the Wendigo could help change the political state, they have surely become disillusioned.
“Phoebe.” Beremon holds out his arm to his wife as he flicks his gaze at me then toward the balcony. He taps his wrist with his finger twice and exits. Meet in two hours.
I do not acknowledge the signal.
The twilight is full of faint stars, ever waiting for true night. I’ve seen true night. It’s not wondrous.
Ruska stands in a flowing cape, overlooking the cityscape. “You think he’ll come?”
Phoebe’s auburn hair swirls around her plump face. “Who’s to say? He’s not the man he was.”
I watch from a ledge above, listening to their pulses. They’re nervous. They don’t want to be overheard by Lavinia’s or Edric’s spies. Camglobes constantly hover around the Wusong-Leontes Palatial Towers; Mentor records everything on the training level. I’ve escaped my quarters for this brief time, but tower security will soon be alerted to my absence from the barracks. I silently drop from above to land between my sister and her husband.
“By the twisted star!” Ruska jumps back. “Edmon! You frightened the ancestors out of me.”
I feel a light touch on my shoulder, and I whirl on Phoebe. “Edmon, please. We mean you no harm.”
I know that. She’s right, though. I’m jumpy. Years of prison and torture have turned me into a frightened, instinctual thing. Damn them all.
“The preliminary bouts have ended,” Beremon begins. “You’ve been declared victor in your division—”
“Do you plan to face Phaestion in the arena?” Phoebe blurts.
“Phoebe! We agreed not to press him.”
“It’s the crux of everything, Beremon,” she insists.
“I know.” Ruska softens. They look at me expectantly.
Do I plan to kill my childhood friend? What will I do if I win? What will they do if I lose?
I shrug.
“That’s no answer, Edmon!” Phoebe clenches her fists.
Ruska plays the diplomat. “Can you win?”
I’m not sure. I’m not sure I’d want to if I could.
“I see,” Ruska says solemnly. “Then we make preparations.”
I cock an eyebrow.
“We believe in you, Edmon, but our belief doesn’t matter tomorrow. You either win or die. I’d hoped that you’d be sure of victory. As things stand, events will move quickly once Phaestion claims the garlands.”
I look at Phoebe. “Beremon believes that should Phaestion gain position in the government—”
“There won’t be a government,” Beremon finishes.
Phaestion will have the power to claim himself supreme ruler like the Great Song.
“He may even seek to take Miranda’s hand once you’re out of the way,” Phoebe laments.
“Some of us don’t wish to serve a new dynasty.” Beremon wraps his cape around his portly torso as a chill sweeps over us. “House Ruska is a minor player, but we aren’t without resources. We’ve reached out to Lazarus Industries of Lyria to pioneer some joint ventures. The business opportunity shows there is possibility to move the base of operations of a noble house away from Tao. I’m moving House Ruska to Lyria, Edmon.”
“House Ruska is wherever the Patriarch goes,” Phoebe says, nodding. “Come with us, Edmon.”
They are defecting!
“We’d hoped that the course of government here could be turned, but we cannot put all those hopes on you,” Beremon admits.
“There’s no life left for you here, but maybe out there.” Phoebe looks at the sky.
That was my dream long ago, when I could sing. Now there’s only one tie I’ve left loose, an oath to an old man who may have betrayed me, who I’m not even sure is still alive. I shake my head.
“If you change your mind, contact us,” Beremon says. He places a hand on my shoulder. It’s all I can do to tamp down the instinct to tear his fingers off.
Phoebe tentatively reaches out as well, but she stops just short of touching my face. “Goodbye, poor Edmon,” she says. “I’m sorry for what they did to you.”
They are good people, too good for this place. I finally learn I have a sister, family who might actually come to love me one day, who might be worthy of my trust. Ironically, it is too late for me to care. They leave, and the stars wait to shine.
The beetlelike passenger screamer twists and turns round the city high-rises. Alberich sits on my left, my father, cloaked and hooded on my right. Edric’s once lustrous silver mane has thinned to mere strands. He is practically bald now, so he has taken to wearing the hood. We actually look like father and son for once, I muse.
He should be in a regeneration tank, but tonight is the semifinal, the last match before the yearly games. He’ll be there to witness my triumph even if it means dying sooner. I’m touched.
I grip the hilt of my siren sword. I’m anxious. I’ve fought against lowlifes and addicts and the sons of lesser houses. I’ve yet to face the elite. And tonight, he will be there. I’ve watched the aquagraphics. I’ve studied him. His speed is frightening. His skills uncanny. If we confront each other, it will be death for one of us. I open my eyes as we approach the rotunda. Its round shape looks to me like a cancerous boil on the surface of the cityscape, ready to burst.
A huge throng gathers on the steps leading to the grand entrance. They clamor over statues of past champions, threatening to tear them down. A man steps from their ranks and ascends with arms outstretched. The pilot banks away, so my hand whips out and grabs Alberich’s forearm.
“Edmon?”
I cast my gaze toward the rioting crowd.
“Don’t concern yourself with them,” he says.
I clamp down on the pressure points of his wrist.
“Stop! Stop the vehicle!” he cries out.
I point to a roof landing pad just above the parade.
“Lord Edmon commands that you set us down,” Alberich says to the pilot.
“What’s going on?” My father awakes from his stupor.