31

Marcus

I wake with a start. Where am I?

I grab the water jug by the bed and drain it. As I swallow, the events of the last few days hit like a landslide. Aku. We’re in Aku.

“We made it.”

“We did,” Belair answers, groggy, like he’s just awakened, too.

I throw back my covers and find my feet. “Up, Belair. We can’t afford to linger in the infirmary—not with the first trial to pass.” I glance around, trying to get a sense of time. Afternoon? Evening? How many hours have we lost on the other candidates? As that thought surfaces, others rise, too—voices above me, healer phantoms descending, decrees not to leave our beds.

And then I remember the last time De’ral rose, and my stomach tightens. Mount Bladon. The bodies and blood. So much blood. My lack of control, and something worse I don’t even admit to myself but know is there, like a shadow behind my eyes…

“All right!” A woman streams into the room. “Let’s see if these young savants are ready to work.” She tosses me a small purse without warning, and I catch it in a snap.

“Reflexes good.” She marks something down on her chart.

I clear my throat. “I’m Marcus Adicio, and this is Belair Duquan of Tangeen. We could both be at our training, Mistress, but I believe our orders were to wait for release.”

The savant smiles. “I’m Bucheen, and the orders are from me.”

I brighten.

“When I deem fit.”

My face falls.

She does little to test our health, but her phantom, a chameleon, studies us with roving eyes. Bucheen nods and says we are free to go. That’s it?

He spoke to me, De’ral says.

“And I didn’t hear?”

I don’t even know what this means—phantoms conversing apart from their savants. It isn’t something we learned of in Baiseen.

“There are Aku green robes in the closet for you both.”

I hesitate, unsure if she will leave and give us privacy.

She claps her hands. “Get to it. You’ll be in time for the evening meal if you hurry.”

“Excellent,” I say. “I feel as if I’ve missed ten meals, not just one.”

Bucheen laughs. “You think it’s been one?”

“More?” I raise my brows.

“You’ve slept for over fifty hours straight,” Bucheen says. “Called to it by the chants of Tyche and her skillful phantom.”

“She called us into unconsciousness?” Belair asks.

“Those two are expert at giving dreamless, restful sleeps…but why was it necessary? Clearly, you’ve been engaged in battle. Either that, or fell off a mountaintop, which would be very clumsy of you. I hope there is a sound reason.”

Belair and I start talking over each other.

“Not my concern.” Bucheen holds up both hands, unwilling to listen. “That will be for Yuki to address.” Bucheen makes to leave, but she lets her gaze linger again on me. She’s judging, I can tell. “So like him,” she murmurs before rousing herself back to the present. “Go on. Dress and depart. I want at least a day to pass before my healers are mending you on the field.”

Belair starts to protest, but I subtly shake my head. After what we’ve been through, I’m sure we can handle the training grounds, though I think it’s best not to argue with the master healer.

De’ral grumbles in the depths.

“Don’t worry. We’ll show them what we’re made of in the morning.”

It’s late afternoon when we walk outside, the sun near to setting. We head for the dining hall, but at the rate Belair comments on the architecture, it’ll be midnight by the time we get there. He points at walls and roofs, quatrefoils this, cupolas that… I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Enough with the buildings,” I finally say. “Look at the phantoms on the training field.” I nod across the thoroughfare. “That small group of local blue-robes is doing well with their phantoms up.” I can’t take my eyes away. “Imagine growing up on Aku.”

Belair stops to watch the group gathering in front of their orange-robe instructor. They jostle each other and laugh while a small herd of foggy shadows melt back into the ground. “They can’t keep them up for long.”

“True, but look.” Back up they pop, so soon after going to ground. Brogal never worked with me this way. I should have held De’ral to form years ago and come here sooner where there are warrior instructors—ouster too. Most of those class are from Sierrak and the Aturnian realms. My eyes narrow. I’ll train with those who will be my enemies if war breaks?

As I chew on that, I glance behind and see a green-robe savant with an armed phantom—a sword-carrying beast with huge eyes and protruding teeth—catching up to us.

“Good afternoon to you,” Belair stops to say. “I trust we are headed toward the dining hall?”

I smile, trying not to be obvious about sizing him up. Every visiting green-robe is our competition, after all.

“Two green-robes coming from the infirmary?” He pushes back his sable hair and grins wide. “You must be the ones from Baiseen.”

I nudge Belair before he starts babbling about me being the Heir to the throne. I may not be good at languages, but I know a Northern Aturnian accent when I hear one. That’s the only realm currently banned from Aku, sanctioned until they sign peace treaties with Palrio and Tangeen. “I’m Marcus, and this is Belair.” I state our first names only. Could he be a spy? In the halls of Aku? Surely not…

“I’m Destan, green-robe with a warrior, as you can see, from Southern Aturnia.” He opens his hand out to his phantom. “And you raise?”

I smooth down my fine quilted green robe. “Warrior.”

“Both of us,” Belair adds.

“In Zarah’s class?” Destan doesn’t wait for an answer. “She’s tough as Sierrak brown bears, I promise. Be ready.”

“We are.” I look him in the eyes. “The dining hall?”

“In the main temple, on the right. You’re about there.” He points the way. “It’s Nonnova today.”

“Pardon?” Belair asks.

“Oh, you’ll know soon enough.” He dips his head to us both, respectful. “I’m off for special training. See you on the field tomorrow.” He smiles his very wide grin and jogs off with his phantom. In perfect sync. It’s hard not to conclude that we’re behind. Way behind.

“Friendly, wasn’t he?” Belair says as we keep walking.

“Very. But did you hear the accent?”

“Aturnian. He said Southern, but I would have picked Northern, the way he said ‘about’ like it was a boat.” Belair lowers his voice. “Which means he should be banned from Aku, am I right?”

“Unless something’s changed in the last few days.” I’m doubtful the sanctions have been recalled. It’s long been a point of contention, the way Northern Aturnia occupies lands it does not rightfully possess.

“The others might know something,” Belair says, then lets out a whoop and points. “Look! It’s the fountain.” He grabs my sleeve and pulls me toward it at a run.

And there it is, more spectacular than any rendition hanging in the Sanctuary halls, with water spouting from the launching phantoms, vessel-bearing savants in the midst. We rush to the edge and stand there, misted in spray, transfixed. It’s huge. The sculpture’s three times the height of grown men, and the water spouts double that distance into the air.

“Are you ready?” Belair asks.

I reach for my coin and Belair does the same. Together, on three, we toss our hopes high and make our wishes.

But as I watch the coin spin end over end, reaching its apex and plummeting into the churning pool, my stomach turns to rock and sinks with it. So much rests on my success, and we are already three days behind before we start.

…

Belair and I enter the maelstrom they call the dining room and eventually spot Ash. My shoulders relax at the sight of her. “Ash!” I shout across the room, but she doesn’t hear me in the din. She’s with Samsen and Piper at a middle table. Kaylin’s not with them. I assume he’s on his way to the other end of the world by now. That’s a relief.

Is it?

De’ral’s question makes me pause.

It’s not exactly a relief. Kaylin protected Ash. He protected us all. I have to admit that, even if I don’t fully trust him or enjoy his flirtations with her. I’ve never had to share Ash before, and if I’m honest, I’m worried they grew even closer while I slept. Worried might not be the best word—I’m not the wordsmith that Ash is—but we’re as close as any two people can be. And now, this sailor…

This sailor, what?

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

As I weave my way to the table, it dawns that I haven’t properly thanked Kaylin for getting us here on time, against all odds. I must make amends and put these rogue feelings aside.

“Ash!” I shout again from a few lengths away.

She spins around, then she’s out of her seat and running.

“About time!” She kisses Belair on the cheek and turns to hug me. “And you!” She goes up on tiptoe and holds my face in her hands.

I wrap her in my arms and lift her off her feet. “Thanks for the visit,” I say. “I heard you came but I didn’t wake.”

“You’re up now,” she says with a grin. She leads me to the table and I notice the glances we receive. No, not we. Just Ash, and they aren’t friendly. Is that boy snickering? I stare him down, muscles in my arms tightening, and turn to my recorder. “Did you do something to upset everyone?”

“Yeah, actually. I was born non-savant.”

They’re prejudiced? I push up the sleeves of my robe, half a mind to go and give them a talking to. Aku is supposed to be the most enlightened realm in Amassia. They welcome all, um, savants… My stomach clenches. “This is unacceptable. I’m going to—”

“Calm down, Marcus.” She sits and pulls me into the chair next to her. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“In Baiseen? Surely not so pronounced as this.”

“Surely?” She laughs outright. “Maybe not so you would notice, Marcus, but I live it.”

“Mistress Yuki wants to see you both, and you, Belair,” Samsen cuts in. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Before classes start, I hope.” I’m still frowning at Ash’s revelation. She can’t think I see her as inferior, can she?

“What will you say?” Samsen asks, pulling my attention back to him. I force a smile, unable to count how many rules we’ve broken on our way here. Raising untrained warrior phantoms. Killing with untrained warrior phantoms. Crossing Northern Aturnia territory with untrained warrior phantoms…

Maybe I can count them.

“We’ll figure it out tonight.” Ash answers for me while passing a serving platter. “Steamed rice with leaks and poached bass.”

I sniff it.

“Delicious,” Belair says and fills his bowl.

“Looks like Nonnova fare.” I poke it with my fork.

“That’s because it is,” Ash says. “Each day’s recipe comes from a different realm. Aku honors them all.”

Belair turns to me and we say at the same time, “Nonnovan day.”

Ash chuckles. “Yes, now eat up.”

“When’s it Palrion day?” I take a tentative bite.

“Don’t be a baby.” She punches my arm. “Eat.”

When the others turn their attention to the food and conversations, I lean toward Ash. “Kaylin gone?” I say it lightly but really, it’s still weighing on me.

“He’s fishing.”

“Still here, then?” Neutral. Neutral. Neutral.

“He is.” She smiles, and her eyes shine.

Is that excitement for us being here? For him?

“Marcus, it’s spectacular in the library. You’ve no idea the size of it.”

Ah, for her books, of course. “I’ll find out soon enough.” There will be a lot of reading in my training schedule, on top of physical tests, endurance, fighting…

“Have you been on the field yet?” Piper asks.

“We came straight from the infirmary, passed the fountain, made a wish…” Ash’s worried frown catches my eye. “What’s that look for?”

“It’s very demanding, from what I’ve seen. And, there’s a lot of competition here,” Ash says. “I hope you both pace yourselves.”

Belair rubs his hands together. “Can’t wait!”

“We’re fit and ready,” I say and take a big bite of rice. “There’s nothing to worry about there.” But a cloud gathers over me as I study my competition around the room. How many are Aturnian? Or from Gollnar? More to the point, how many raise warriors, and how advanced is their training?

Samsen and Piper outline the details of the week, details and protocols that I likely would’ve learned had I been more coherent at the first assembly. Week one is meant to be the hardest. Some will drop out of their own accord; others will fail and be asked to leave. Not that having to drop out is the worst thing for most savants. Humiliating, for sure, but the younger ones can try again next year. If they fail a second time, it just means they won’t go on to teach at their sanctuary or take a higher-level role in service to their realm.

For me it’s a death sentence. Failing the elimination trial will cost me the throne—and my father’s favor, not that I’ve ever really been in his good graces. But what’s more, failing will cost my realm their potentially greatest phantom, De’ral.

Again, the pressure strikes hard. Belair and I have only a few days to prove that untrained warrior savants from the south can stand and fight with the best of them.

“We can do it, right?” I reach out to De’ral for assurance, but maybe that’s a mistake.

Under my skin, he roils, laughing in a way that chills me to the bone.