Page 5

Callix walked through the sands, then stated a command in his smart-watch, and the red sands of the arena shifted, growing thicker, replicating the terrain of Terosa.

“Begin!” he roared out, and I sprinted forward towards the weapons, the sand thickening around my feet, making me stumble. I braced my fall, and my hand sank into the thick sands, as if cement was clutching me down. I pulled up with all my might, trapped, looking up at the other boys.

They moved forward in strange, sliding movements, until they reached the piles of weapons, picking them up.

I tasted panic for the first time, and overcame it, as my father Baldur had taught me, showing me how to control my breathing when plunged into an icy pool, showing me how to force down pain when he took a burning iron and pressed it against his own chest, searing himself while his face remained blank, then using a beam to heal the wound a second later.

I was too scared to touch the fiery ember myself the first time.

The second time I screamed, and the third, I cried, but did not make a sound.

I force my panicked mind to focus on my lessons. My mother had told me of the Pentaris cluster. I find the piece of information I was missing—of course! The thick, mineral sands harden and thicken with abrupt movements. I gently raised my hand from the sands, and slid myself towards the other boys…

But to my shock, none of them were fighting each other.

They all turned to me. The wall of them, hard, gray eyes, without mercy.

With long, sliding steps, they moved towards me, teeth bared, months of pent-up anger and envy flowing from them. I glanced down at my smart-watch. One word, and I could end the drill.

Then I raised my head, imperiously, mimicking my father, the Emperor Raegan when he heard his subjects, looking down on them as the first blows rained down.

I tried to cover my head, my body, but the blunted swords slammed down on me endlessly.

I fought to control my pain, like I had been taught, not wanting to shame my fathers, but they beat me endlessly, without a sound, no roars of triumph.

I looked up through my hands and saw no mercy, the boys converging on me like robots, each taking their turn, slamming the blades down and moving aside so that each would get his shot in.

They avoided my smart-watch. They let their blows hit me on my liver, the backs of my legs, my neck, blows that they had dreamed about for months. Fear spiked up in me as I writhed in agony, unable to defend myself, and a deeper, more terrifying emotion overwhelmed me.

Shame. I didn’t know how much longer I could take, and ending the drill would mark me forever as a coward.

My right eye was a searing bolt of pain, and I could barely see out of it, and I couldn’t hold my hands over my head any longer, going limp in the sands, every second I withstood a victory, but finally, the whisper came out of me.

“Stop,” I moaned, hating myself, and my watch glowed, covering me with a red glow. The boys stopped, and stepped back, and only then did their robotic faces soften into laughs. Their mockery filled me.

“Trickery,” I gasped out, spitting up blood, my body covered in bruises.

“The victor writes the rules,” stated Callix without emotion.

“The next drill is the same. Reset,” he said, and my watch turned green once more.

The fear filled me, until I couldn’t control it.

I had withstood every moment I could, and another beating would have been too much.

I tried to pull myself to my feet, but I was too weak and fell into the sands, a gasping, panting shell of a boy.

“There is one difference to the second drill. Instead of one loser, there will be three victors. Aurelians fight in triads.”

The boys exchanged looks, brows furrowing, and a few of them paired off, others in groups of threes, some alone, glancing left and right, sizing up their opponents.

From the sea of faces, one was different.

A boy, small for his age, who didn’t speak much. He stepped forward and extended his hand to me.

I was bleeding from a cut over my right eye, my head swimming, as I tried to focus on his face.

Gallien. Not a threat—near the bottom of the ranks, but second to me in war strategy and mathematics.

I’d looked at him as nothing in the month at Academy, a runt whose father should have ended his own weak line instead of extending his legacy in the cryo-chamber, but he was the only one who held his hand out, and I took it, pulled to my feet, swaying on my bruised legs.

I felt a darker shame then, hating myself for looking down on him.

“Thank you, Gallien,” I managed, spitting blood onto the red sands.

“The readings given yesterday. The mineral fields wrap around sudden movements. Move slowly. Evenly.”

A sword glittered in the morning sun, lofted over the heads of the boys.

I caught it, easily, gripping my hand around it.

Through the boys, Titus strode forward. He was the only other one in this year of Academy who came close to my scores in physical subjects.

Shorter, but broader than me, he was muscled even at his young age, his shaved black head the opposite of my golden locks I had before they were sheared on the first day.

He’d taken two swords in the first exercise, and in his anger, he’d hit me with both.

I was about to thank him, when his eyes narrowed.

“Not a word, princeling,” he growled out.

He stood to my right, staring down the other boys, addressing them in his deep, booming voice.

“Together, you can beat us. But whoever comes at us first, we’re going to break you down until you spend a week in the infirmary.

” Rage simmered within him, a pent-up beast of a boy who respected my power, who chose to ally himself with the strongest, despite the bruises over my body.

He wanted to win.

“They are the only threat. If we don’t take them out first, then they will win,” said Lukas, a boy in the center of the crowd. He was haughty, with too-clever eyes, who I realized I had underestimated.

“Begin,” said Callix, leaving the arena to let us fight.

“Back!” yelled Gallien, and we shifted backwards. I copied their movements in the treacherous sands, sliding until our backs were against the wall. I could barely see out of my right eye, my arms sore and beaten, but I forced down the pain and let out a battle roar, daring any to come at us.

The other boys hesitated.

“Attack!” yelled Lukas, sliding forward, and, bolstered by his charge, the others slid forward, none of them wanting to back down. With a gleam in his eyes, Lukas slowed once he convinced the other boys, using them like a meat shield.

They came at us without unison. The first to get to us slid in, raising his blade, and Titus drove his blunted blade towards his face.

He raised his sword instinctively to block the blow, and I seized my moment, sliding forward, swinging my blade against his feet.

He stumbled, falling, and Titus slammed his blade against the back of his neck with a thunderous crack.

The boy gasped out the word “stop,” and the red light coated him as he crawled out in shame.

We looked at the other boys. They saw the fire in our eyes, and they turned against each other, not wanting to challenge us, but not wanting to look like cowards, blades ringing out against each other as the fight roared on.

Four hours. First, the individual Aurelian boys were beaten, then the ones who had formed twos, until only the ones who had made triads were in the game.

At the third hour, drenched in sweat, the only thing I knew pain and determination, and when I didn’t think I could go on, Gallien and Titus grew in my mind.

I marveled at it. I could feel them, two auras of their beings in my head, like burning suns, matching my exhaustion and determination, and I knew I couldn’t let them down.

I could sense their movements before they made them, I could cover them when they were left open, and we fought with instinct, cutting down our opponents, until only Lukas remained.

It was just him against the three of us. He grinned and spat out a tooth. I’d kept track of him during the fight. He always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone, forming quick alliances then breaking them.

He raised his hands. “Think, Gallien, think Titus. Let’s bring the prince down a peg. I’m no threat to you on the scoreboard,” he said, a gleam in his eyes, but I could see by his rueful smile that he knew it was no use, but he had to make the last-ditch attempt. It was in his nature.

We stalked forward, surrounding him. “Give in, Lukas. No reason to lose another tooth,” I gasped out.

“You’re right. You’re right,” he said, reaching to press his smart-watch to end the drill and kneeling on the ground in submission, when his wrist flicked.

A rock, hidden in his palm, flew out, and careened off my watch before I could recoil.

The red light covered me, and the three victors remained.

“End drill!” yelled Callix.

“You clever bastard,” I said, respect in my voice, shaking my head at Lukas.

“Aye, we’re all bastards, all but you,” he smiled.

“The victors. Gallien, Titus, and Lukas!” yelled Callix. The other boys were watching, laying in the sands groaning, others attended to by medics. Three were brought out on stretchers. They nodded, too tired to groan, and I raised my hand.

“Three cheers for Lukas, Gallien, and Titus!” I yelled out, my voice booming in the arena.

The boys yelled out in unison, tired but determined.

That evening, I sat with the other boys in the mess hall, while Gallien, Titus and Lukas had the seat of honor, right in front of the banquet, eating first, even before the men in their final year.

They had their hands shook, congratulated, and I could feel the pride flowing through the Bond from my battle-brothers.