by Kobe Bryant
He tore into a package of Honey Crackers and shoved them into his mouth. He was chewing excitedly and trying to open the brittle when he knocked into someone. He stumbled. His snacks went flying. He looked up and saw that he’d collided with Pretia, Princess of Epoca.
“Hoarding more food?” she asked. But she was smiling.
Rovi blushed and began gathering his haul back into his arms.
“You know it’s free, right? Just like on the boat,” Pretia said, handing him his Choco Water.
“And you know that not everyone grew up in a castle surrounded by all the food she could ever want,” Rovi said.
This seemed to make the princess pause. “I’m—I’m sorry,” she stammered.
“Anyway,” Rovi said, “I’m starving.”
“Well, then you need to eat everything,” Pretia said. “But don’t let all that food slow you down,” she added jokingly, then sprinted away, clearly as excited as he was to explore their new home.
The bedrooms were on the second level, off a mezzanine that looked down into the common room below. Rovi found that his name was already painted on one of the doors, alongside Cyril, the Rhodan Islander, and Virgil, the elegant, golden-haired boy who was always glued to Adira’s side. Inside the room he found three single beds already made up with crisp cotton sheets and satin blankets in Dreamer purple. Rovi kicked off his Grana Gleams and shoved them under his bed so that neither Cyril nor Virgil would be tempted to steal them. Then he flopped down on the mattress.
Three years. That’s how long it had been since Rovi had slept in a bed. That’s how long he’d been calling his reed mat and the hard streets of Phoenis home. He’d forgotten what it was like to have a mattress and springs and a pillow and really soft blankets. He’d forgotten what it was like to have clean sheets around your feet instead of the dirty ground. Rovi closed his eyes. Suddenly he realized that in three years of sleeping on the streets, under the stars, he hadn’t really slept at all, only dozed, always half-alert to someone coming to steal his stuff, or the Phoenician guards sweeping the Star Stealers off the streets.
Three years’ worth of tired—that’s how Rovi felt when he lay down on the bed that was his—the bed that was his! His very own bed for the next seven years. He was glad Issa’s gang couldn’t see how happy that made him.
He uncapped his Choco Water and drank it in one gulp. Then he tore open the Lemon Sticks and the Pistachio Brittle. When he was done eating, he lay back on his pillow—his very own pillow—and closed his eyes. It was only noon. But Rovi had sleep to catch up on, and he slept right through until morning.
* * *
The sun came up early. But Rovi was used to that. What he wasn’t used to was the fact that it didn’t bother him, because it didn’t mean he had to get going before someone kicked him out of his sleeping place. Cyril and Virgil were still sleeping when Rovi tiptoed over to the window to watch the pink rays of dawn creep across the sky, tinting the already magical campus of Ecrof with rosy, golden color. Across the campus, Rovi could see the leaves on the majestic Tree of Ecrof glittering in the early dawn light.
Not long after the sun was fully up, a loud hunting horn blasted across campus. Cyril yawned and opened his eyes. When he saw Rovi standing by the window, he laughed. “Wow, you slept so long I was worried you were dead. You missed the rest of orientation.”
Rovi shrugged. He knew the campus. He didn’t need to be told anything.
“But Satis told us to let you sleep,” Cyril added. “And I guess he was right.”
Virgil sat up in bed. “He’s awake!” he exclaimed when he saw Rovi. “We’re supposed to give you your schedule and tell you to get into practice gear and head down to the main field after breakfast. We’re starting with track-and-field practice.”
“Which is so much better than boring classroom time,” Cyril added. Then he looked apologetically at Rovi. “Well, I guess maybe Visualization could be cool.”
“Maybe,” Rovi said, digging through his duffel for a fresh set of clothes.
The cafeteria was swarming with Dreamers. But Rovi was too distracted by all the choices to pay attention to his housemates. He took a tray and piled it with enough food to feed five people—eggs, honeycakes, flatbreads, sausages, lavender oats, three gigantic oranges, and an entire pineapple.
“Rovi,” Cassandra said as she passed by, “you have track practice first thing. Won’t you be sick?”
Rovi ladled a spoon of lavender oats into his mouth and didn’t reply. No one was going to tell him how much or how little to eat. No one.
He had to admit that his stomach was feeling a little sore when he and the rest of the recruits trotted down the hill from the Temple of Dreams toward the Panathletic Stadium. He could see the Realist recruits approaching from the Thinkers Palace on their hilltop. He must have looked startled.
“We train together,” Adira explained. She was now wearing a royal-purple headscarf emblazoned with the Tree of Ecrof. “Apparently, it’s supposed to build character or something.”
When they reached the stadium that ringed the impressive Tree of Ecrof, a tall teacher with a long black ponytail and the dark, elegant features of a Sandlander blew a whistle. “Thirty seconds late, all of you,” she said. “Give me one penalty lap to start the day.”
There was a chorus of groans as the recruits, Dreamers and Realists alike, began to jog off. The pace was slow—too slow for Rovi. So he sprinted away, to get the punishment over quicker. But he was soon caught by Castor and Vera. It was a three-way race until Rovi felt his stomach cramp—an aftereffect of his enormous breakfast. He doubled over as Castor and Vera sped past. He was forced to walk the rest of the lap.
“Last place,” the teacher said when he joined the group. “I’m adding one lap for you at the end. But for now, sit down with your classmates.”
Rovi hung his head, hoping to hide the shame burning on his cheeks.
“Now, we have business to take care of. For those of you who’ve already forgotten, I’m Cleopatra Volis, the Junior Track Trainer and your Dreamer House Trainer for those of you in the Temple of Dreams. I’ll be your coach for this first year of foundational training. Running, balance, speed, and agility are the basis for almost all sports. It’s the most organic athletic discipline. Fail this class and you will not move on to the next year at Ecrof. It’s that simple.”
A ripple of chatter ran through the recruits.
The small Realist boy, Leo Apama, raised his hand. “You mean we’d have to leave school?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Cleopatra said. “If you can’t run, how can you play basketball? How can you play tennis?”
Now Adira had a question. “What if I want to dive?”
Then Virgil. “And what if my sport is gymnastics?”
Cleopatra gave the students a tolerant smile. “That approach to the end of the diving board, that three steps and a skip, is that not about balance and footwork? And do you not run to the vault when you approach it?”
Virgil and Adira nodded in unison.
“In this class and in others, you will learn to master your grana. Maybe your grana makes you run faster, maybe your grana makes you jump higher or find pathways that other players can’t see. Whatever your talent is, this is the place to start to let it shine.”
Castor raised his hand. “What if your grana is the kind that makes you a Replacement?”
In an instant Vera was on her feet. “Shut up, Castor,” she shouted.
Cleopatra blasted her whistle. “Three penalty laps,” she said.
Castor slapped hands with Nassos, who was sitting next to him.
“Both of you,” Cleopatra said, pointing at Castor. Castor reluctantly got to his feet and followed Vera to the edge of the field. Rovi watched them go, his stomach still knotted from earlier. He would have loved to have challenged them, but the thought made the pain in hi
s gut even worse.
When Vera and Castor took off for their first lap, it was at a breakneck pace—so fast that it didn’t seem they would be able to keep it up for one entire lap, let alone three. The remaining recruits all jumped to their feet, watching what had turned into a race. The Realists were cheering loudly for Castor, the Dreamers somewhat more quietly for Vera. After two laps, both runners looked on the verge of collapse. Castor’s gait had grown unsteady while Vera’s eyes showed the strain of her effort. Now it looked like it would be a competition not between who came in first, but who finished at all.
Castor had nearly slowed to a walk. But at the last turn, Vera set her jaw and stood up straighter. With one final burst of energy, she sprinted away from Castor and returned to the group of recruits, where she fell to the ground, panting and straining.
“Now, that wasn’t the most intelligent use of your training time,” Cleopatra said. “In fact, it was pretty stupid.”
“But . . . I . . . won,” Vera said, gasping for air.
“You won’t be getting a pass on today’s training,” Cleopatra said. “Let’s hope you haven’t used up all of your energy.”
“Of . . . course . . . not,” Vera said, still breathing heavily. “It . . . was . . . just . . . three . . . laps.” Then her breathing slowed. “At least I’m not some lazy Realist who had to walk the final leg,” she added, pointing to Castor, who had just barely dragged himself back to the group. With that, she stood up. “And I’m ready for whatever.”
“Good,” Cleopatra said. “Now, in this class we will learn the basics of running,” she continued, “and we will learn—”
But Rovi was tuning her out. He already knew the basics of running. He’d been running his whole life. And he was good at it. He was pretty sure whatever form his grana took, it was what allowed his feet to lead him wherever he needed to go. He didn’t need additional training. He’d do the exercises, of course. But as for instruction, there wasn’t much to it.
Suddenly the whole class was on their feet. They had spread out across the field in the center of the track where the Tree of Ecrof grew. Each of the recruits was standing on a large rubber square. Rovi scrambled to join them. He had no idea what was going on.
Cleopatra blew her whistle. The other sixteen recruits began doing exercises, each one different. Rovi looked around wildly, trying to figure out what to do. Pretia was doing push-ups. Castor, sit-ups. Vera, jumping jacks. Leo was hopping like a frog. Nassos was sprinting in place. Virgil was doing squat jumps.
“Squat thrust,” Adira hissed.
“What?” Rovi asked.
“You’re on squat thrusts. Hurry.”
Rovi wasn’t entirely sure what a squat thrust was. He squatted down uncertainly.
Suddenly Castor appeared at Rovi’s station. “Still not done?” Then he squatted down, put his hands on the ground, and kicked his legs out behind him, over and over until he reached twenty. Then he moved on to the next station.
“Rovi!” Cleopatra blasted her whistle. “Rovi Myrios, how come you’re not doing your circuits?”
“I—I—” Rovi stammered. “Because I don’t need to. I already know how to run.”
“Oh, really,” Cleopatra said. “Then you will run. Penalty laps for the rest of practice.”
“Fine,” Rovi said. “No problem.” And he took off for the track. He’d rather run any day than do dumb exercises in the middle of the field.
It was hot on the track. Unlike the field, which was shaded by the massive tree, there was no relief from the sun. As he ran around the stadium, he watched the recruits do their circuits. Vera was the fastest. She finished each of her exercises first, then moved on to the next station, nearly pushing whoever was occupying it out of the way. Castor seemed to be the next best, powering through his exercises but still clearly exhausted from his run. Virgil and Adira were the most agile, fast-footed, and flexible. Rovi was also surprised to see Pretia the Princess hanging in there, doing her circuits just like a regular recruit. Of all the kids, Leo was struggling the most, usually being passed by three other first years before he finished at a particular station.
Rovi had completed two laps when he heard Cleopatra blow her whistle and order the recruits to stand on the starting line, where she had set up blocks at the end of a straightaway. “The one hundred meters is competition at its simplest and purest,” Rovi heard her say as he jogged past. “Today we will be doing basic head-to-head races to determine your individual baselines.”
Vera was first into the starting blocks. She looked over her head at Castor. But this time it was Nassos who rose to the challenge. Cleopatra blew her whistle and the runners took off. It was Vera’s race from the start. She crossed the finish line a whole stride ahead of Nassos. When she returned to the recruits, the Dreamers surrounded her, trying to give her high fives. But Vera just jogged in place, ready for the next race.
Rovi picked up his pace, hoping that if Cleopatra noticed his dedication, she might let him run. He could beat Vera and the rest. That, he was sure of. They might be royalty or the children of famous sports families—but he was Swiftfoot, the fastest Star Stealer ever to terrorize the streets of Phoenis.
As he jogged, he kept an eye on the races. Adira beat Cyril. Virgil beat Hector. Castor destroyed Leo. Nassos beat Xenia.
From across the field, Rovi watched Pretia take the starting blocks for the first time. She was paired with Adira. Cleopatra blew her whistle. At first it looked as if Pretia didn’t hear her. When Adira took off, Pretia remained crouched in the blocks for a few seconds. And when she did run, finally, her pace was halfhearted. Adira crossed the finish line before Pretia hit the fifty-meter mark.
By the time Rovi had finished two more laps, Pretia had lost four more times. She hadn’t simply been beaten, she looked as if she was losing on purpose—like she wasn’t trying at all. The next time Rovi passed the starting blocks, Pretia was matched with Leo. Like Pretia, Leo also hadn’t won a race. Cleopatra blew her whistle. Once more, Pretia looked as if her feet were glued to the blocks. She started slowly, then barely accelerated down the track. Leo’s start wasn’t much better than Pretia’s. But it was clear that he was trying. His face showed strain as his arms pumped frantically, as if he were pulling himself down the track.
At the end of the race, Cleopatra blew her whistle repeatedly, summoning Pretia over. Rovi slowed to listen.
“You’re not trying,” Cleopatra said. “Do you think because you’re a princess, you don’t need to try?”
“Because she’s a princess is the only reason she’s here. We all know that.” Castor laughed. “It’s not like anyone expects her to win.”
“I expect her to try,” Cleopatra said.
“I am trying,” Pretia said.
“You just lost to Leo,” Castor said.
“Hey,” Leo said, “we’re on the same team, Castor.”
“Barely,” Castor replied.
Cleopatra blew her whistle again. “Silence,” she barked. “Pretia, penalty laps. Five for not trying. And five for being dishonest about it.”
In an instant, Pretia bolted to the outside lane of the track, where Rovi was jogging in place. She looked relieved.
“You look happy to get penalty laps,” Rovi said as they set off together, their gold Grana Gleams striking the track in sync with one another.
“I was getting sick of racing,” Pretia said.
“You know,” Rovi said, “it really didn’t look like you were trying. I mean, there’s no way you’d really lose a race to Leo.”
“How do you know?” Pretia said.
Rovi shrugged.
“Maybe I don’t like racing,” Pretia said. “Maybe I’d rather run laps.”
Rovi laughed. “No one wants to run laps.”
“You don’t seem to mind.”
Rovi thought about this for a moment. “Wel
l, I guess running laps is better than being bossed around by some coach on the field.”
“So you don’t like being coached and I don’t like racing,” Pretia concluded.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Rovi said. “Your name wouldn’t have appeared on the scrolls if deep down you didn’t really like competing.”
“Who knows,” Pretia said. “Maybe my name is just on the scrolls because of my parents.”
“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Rovi said.
“Or not.” Pretia picked up the pace. “I’m telling you, I don’t like competing. You don’t have to believe me.”
“Well,” Rovi replied, “I don’t believe you. There’s something you’re not telling me.” How could someone prefer running around the boring field to racing?
“Do you tell everyone everything about you?” Pretia asked.
Definitely not. There was too much Star Stealer in him for that. He didn’t do what people told him and he didn’t talk about the past. When he didn’t reply, Pretia said, “See, I guess we both have secrets.”
Rovi glanced across the field. While they’d been talking, practice had ended and the recruits had left for their next class.
“Well, if we both have secrets, Princess, I’m going to find out yours,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” Pretia said. “Maybe I’ll find out yours first.”
Rovi stopped and stretched his calves. There were some things he hoped he’d never have to tell.
9
PRETIA
THE CROWNS
It had taken all of her concentration not to use her cursed grana during the first track practice. She could feel it tingling in her fingers and toes, urging her to run faster, unleash her new inner strength and talent. But Pretia couldn’t shake the memory of Davos falling from the cliff and Vera slipping down the rigging on the two occasions she’d used her grana. So she’d have to be on the bottom. And if that meant she’d be assigned penalty laps, she’d do them. Anything was better than accidentally hurting someone.
