Milo felt somewhat better hearing this, yet the thought of being called childish names in a military academy, with war on the horizon, seemed ridiculous.
“You’re still reading about those monks, right?” Emma asked. “The stuff that will keep Kovax out of your brain?”
“Who says it was Kovax?”
Emma shrugged. “Who else would it be?”
“Yes, I’m reading about them,” Milo said, resolving to practice his meditation again that night. “But I have a feeling that’s not going to be enough.”
DREAMS HAUNTED HIM EACH NIGHT—NOT of Cyrens or Psi’Acular monks, but of the fountains.
Urged along by a whispering voice in his head that promised answers, Milo made his way down dark alleys and streets toward the nearest Fountain of Joy. The voice promised that if he threw himself in, his eye would heal. He would learn what was happening to his uncle. He would understand, finally, what was happening inside his head.
He felt like an addict trying to resist a drug that appeared every time he turned a corner. With his uncle gone, how much longer could he hold out?
There was now a fountain outside the campus walls, right by the entrance—a smaller, brand-new installation. It sat there taunting him every time he left campus to run errands in the city. What if he just dipped his hand? Test the waters, so to speak. What was the worst that could happen? He watched other people—children, even—do it all day long, and they always left happier than when they arrived. The fountains were not only for the injured; they seemed to have a therapeutic effect on everyone who used them.
Milo restrained his urges. He had made his uncle a promise. His uncle, who had abandoned him and his sister, with not even a single message to let them know how he was doing.
Studying became Milo’s escape. He buried himself in his schoolwork, using his free time to read about mentalism and practice the meditative state that would bring him closer to achieving the Awakened Eye. As obsessed as he had become with the topic of Cyrens, he found that meditating made him feel like he was more in control of his emotions, which led to less anxiety at school. Keygrath had already spotted the change, but it had taken a while for Milo to feel it for himself.
As the weeks passed, his meditative sessions became deeper and more relaxing. His Awakened Eye was still firmly shut, but every now and then he sensed a twitch in that stubborn eyelid. He was getting closer.
Or it was just his imagination?
HIS FRIENDS HAD THEIR OWN, sometimes questionable, methods of adjusting to Academy life.
In the evenings, Gunner and Owen came frequently to Sevarin and Milo’s room to talk about their courses, the girls they thought were pretty, and the bullies they thought were jerks. If they ever cracked a book outside of class, Milo never saw it. For them, Theus Academy was one big party. Sevarin fit in nicely with this idea and skipped just as often as he attended. This led to bickering sessions with Emma, and complaints from her afterward.
“You need to talk sense into him,” Emma would tell Milo. “He’s going to fail out.”
Milo wanted to tell Emma he didn’t care about Sevarin’s laziness. Plus, he wasn’t so sure Sevarin was skipping out of boredom. Often, he came back with dirt and twigs all over his shoes, as if he’d been out climbing trees in the forest. He was up to something.
Then there was Oscar. He had been missing for a while now and wasn’t answering his Araband. Milo and his friends had gone to the wardens with pictures of him. They had tried posting them around the city. They had even gone to the news outlets to ask for a broadcast to be sent out. No one seemed to care about one more missing person. They just assumed he was another victim of the city’s notorious kidnapper.
One thing kept Milo and his friends from panicking about Oscar’s fate. Andres was also gone, which raised the possibility that Oscar and his father had gone off somewhere to decide how they would fit into this new life. At least they were together. Still, it worried Milo and Sevarin to no end that Oscar never answered his Araband when they tried to call. Was he saying he didn’t want to be friends with them anymore? All because they had been accepted to the academy and he hadn’t?
With the fates of Emmanuel, Oscar, and Andres uncertain—and his left eye incurably blind—all Milo could do to keep his despair from overwhelming him was to dive into his studies. He checked a few books on mentalism out of the library, intent of spending the evening between their pages and learning what he could. On his way out, he passed Barrel sitting with Kellan at a table by the window.
“Well hello, Milo,” Barrel said in a cheerful tone. He sounded unusually pleased with himself today. “How are things?”
Milo’s face warmed with shame as he met Kellan’s eyes.
“Not bad,” Milo said. “What are you guys up to?”
“Just helping my friend Kellan here with his studies. He’s coming along just fine. Smarter than he gives himself credit for.”
If the compliment had any effect on Kellan, he didn’t show it. He sat with his chair tilted back on two legs, watching Milo like they were the only two people here. He seemed to be especially interested in Milo’s eye patch.
Milo hadn’t seen him since the pasta incident in the cafeteria. For weeks afterward, he dreaded the possibility that Kellan had ratted him out to his father. It was only a matter of time before the Archon summoned him for disciplinary action. But it never happened.
“Banks,” Kellan said with a single nod. “I never got to say this before, but I’m sorry the eye thing had to happen to you. No hard feelings about what happened in the dining hall, right?”
“Of course,” Milo said. “I mean, I guess I’m the one who should be saying I’m sorry. No hard feelings, right? You know I didn’t mean—”
“It’s in the past,” Kellan said, scratching a spot on his chest right over his heart. “And don’t worry about Garig. I calmed him down. In fact, if he ever bothers you again, you tell me, all right? I won’t let a bit of spilled tomato sauce get in the way of being friends with a demigod hero like you.”
Milo face warmed again—this time with a blush. Barrel was beaming at the pleasantries being exchanged between his friends.
“Thanks,” Milo said. Part of him wanted to believe Kellan and to be able to count on him as a friend instead of an enemy. It didn’t hurt that Kellan was also the most popular cadet in the academy.
Yet something was off about the whole exchange. Despite his kind words, Kellan maintained a rather icy expression, his eyes devoid of emotion. He kept scratching the area of skin over his heart, his fingers drawing a circle over it like it wasn’t an itch he was scratching but a shape he was tracing.
“Well,” Milo said with a weary sigh, trying to hide his discomfort, “time to go do some studying.”
As he turned to walk away, Kellan’s voice stopped him.
“Hey Phantom, who are you voting for in the election?”
That stupid nickname again. Swallowing rage, Milo turned to face him. He tried to keep his voice level. “I haven’t made up my mind. I take it you’re voting for your father?”
“Obviously. And I’d encourage you to do the same. That other one—Julina, Julara, what’s-her-face—is a total nut bag, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Maybe I’ll just vote for Killian Roshe,” Milo said, as if issuing a challenge. “You ever think of that?”
A cold, condescending smile crossed Kellan’s face. “Killian? That spineless idiot backed down. He’s supporting my father now.”
Barrel’s head sank an inch into his shoulders. He and Milo had talked about this possibility a few days earlier. Milo had proposed his theory about Killian clouding the key issues to split the city’s vote. Barrel, just like Sevarin, had accused him of dreaming up conspiracy theories. It looked like Milo was right after all.
He took no pleasure in it.
“See you guys later,” he said, turning toward the exit, his face flushed with anger.
He remembered his uncle talking about how unnatu
rally intelligent the Archon had become in recent years. Only an incredibly smart man could turn his competitors into puppets like that. Milo was certain the man was corrupted—but in what way?
When it came to the Rogarth family, something just wasn’t right.
HE SPENT Restday evening in his room meditating.
Lying flat on his back on the floor—his mattress was soft, and therefore too indulgent, according to the monks—Milo tapped the crystal.
“Hey, Lily,” he said, once the life-sized hologram of her face appeared.
“Milo, where are you? We were all supposed to get dinner at the mall.”
“You go to the mall too much.”
“Does this mean you’re not coming anymore?”
With a sigh, Milo sat up, fixed his Ara into a floating display, and studied Lily’s face. She was wearing her hair in a tight braid today, complete with dangling earring that looked like tiny flower petals—green and yellow, her favorite colors.
And was that makeup on her face? Lily never wore that stuff.
“Don’t be dramatic,” he told her. “I’ve got stuff to do this weekend.”
She looked glum. “It’s just that you said you would be here.”
“You’re right.” Milo had totally forgotten about the plan. “Sorry. You look pretty, though.”
“Thanks. And you look tired. I guess I’ll see you around.”
A mixture of unfamiliar voices rose in the background. Lily turned and flashed a quick smile at the speakers.
“We’re getting ice cream,” a boy’s voice announced. “You coming?”
Lily nodded. Milo heard Emma say, “But only for an hour.”
“Who’s that?” Milo asked.
“Just some Acolyte students from one of Emma’s classes. We’re getting ice cream. I’ll see you tomorrow. Hopefully,” she added, not sounding hopeful at all.
Milo felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Who were these guys that were taking Lily and Emma out for ice cream? Why hadn’t Lily invited him to come along? Was she mad at him? Or was she glad Milo wasn’t around so she could go have fun on her own?
With other guys, no less!
“Yeah,” Milo said. “Tomorrow. Have fun.” He waved the display back into his Araband.
Alone now—and feeling wretchedly so—Milo clenched his teeth. Lily could go hang out with whomever she wanted. Heck, she wasn’t even his girlfriend. Why did he care so much what she did? If she wanted to go on dates, who was he to stop her?
“Get a grip,” he told himself, reaching for the book. “You drama queen.”
But no matter how much he tried, Milo couldn’t bring himself to focus. He kept picturing Lily holding hands with a winged cadet in full uniform, the two of them licking bulbs of ice cream on a romantically lit walkway beneath the starry sky.
After a couple hours of failing to induce a trance, he finally worked up the nerve to call Emma. She should have been back by now.
“Hey, Milo,” his sister said. He could see her dormitory closet behind her. She must have been seated at her desk. “What’s up?”
“Just wanted to see if you heard from Sevarin. I haven’t seen him.”
She frowned. “Curfew is in twenty minutes. He’d better not—”
“No, no, no. It’s not a big deal. He said he was going out for a jog, so he’ll probably be back in ten minutes. Anyway, you and Lily are probably studying…”
“Lily’s in the bathroom,” Emma said, slipping a pencil behind one ear. “Milo, I know you didn’t call to talk about Sevarin. What’s on your mind? Is it Uncle Manny?”
Milo shook his head. “It’s nothing. How was ice cream with those guys in your class?”
“Oh,” Emma said. “I see.”
“What?”
“Nothing. They were such pretty boys. They kept fixing their hair and smoothing their feathers and fixing the medals on their sashes. Lily and I hung out for like an hour, then we came back here.”
“You don’t need to say that just to make me feel better.”
Emma glanced at her bedroom door, then looked back at Milo, dropping her voice to a whisper. “You should do something nice for Lily. She’s upset you bailed on us today.”
“What do you recommend?”
Emma shrugged. “Take her out somewhere, like a restaurant or something. Wait, no, don’t do that. Eating during a date makes some people self-conscious.”
“Plus, you’re digesting your food afterward,” Milo added.
“Exactly.” She let out a wistful sigh. “I wish someone would take me to a restaurant, though.”
“Focus, sis.”
“Right, sorry. I don’t know. You need to come up with something that feels right. What’s something she likes to do?”
“You’re her best friend,” Milo said in disbelief. “Don’t you know?”
Emma scowled at him. “You’re the one who should be noticing these things. Take her out to a movie. You know she loved watching films back at the ranch. Remember how much she liked that one about the girl who finds the baby levathon—”
“Pionie’s Pass,” Milo said. “It always made her cry. Especially the part where…”
His voice trailed off as an idea seized hold of him.
“Milo?” Emma said after a moment. “You’ve got that blank look on your face. Tell me you came up with an amazing, romantic idea that’ll sweep Lily off her feet. Then describe it to me.”
“I will,” Milo said, “but not now. Got some research I need to do. Thanks, Emma. You’re the best.”
“You’re welcome, baby bro. Good luck!”
They waved at the same time to end the call. Milo grabbed the ball of light and spread it across the wall to form a larger display.
“Ara, wake up,” he said.
Ara appeared with a flash of her perfect teeth. She was grinning.
“Milo, you seem unusually cheerful tonight. How can I help you?”
He rubbed his hands together, hatching a plan.
“How much does it cost to buy a levathon?”
CHAPTER 5
O scar lost track of how many days and nights he had spent in his prison cell.
Had it not been for Ara and her vast stores of movies, books, and musical tracks, he might have gone crazy. He had instructed her to detect and notify him of approaching Orglots, which she did with no problem. The thought of having his captors confiscate his Araband filled him with dread.
As the weeks went by—one dragging into two, then three, then four, Ara keeping track of each—Oscar became convinced that Ruk had forgotten about him.
At least one of his captors remembered Oscar was there. Every six to eight hours, the red-haired Orglot came by to check on him, but he ignored Oscar’s pleas to speak with Ruk and never explained why the elder had abandoned him. The brute came only to feed Oscar sour mushrooms and clumps of moss that tasted like dirt, and to take him out of his cell—chained to a collar, of course—to relieve himself. This act always took place behind a nearby boulder, where a trench of running water carried away any deposited waste.
He endured six weeks in this fashion before Ruk finally came to him. By that point, Oscar had absorbed so much information about Orglot culture and history that his original, crazy idea had blossomed into an obsession. He had also begun speaking with Ara as if she were a real person instead of an artificial intelligence. Loneliness became easier to bear thanks to his pretty and polite tutor.
One bit of information gave him hope. According to historical texts, Orglots took several times longer than humans to decide on plans of action. To them, six weeks was like six days to a human. Oscar took comfort in the belief that Ruk would come eventually.
And eventually, he did… after forty-seven days.
“How do you fare, Speaker?” Ruk asked in the Orglot tongue.
By now, Oscar had mastered the language. “Ruk,” he said, gripping the bars, “I have something—”
“Halt.” Ruk raised a hand to stop him. “I am having my warrio
rs bring supplies to build a chair so that I may sit and speak with you.”
Build a chair? How much longer was Ruk going to drag this out?
“But I know about Theus,” Oscar persisted. “I know about your upcoming battle. I can show you the way!”
Ruk frowned in the light from the torches being held by Ukril and another warrior. He looked displeased as he glanced at his son.
“Tell the builders to hurry.”
Ukril went off to tend to the matter. Ruk forced Oscar to wait over an hour until his men had built a makeshift chair out of boulders, moss, and leather in front of Oscar’s cell. They lit standing torches and planted them in piles of moss.
“Ah, that is better,” Ruk said, seating himself like a king upon a freshly polished throne. “Now we may discuss matters of war. What is it you have to share with me, Speaker?”
“I need you to release me,” Oscar said. “It’s time.”
Ruk spread his arms in astonishment. “Have you not found rest in your new home?”
Oscar ignored what must have been a bad joke. No way was Ruk so oblivious as to consider Oscar a guest instead of a prisoner.
“I have information about Theus that will change your strategy.”
Ruk frowned. He looked at Ukril, who shook his head.
“I understand,” Ruk said, turning his attention back to Oscar, “that it would benefit you to lie as a means of hastening your departure from my kingdom. But I must warn you, Speaker, that any false words out of your beastlips will only seal your fate more quickly. The boulders in my belly rumble at the thought of roasting your beastflesh for supper.”
“So you want to know about Theus,” Oscar summarized, “but you won’t trust anything I say.”
Ruk gave a curt nod. “That is correct. Now, I would like you to begin with a history of Theusian military tactics and weapons from the last thousand years. Leave out no detail. Then we will proceed to discuss the state of the clan’s magical wards, and the number and quality of all blades possessed by its warriors.”
Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series Page 83
