Win

by Vera Nazarian

  For the first time, I see the great City of Poseidon sprawling below and all around us. And suddenly there is air traffic, and we are not alone in the sky. We must have joined a designated “air lane” because multitudes of airborne vehicles whoosh past us in both directions, of all shapes and sizes, most of them bullet-like in shape, and a few longer and wider vehicles that could be buses.

  “Oh, Aeson!” I say. “This is incredible!”

  And I’m not talking about just the flying cars, but the urban landscape below. Now that we’ve cleared the Palace, I can tell that it is situated on a hilltop, because it rises above the rest of the city considerably, along a gradual slope studded with various city structures amid greenery. As I glance into the milky-white horizon facing us through the windshield, I see another distant range of hills rising up in sprawling shapes of green. And behind us, on the opposite side, toward the rear of the vehicle, I see the fierce silver-blue glitter of the ocean as the Golden Bay cuts deeply into the continent.

  But for the moment, we are flying over an urban jungle. The buildings underneath us are complex, multi-story structures—some like Earth skyscrapers, others like spires with tapering needles, others yet with angled roofs covered with sheet gold, and a few like geodesic domes. And the streets are shaped in unusual curves and figure eights resembling roundabouts, instead of a grid of straight lines. The circular road shapes connect to each other with bridging strips of shorter streets.

  Imagine a bunch of number eights toppled on their sides and lined up, with short dashes between them. That’s the basic Atlantean urban street layout. And the two circles inside each number eight are city blocks filled with buildings. Seems to be the weirdest thing I’ve seen in days. . . .

  “Why are the streets not straight lines?” I ask, as Aeson effortlessly steers us through the traffic. “Wouldn’t it be faster to get from place to place if they were?”

  Aeson makes a soft chuckle. “They don’t have to be. Mostly we get around in the air. The streets are for specialized freight and other slow service vehicles. . . . And for single-person vehicles similar to your earth bicycles. And of course, for hoverboards. You’ll see.”

  And as he says it, I look closer and see people on various small vehicles moving like tiny dots at street level. Some of them look very much like they’re riding hoverboards, and I notice them slowing down and stopping at the central intersections between the figure-eights to let others going in the opposite direction pass.

  “This is just so weird!” I say again, while Aeson laughs at me. “All of it, the traffic rules, the flying cars, the streets! Clever, but weird!”

  “It is Poseidon. You’ll get used to it.”

  “So where are we going exactly?”

  Aeson does not take his eyes off the air lane, as we pass neatly between two large cruising buses. “See the hills directly ahead? That’s Phoinios Heights, an area containing many larger estates. My residence is there.”

  “So is this like the fancy and expensive part of town?” I say half-jokingly, watching his handsome profile.

  Aeson does not answer immediately, and I see that his lips tighten slightly. “You might say so. Much of the land along these hills belongs to the wealthy, who are usually the noble families. Though, there are many entrepreneurs who are not necessarily of noble blood.”

  “Oh . . . So they are sometimes not Citizens?”

  “Sometimes not.”

  “I see.” I grow silent, seeing how this line of talk seems to make Aeson interestingly uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the fact that I brought up Citizenship? Or more likely, as I am growing to know him better, it seems that the Imperial Crown Prince honestly does not like to be reminded of his privilege. And then I recall how once Oalla Keigeri had told me that Aeson is the most humble person she knows. . . .

  We pass the outskirts of the urban center—including what I’m guessing is a huge convention center sprawling around an impossible monolithic circular structure that must be the fabled Atlantis Grail monument, towering high over the city, and gleaming golden in the sun—and several sports arena stadiums where they might hold some of the action of the Games. And we continue to approach the hills that now loom much closer.

  I glance backwards and continue to stare at the Grail in wonder. The monument is so massive and tall that we are actually flying at a level only slightly above it. However, from this distance and vantage point I’m barely able to visually comprehend the edges of the great cup’s circular rim, due to the blazing sun glare along its inner curvature, hiding whatever lurks inside. “Aeson, is that huge golden thing the Atlantis Grail?”

  Aeson does not look around, and continues to pay attention to the flight lane before us. “Yes,” he says simply, and does not elaborate.

  “It’s mind-blowing!” I continue to crane my neck backwards. “It really does look like a giant cup or goblet! How weird! What exactly is its purpose? What does it signify?”

  “The thing is ancient. . . . To be honest, there are only partial records available; the old scrolls were damaged, so there’s not all that much on the subject. Historians argue to this day why our ancestors specifically chose the grail shape to commemorate the original Landing on Atlantis and the establishing of our colony. There was much harvest symbolism involved in their early colonial daily lives when they were building the monument, so that’s the most popular theory. Something about an overflowing cup of plenty, a symbol of new resources and new opportunities in store for us. But—you can draw your own conclusions when you take a look at our historical records at some point.”

  “Oh wow, yes, I would love to do that!” I exclaim.

  He glances at me immediately and his lips curve into a fond smile. “Why am I not surprised?”

  A few more minutes and we are flying up a gently sloping hillside, with dark green treetops rising toward us. I see gilded rooftops of mansions and outdoor ponds and swimming pools among stone terraces and elegant landscaping. Everything seems to be mirror-bright and strongly reflective, as though trying to bounce Hel’s fierce light back up into the white sky. At some point at the very summit of one hill, a pale rose-stoned structure rises—an estate house of at least three floors, surrounded by gnarled trees and containing its own walled gardens and a private landing airfield.

  Aeson points to it. “My residence,” he says. “And now—our residence.”

  My brows rise in a different kind of wonder as I try to take it all in.

  And in moments we land. The hover car levitates gently down onto the mauve-colored surface, the same kind of Atlantean pavement that I’ve seen at the other airfields. And the three security vehicles land around us.

  We get out of the hover car and cross the airfield, then walk through the greenery up a sloping path consisting of several shallow steps interspersed by walkways, until we come to the front entrance, an elegant façade with columns and relief trim on the overhangs.

  Before we even reach the threshold, the door is opened by a uniformed servant, an older man with onyx-black eyes, weathered red-clay skin and wrinkles, and with graying dark hair lacking the usual hair dye, who bows deeply before the Imperial Prince.

  “Nefero dea, My Imperial Lord Aeson,” the old man says in a slightly unsteady voice. “I am overjoyed to see you. It is a bright honor, but I did not expect you back so early after your arrival from the long journey to the stars and ancient Earth—”

  “Thebet, I am overjoyed to be back,” Aeson tells him with a smile. “And now, meet my Bride—this is Imperial Lady Gwen Lark. She is to be the mistress of this house, as of this moment. Please honor her as you would me.”

  The old servant looks at me with astute black eyes, and they crinkle at the corners. He bows to me after the tiniest pause, stretching one hand out before him and pointing indoors. “My Imperial Lady Gwen, I am Thebet Obwai, steward of this estate. It is an honor to serve you. Wixameret! Welcome!”

  And we enter the house.

  The interior of Aeson’s town residence i
s very similar to the Imperial Crown Prince’s Quarters in the Palace. A grand ante-chamber leads into myriad lesser rooms on three floors, including at least ten guest bedrooms, and the spacious master suite.

  Everything is done in the Atlantean contemporary and antique mixture of décor that seems to be the current style trend, and which I am beginning to recognize. The furniture is ornate and traditionally ancient, yet the comforts and the technology are high-tech. There are many floor-to-ceiling glass windows with panoramic hill-top views of the city, many alcoves filled with elegant art and statuary. Everywhere I see rich corals, earth tones, teal, and gold.

  Thebet walks before us, opens doors, and softly comments on the various sections of the house, directing his commentary to me. We are speaking in Atlantean, and I find I understand most of but not everything he says. My replies however are likely awkward and full of bad grammar.

  “Thank you,” I keep saying. “That’s really beautiful.”

  “Please make ready the pearl bedroom right next to mine, it will be Gwen’s,” Aeson says, as we pause in his master suite. “And have her things brought there.”

  “Of course.” Thebet bows. “Will My Imperial Lady Gwen have any preferences as far as dea meal? Favorite dishes?”

  “Oh, please don’t trouble yourself, whatever Aeson has is fine with me,” I mutter, with growing embarrassment. “I like all kinds of food, actually, so please, whatever’s easiest. . . .”

  But Thebet merely looks at me with a faint light smile at the corners of his lips, and nods with patient encouragement as I speak defective Atlanteo. I wouldn’t be surprised if I just told him that “I like to eat parrots for supper,” or some other such nonsense.

  Eventually he leaves to make the various arrangements, and Aeson and I wander through a few of the rooms, looking at the many treasures there. Occasionally we encounter near-silent servants going about their business, young maids tidying rooms, and uniformed teens carrying things. All of them pause in the middle of their tasks, give Aeson profound bows, and incline their heads to me in similar courtesy, accompanied by curious glances.

  How much do they know about me? Have they been watching all that mostly embarrassing footage on TV?

  “This is my main residence in Poseidon,” Aeson tells me, having captured my hand in his, pulling me along after him. “How do you like it?”

  Thankfully that distracts me enough to send pleasant sensual chills along my skin, and pay attention to whatever my Bridegroom tells me.

  “It’s absolutely gorgeous and unbelievable,” I say. “Do you live here all alone? Except for the servants, I mean?”

  “For the most part, yes,” Aeson says, as we walk out onto a long terrace balcony with a view of the city and the distant Golden Bay with its glittering ocean. “Though I do have Manala and my Mother visit sometimes. And the astra daimon come and stay here with me when they are in the city.”

  Aeson insists I wear my wraparound sunglasses to the balcony, so I put them on and glance sideways at him as we watch the view. “I’d love to learn more about this very interesting fraternity of your friends, these astra daimon.”

  “I’ll be happy to tell you, and with time you will meet most of them.”

  “Let’s see . . . I already know Oalla and Keruvat and Xelio and Erita.”

  Aeson smiles, squeezing my hand gently, and watching the horizon. “Then you have a good start.”

  “Oh, there’s so much I want to know!” I say with a burst of enthusiasm, taking a deep breath of the pleasant cool breeze. “I want to know all about you, everything there is to know! I want to just—soak you in, if that makes any sense. . . .”

  “It does,” he says softly. “I feel the same about you.”

  And then I see the secret flicker of grief in his eyes as he glances at me and then quickly looks away.

  “Damn these Games of the Atlantis Grail . . .” I whisper fiercely, clutching his hand, because reality returns and slams into me, hard. “If only we didn’t have to deal with them. If only I didn’t have to deal—”

  Because, yeah, the reason why we’re here in this idyllic estate is so that I can train to escape death, not merely stand on a balcony, holding hands with Aeson and dreaming of a perfect life.

  Dea meal is served in a small room overlooking the panorama of Poseidon. Apparently Aeson likes to eat as simply as possible, because we sit at a small table, and there are only a few dishes brought out—all very tasty and filling, but none of the overindulgence of the Imperial Palace.

  As we eat and watch the beginnings of the very strange, teal Atlantean sunset, Aeson turns businesslike and tells me the plans for tomorrow and the next few days of my training.

  “Gwen,” he says. “First thing we do with you is start weight endurance training. That’s priority one.”

  “What’s that?” I say, with beginning trepidation.

  But Aeson reaches across the table and pats my hand. “Don’t worry, it’s not all that bad. It’s to counteract the effects of our gravity. Because you have this additional disadvantage of being unused to the gravity, you’ll need to overcompensate for it. So you will work out in my weights room, and I will supervise you carefully so that you don’t hurt yourself. We’ll do a little of it every day.”

  “Okay. . . .”

  “Next, we do sparring. I will train you myself, and we’ll go through all the Er-Du Combat Forms carefully.”

  “Wow,” I say. “That’s incredibly intimidating. You’re so good—so impossibly good at sparring that I’m going to die of embarrassment if I have to go up against you.”

  Aeson looks at me in amazement. “Intimidating? Oh, Gwen, no! You should never be intimidated by me! You know I would never do anything to harm you! I love you!”

  “Easy for you to say,” I mutter with an awkward smile, reveling in his admission. “But then you are the best. I bet, no one has ever beaten you in Er-Du.”

  He frowns slightly, shaking his head. “Believe me, I’ve been beaten and defeated soundly in plenty of matches, especially in my younger Fleet Cadet School days. It might amuse you to know that half the time when Xelio and I spar, he beats me still, and occasionally so does Keruvat and Oalla. We daimon are all very evenly matched for the most part.”

  “But you’re still rated the best in sparring, so I am told.”

  He shrugs. “Only as a technicality, by the numbers. As I said, I’ve had my share of humiliation.”

  I bite my lip. “You’re also rated as the best marksman in the Fleet. What do you say to that?”

  “On that count, yes. I do tend to hit all my targets,” he says with a faint smile.

  I lean across the table over a dish of savory vegetables, and punch him on the arm with a snort of frustration. “See! You’re intimidating!”

  In answer he captures my hand and caresses it in his fingers. . . . Soon I feel currents of sweet electricity running up through my arm.

  “I promised you will be training with the best,” he says to me after a long sensual pause, as I feel his intense gaze linger on me. “And that’s why I won’t be the one training you in swords Combat.”

  “You’re not the best swordsman?” I say teasingly.

  He snorts. “No, that honor belongs to Xelio Vekahat. He is rated as the master of the Red Quadrant weapon.”

  “I see.”

  “And as far as your own Yellow Quadrant nets and cords, you will be working with Oalla Keigeri. Similarly, Erita Qwas will be working with you on Green Quadrant shields and body armor.”

  “Because they’re the best?”

  “Precisely.” Aeson watches me with that mixture of amusement and intensity that I find so captivating.

  I let out a held breath. “Wow. . . . So much training!”

  “There’s more. You will work on Games survival strategies with several people who know the Games of the Atlantis Grail very well—long-time fans such as our very own Anu Vei, and several others. Then, you’ll train with Category special trainers—experts wh
o specialize in preparing potential entrants for the Games—yes, believe it or not there’s such a thing, and these professional trainers make good money. Finally, you’ll work with former criminals who will teach you all the dirty tricks you might expect, and how to play unfair in order to stay safe.”

  Aeson pauses, as I look at him in growing dismay. “Gwen, all of this, no matter how bad it sounds, is to keep you safe, to keep you alive.”

  “I know,” I say. “I get it, and I am ready to learn.”

  Chapter 19

  The rest of the evening goes by quickly, as we migrate from one room to another of the different parts of the estate, while we talk and think. Eventually when it’s time for bed, we end up back in Aeson’s master bedroom, rich and dark-toned. It is directly adjacent to mine, which is decorated in light warm pearl, with nothing but a door between us—unlike the more formal arrangements in the Palace, where an office workroom separates his bedroom and mine.

  Aeson and I stand at the door, saying “good-night,” and again he looks at me with hungry innocence. “This door can be locked from both sides, Gwen,” he says at last, softly. “Please feel free, if you want to—if it makes you more comfortable. I will leave it unlocked from my side. . . .”

  “I don’t want to,” I say with a smile, gazing at him and the grand king-sized bed that looms behind him in his room.

  And then he adds, with a flush of heightened color, “If you need anything in the middle of the night, please don’t be afraid to knock. Or just open the door and come in and wake me up.”

  “Okay.”

  He touches my cheek, smoothing my skin with lingering fingertips. His thumb moves slowly across and brushes against my bottom lip, before he lets go abruptly, as though coming to his senses. “Promise me. . . .”