by Adam Burch
It’s your birthday, Little Lord, I can almost hear Nadia’s voice in my head. Don’t worry so much. I smile back at her. She’s right, of course. There is her and me, our home, and that’s not so bad at all.
I sit on the chair in the foyer listening to the grievance of a fisherman. He claims that his neighbor is responsible for the damage to a shared wall between their dwellings. My mother sits beside me in her chair as her handmaid attends her. She stares vacantly. I keep her beside me as a reminder of the sacrifice she has made for our freedom. I like to think I can feel her spirit by my side even in her current state. Her presence gives me comfort. Gorham stands on my other side, advising me. I am still young after all, and as a village elder, his are words of experience.
I listen as intently as I can, but the worries of the harvest, the excitement of meeting Nadia on the cliffs soon, the notion that I shouldn’t have to deal with such petty things . . . all distracts me.
“A shared wall?” I ask.
“Yes, my lord,” both men reply in unison.
“Has this happened before?”
“No, my lord,” they reply.
I look to Gorham. “If the wall affects both, then perhaps there must be compromises from both sides,” he suggests.
I nod in agreement. “Very well,” I say, trying to sound formal. “You’re both to mend the wall on the damaged side. Together. As recompense, Talman”—I point to the man who has damaged the property—“you shall host dinner. Break bread with each other. The only way we survive is by taking care of each other. And Jayhotep”―I refer to the fisherman who brought the grievance―“forgive.”
The men bow their heads. I don’t know if what I’ve asked them to do is fair. My word isn’t binding. I’ve no army to enforce my decisions. They come to me as an objective party for suggestions. In turn, I ask them for their expertise.
How are we to make harvest? Can we farm the kelp more efficiently? Can we risk a communiqué with another island to smuggle in goods? The village seems to work as well as it can. On Bone, village is another word for family.
I call the afternoon’s proceedings to a close for the traditional midday rest. The villagers bow and exit. Later, some will return for the music and feast. Right now, I’m anxious to meet Nadia, though. Anything else can wait. It’s my birthday, after all.
“My lord.” Maestro Bertinelli approaches me just as I’m about to slip out. His pale skin has become ruddy and freckled working on the boats with everyone. At first, he resisted the idea of joining the fishing, but eventually came to see that no one’s situation on the isle would be changing soon. He accepted his lot was cast with the rest of us on Bone the day he chose me over Phaestion. Now, he’s just as much a fisherman as any, but he’s still a maestro of Lyria first and foremost.
“I’ve been wanting to record a new track to pirate out to the stations on Meridian. I know that every broadcast is a risk, but your last single, ‘Tradimento del Popolo,’ has over two hundred million extractions off the aquagraphic nets. I’ve been in touch with contacts on Lyria. We may have a broadcaster off-world if we can convince some of the Meridian jockeys to smuggle the data in photon packets through the Fracture.”
I nod.
He sighs impatiently. “Do you know what this means, Edmon?”
“Maestro, I’m happy to record. It’s exciting for me to share my music, but my concerns are here, on the island now.”
“Edmon,” he says, clucking. “The opera and your responsibilities are one and the same. Every song spreads the word of your story, the plight of your people against the oppression of the Pantheon.”
I can tell he’s about to lecture me.
“If your father wanted to return to the isle and take control, what would stop him? Your popularity!” he says, answering his own question. “Your struggle against the regime keeps him at bay so long as you remain publicly relevant. Killing you would make you a martyr. Music is your safety. ‘Tradimento del Popolo’ . . .”
“Betrayal of the People,” I translate.
“Yes, the tune based on your mother’s lullaby. Your fans are calling it ‘The Song of Edmon’!” he exclaims. “Music is your message!”
“I never wanted to be a symbol,” I insist.
He nods sadly. “That’s precisely why you are.” He understands my wishes, and yet he’s happy to be my spinmeister, penning lyrical manifestos.
It is wrong for me to blame anyone but myself for my current situation. I knew very well what I was singing when I recorded The Maestro’s songs. I also know I can’t stop singing any more than I can stop breathing. If I’m as popular as he says, the songs will be a political statement regardless of their content.
I exhale, resigned. “No, you’re right. We’ll continue.”
The Maestro skips off with an aquatablet and a stylus in hand. No doubt he’s preparing a new aria of resistance. He may think my fame keeps us safe, but a tickle in the back of my brain tells me each defiance also infuriates Edric.
He won’t let it continue.
She stands brown and naked in the sun. My heart catches, and the blood rushes to my skin. I resist the urge to sprint to her and grab her. No, then she will have won, and we both will have lost. She knows the power the sight of her has on me. Her erect nipples, the smooth curve of her hips, all lead my eyes to the thatch of dark hair between her two silky thighs. She is seduction pulling me slowly toward her. I meet her stare of mild derision. She beckons me. I move to her but do not acquiesce, not yet. That would be too easy. Nadia never likes it easy. My fingertips reach forward and gently graze the smooth skin of her neck. I lean in and kiss her softly. Gentle pressure, now here, now there, her neck, her finely crafted collarbone. Her nipple enters my mouth. She breaks away, then grabs me fiercely. We devour each other with mouths, eyes, and hands. We hug the contours of each other’s bodies. She sighs as my mouth tastes her inner thighs, then moves closer to her center . . .
We lie entangled in each other’s limbs just as we did on that day three years ago after the first time. The afternoon sun warms us, and sweat glistens on our bodies. I feel myself drifting into blissful slumber.
“We won’t be able to do that again for a while, love,” she whispers.
I pull myself from the brink of oblivion and prop myself on an elbow. “Are you hurt?”
She looks away, laughing, with a secret joke in her head.
“What?” I insist.
“Nothing, Little Lord,” she teases.
I grab her. “Well, I know it isn’t nothing!”
I kiss her in all the spots that I know torture her with pleasure. “Tell me,” I growl. She yelps and pushes me away. “Tell me!” I admonish again.
“It’s your birthday gift, my lord,” she says.
“I thought you just gave me my gift,” I say slyly.
“Oh, no. Not that.” Her sentence hangs in the air. The sound of the waves crashing and the summer breeze keeps it suspended. “I am with child,” she says quietly.
Everything drops to the ground. I’m numb. I’m terrified. I’m speechless. My heart pounds. I’m overjoyed. It can’t be true. What am I going to do? What’s going to happen? What of my father? He can’t know.
“Hey!” She pulls my face back toward her. She looks me in the eye, and I realize it’s going to be all right. Nothing matters but her and me. Not the island, not Phaestion, nor my father, nor my mother’s condition. None of it. Your life, all life, will end, the leviathan once told me. It does not matter. Me and her and a child, whether we live another five hundred years or another five minutes, now is all we have.
“Nadia, I will never leave you,” I whisper. She buries her head in my chest, and I know she feels safe. We lie that way forever.
Forever doesn’t last.
I’m awoken by the sound of ships. A fleet of black sondis sails on the clouds.
Nadia and I enter the manse. Many are already gathered for the Eventide festivities, but there are only a few moments to prepare. “Ready t
he room to receive guests,” I command. We set up a chair as a makeshift throne at the top of the foyer staircase. “My mother will be on the right, Nadia beside me on the left,” I direct.
These are not servants; they are simply friends, but there is no time for familiarity. I refuse to meet the interlopers with any sign of weakness.
“Gorham?” I call out. The old musician pads alongside me as the party scrambles to construct a welcome.
“At least twenty sondis bearing the crest of the leviathan have landed. They have docked, and soldiers have disembarked. We have word they’re coming through the town, making their way here. Spread the message that all townspeople are to stay inside with the doors shut. They are not to engage the invaders until they have been received by me. Send envoy to the soldiers. Make sure they arrive here for parlay.” I gently grip the old man’s shoulder. He nods and is off.
This is all happening too fast.
The chair is set, and my mother is brought beside me. I take my seat and reach my hand to hers. Her vacant stare doesn’t register the touch, but the contact isn’t for her. It’s for me. My remembrance of the woman she was gives me strength.
“Are you ready?” Nadia asks me as she stands proudly at my side.
“I’ll have to be,” I mutter.
The double doors of the manse open. Gorham steps forward. “Lord Edric Leontes of House Wusong-Leontes, two-time champion of the Combat.” He bows and steps out of the way barely in time to avoid being hit by my father coming through. He’s still tall and powerful, his pale hair now mostly silver. He strides forward, looking like a god in his flowing robes and armor. Off his left shoulder is Alberich, stout and grizzled as always. On his right is Edgaard, now at fourteen almost as tall as my father, though still lean and angular from boyhood. There’s no doubt, seeing them side by side, that this is his true son and heir.
My eyes connect with my brother’s for a moment. His sky-blue irises were once warm and full of wonder. Now I sense nothing, neither love nor hate. Alberich, too, holds no sign of acknowledgment. It appears I have no friends in this company. Behind them, soldiers wearing the blue and silver of House Leontes file in.
“You think to greet me as lord of the isle, do you?” Edric snarls.
I stand. “I greet you merely as I am, nothing more.”
“Edmon”—his tone is soft, deadly—“it’s time for this to end. You will return to House Wusong-Leontes to fulfill your duties. My governorship will be reestablished here on the isle.”
“I will not leave my people,” I say flatly. Edric never cared for nuance or pleasantry anyway.
I see the wave of anger pass across his face, but then, curiously, he bottles it.
He must have expected that I wouldn’t acquiesce.
Edgaard and Alberich shift uncomfortably at the confrontation. They know how to fight in an arena, but they have no stomach for the war of words that is politics.
“The responsibilities are not yours,” Edric says tightly. “They’re mine.”
“These are not your people,” I answer without hesitation. “They were my mother’s.” I gesture to the lifeless form in her chair, anger in my voice. “Now they’re mine. They need no governance from you.”
Does he want a weakling son, or a son that will stand and face him? Aren’t you proud, Father?
“Then they shall have none. That doesn’t change the fact that you will be leaving this day.”
“Shipped off to another noble house to be their training dummy while my mother is mutilated?” I ask, fists clenched.
Edgaard can no longer stand it. He steps forward, red-faced. “You’re lucky you weren’t imprisoned for shaming the honor our father bestowed on you!”
Edric raises his hand, signaling for his younger son to remain quiet.
Edgaard, he has twisted you far worse than he has me.
“No, Edmon,” Edric says calmly. “You won’t be returning to the comforts of House Julii.”
I snort at the mention of the comforts of my former imprisonment.
“Have you forgotten? You’re to be wed to the daughter of Old Wusong.” He smiles cruelly.
“Miranda,” I whisper.
I remember the day that Edgaard was named heir, and I was promised to the emperor’s daughter.
“You’re betrothed.” Edric grins wolfishly.
“In order to secure the fortune and power of House Wusong for you. There is one problem, Father,” I add with venom. “I’m not your heir. The emperor may have betrothed me to Lady Miranda that day, but you also disinherited me from my birthright. I’m your second illegitimate son. Is that not right?”
Edric tilts his head in acknowledgment.
“Old Wusong,” I say, “is a feeble old man. He no longer even attends councils of the High Synod. You’ve assumed his seat and power. Change the rules. Make Edgaard, your true son, claim the honors that go with the title you gave him.”
Edric grins dryly. “If Edgaard could take this burden, he would. He knows the responsibilities of family outweigh his personal desires, unlike you. The whole of Tao saw Old Wusong accept only you as consort to his daughter for reasons that pass my understanding. Even I cannot change this outcome, much as I would like, son.” The word is an epithet on his lips.
Why would Old Wusong demand that it be me that marry his daughter? Most probably the withered old prune enjoys tormenting his paladin.
“Wait until Old Wusong is dead,” I suggest, “then do whatever you like with his daughter and your son. Problem solved for us both. See? I do think of our family.”
“Do you?” he asks sardonically.
“Of course. I think of my true family here on Bone,” I add.
That was stupid, Edmon, I think. You’re facing the monster. Is it necessary to risk his wrath because you wish to cut him?
Edric grits his teeth and continues. “Wusong is old but very much alive. He has demanded that his daughter marry before the turn of the yearly cycle so that he may still be present to see it done. So return with us and take your vows to Lady Miranda. Afterward, I don’t care to think what will become of you.”
“You’d wish me to return to the isle?” I ask with suspicion. I make it a point not to say let me return to the isle. I want it known that he doesn’t let me do anything.
“When you acknowledge the rule of House Wusong-Leontes, you may return.”
Can I trust him? His offer makes sense for him. I don’t have to play actual husband to this Miranda Wusong, this stranger. Perhaps, in time, I may annul our union through the College of Electors. I’ll be absolved of all responsibilities as son of Edric Leontes, but only after this duty is executed. I’ll return to the island, but Bone will not ever be sovereign; my father is clear that I do not govern here. Perhaps Edgaard or maybe one of my hapless sisters will be overseer of affairs here. That’s as good as it is going to get.
Perhaps it’s fair. I can still live a quiet life here with Nadia and my child. I turn to my mother, who stares straight ahead, glassy-eyed. Do I see a stirring behind her gaze? A simmer of defiance? I turn to Nadia. Her dark eyes are as beautiful as ever, strong and proud. I survey the room. Gorham, Maestro Bertinelli, and the rest of them look on with a fire of determination.
I know what I must do.
“That will not be possible,” I say calmly. “I’m already promised to another.” I reach my hand out and feel Nadia’s cool, slender fingers grip my own. We aren’t married by the laws of Meridian, but what I’ve said is true enough. She’s mine, and I’m hers.
“I see.” My father’s lips purse tightly. The room goes silent. I feel the screws being twisted in the backs of both our brains.
Who will break first?
Edric exhales and says resignedly, “This certainly changes things, doesn’t it?”
He pauses. Everyone holds their breaths . . .
“Let us then put this behind us. If you’re indeed already married, Old Wusong will no longer see you fit to marry his daughter. He must accept anothe
r. Perhaps Edgaard. I see no reason why we shouldn’t then leave each other in peace, once and for all.”
The crowd smiles nervously in response. Is he sincere? Can I trust him?
“There’s still the matter to be settled of governance,” I say firmly, not quite believing this turn of events.
“In due time, we shall discuss plans for the isle’s future,” Edric says calmly. “First, though, it’s been a long trip. I ask that my company be allowed to rest, break bread, and enjoy the sunlight we’ve long been without.”
My father sounds, for the first time in all the aquagraphics I’ve ever seen of him, beaten, tired, and unwilling to fight. I nod. I am uneasy, but it is finally over—the enmity, the fighting. I will be disinherited and forever forgotten and will remain here on the island with my true family. It would be foolish to let my guard down, but if he’s making a genuine offer, time will bear it out.
“Agreed. See the guests situated. Prepare for the Eventide feast,” I call out. The islanders raise their voices with a cheer.
I turn to Nadia, who meets my gaze with a solemn smile. She leans and whispers in my ear, “Is that how you plan on proposing to me, Little Lord? If you’re asking to get married,” she teases, “you’re going to have to do much better than that if you want me to say yes.”
The rhythm of the drums pulses through our bodies. I pull her close to me. Our eyes connect. I spin her away. The crowd surrounding us on the dance floor whoops in excitement. Nadia runs toward me. I lift her off the ground as the song reaches climax. The crowd applauds. I gently lower her to the floor where she steps on tiptoes to meet my lips.
“They aren’t dancing,” she whispers.
Her eyes flick to the Nightsiders—Edric, Alberich, and Edgaard sitting in chairs at the head of a feast table. Alberich is stern with his arms folded across his barrel chest. Edgaard tentatively smiles as someone fills his cup. My father, however, sits with a large grin on his face, looking as if he actually enjoys the festivities. It is unsettling.
