by Kobe Bryant
“You’re going to have to do better than that to make Junior Epics, Princess,” Rovi called.
“I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself, Princess,” Castor echoed.
It seemed the only thing the two boys could agree upon was teasing her.
But Pretia wasn’t worried about them beating her. She didn’t care about Castor’s dislike for her talent. He wasn’t the boss of her.
Rovi was fifty yards from the finish, Castor on his tail. Pretia took a deep breath and then relaxed as she watched her shadow self sprint away, closing in on Rovi and Castor, running faster than her physical body ever could. Pretia’s shadow self moved without anxiety or doubt. It didn’t worry about her performance, the crowds, the results. It simply ran.
She passed Castor first, then Rovi a few steps before the finish line. She watched herself beat the boys. Then her physical body made it across, and her shadow self collided back into it and disappeared, leaving her whole again, doubled over and panting from her effort.
Rovi staggered after her and collapsed. “I knew you were going to do that. I knew it. It’s almost not—”
Pretia held up her hand. “Don’t tell me it’s not fair.”
Rovi bit his tongue. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s totally fair. You have to use whatever grana the gods gave you, right? But boy, wait until Vera sees how much you’ve improved over the summer.”
Pretia smiled at the mention of her other best friend. “If I know one thing about Vera Renovo,” she said, “it’s that she’s trained harder than all of us combined. And she’s probably improved more.”
Rovi laughed. But Castor’s face was sunken in a scowl.
“You cheated,” Castor said.
“Excuse me?” Pretia replied.
“You said you wouldn’t do that,” her cousin moaned.
“I didn’t say anything except that I’d try not to scare you,” Pretia said. “Sorry,” she added with a smile, pleased that she’d unnerved her bossy cousin. “Go again?”
“Sure,” Castor said. “But play fair this time.”
“I’m not breaking any rules, Castor.”
The kids readied themselves on the starting line. Rovi counted down. On “Go,” they took off. The three were even at the second turn. But Pretia could feel herself starting to lag. At the third turn she was several paces behind Castor and Rovi. She needed to dig deeper.
And just like before, the moment she needed to excel, her shadow self broke away. She watched her shadow sprint ahead. As her shadow self passed Castor, Pretia’s physical body felt a jolt. Castor had flung himself onto her shadow self, trying to restrain her.
Pretia’s entire body shuddered with the sensation of someone scraping her soul. But her shadow self didn’t seem to mind. It didn’t even slow as Castor held tight, his arms wrapped around her middle. Then, to her amazement, Pretia’s shadow self hoisted her cousin onto its back, and without missing a footfall, accelerated to the finish line ahead of Rovi.
Pretia felt the curious collision as her selves reunited. Her shadow self had dropped Castor, who lay on the track, staring up at her in astonishment. “What just happened?”
“I think Pretia carried you across the finish line,” Rovi said, “and still beat me.”
“But—” Castor began. “I don’t understand. How did you do that?”
“I don’t know,” Pretia admitted. She was pretty stunned.
“If you don’t know, then it’s got to be cheating,” Castor said.
“Why?” Pretia asked.
“Because you don’t understand what you can do,” her cousin said. “It’s dangerous.”
“There’s nothing dangerous about it,” Pretia said, helping him to his feet. “I was just giving you a friendly lift over the finish line.”
Castor was eyeing her sullenly. “I don’t like it.”
“I’m sure if I had chosen to represent House Relia, you’d have no problem with me splitting myself,” Pretia said.
“That’s exactly right,” boomed a voice across the Games Pit.
Pretia looked up to see her imposing uncle Janos standing on the stone bleachers. She was torn between rushing to greet him and staying where she was, remembering that the last time she’d seen her uncle he’d been praying to Hurell, the Fallen God. Or at least that’s what she thought he’d been doing. As the summer stretched on, she’d become less sure.
“If Pretia had chosen House Relia,” Janos continued, “we’d be thrilled by her talent. And one day she might compete for the Realists. She has every right to choose whatever team she wants to compete for. At the moment, she is a Dreamer, and an impressive one. You, too, Rovi Myrios. It seems you’ve learned some discipline over the summer.”
Rovi shuffled his feet and muttered something under his breath.
“I’m very impressed with both of you. Castor, you and our fellow Realists have your work cut out for you. Now let’s see you race again.”
Pretia had had three months to wonder about her final encounter with Janos at Ecrof. Eventually, she’d decided to take what he’d said to her at the time at face value—there were indeed things in her world that were beyond her own understanding. In fact, there were things about herself that she failed to comprehend. First of all, her position as the Child of Hope, the only royal born to both a Dreamer and a Realist parent. And second, the fact that her powerful grana allowed her to do something—split herself—that was only ever spoken about in rumors and legends.
“On your marks, get set, go!” Janos blew on the wooden whistle he always wore around his neck. This time Pretia didn’t wait until Rovi and Castor had nearly beaten her to split herself. She did so right from the start, beating them both by a full three seconds. It felt amazing.
“Wow,” Rovi said when he joined her across the finish. “Just wow.”
“Yeah, wow,” Castor said, although with slightly less enthusiasm than Rovi.
“Pretia!”
She looked up at the sound of her name. Her mother stood in the stone bleachers next to Janos, her arms folded across her chest. Pretia waved.
“Isn’t she awesome?” Rovi called. “She destroyed me in that last race!”
The queen ignored Rovi. “Pretia,” the queen called again. “Come up here immediately.”
“One more race,” Pretia replied.
“Yes, Helena, I’d like to see my best second years race again,” Janos said.
The queen turned and gave her brother a cold stare. “Janos, I need to speak to my daughter immediately. No more races.” The queen’s voice was firm and had an unfamiliar edge to it. “Pretia, get up here immediately.”
Pretia looked at Rovi and shrugged. Even Castor refrained from teasing her about being summoned by her mother. “See you at dinner. It’s in the Hall of Logic. Castor can show you.” Then she climbed the steps to join the queen.
Pretia was out of breath after the short, steep climb to where Queen Helena stood. “Did you see that?” she asked. “I totally crushed the boys.”
“I saw,” the queen said. “I don’t like it.”
“When I win?”
“When you split yourself.”
“What!” Pretia said, horrified. “That’s the best part.”
“It makes me uneasy,” the queen said. “It attracts attention.”
“Even Janos thinks it’s amazing,” Pretia said. “And I’m on the opposite team.”
Her mother began to ascend the steps out of the stadium. Pretia followed. “My brother doesn’t always have his priorities right. And, Pretia, let me remind you, you are not on any team.”
Pretia stopped walking. “Is this because I chose House Somni for my time at Ecrof and not your house?”
“No,” the queen said without turning around. “It is because of who you are. You are both Dreamer and Realist and therefore do not ha
ve a team. You are the—”
“Child of Hope,” Pretia grumbled.
“I don’t like that tone,” Queen Helena warned.
And I don’t like that all anyone cares about is that I will rule Epoca one day, Pretia thought to herself. I don’t care about ruling or uniting houses or being the child of anything. But she knew better than to say those things out loud.
“Sorry,” Pretia said. “It’s just all anyone ever talks to me about is something that’s going to happen when I’m older instead of what’s happening this year—the Junior Epics. I know I’ll have state responsibilities soon. But this is my life now.”
They had arrived at the upper level of the palace. “I’ve asked your father to join us in your rooms,” her mother said, ignoring her explanation.
“Why? Wh-what’s going on?” Pretia stammered.
“We’ll discuss it when we’re all together.” And before Pretia could object or ask any more questions, the queen headed straight for Pretia’s quarters, finding them with zero difficulty. She’d grown up in this palace, after all.
She held the door open for Pretia and stepped inside. Pretia followed her and sat on the bed, feeling as if she was in trouble for something she didn’t know she’d done. She racked her brain but came up with nothing.
Her mother sighed. “Pretia, you certainly have an impressive talent. But I don’t think it will serve you well.”
“Why not?”
The queen put a hand on Pretia’s shoulder. “Once you unleash your grana, you will most certainly be chosen for the Junior Epic Games.”
“But—but isn’t that the point?”
Queen Helena glanced at the door. “Where is your father?”
“I don’t understand—” Pretia began, but she was interrupted by the arrival of King Airos.
He took one look at Pretia and rushed to hug her.
“Do you know how much better she is than those boys out there in the Games Pit?” the queen asked, looking at Pretia’s father.
“I suspected,” he said. “In fact, I just heard that you carried your cousin across the finish line.”
“Part of me did,” Pretia admitted.
“You see?” Queen Helena said. “She’s exceptional. She’s bound to be chosen for the Junior Epic Team, and then it would be her duty to compete.”
“What’s wrong with that!” Pretia demanded.
The king and queen exchanged a look that filled Pretia with anxiety.
“We’ve learned that the Junior Epic Games are going to be held in Phoenis this year, as planned,” King Airos said. “We were hoping they’d relocate it.”
“Why? Phoenis is great! That’s where Rovi’s from—at least when he was a Star Stealer. I guess technically he’s from Cora Island. But in Phoenis he’ll have home-field advantage.”
The king took a deep breath. “The Star Stealers are exactly what’s wrong with Phoenis.”
“What do you mean? They’re harmless.”
“That’s what Rovi told you,” the queen said.
Now her father sighed. “That’s how I’ve always liked to think of them,” he admitted. “We’ve given them the benefit of the doubt until now. But there have been rumors.”
“Serious rumors, Pretia,” the queen added. “The Star Stealers have been rising up. They’ve been revolting against the authorities. You have to understand that gangs like Rovi’s pose a serious threat to Dreamers and Realists, since they don’t adhere to our rules.”
“They’re just kids!” Pretia exclaimed.
“There have been incidents,” the king explained. “Small riots. We’re afraid that they might try to stage something at the Junior Epic Games to challenge our authority. The Junior Epic Games set the stage for the Epic Games, which allow us to maintain peace in Epoca. They are a perfect setting for an attempt to undermine our centuries of tradition and rule.”
“In the last few months, the authorities have had to deal with them frequently,” the queen added.
“It’s happened before,” the king said. “The Junior Epic Games will bring a lot of attention to Phoenis. This could give the Star Stealers the platform they need to make a serious stand.”
“But Rovi has always told me all his gang ever did was steal what they need to survive. That’s it.”
“The Phoenician guards have been trying to control the situation,” the king continued. “But there are too many concerns.”
Once more Pretia looked from one parent to the other. “What kind of concerns?”
“For your safety,” her father said slowly. “Which is why your mother and I have decided you will not be allowed to participate in the Junior Epic Games this year.”
Pretia flopped back on the bed. She couldn’t even find the words for how angry she was. She bit her lip to restrain her anger. She knew showing her rage wouldn’t help her cause.
Her parents sat on either side of her. “Pretia, we are also going to have to forbid you from going to Ecrof,” the queen said, stroking her hair sympathetically.
Pretia felt a sick dread rise in her. “Why?”
“Cora Island is one of the few places in Epoca where things are slightly beyond our control,” the king explained. “As you know, it was once one of the holiest sites in our land—the magical last home of the gods.”
“I know,” Pretia said impatiently. Her anger welled up inside her.
“The only way to get to Cora is by means of Ecrof’s ship,” the king continued. “Not even your royal parents can reach you there. When you are on Cora, anything that happens is out of our hands.”
Pretia stared at her father uncomprehendingly. “So—so what? What do you think is going to happen?”
“If you display your talent for splitting yourself, you’ll undoubtedly make the Junior Epic Squad,” Helena said. “Then, by Epic ordinance, you will have to compete. There will be nothing we can do to prevent you from traveling to Phoenis. As you know, it is each citizen of Epoca’s duty to do whatever it takes to represent their house in Epic competitions.”
Pretia rolled over and buried her face in a pillow. “Except mine,” she muttered. She felt tears sting her eyes.
“There is more to life than sports,” the king said in his kindest voice.
“No, there isn’t,” Pretia insisted, lifting her head from the pillow.
She caught her parents exchanging a worried glance.
“Ruling Epoca is more important than sports,” the king said. “You are going to be a distinguished and unique ruler.”
“I’m eleven,” Pretia cried. “I don’t want to rule anything. I want to compete.”
“In time, that will change,” the king said.
“Don’t count on it,” Pretia said.
“Your birth is exceptional in all of Epoca. You are destined for greatness,” the queen said.
“But not Epic greatness,” Pretia said. All her parents ever thought about was ruling, ruling, ruling. They had never been serious competitive athletes. They had no idea what the rush of competition felt like.
“I’m sorry,” the king said. “Maybe things will be different in four years at the next Junior Epics.”
Pretia glared defiantly at her parents. She took a deep breath and leveled her voice. “If I don’t go back to Ecrof this year, I’ll fall behind, and I won’t make the team in four years, either.”
“And perhaps that is for the best, too,” Queen Helena said. “But what concerns us now is this year. And this year, it is unsafe for you to participate.”
“We love you too much to allow you to take such a risk,” the king said.
“And we must all put Epoca above our happiness,” Helena continued. “Since you are to rule one day, this is a lesson you must learn.”
Pretia was too upset to speak. She was almost too upset to breathe.
Her mother s
tood up and placed a kiss on the top of her head. Pretia watched in disbelief as she left the room.
Her father remained at her side. “One day this will just be a distant memory,” he said. “You can’t imagine it now, but someday you’ll forget all about this disappointment.”
Pretia bit her lip so hard it nearly bled. There was no way she would get over this. Ever.
“And, Pretia,” her father added, “I’m impressed by how you handled this news. Some children would have burst into tears and raged. But anger gets you nowhere. You showed remarkable restraint, and you behaved nobly. You behaved just like a princess.”
Pretia tried to find comfort in her father’s words, but inside she felt like anything but a calm, noble princess. And anyway, a princess was the absolute last thing she wanted to be.
2
ROVI
A FIGHT
Of course, the directions Castor had given Rovi to his room were purposely vague, and he got lost several times before eventually finding his way. Rovi couldn’t understand Pretia’s enthusiasm for the palace. The mazelike layout of Ponsit made his throat constrict and his heart beat too fast. He couldn’t breathe or focus in the labyrinthine rooms. He found that when he was enclosed in the walls, unable to see around corners or understand the layout of the terrain, his grana couldn’t guide him as it usually did. He felt helpless and lost.
When the dinner bell rang, it filled Rovi with panic. What if he couldn’t find the Hall of Logic? What if he got lost in the corridors and missed dinner? What if he wound up starving in the maze?
He twisted and turned through the palace. Twice he nearly gave up and returned to his quarters—not that he was convinced he could find them again. But suddenly he burst into a room in which the most impressive array of food he’d ever seen was spread out.
The Realists were known for their seafood, and it seemed as if everything in the entire ocean—lobsters, crabs, towers of mussels, glistening fish in a wild palette of colors from silver to orange—had been laid out on a table so long Rovi couldn’t see from one end to the next. He filled a plate and sat down across from Castor, the only familiar face in the hall.
