Six Branches

by Jeanne Allen

  “You should call him Prince Jackson,” Lucas prods, his eyes glinting with a dash more mischief than usual.

  I don’t want to embarrass Jackson, but Lucas has his Goblin smile out and even Sebastian silently encourages me, so I turn to where Jackson sits across the aisle from us.

  “Prince Jackson,” I begin innocently.

  The effect is instantaneous; his neck turns the color of fresh lobster, and even his court mask slips a bit as he turns to regard me.

  While really adorable, I quickly ask my question to distract the hyenas who surround me. “What can I expect when we arrive?”

  It’s an honest question. On the drive over, I wasn’t nervous. But between the words airport and private plane, I’ve grown apprehensive of what to expect.

  Jackson grabs at the bait, his neck returning to a lighter color. “I meant to talk about that with you; perhaps Sebastian and Lucas can fill you in on some. When we’re at cruising altitude, I will need to prepare you further.”

  I nod and turn to Sebastian, who loses the mischievous twinkle and reverts to his usual wise man persona. “You should expect a lot of curiosity. We’re a bit famous.”

  “Because of Jackson?”

  “That’s part of it, but any Omás containing a Royal is going to have a certain amount of notoriety. Especially a Royal from Region Two.”

  I nod again, remembering that Region Two, Canada, is the largest and most powerful Region.

  “We’re also a bit abnormal for an Omás,” Sebastian continues.

  Forrest snorts, Lucas laughs, and even Lyle makes a somewhat disbelieving sound.

  Lucas cuts in. “Abnormal? Try freak-of-nature.” He counts off their uniqueness on his fingers. “First, six is the highest number of Kladí an Agora can have, and it’s rare. Then, there’s the fact we’re all so close in age, save for Jin. That’s pretty unheard of as well.”

  He’s nearly shouting now, and from the faces of my other Kladí, it’s obvious this isn’t the first time this subject has come up.

  “And if that’s not enough, we’re not only from different Regions,” Lucas gestures to himself, Lyle, Jackson, and Jin—the non-Americans in my Omás. “But we also have Gifts in completely different types.”

  “What do you mean different types?”

  Forrest takes over from Lucas. “Each Gift falls into a different category. Warrior”—he point to Jackson—“Spirit”—to Lyle—“Mental”—to Lucas—“Beast,” he ends, pointing to himself. “There are others, too. Actually, nearly one hundred percent of the time, the Kladí of an Omás share Gifts of the same type. The other Kladí with Daisy, for example, will have Elemental-type Gifts like her own Ice Gift.”

  I notice he doesn’t mention which category Sebastian’s or Jin’s Gifts fall under, but when I turn to Sebastian, he shakes his head slightly. When Jin stays silent, staring out the window and ignoring the rest of us, I let it go.

  “What my brother and Forrest are trying to get at is our Omás is very unique and rare, not to mention powerful. We haven’t even Bonded yet, but most of the Phósopoi know us by name, if not by sight,” Lyle adds.

  “But Kira…” I start before getting cut off.

  “Kira,” Sebastian says, his eyes freezing to ice-blue, his voice laced with menace, “is a bitch.”

  I shudder, cold in the face of those eyes. After that, nobody adds anything to the conversation, and we settle back to wait for takeoff.

  About an hour into our flight, Jackson unbuckles himself and comes to kneel in front of me, taking my hands in his. “We need to do something before we land.”

  I stare at him in confusion. “What?”

  Jackson gestures for Lyle, who unbuckles his belt. He takes the same position as Jackson, kneeling in front of me and grabbing my knees instead of my hands.

  Lucas and Sebastian claim my arms.

  “What’s going on?” My voice cracks with nervousness.

  The air in the plane turns heavy, like we’re about to perform some kind of sacred rite. Do the Phósopoi have rituals? Of course, they do; every culture has rituals.

  “We don’t want more Kira’s trying to attack when they get a whiff of your power. So, we’re going to combine Lucas, Lyle, and Sebastian’s Gifts to hide your power level,” Jackson says with a matter-of-fact tone.

  “You—You can do that?” I didn’t think Kladí could combine powers. But I’m a newbie so what do I know?

  Jackson shakes his head. “Most Omás can’t combine powers. But we can.” He says it so simply, with no arrogance, and yet the words are prideful. Jackson is confident without even trying.

  “Haven’t you heard, Sweet Pea? We’re special.” Lucas winks at me.

  I laugh, albeit rather weakly, but it’s enough to relax me. I sit back in my chair and blink at Lyle.

  The three surrounding me close their eyes. My own widen as Lyle’s hands glow with a familiar soft blue light. Unlike last time, there’s no pain. In fact, the only indication they’re doing anything is the concentration on their faces.

  After a moment, it’s over. I don’t notice anything different about myself, but Jackson nods approvingly.

  Jin finally speaks up, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Nice job. They won’t see her coming.”

  Nobody else gets a chance to explain what Jin means, because as soon as Lyle and Jackson stand, the pilot tells us we’re going to land. Turning my head eagerly, I lean over Lucas for a better view, only to be disappointed.

  The only thing I see out of my little circular window is a vast expanse of clear blue water. No land, no island, and certainly no secret mutant city. “Where is it?”

  Lucas chuckles, and I get the full effect of his Goblin-eyes from my position. “How could an entire city go unnoticed in one of the most populated parts of Canada?”

  My face flames up again. Now that Lucas pointed it out, the idea is a bit ridiculous.

  Thankfully, Forrest takes pity on me and explains since Lucas seems content to leave me ignorant for his own amusement. “What we’re flying over now is Lake Ontario. Phóspolis takes up an island in the middle.”

  We descend right for the water, and I’m more than a little worried at the blasé attitude of the guys the closer we get to crashing. “But I don’t see anything!”

  “You won’t; not until we’ve been cleared,” Sebastian informs me. “Permission from the High King or Queen Jacqueline is required to enter the Island’s dome, which is why we took Jackson’s plane and not Jin’s. It’ll make things go much faster.”

  I’m about to comment on the amount of my Kladí with private aircraft when the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen pops into existence. Definitely not a quaint little village like I imagined. Eat your heart out, Belle. Then sheer terror overrides my amusing internal dialog.

  If everyone on that massive island is a mutant, there are far, far more Phósopoi than I ever imagined. A city comes into view the closer we get, roughly the size of Manhattan or Chicago—I’m not a great judge of city size. Bigger than Minneapolis, that’s for sure.

  For me, my home city’s skyline has always been the most beautiful, but Phóspolis takes the cake by far. As we fly close enough to make out buildings, Lucas leans back again, and I lean forward as far as my seatbelt allows, mesmerized by the sights and unashamed to be sprawled halfway in his lap.

  Intricate skyscrapers dot the cityscape; some twist into the sky with delicate lines while others stand tall and strong, like sentries built out of metal and a beautiful black and white stone that glistens in the sun. My breath catches at the effect.

  I squint at the traffic below us, cars weaving through the streets like in a dance. In the distance, rows and rows of houses make up a residential area, and even farther off, I barely make out monstrous mansions straight from some Hollywood estate tour.

  The plane veers right, heading toward a landing strip I spy on the other side of the island. The angle gives me an even better view of my new home. I catch myself at a gasp, and even Lucas
doesn’t make fun of my reaction.

  Instead, he takes my hand and brings it to his lips, his chocolate eyes full of things I can’t name. “Welcome to Phóspolis.”

  What he means is welcome home. This is where the Phósopoi come to be themselves without hiding. This is where their laws are made and their important events transpire. Our people may be scattered to every corner of the globe, but this city is the center.

  This is home.

  Chapter 9

  As soon as we land, men dressed in uniform fatigues of powder-blue and white, who Jackson casually refers to as Knights, escort us to several limos. Sebastian whispers to me that powder-blue and white are the colors of Region Two, which means Jackson’s mother sent these Knights to escort him. They have the look of seasoned warriors: stiff shoulders and stern faces.

  They only address Jackson, who slipped into his prince mask as soon as our feet hit the ground. I want to ask more about them, but I don’t want to seem ignorant in front of my Kladí’s… employees? I don’t know, but it seems prudent to wait until we have privacy.

  Instead, I use the forty-five minutes we spend in the limos to pester Sebastian about the city we drive through. I switch to Scholar mode, insatiably curious about the functionality of this hidden metropolis.

  Lucky for me, Sebastian likes teaching as much as I like learning. He’s more than happy to answer my questions about everything from infrastructure to water distribution.

  Turns out there are a lot more Phósopoi in the Canadian government than I expected. The whole not-aging thing would be suspicious, but Sebastian reminds me most public offices are for 4-8-year stints. This is how the Phósopoi, and their city, can remain a secret.

  They retain someone in certain positions who keeps the location of the city and knowledge of the Phósopoi under wraps. Phóspolis benefits from power, water, food, and other necessary imports from the mainland without anyone the wiser. Most of the citizens hold Canadian passports, but their place of birth is all doctored. Sebastian tries to help me understand how it all works, but my brain gets fuzzy the more he outlines the political maneuvering required.

  Thankfully, he switches to something more interesting, the city itself. “We have businesses like in any city: coffee shops, clothing stores, law firms, etc. But there are also Phósopoi-specific businesses based here that make their products and services available to other Regions as well,” he relays to me.

  Still trying to wade through all of the information, I barely manage a nod and smile.

  Lucas jumps in on the lesson. “Yeah, like there’s that store that sells updated IDs or the one that sells jewelry made out of ice that never melts.”

  My eyes widen, and I stare out the window at the buildings we pass, trying to figure out if they house these special businesses. Phóspolis is a city of both magical and modern conveniences, and the more the guys speak, the more excited I become at the prospect of living in such a dynamic place.

  Sebastian laughs at my gleaming eyes. “It’s not just you. Most Phósopoi want to live in or visit Phóspolis. Region Thirteen, which is the city itself, is the easiest region to travel to and the hardest to get a moving-permit for. Most residents have had family in the city for generations, or they get special permission.”

  Like the Agora and Bond-mates of a prince.

  Lucas adds, “Since most can’t live here, there are always visitors coming and going, but even the waitlist for the travel pass can be long.”

  Sebastian explains the process for obtaining a travel pass as we pull up in front of one of the mega-mansions I noticed from the airplane. I’d been too preoccupied with listening to Sebastian and Lucas to even realize we left the city for the residential area surrounding it.

  I have a hard time equating the monstrosity before me as something belonging in a residential area. More like the Lord’s Estate. The mansion is easily five stories, and the traditional Victorian architecture, complete with vine-encased brick, give it an antique look. I feel like I stepped into a Jane Austen novel, if Jane Austen wrote about mutants.

  A man walks down the winding path that runs from the front door to the circular driveway the limos dumped us on. His small stature and proper butler tails remind me of Alfred from Batman. The most noticeable part of him, however, are the wrinkles lining his round face.

  “Why is he old?” I whisper to Jackson, who comes to stand by me.

  His mask slips a little at my question, showing me a spark of fondness for the white-haired man. He grabs my hand, entwining our fingers. “Quincy is an Agora-less Kladí. His family has served us as Royal-Bonded Knights for generations. He started aging about fifty years ago, but as of yet, refuses to retire.”

  “I thought only the Agora can Bond with a Kladí?” I ask, shocked.

  “Only if that Kladí was born with an Agora,” Jackson amends.

  “What does that mean?” I whisper. I remember we had discussed this before, but I need more clarity and am desperate to get an answer before Quincy reaches us.

  “Those who are not born with an Agora need to Bond with a Royal Agora in order to stabilize their power. Otherwise they burn out and usually die before their thirtieth birthday. The Royal-Bond is magical, like the Agora-Bond, but not predestined. It can also have a time limit, which is however long the Kladí agrees to be contracted for service to his or her Royal.”

  Too flabbergasted to respond, I stay silent, watching as Quincy reaches us with an enthusiastic, “Prince Jackson!” and a bow worthy of any BBC period drama.

  Jackson gives him a nod in acknowledgement before drawing me forward. “Steward Quincy, this is Lady Rose, my Agora. You know the others.”

  “Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Rose. Our prince is blessed indeed to have an Agora of such rare beauty.” Quincy gives me a bow and sweeps his hand to include the rest of my Kladí in his welcome.

  My cheeks flame at his compliment, but luckily, he doesn’t seem to expect any kind of reply.

  Instead, he straightens his waistcoat and greets the rest of our Omás. “Master Blake, Master Taylor, Masters Wellington.”

  Quincy pauses when he reaches Jin. He squashes whatever emotion rose at the sight of my oldest Kladí and gives Jin a bow of respect as deep as Jackson’s. “Master Kim, welcome.”

  As he turns back to Jackson, I catch a glimpse of what he tried to hide: fear. He’s afraid of Jin but desperate not to show it. Jin was the Captain of the Elites, the High King’s Knights, for nearly a century. He earned the nickname The Assassin here in Phóspolis.

  I turn toward Jin. Should I be worried about his past? An assassin has enemies, and I don’t like the idea of Jin in danger. A sane person would worry about personal danger. Or at the very least, wonder how safe it is to date someone widely known as a killer. But that sane person hasn’t felt the sort of connection I have with my Kladí or gotten lost in those bottomless dark eyes.

  Besides, I have my own darkness to contend with. I can’t fault Jin for his.

  I silently take back everything I ever said about the girls in those romance novels who fall for the bad boy or some other violent character. I get it now. Some small, sadistic part of me delights in catching the fear in Quincy’s eyes; to know people fear Jin, who is mine. He’s dangerous but treats me like a treasure. A heady sense of privilege and pride trickles in at the steward’s reaction.

  It’s a weird thing to be happy about, and I shake it off as we walk up to the mansion. I already tie up enough darkness within me. I don’t need to add more.

  Once we enter the ornate double front doors, we step into an ostentatious foyer with a vaulted ceiling, forked staircase, and a crystal chandelier straight out of nineteenth century Paris. It’s magnificent and awe-inspiring; no doubt the purpose of such an elaborate entry room.

  Quincy cuts short my gawking by addressing us as a group, though his eyes remain on Jackson. “Masters, your Highness, you will be situated in the west wing residences.” He gestures to the stairs leading to
the left, then motions to the right staircase. “My Lady, I have you in the east wing master suite.”

  “Master suite? What about our host?” Confused, I look around. This has to be Jackson’s mother’s home. Staff milling about in powder-blue and white uniforms further proves my theory. “I don’t want to displace the queen.”

  When I focus back on Quincy, his face is aghast at my question. “I assure you, Lady Rose, Queen Jacqueline is quite happy with her suite in the Royal Residence. She has no need to keep rooms here.”

  I fight down my annoyance. Quincy seems condescending, but his formal posture and mannerisms make it hard to tell.

  Lucas grins at my widening eyes. “This is Jackson’s house.”

  I turn to Jackson. “You live here?” Later, I’ll probably be embarrassed by my shrill voice, but at the moment I’m too shocked to care.

  Jackson’s neck turns that special shade of cherry, the only indication my reaction to his home affects him. “Firstly, we live here. We are an Omás, as I told you before. We’re a family; what’s mine is now yours.”

  I frown, still not comfortable with the money part of our arrangement. It feels too unbalanced since I have nothing to offer the family coffers.

  “Secondly”—Jackson continues calmly, ignoring my pout—“I haven’t lived here until today. When I moved out of the Royal Residence, I took an apartment in the city. This house was built for my use when I found my Agora. It is to be our home for however long we wish to stay in the city.”

  I gesture to Quincy, wondering how he came to be here if Jackson never lived in the house until today.

  “Quincy is on loan from my mother until we can appoint a suitable steward for our Phóspolis residence.”

  Quincy nods and stands a bit straighter, every inch a man who securely ties his identity to his work.

  I attempt to run through the layers of information Jackson revealed, chief of which is the oh-so-casual mention of this being our Phóspolis residence. As in, there are others. I hope they’re not as fancy as this one, because I don’t think my kid-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks heart can take more than one of these.