Song of Edmon Read online

  “Where’s my husband?”

  “Lord Edric is preparing for the ritual.”

  Lady Tandor lets out a sigh of exasperation.

  Edric is her husband? I thought my mother was the only woman who belonged to him, but that can’t be true if this painted lady claims to be his wife, too.

  Lady Tandor does not look at my mother. “I see Edric has invited all his whores to the proceedings then.”

  “Whores are paid, Zabeth. Therefore, theirs is the mark of pomp and finery.” My mother’s eyes skim Lady Tandor’s ostentatious gown. “Wives are those that bear heirs. That’s a lovely dress, though.” Her voice drips sarcasm.

  Lady Tandor scoffs. “It appears that after this ceremony, both of us will be little more than old laundry.”

  What does she mean, old laundry?

  I steal a glance at the little girl with the violet eyes. Lavinia looks back at me with the curiosity of a predatory bird, then turns away as if I’m a speck of dust not worth her gaze.

  Another sondi enters the chamber. It’s the color of burnished copper. The boarding ramp extends, and a curvaceous woman with auburn hair exits. Holding her hand is a toddler—a girl, maybe three years old. The child’s undoubtedly beautiful, even at this young age. Her face, however, is covered with so much paint that she looks like a clown to me.

  Alberich bows and kisses the auburn-haired woman’s hand. “Lady Tamara Calay, welcome.”

  The woman smiles broadly, and so does the toddler by her side. Lady Calay turns to the others. “Cleopatra. Lady Zabeth.”

  My mother smiles stiffly. Lady Tandor doesn’t even acknowledge the newcomers.

  “Now that you’re all here”—Alberich breaks the discomfort—“you’re to follow me to the main hall for the christening.”

  The christening?

  Moments later, we are packed into a pneumovator car that rockets us to the apex of the tower.

  I will see my father for the first time, I realize. I must look brave. I must look strong. I must make him and my mother proud.

  Lavinia catches me balling my fists and puffing out my chest. She snorts. My face turns bright red.

  I’m ignoring you! I think.

  The giant double doors open. The imperial throne room is huge, packed with people dressed in finery. They flank a lavish red carpet with gold embroidery that has been laid upon the marmoreal floor. I’m shoved forward next to Lavinia. Our procession remains in tight formation as we walk down the carpet toward the giant sea-ape throne raised upon a dais. The shades of the room have been opened to let the orange light of the half-lidded sun spill in.

  “Edric’s children. Look at them!” I hear whispers from the sea of blond-haired nobles. “He’s just an island blackhead, see!” One points.

  My skin may be light, but my hair is like a Daysider’s, thick and dark. They think I’m disgusting, I realize. They think I’m different.

  “Pay them no heed,” Lavinia whispers next to me without turning. Her violet gaze remains ever forward. “They know that we are their betters, no matter the color of our hair.”

  I nod, taking courage from her words. “Right,” I say.

  “Well, at least I am their better,” she adds, undercutting me.

  My father stands at the foot of the dais. I recognize him from the aquagraphics—Edric Leontes, the leviathan. I swallow, feeling like I have a rock in my throat when his ice-cold eyes pass over me. He looks so handsome and stern. His silvery hair is pulled back and braided around his shoulders. His granite face glows with pride.

  A wizened old man in green and gold robes sits upon the throne behind him. His wispy hair is covered by a pointed cap, and his eyes are narrowed slits. The tails of a gray mustache flow down to his chest. In a gnarled hand, he holds a cane of darkest cocolao wood. It’s capped by a silver dancing monkey, the sea ape, sigil of House Wusong. His eyes turn to us, and I feel my pulse quicken with fear.

  “Don’t be frightened,” Lavinia hisses. “Old Wusong isn’t like the emperors of the past. The Great Song, Tao’s founder, may be his ancestor, but the emperors ceded their authority to the High Synod in 815 P.F.C. when the Empress Boudika was forced to abdicate. This emperor never even entered the Combat! You probably didn’t know that, stupid.”

  “I’m not frightened,” I lie. “And I’m not stupid.” Still, I’m thankful for the uneasy ally. Lavinia might think the emperor does not have the power of the emperors of old, but as Alberich stops the procession, I can’t help but feel that we’re in the presence of a threat.

  We reach the foot of the great throne, and the seneschal bows deeply. My mother has her hand on the small of my back directing me, so I follow suit and bow along with everyone else. I feel dreadfully out of place and ill prepared.

  “Concubines and scions of House Leontes,” Alberich announces, then joins the ranks of the Leontes guard flanking the hall.

  “Lady Zabeth Tandor of the Tao-Trans Corporation and my daughter, Lady Lavinia Leontes.” Edric gestures to the cold porcelain woman and her daughter with the violet eyes. The emperor nods as Lady Tandor and Lavinia step forward. They curtsy.

  “Lady Tandor,” the old Patriarch croaks. “Your father’s manufacturing ensures the Banshee Rail connects all of Meridian. Your sondis and screamers let us reach the farthest Isles of Tao with ease. The honor is mine.”

  “Thank you, Old Wusong. My father hopes that you will see fit to grant him a deed to expand his leases past the Twilight Band and into the Nightside. We also hope the High Synod will revisit our family’s petition to enter the ranks of the Pantheon . . .”

  The emperor waves a gnarled hand. “Twelve families for the twelve regiments. Four high seats for the Great Song and his generals. No more. No less. That is the tradition.”

  Lady Tandor nods but does not give up. “Surely times change, Old Wusong. House Leontes was added . . .”

  “House Leontes was an exception.” He nods at my father, mildly annoyed. “When House Tandor presents a two-time champion of the Combat, your family’s petition may be reconsidered. For now, the imperial house abides by all decisions of the High Synod.”

  Lady Tandor purses her lips but bows her head in deference. The old man grins wickedly. I see his teeth are all painted black. The look is terrifying. My mother squeezes my hand, silently warning me not to make a sound.

  “A christening is not the place for politics,” Old Wusong croaks.

  “Forgive me, Grand Patriarch. I thought such events were about not much else.” Lady Tandoor smiles in return.

  Old Wusong cackles. “Perhaps! Though, some of us are more skilled at subtlety.”

  He turns his slitted gaze upon the girl at Lady Tandor’s side. “Lady Lavinia. What a pretty little thing you are.” Lavinia steps forward and curtsies. “Lady Lavinia. So wonderful you have received such a noble title. Though neither your father nor your mother was actually noble born.”

  I can’t pull my gaze from my father, his handsome features, his fearsome stature, but now I see him clench his jaw at the slight. This is the second time I’ve seen the emperor suggest my father’s ascension was anything but providence. The emperor likes to diminish him, I realize. Edric could snap the old man in half! Why doesn’t he?

  Once I asked my mother about Edric. She told me, “He’s stronger than anyone on this world, Edmon, yet feels he must forever conquer a society that views him as unworthy. He tries to be like them. They love him, but they will never fully accept him. Daysiders learned this lesson long ago—only be yourself. Do you understand?”

  Now, I understand. Edric wasn’t born of the nobility. He grew up in the arcologies. And, like me, he doesn’t want to be different.

  My sister’s voice snaps me back to the present. “Nobility isn’t blood in your veins, Grand Patriarch.” She startles everyone by challenging the old man. “It’s the blood you can spill from your enemy.”

  The old man’s shrewd eyes narrow. “Explain yourself, my lady.”

  Edric steps forward to
interrupt, but the emperor taps his cane, stopping my father in his tracks. The whole room is on edge. If he doesn’t like what Lavinia says, I don’t know what will happen. They could throw her to the fires of the Pavaka. My father, the man I’ve heard is stronger than all others, is powerless to do a thing.

  “It should be obvious to someone of your intelligence, Grand Patriarch.” Lavinia’s fine brows arch. “History is written by the victors. And victors can say whoever they want is noble.”

  “How old are you, girl?” Old Wusong rasps.

  “Thirteen, Grand Patriarch.”

  My mouth drops open. I feel my mother squeeze my hand again, so I stay quiet. Lavinia is so petite, I thought she was my age. I’m shocked by this revelation.

  Old Wusong strokes his wispy mustache. “What do you know of victory in battle, my lady?”

  “Conflict isn’t merely physical, Old Wusong. Every interaction is a battle. An exchange of words for instance.”

  Another moment of silence hangs thick. Anyone who speaks this way to the Grand Patriarch of the ruling houses of Tao must be insane.

  The man breaks the silence with a full belly laugh. “Thank you, my dear, for such a formidable lesson!” The old emperor addresses my father. “This one is clever and cunning, Leontes. She will make a fine addition to your household.”

  “Lavinia has already served as one of my scriveners, Grand Patriarch,” Edric says. “I hope she will continue to serve me through marriage to another great house.”

  “Do you have someone picked for her?” My father moves to answer, but Old Wusong cuts him off. “Be mindful that she always has meat to chew. Hunters are dangerous when hungry. Especially those who kill with their tongues.” The old man laughs. He turns back to Lady Tandor. “A pleasure, my lady.”

  Lady Tandor and Lavinia step back in line with the rest of the coterie.

  My father clears his throat. “Next my—”

  Old Wusong stamps his cane, cutting Edric off again. My father’s glacial eyes flash.

  Everyone has someone they serve, I realize. Even my father.

  “Step forward,” Old Wusong says, beckoning Lady Calay and her doll of a daughter. Lady Calay gracefully bows before the shriveled old man. Her child does the same. “I am Lady Tamara Calay of House Angevin, here to serve you, Grand Patriarch,” she says.

  “Beautiful and compliant,” Old Wusong muses. “What more could one want in a companion?”

  I feel my mother stiffen at my side. Lady Tandor practically sneers at the word compliant.

  “And who is this little figurine you bring, my lady?” Old Wusong asks.

  “This, Grand Patriarch, is my daughter, Lady Phoebe Leontes.” Lady Calay nudges her daughter forward. The little painted doll curtsies.

  “How old are you, Phoebe Leontes?” Old Wusong leans forward.

  “I’m three, Grand Pat-arch,” the little girl says.

  “Do you like chocolate, Phoebe?” Old Wusong grins.

  “What’s chocolate?” she asks innocently.

  Old Wusong snaps his fingers. A steward emerges from the bevy of bystanders and kneels before the girl. He holds in his hands a little square of a rich brown color.

  “Our new friends, arrived through the Fracture Point, have provided us with this delicacy. I’m told that the substance is manufactured according to a recipe of Ancient Earth.” The hall murmurs at this bit of news.

  My ears prick up at the mention of travelers and Ancient Earth. All my life I’ve dreamed of traveling to the different planets of the known universe. The Fracture Corridors, a series of interconnected cracks in the dark matter of the cosmos, make it possible. I hope someday I’ll see the stars, too. Not through the drowning lights of Meridian twilight, but through the portholes of a real rocket looking straight into unfiltered black.

  Be here and now, Edmon, I admonish myself. Still, chocolate. Something so small and silly opens my mind to a world of possibilities.

  Old Wusong waves Lady Calay and her daughter back into line. “Now, Leontes, your son. Your first son,” Old Wusong beckons.

  My mother gently nudges me front and center. We bow low before the throne.

  “Cleopatra Muse, how could I forget your exotic beauty?” I feel rather than hear an arrogant laugh hidden within his words. His eyes glide over my mother with a thirsty look, and I see my father’s hands flex open and closed with suppressed rage. The muscles of his forearms writhe, making the leviathan tattoos that snake along their length undulate. These tattoos are the mark of a Patriarch of the Pantheon. In my mind, I see a deep ocean and a battle between the sea dragon and a demonic, grinning sea monkey.

  “Many of us Nightsiders find your island people very attractive. I myself took a Daysider to bed on more than one occasion. Though, I never sired a child by her.” The emperor laughs.

  “A wise ruler embraces all her people, Daysider and Nightsider.” My mother nods deferentially to Edric upon the dais. “But my island name is of no great import, Grand Patriarch. It’s my son’s name that will be remembered.”

  Old Wusong’s narrow gaze falls upon me. I feel his look bore into me, through my skin, past my rib cage, to my heart. “What’s your name then, boy?” he asks softly.

  My mother’s hand grips my shoulder tightly.

  “You know my name,” I blurt, startled by the pressure. The crowd breathes a collective gasp. “I’m his son.” I point to the tall, pale warrior on the dais. My father’s eyes widen. Lavinia, behind me, suppresses a giggle.

  How could I have spoken so insolently? To Old Wusong? My cheeks are hot with embarrassment. My eyes dart back and forth over the pale faces of the murmuring crowd. They are all staring at me, whispering, laughing. I want to run home, dive into my bed, and cover my head with my pillow, but there is nowhere to escape. I am trapped.

  My gaze is pulled to a pair of steel-gray eyes in the crowd. They behold me not with derision but calm curiosity. The eyes belong to a boy, my age or thereabouts, dressed in a smart, black uniform. His skin is the color of alabaster. On his head is a silver circlet, and underneath, his thick, straight hair looks like molten flame. He returns my stare with a slight upward tilt of his chin conveying a sense of expectation.

  I deserve to be looked at, it seems to say.

  Strange. In this moment of utmost crisis, I find an anchor of calm in this boy. I have the unsettled feeling I am gazing into a distorted mirror, an alternate version of myself looking back.

  Old Wusong surprises the crowd by not skipping a beat at my insolence.

  “I do know your name, boy. When you were born, your father made much of it to everyone. ‘A worthy son and heir,’ birthed on the day the heavens opened with the Fracture Point. ‘A child of destiny,’ he boasted. But he has not said your name lately. Perhaps there’s nothing more to say about you?”

  I stay silent, not sure how to respond to this information. My father no longer speaks my name?

  “What say you, son of Leontes?” The old man leans forward on the sea-ape throne.

  I’m nervous, scared. I’ve already embarrassed myself. The old man is frightening. I wish I could fly to the stars where people know the secrets of chocolate and kind words.

  “Look me in the eye, boy. Didn’t your father teach you that?” Old Wusong says acidly.

  “He has not taught me much of anything, Grand Patriarch,” I say quietly. “I’m told I met him the day I was born, but I don’t remember it, and I’ve not seen him since. You say he no longer speaks my name?” Coldness tinges my voice, a bitterness I didn’t know was there, but I am not dissuaded. This time, I don’t look away. My mother’s hand behind me, Lavinia’s encouragement not to be frightened, the calm gaze of the strange fire-haired youth, somehow all push me forward. I become someone else in this moment.

  “You try and scare everyone, old man. But you don’t scare me. Why should I do what you or anyone else says?”

  “Edmon!” Edric shouts. His pale eyes are terrifying.

  The audience bursts into
a shocked hush of confusion and fear. I am going to die, I realize. My lower lip quivers. I bite down on it, causing the metallic taste of blood to enter my mouth.

  Old Wusong slams his staff to the marble floor, silencing the hall. My heart pounds.

  “You said he was not a warrior yet, Leontes. Yet he dares speak like this to the descendant of the Great Song,” the emperor hisses through black teeth. “Your father is a great Combat champion, Edmon Leontes. Will you fight in the games one day?”

  “No. I’m a musician!” I declare.

  The emperor stares for a moment and then laughs hysterically. The audience joins him.

  “Are you sure, Little Leontes?” the emperor asks through his gut-wrenching scorn. “It looks like you have more fight in you than you think!”

  The crowd chortles at the jest.

  “Lord Julii’s son’s not much older than you.” The emperor points to the boy with gray eyes and hair of flame. “He’s already fighting in the children’s bouts. What do you think of that?”

  I clock this—Lord Julii’s son. “Good for him!” I exclaim defiantly. “But he’s not better than me at the flute.”

  The audience laughs harder.

  “Can he ride a dolphin or catch fish? I know the sirens’ calls and the pattern of whale migrations. I’ve even taken a boat past the breaks myself to see them!”

  With each mention of my accomplishments, the audience only laughs more. All of them do, except one—the boy with red hair. His perfect features remain placid, though his eyes flash.

  There is danger there, I realize. His body tenses under his black-caped uniform.

  “Those are very important things, indeed.” The emperor grins sarcastically.

  “They matter on Bone,” I say with conviction, but I fear I’m grasping for purchase on a slope of derision, and only find myself sliding farther down. “They matter more than fighting . . .”

  Old Wusong taps his cane for silence, and the effect is immediate. Something I’ve said causes him to lean forward.

  “Why is that, Little Leontes?” he asks shrewdly. “Why do these things matter more than fighting?”