As we pushed our way back out from the secret hiding place, I was stunned by how dark it had gotten. Part of me was honestly relieved. The proximity had been stressful. I’d felt a constant anxiety that she expected me to do something. At the same time, I’d felt a dread that if I did do something, reach out to her, say something, that she wouldn’t respond. For all that relief, I had regret too. Being alone with her, being so close to her, had been exhilarating.

There was no sign of Zeb. But there wouldn’t have been sign of Zeb unless that’s how Zeb wanted it.

I suddenly stopped walking.

"Wait," I exclaimed, "we were meant to exchange secrets, but I gave you nothing!"

She smiled. "It’s not my place to receive, Tiberius. You’re chosen by the Griid. That’s... awe-inspiring."

Horrified at how I had just taken from her, I said, "No, it’s not fair. I need to give you something, something that can help."

She started walking again, and I moved with her. The arena had grown silent now. The workmen had gone home to be with their families. Or to the taverns to be with their ales.

I suddenly barked with excitement.

Katya looked at me, arching an eyebrow. "What do you have for me, Tiberius?"

I said. "Lord Baltizar was with my father today. He revealed what tomorrow's competition will involve."

Her eyes widened at this. I had provoked a rare response from her. She said. "That would more than pay me back for teaching you a mental trick."

I said. "Tomorrow is a race."

She screwed up her brow. "A race? Really? They’ll test our abilities to combat the enemies of Boston by having us race?"

I shook my head. "Not just a race. We will have to reclaim flags from a point outside the city and evade a gauntlet of mounted knights. The last two to return will be ejected."

Katya's expression grew more solemn. "The last two?" She seemed suddenly sad.

I didn't understand her sudden shift in mood. "What's wrong, Katya?"

She turned to me. "Then it is possible tomorrow that we will both lose our place in the competition and my dream could be dashed, to be neither Griidlord nor the wife of a Griidlord."

***

I approached the door to my father's house alone. Teh electric lights of the inner sector were humming away. Clouds of insects swarmed around them.

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Zeb appeared alongside me again. He said, “We done for the night? You got any more trists arrange, young master?

I shook my head. “No Zeb. Thank you. I won’t be out again.”

And like that, he was gone.

I opened the door. I was slightly anxious that my father would disapprove of my being out late.

I made my way upstairs, only thinking of bed. As I reached the landing, I heard voices and looked down the hall. At the end of the hall, I could see the door to my father's bedroom was open. He and Harold were moving around, talking. They were clearly lit by the electric lights. The rest of the house was dark, but the lights were on in his room.

Father caught a glimpse of me and beckoned. I walked down the hall, anxious and worried. He might be drunk, he might accost me again. My mind raced with the possibilities.

As I entered his room, I took in the opulent master bedroom of the house, the richest man in Boston. The furnishings were luxurious—plush carpets, intricately carved wooden furniture, a grand bed with heavy drapes. An electric viewing screen hung on the wall, dark and silent for now.

Suitcases lay open on the bed, clothes and papers being hastily arranged within. Father caught my look of concern and said, "I have to travel tomorrow, Tiberius. Whether you succeed or not, I need to put our empire back together after the ravages of the Horde."

I swallowed hard, not wanting to reveal how much it had meant to me that he had said he would be watching tomorrow. This man, who was my idol and yet barely a parent to me. He seemed to read my expression and added, "I will be there tomorrow. I have arranged travel with a Griidlord's footfield, but not until the afternoon. I wouldn't miss the chance to watch your triumph for anything, my son."

My mind at once rejected his comments. I was his son now that I was succeeding, but his support had been a ghost when I was barely fighting to remain in the Choosing. And yet, despite myself, I glowed at his attention and commitment.

He said, "I will see you compete tomorrow and then I will be away. I can't say for how long, but it is my sincere hope to be back to watch you the next day. Failing that, I will certainly be back after that."

"If I survive tomorrow's competition," I replied, my voice tinged with doubt.

His punch to my shoulder was part play, part male encouragement, and maybe a little bit of physical admonishment. He did punch my shoulder quite hard.

"That's behind you now, Tiberius. I know it. You're my son, and you've been trained by the best. The whole city is babbling about the commoner who stood against the sons of two nobles and left one sprawling. That was you, my boy. Gideon and Lance, two favorites, they tried to bushwhack you, and you were the one left standing. I have no doubt that you will still be in the show when I return, whenever that may be."

I could smell the whiskey on him as he spoke, and it dulled the sentiments a little to know these were the words of my drunken father.

He said, "Baltizar wants to see you again tomorrow."

The thought intimidated me. Baltizar's presence and interest were overwhelming, and the weight of his expectations loomed large. I nodded slowly, absorbing the information, the mixture of fear and pride swirling within me.

"He has plans for you, son," Father said, his voice carrying a mixture of pride and urgency. "Plans that could help you win this competition, plans that could see you doing things to make our family great, in a way even I never imagined."

I said, "Will Harold arrange things?"

Father looked at me, confused for a moment. Then he seemed to understand what I meant. He said, "Oh, you think he'll come here again? No, not likely. You've been invited to dine with him in the tower."