Chapter 55

As I walked back to my father's house, my mind was decidedly unsettled. The thought of joining the two girls socially was obviously exciting. But.. My anxiety remained heightened. I didn't know how to talk to them in the brief exchanges we had had. How was I going to sustain a conversation?

The streets were busier than any night so far. The city swelled with visitors. The Choosing was an economic shot in the arm for the city. Hotels and boarding houses were overflowing. The eateries had lines outside. Every tavern, in every sector, that I passed was exploding with the sounds of revelry. The streets were filled with the smells of new foods. Vendors had joined the crowds that flowed into the cities and strange spiced aromas flooded me.

Even as I walked through the inner sector I found that the sober veil of propriety had been cast aside. The wine bars and restaurants were crowded, and the sounds of revelry were more exuberant than I was used to on these finer streets.

Part of me kept asking why I had agreed to go with them. They were my opponents. They were nobles. But that other stubborn part was quite insistent that this was the only course I could take without later hating myself. They had invited Gideon as well, but he had brushed them off.

What would it be like to spend time with Lauren and Katya outside the arena? I had already formed an attachment to each of them. Was it dangerous to let that deepen?

I thought on both of them as I walked. Lauren, beautiful, long-legged, curvaceous. I thought about how her placid face had transformed from one that looked upon me with dispassionate disinterest to one that smiled with growing fondness. Katya, all energy, completely unconventional in this world. She was intoxicatingly attractive. What part of my young mind could really refuse a chance to be near either of them, let alone both?

Passersby recognized me as I walked. I imagined Zeb following. Even his coolness would be tested by the crowds and the attention they paid me.

There were hoots of "Knock 'em dead", a snip of "Our Champion", and some scattered curses from those who had lost wagers. When someone pressed too close, attempted to engage me at more length, Zeb appeared. None argued, not commoner or noble, when his huge form stepped between them and I.

As I entered my father's house, Harold greeted me. "Good evening, Master Tiberius. Your father has not yet returned."

I wasn't bothered by this. In fact, I was relieved. He might have objected to my outing. I made my way inside. Harold seemed to notice my dreamy detachment as I moved by him. An eyebrow raised ever so slightly as he looked at me. I barely noticed.

In my room, I changed into social clothes. I chose some things that were more comfortable and less imposing than my usual attire.

As I buttoned my shirt, I glanced at myself in the mirror. Tonight, I would be Tiberius the young man, not Tiberius the competitor. At least for a little while. And almost for the first time.

I had never done this before. My life could be divided into three segments. My youngest memories, vague and decayed by the illness that would take me. These were nothing but discordant fragments of images of my mother, our little home, the dirtiness and hunger. The years I spent, my limbs held in the grip of neurological illness, barely able to walk from my bed to the bathroom, my only friends had been books. And the last years, the life of a soldier, vainly trying to make up for lost time with an existence that was only training.

I descended the stairs. My stomach was aflutter with excitement and nervousness. I felt such a fool to have such feelings.

Harold noticed me immediately. His keen eyes missed nothing and my current attire was far from my norm.

"Do we have plans, young master?" he asked. He watched me, allowing an unusual amount of emotion to effect his expression.

"There's no competition tomorrow," I replied. "I thought I might go out for a while, clear my head."

Harold frowned slightly. "I'm not sure your father would approve."

"But you're not sure he wouldn’t approve either," I countered. I tried to show him a confidence that was really at total odds with my true feelings. "So I guess that means I'm going."

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Harold assessed me, his expression thoughtful. This was unusual for me; my life had been separate from others my age, and Harold had never known me to have friends. I think he could have stopped me; he had enough paternal credits in my account that if he had banned me from leaving, I would probably have returned to my room. Instead, he seemed to smile, a rare display of warmth.

He looked me up and down. "And is it young lady Oakcrest or the Princess you will be seeing tonight?"

I blushed, stammered, then found my voice. "Both of them, if you must ask."

Harold suppressed a broader smile but briefly failed. He approached me and straightened my collar. "Don't be the one to buy the first round, young master."

I looked at him strangely, and he just looked right back, his eyes twinkling with some unspoken wisdom.

"Well, young master..." He cleared his throat. "I'll make sure the cook leaves some food for you, should you want to eat upon your return."

"Thanks, Harold," I said. I didn't enjoy the way he was looking at me. I felt like he was reading my mind.

I opened the door. I resisted the urge to take a deep breath as my foot moved forward.

But Harold called my name, softly. I turned to look back at him.

"Tiberius," he said, using my first name. His eyes were earnest. At the time I couldn't understand his emotions. "Do have some fun."

***

We had arranged to meet in a tavern in the first sector. The son of Boston's wealthiest merchant, the daughter of a noble house, and a certifiable member of the royal line of Miami could hardly have passed the time in a dive bar in the outer parts of the city.

The tavern in question boasted all of the comforts of a first-sector establishment. The drinks were refrigerated, air was massaged by machinery, the lights were dimmed and colored and, of course, electric. But the decor liked to play the more primitive aspects of our society. Suits of armor stood like statues in the corners of the room, the mounted heads of animals (and even some fiends) adorned the walls. The furniture was all dark polished wood, and plastered stonework dressed the interior walls. This was where the wealthiest people in the city came to pay astonishing prices, what would have been a day's wages to a peasant, for each drink. And they liked to do so in a setting that made a bizarre effort at mimicking the setting in which those same poor folk spent their time.

As I entered, the noise hit me like a wave. The music was too loud. The piece that was playing was a modern symphony of harsh electric noises that did little for me. Viewscreens lined the walls, replaying highlights from the day's Choosing. I grimaced as I looked up to watch Lance putting me down hard. The next clip was a slow-motion replay of the same action. The crowd booed as they watched him defeat me. I would have joined them, but the sight of the scene made my fists tremble.

Navigating the bar was a challenge. I was unaccustomed to being out this late. The tavern was extra crowded with the influx of visitors here to witness The Choosing. I side-stepped and shuffled around the mess of bodies. Hands reached out to pat my back or shake my hand as I moved. Zeb must have been having a heart attack.

"Hey, it's the shopkeeper!"

"Good job today, Tiberius!"

"You're the people's champion!"

There were drunken experts here as well. One man leaned over, almost falling from his barstool, and wisely informed me, "Should've seen that BEAM coming, kid!"

Another, swaying and glassy-eyed, put a hand on my chest to stop me. Sagely, he said, "Next time, don't let Lance get the drop on you!"

I smiled and fought the urge to roll my eyes. Why hadn't I thought of that?

Despite it all, the atmosphere made me feel strangely excited. All these people, living their lives, spending their time so freely. I had never had the chance. The place was alien to me, but the thought that this could be a fixture in someone's existence made me wonder.

Several barkeeps moved behind the counter. They were clearly swamped by the weight of the orders being presented to them. Glass after glass was placed on the counter, too often too quickly. The dark wood was spotted with puddles of spilled drinks. Barmaids moved more easily than I through the crowd, even with their arms laden with glasses. I watched a young woman move, a stack of 10 glasses, each inside the other, held in the crook of her arm. She moved so easily with the burden. I shook my head in disbelief.

I eventually weaved my way through the crowded tavern and found the faces I sought in the sea of strangers.

Lauren and Katya sat at a small table, a third empty chair opposite them. I wondered at their ability to talk so intimately. Their heads were close together as they tried to hear each other over the terrible din of the bar. Lauren was dressed as I would have expected, looking like a radiant goddess in a long shimmering gown. The dress displayed her form more completely than any other attire I had ever seen her wear. I had to consciously control my gaze to keep it from traveling down her body.

Katya surprised me. She too, was wearing a dress. Gone, for the night, were riding clothes and loose shirts. I gulped as my male gaze defied me, eating in her own beautiful curves.

I saw that they had started without me, Katya knocked back the rest of her drink and stared at me, those deep dark eyes dragging my soul from my body.

“I’m going to get another round, what’ll it be?”