FOURTEEN #2
Ivy strangles the walls of dormitories and various structures, so thick in places that it looks like the building is being pulled back into the ground.
Some of them are situated around a grassy knoll, although most are built on the fringes of a collection of stone arenas that seems much older than anything else around.
We pause at a postbox so I can drop my letters before Taliesin leads me to the closest building.
“Home sweet home,” he says.
“You don’t miss your real home?” I ask, staring at a statue by the door. It’s so battered by time that its face is nothing but a few vague dents.
“I was dumped on the Bellatorum steps when I was about four.”
He says it so cheerfully that his words hit a beat too late. “You were abandoned?”
“It’s how most conscripts wind up here.” He pushes open the door and almost collides with a gaggle of children wearing various mismatched armor.
My heart lurches. How many of them were abandoned, too?
Taliesin yanks me toward the wall as wooden swords continue to swing.
We’ve clearly interrupted something. “Stay here,” he orders me before striding into the fray.
The effect of his presence is instantaneous.
The wooden weapons hit the entry rugs with dull thumps as the children come to attention.
Only a handful keep fighting, too caught up in their game to notice his arrival.
Taliesin raises two fingers to his lips and looses an ear-splitting whistle. I wince, but it works.
“What have I told you about fighting in the foyer?” He winds his way through the kids, a single brow raised.
One of the littler ones lifts his chin and shouts, “If we break something, we’ll have to walk to Miradores and explain ourselves to Bishop.” He swallows like the thought horrifies him before squeaking, “Sir.”
Just his name is enough to spark the reaction, but it’s not fear on the boy’s face.
It’s respect.
“At least you remember that, even if you can’t seem to remember the rules.” Taliesin takes a deep breath, his face the definition of disappointment. He nods toward the door. “Take it outside.”
A chorus of yes sirs echoes as they grab their swords and rush out. The fight resumes as soon as they hit the top step, and I bite back a smile. Taliesin follows behind them, shaking his head and shouting more commands before he closes the door.
“So, this is where your love of fighting started.” It’s beginning to make sense. Although, it’s dangerous to imagine him as a boy with a wooden dagger, especially since I’m pretty sure he wants to kill me. “How many times did you make that walk to Miradores to explain breaking something?”
“I still hold the record,” he says with a smirk. “It’s a miracle that there’s anything left to break.”
That, I believe.
“This is the Commons,” he says as we pass a dozen open doorways, every room full of people of all ages.
Some in uniform, others in everyday clothing.
The whole place hums with energy. A boy no older than Andry races down the corridor, chased by a girl his age wielding a fireplace poker.
People cluster around tables in one room, playing cards in front of them.
In another, groups of conscripts pore over books.
“I thought this was a military base.”
“It is,” Taliesin says. “But no one fights all the time.”
He sounds a little sad about it.
It’s not what I expected. Neither is Taliesin, if I’m being honest. But I keep my guard up. A few lighthearted stories and a walk don’t absolve him from what he said to Bishop last night.
He leads me through a back exit into a large courtyard that looks over the rest of the complex. He points to a dormitory choked with ivy. “That’s where the youngest ones live.”
“How young?” I ask, remembering what he told me about how he wound up here.
“We don’t have anyone under five, last I checked.”
“Five? That’s too young for conscription.” I know what he told me before, but seeing it—knowing families abandoned their own children to a lifetime of fighting—is different.
“It’s not really conscription. Classes start when they’re six. No one starts training until they’re twelve. Before that, it’s all books and games and learning how to not be a jackass.”
He must have missed some of those lessons.
There are three more dormitories, several other buildings devoted to education, a gymnasium, and various training facilities, both indoor and outdoor, all teeming with activity.
I strain to watch a sparring match happening in one of the distant arenas carved from stone ruins.
But Taliesin directs me into the dining hall.
Rows of tables and chairs are set up in precise formation.
Banners hang from the rafters, each bearing the symbol of Order Marius.
Only a handful of people are eating at this hour. Heads turn as we pass. Some stare, others whisper.
“Your reputation precedes you,” Taliesin says. I can’t quite tell if he’s teasing me or warning me.
He waves to a woman in the kitchen, who responds by pelting him with a bread roll. He catches it one-handed, tears it in two, and offers me the bigger half. “Best bread in Antares.”
I accept it but wait for him to take a bite first.
“It’s not poisoned,” he says, ripping into it with his teeth. “I’d never waste good bread on an assassination attempt.”
That makes two of us. We really might get along if it wasn’t impossible to trust each other. But I try it. He’s right. It’s perfect—soft and warm and sweet. I don’t stop him when he charms the kitchen into giving us each another one.
We visit a few classrooms next, each more impressive than the last. Walls are lined with maps and diagrams. Shelves sag under the weight of books.
“Everyone takes classes?” I ask, peeking into a room of young adults frantically jotting down notes as a man in uniform lectures from a pulpit.
Taliesin nods. “Math, reading, how not to blow yourself up the first time you’re trusted with Marius magic,” he whispers. “The younger you arrive, the more education you receive, but everyone is expected to be literate before they join the ranks.”
In the next classroom, a girl is reading aloud to a cluster of younger kids. Her voice is soft but clear, and every pair of eyes is glued to her.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Taliesin says when he catches me staring. “We can’t ask them to fight without making sure they know what they’re fighting for.”
“That’s probably easier to do when there hasn’t been a war in five hundred years,” I point out.
A shadow moves over him. “There are plenty of dangers facing Antares, even without war.” He pauses, his eyes darting back to the room full of children. “But they’ll be ready when war comes.”
I hear the resignation in his voice, as though war is inevitable.
I wonder if he felt this way a month ago.
A year ago. Or if my presence is responsible for the haunted look in his eyes.
I push the thought away. Once the king’s assassin is caught, once people know the truth, this talk of war will die down. It has to.
I change the subject back to Taliesin’s favorite topic: himself. “I thought you fought because you liked it.”
“I do.” He winks. “But between us, I hate the idea of them fighting.”
Part of me wants to believe him. Part of me longs to. But belief leads to trust, and trust is the last thing I can give anyone who wears the symbol of Order Marius.
The last stop is the dormitory for senior conscripts—the ones who will soon be given a rank.
It’s quieter here, as if to prove the years of training and discipline actually work.
A few people pause to salute Taliesin before hurrying off, eyeing me over their shoulders with curiosity.
This might be a tour, but I get the distinct impression that in this building, I’m the one on display.
Taliesin takes me to another common room, where a group of conscripts is playing a frantic game, tossing cards face down and grabbing more off a stack. All while shouting at one another. Silver crowns are scattered in the center of the table. We linger in the doorway and watch the chaos.
“People are always playing Liar’s Hand,” he says.
“My parents used to play with friends, but I never learned,” I admit, feeling a slight pang.
Someone slaps the table, laughing. “Call it. Liar’s Hand or not?”
This sets off a passionate debate.
“You don’t win by having the best cards,” Taliesin whispers as they argue. “You win by convincing everyone else that you do.”
He motions for me to follow him inside. But as soon as we step into the room, the conversation dies.
A tall woman about my age, brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, looks me over, then scowls. “Who is this?”
“A friend,” Taliesin says without missing a beat. Maybe he should be playing their game.
A bearded conscript holds up his fanned cards. “Care to join us?”
“You can’t afford to play me.” Taliesin smiles, teeth flashing.
“Not if you won’t give me a chance to win my money back.” The conscript glances over at me. “What about you?”
“I didn’t bring any money.” And the last thing I need is to risk making any actual friends here.
“Taliesin will spot you,” the one with the ponytail says. She gives him a look that suggests she knows him well enough to expect this.
Taliesin pales slightly, but he shakes his head. “Sorry, we can’t stay.” He grabs my arm and tugs me away.
“Sooooo,” I say as soon as we’re far enough from the door, “is she the one who poisoned you?”
“I’d rather not say.” He glances behind him like he might find her standing there.
I make a show of pretending to turn around. “On second thought, maybe I do want to play.”
“I beg you … no.”
I laugh but follow him out.
We make our way back through the main corridor and, for a moment, I forget that I’m supposed to be watching for the trap to spring. For a moment, I almost feel like I’ve spent the afternoon with a friend—until I remember he wants me dead.
But then we step outside, pass a bathhouse, and enter a training arena, and the illusion shatters.