“Many saw him leading the charge through the Garden of Megaera. Giving orders…” Wembleton paused, nodding at Flynn, “…protecting his fellow man.”
Flynn scowled. “What are my laurelites?”
“You are the Prince, the Giver of Gifts, and Friend to the Artist—”
“Friend to the Artist?” Flynn hissed.
“Yes, exactly.” Wembleton turned to Tobias. “You’ll enter with the others and proceed with your demonstration. Think of it as a moment to showcase your power.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Tobias said. “I don’t need an entrance.”
Wembleton’s face fell flat. “Pardon?”
“You can give it to Flynn. He’d be much better at it.”
Wembleton wavered, pursing his lips. “Artist, perhaps I haven’t been clear. This is not of your choosing. You are required to make an entrance.”
“I just don’t think I’m well-suited for it.”
“It’s what the people expect. You’re all fearsome soldiers, and you will dazzle them with your presence.” Wembleton’s stare became scathing. “And you will make an entrance like a proper man ought to.”
Tobias’s eyes shrank into slits. “A proper man—”
“He’ll make an entrance.” Orion gave Tobias’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll assist.”
“Wonderful.” Wembleton grinned. “How about we get to practicing, yes? Dragon, Shepherd, Artist—why don’t you work on your entrances, and we’ll reconvene afterward.”
The men broke into groups, though Tobias didn’t move, steadily seething. Orion took his arm, cocking his head at the nearby corridor. “Come.”
“But—”
“Off we go,” Orion mumbled.
He led Tobias from the atrium, practically dragging him along the way. Ushering Tobias into their chamber, Orion closed the door and set his staff aside. “All right. Your entrance…”
“Fuck the entrance.” Tobias tossed his staff onto his bed. “Fuck the whole damn Reverence!”
“Lower your voice, brother.”
“They treat us as things,” Tobias hissed. “We’re not men, we’re animals trained for entertainment. We kill one another, and they cheer. It’s savagery!”
Orion crossed his arms. “Have you finished?”
Tobias’s shoulders slumped. “You don’t care.”
“Of course I care. Any man with half his sense would care,” Orion said. “Unfortunately, most men of this tournament have nothing but air between their ears, so alas here we are, lamenting our state while the others rejoice in it.”
“This tournament is a mockery.”
“It is. But it’s a mockery we signed up for. So we will go out there as trained animals, and we will do it with a smile. Or in this case, a mighty roar. Whatever Wembleton called it.”
Tobias said nothing, his hands balled into fists.
“There is no honor in this tournament. It is merely a pageant dripping with blood.” Orion grabbed Tobias’s shoulder. “Know you’re not alone in your rage. But there is no logic in fighting for dignity. It was stripped of us from the start. Wembleton, the Proctor, and the Sovereign himself stopped seeing us as men long ago.”
Orion’s words were somber, yet to Tobias they were a relief simply because they were honest.
“Have you released your anger?” Orion said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. We’ll work on your entrance.” Orion plucked his staff from its resting place. “I had something in mind—simple, since I know you care little for this whole charade, but still enough to stir the crowd. My brothers and I used to do it at your age. You’re a strong man, you’ll have no issue at all. Does all that sound fair to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good man. Are you ready to learn?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why do you keep calling me sir?”
“I don’t know, it felt appropriate.”
Orion laughed, ruffling Tobias’s hair. “Loon.”
Tobias swatted Orion’s arm away before retrieving his staff from his bed. He stared at the makeshift spear—his staff of manhood—then glanced at Orion, who offered him a reassuring nod.
“You’re a smart man. Too smart to get caught up in all that horseshit Wembleton drones on about. Heed his words, play along, then once he slips away, those of us who know better will laugh at his expense, the stupid ass.”
Tobias chuckled, and what remained of his resentment faded away.
Orion held out his hand. “Brothers?”
Smiling, Tobias gave his hand a firm shake. “Brothers.”
Orion ambled through the chamber, clearing a space in its center, and meanwhile Tobias reveled in his brief release. Soon the room was large and open, a training ground for them to maneuver. Orion turned to Tobias, his staff in hand.
“And now, we practice.”
***
The fortress gates stood like giants, a barrier between the tournament and release. Tobias had expected this moment to feel different, had thought he’d claw at the wooden slats, desperate for freedom, but instead he lingered a safe distance away, listening to the muffled noise of the outside world.