Chapter 2

  Leo

  Leo and Bianca moaned in unison, her legs wrapped around his hips. Their breath came in heavy, shallow gasps. Leo hugged her tight. Bianca’s skin was as smooth as the silk sheets entwined around them.

  “Done already?” Bianca teased. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “I like to defy expectations,” Leo said with a smirk.

  “You certainly did. Though, perhaps I chose the wrong brother.”

  He rolled off her onto his back. “Karl or Nicco?”

  “Either.” Grinning, Bianca turned to her side. “Both are strong and broad-shouldered, whereas you are...”

  “A charming, generous lover,” Leo quipped with a raised brow.

  “Conceited apparently.”

  “You would grow bored with their conversations. They both talk of nothing but swords and tournaments.”

  “As opposed to your crass personality,” Bianca tickled his ear with her strawberry blond hair.

  Leo shrugged. “I’m beginning to think you may not love me.”

  Bianca pouted.

  “Bards claim the mind is key to a woman’s--”

  “Heart,” Bianca finished with a roll of her eyes.

  “--loins,” Leo corrected with a smirk. Bianca smacked him on the head with a pillow. “You’re flaring your nostrils.”

  Bianca’s hand covered her nose and mouth, muffling her voice. “Must you always be this intolerable?”

  “Only when you’re this beautiful.” Leo brushed back a lock of her hair.

  “Many men have told me so. What do you find so beautiful about me?” she held her finger up. “And don’t you dare say my eyes; men always say the eyes.”

  Damnit. But they were beautiful. “Your freckles are like constellations of stars.”

  “My mother insists I hide them with extra powder. She says they tarnish my beauty.”

  “She is wrong. They accentuate your beauty.” Leo sat up, stepped out of bed, and walked over to his underclothes and breeches. “Time to get dressed. We’re already late.” He pulled on his clothes.

  “A lady requires a great deal of time to make herself beautiful,” Bianca said.

  Leo leaned over and kissed her. “You’re already beautiful.” Leo turned, grabbed his shirt from the floor, slid it over his head, and fastened the buttons of his silk blue and black tunic. As he pulled on his soft black boots, his Medistein family signet ring scratched the leather.

  Gild framed paintings of grand battles, mighty deities, and pompous lords hung on the walls. Marble heads and busts stood on plinths. Heavy red curtains had been drawn aside, allowing the light to illuminate the glitzy chamber.

  Leo opened the window, letting in the cool dusk breeze and the smell of the sea. Tarona, a cosmopolitan city of towers, sprawled before him. He had seen the view hundreds of times. Tarona was his city. A city of squalor and splendor. Yet it still enthralled him. No other building in the empire was as high as the one he stood in, which stood over seven hundred feet tall.

  An accomplishment that had taken seven years to complete. At twenty-five years old, one might feel proud of such an accomplishment--yet he wanted more. The structure represented the culmination of expertise in his mastery of engineering and architecture. An icon that would withstand time long after his Essence exodus. A symbol of status and wealth for his family, the Medistein Tower.

  “Admiring the view?” Bianca asked.

  Leo turned toward her and smiled. “I prefer this one.”

  “Any other woman would blush at such a compliment.”

  “But you are not any other woman.”

  Bianca blushed, accepting that compliment. “I’ll be honest. I thought this tower was overly ambitious, even for you. What’s next?”

  “For now, I want to enjoy myself. Maybe I’ll sail the seas like my grandfather.”

  “I can understand that,” she wrapped herself in the sheet and walked over to him.

  Towers along the skyline depicted various architectural styles that jutted upward like grasping fingers reaching for the heavens. Atop the highest towers, the banner of the Free City of Tarona flew. Seven vertical stripes, three red and four white, one for each of the seven major guilds that ruled the city. A black silhouette of the Tarona tower skyline overlain the seven stripes.

  Leo wondered if they would change their banner given his tower had changed the wondrous city skyline. He intended to raise the issue with his father, who could address it with the city council. Tarona had a dozen main towers, and thrice as many smaller ones. Towers built over centuries, squared, round, with conical roofs. He could date many of the buildings based on their architectural designs. Buttresses, alcoves, arched bridges, drawbridges, and aqueducts connected the towers in the skies like the streets below. Some bridges suspended cargo nets on the sides for increased safety from falling accidents. Aqueducts wrapped around towers crossed atop bridges and fed into the sides of many buildings. Closing his eyes, he leaned out the window and imagined flying on a gryphon.

  “Which are you prouder of, the Medistein Tower or the Tellisium Cathedral in Ryvium?”

  “Each had its complications; each a unique accomplishment.”

  “But if you had to choose.”

  “I would choose this tower.”

  “So you choose yourself over god?”

  Leo considered the words. Down below, his guests had gathered in Tarona Plaza. People of various cultures walked among one another. Avicteans dominated the population, but copper-skinned Lyreans, Kaljer sailors, Vanavians clad in furs and leather, and even the occasional narrow-eyed Senkouese all celebrated together.

  Tarona’s twin harbors bordered the plaza to the east and west. Every available dock had a ship moored to it. Leo had spared no extravagance.

  Acrobats, jugglers, and dancers entertained the masses on the plaza. Vendors sold beer and sweet treats. Leo wanted the citizens of the city to share in the festivities. The upper classes--wealthy burghers, nobles, priests and acolytes--were admitted to Medistein Tower to enjoy a tour and the exotic extravagances celebrating his accomplishment.

  Why must she always bring up our differences? “The Primordials bequeathed, I live my life my way like the All-Father does yours. Are we not all selfish in that regard?”

  “Your father converted, so he must have seen things differently.”

  “My father converted out of greed. He simply wanted the Grand Vicar’s accounts.”

  “And yet you built a Tellisium cathedral.”

  Leo shrugged. “Someone in the family had to be Telliusian.”

  “Is that how you see it? Merely as a business venture?”

  “I suppose.”

  “What’s your opinion of thee Grand Vicar?”

  “Rodrigo is an interesting man.”

  “You’re deflecting,” Bianca said.

  Leo thought for a moment while returning to her. “He is a profitable friendship. I have you to thank for that.” He kissed her on the cheek.

  “I merely introduced you. Your charms did the rest. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t convert you after spending so much time with him.” Bianca’s fingers combed her hair. “Is Tellisium all that bad?”

  “Not bad, different. If I converted, it would break my mother’s heart.”

  “What about my heart?”

  “That’s not my intention.”

  Her smile weakened his knees. “You can make it up to me by convincing your father to allow me to study Essemancy under the Arch Magus.”

  Leo nodded. She kissed him gently on the lips. The breeze caught her scent, the sweet fruity floral of spring--cherry and peach blossoms with a hint of vanilla. “I promise, Peaches.”

  “Thank you.”

  Leo dampened his hands within the wash basin and attempted to comb his unkempt, dark, curly hair--it often found it had a will of its own. He looked at his reflection in the mirror one last time. Satisfied his hair couldn’t improve, he left his room and went to the lifts.

  Four water-powered lifts could be engaged with different levers which manipulated a gear assembly. Tower elevators often used mules like in a mill grinder. Unlike others who used windmills, he harnessed Avict Bay’s waters for power. Towers with lifts usually only had one. Functional, yet dazzling, one other detail that distinguished Medistein Towers’ greatness. The plumbing wound through the Under Quarter beneath the tower. It mimicked the construction beneath the Tellius Cathedral. All Tellisium churches had knee-deep water filling the nave. The unique aspect Leo had designed for the Ryvium Cathedral allowed the water to flow constantly and fed fountains from the Avic River.

  The lift shook and descended to the ground floor. He stepped out as soon as the lift doors opened. A bard with flaming red hair sang a song about dragon fire and an ice storm. People widely acclaimed the bard's songs across the empire. His talent was in high demand, but was notoriously slow at writing new songs. Leo recalled the bard had a difficult name to pronounce--something starting with a ‘Q’ or one of those silent letter fuckers, a ‘K’ of all things.

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  How and why silent letters came into existence Leo never understood. His grammar teacher at Arites Academy had lectured on the origin and history of language and Leo spent the lecture catching up on his sleep. He understood numbers more than letters: geometry, engineering, and banking, the useful languages of the world.

  Gathered aristocrats and nobles gossiped and gambled. Leo had arranged for numerous gaming tables for entertainment with his own house bankrolling the ad hoc casino setup within his home. Medistein Tower displayed its owners’ ostentatious wealth. Lavishly furnished with crystal stemware, foreign furniture, and perfect portraits painted across ceilings. Crown molding ringed every room.

  Leo hadn’t even gotten a drink before Grand Burgher Olaf Holzhaus, Guild Master of the Fabricators Guild, approached him. “Master Medistein,” Olaf said, stepping before him. Leo avoided his gaze, peering over each shoulder, desperate for aid. “What do you expect me to do with all the excess lumber and stone floating in the harbor?”

  “Sell it, build with it, burn it, preferably in that order.” Leo stepped to the side, but Olaf blocked his path.

  “I’m serious. These shipments were to supply materials for constructing this tower. A tower no longer requiring those materials.”

  “Very observant of you,” Leo said, dismissing his concerns. He peered over Olaf’s shoulder at Duchess Kirsa. “Your Grace,” Leo called out, stepping past Olaf. “It appears you need rescue.”

  “Rescue?” Kirsa said, confused. Kirsa Klor, dark-haired and freckled, was the Duchess of Micona. The Glade Bench capital seat of Micona.

  “Did I say you, Your Grace,” Leo tilted his head, “I meant me,” he pointed at himself. “Apologies. Allow me to make it up to you.” He grabbed the last wine glass from a nearby servant and gave it to her. “Aged twenty years, or so the merchant told me. Please enjoy yourself.”

  “Master Medistein,” Kirsa said, “can you inform your father I would like to speak with him?”

  “Unfortunately, he’s at the villa tonight, Your Grace.” He bowed slightly and turned his attention to a group of patrons staring upward, admiring the romanticized art of nude Primordial gods painted on the ceilings. The Medistein family had sponsored many artists and sculptures since his grandfather had begun the Essemancy Enlightenment. Nearby, a group of young maidens giggled at a nude sculpture of Avictus the Great.

  Leo turned over his shoulder. “What is so great about that?” The maidens blushed and giggled again.

  “Leo!” a voice called. He recognized the voice of his brother, Karl. Square jawed and broad shoulders. His younger, larger brother was captain of the Skywatch--Tarona’s City Watch. “This is more extravagant than the Imperial Day’s Octennial.” The recent event had been a dozenday of festivities, triumphs, and parades, celebrating eight centuries of Avictean Empire’s rule and the fifteen centuries since the prophet Tellius’s death.

  “Is it?” Leo asked. His hand stroked his chin, pretending to recall the event. “Who has time to remember yesterday, much less two months ago? Live in the moment, brother.” He clapped Karl on the shoulder.

  “You’ve mustered quite the selection of eligible ladies,” Karl prompted.

  “I was thinking of you. Surely even you can find yourself a mistress.”

  “Tarona is my mistress.”

  Leo laughed. “Twice the hassle and half the fun.” Karl pressed his lips together. “Is that for me?” Leo asked, pointing towards a glass of wine in Karl’s hand and stealing it. “Are you helping the servants now?”

  Karl frowned. “No. Must you always be a jackass?”

  “Understood. Not a servant.” Leo pointed his hand to emphasize his point. “Still just captain of the watch.” Leo tilted his head. “But is it wise for you to be drinking when duty lurks?” Leo turned and left him before Karl could answer.

  Risqué dancers with painted bodies stood on side stages. An aerial acrobat from the land of Senkou hung from the high vaulted ceiling, winding and spinning her way around a rope. Onlookers watched in wonder from the side balconies three floors up.

  A squeal of excitement followed by cheers stole his attention, and he turned toward the commotion. Contessa Calo--Countess of Tussen--applauded with giddy delight. A woman in her late teens surrounded by ladies-in-waiting. She had a striking appearance, young and beautiful, with long sandy brown hair that fell to the small of her back, her brown eyes with flecks of gold. Contessa had recently inherited her late father’s lands. She had also just won big at a gaming table of dice. Her ladies-in-waiting lingered behind. Leo’s father Otto insisted on inviting Countess Calo to the event. Otto was hoping for Leo to marry her, to bring a noble title to the Medistein name. Infatuated suitors lingered around Contessa bestowing compliments. Among them, Count Nicco Bizzi, lord of nearby Vacca, stood at Lady Contessa’s side. Leo had gold, but Nicco looked gold. Tanned bronze, lean and muscled, with golden hair and light blue eyes. One could have painted Nicco’s image alongside the Primordials on Leo’s ceiling, and he wouldn’t have looked out of place. Leo approached the table and tossed his coin purse down.

  “Lady Contessa,” Leo said. “I’ll wager this purse for a single night with you.”

  “You take me for some common whore to be bought?” Contessa asked with a raised brow.

  “Not at all, hence the wager.” He smiled. “A single roll of the dice. The highest number wins.”

  Contessa stared at the spilled gold tarins on the table. The head side of the tarin showed Tarona’s heraldry--a silhouette of Tarona’s skyline against seven vertical stripes and the motto ringed around the top edge--Progress through Merit. The tale’s side showed the Enthos League cog with the motto Perseverance Prospers ringing beneath it.

  Contessa’s eyes sparkled like gems. “You cannot expect me--”

  “A kiss then,” Leo interrupted.

  Her eyes flicked back to the spilled tarins, considering his offer. “A kiss,” she agreed.

  “Such conduct is unbecoming of a gentleman,” Nicco said.

  Leo shrugged at Nicco’s overly protective and rigid personality. Despite the invite, Nicco’s attendance honestly surprised him.

  “Ladies first,” Leo said. The stickman slid the two dice over to Contessa. She picked them up, shook and threw them. Everyone cheered. Leo glanced down at the table. The dice showed twelve; two and three-quarters a percent chance of occurring. Unbelievable. His smile turned to a frown.

  “It seems Fate and Fortune favor me,” Contessa said.

  Leo held up a finger. “I can still tie.” Contessa gestured with open hands for him to try. Leo gave a come here gesture, and the stickman slid him the dice. Tossing them, he rolled a two.

  “Voidhounds take me,” Leo cursed. Same odds, but a lower number. Gathered guests erupted in laughter and cheers as the stickman slid the purse of tarins toward Contessa.

  “Master Medistein,” Contessa said. She held out her hand, “a consolation prize.”

  Leo swaggered over, took her hand, and kissed it, staring upward into her eyes. “The consolation is losing to one as beautiful as you.” Contessa blushed.

  “Such a noble demeanor for a burgher,” one of her ladies in waiting said.

  Leo straightened up, feigning offense. “Noble. I hope not. Perhaps I am losing my touch.” Guest engulfed with laughter; he released Contessa’s hand. Leo was rich, but far from noble, and he preferred it that way.

  “A gentleman at best,” Nicco said.

  Leo glared at the noble. “Even that is generous of you, my lord. My grandfather Markus the Magnificent --”

  “Was a pirate,” Nicco finished. “Not a shred of honor, hardly a gentleman, much less a noble.”

  “We can’t all be like you, golden boy. Besides, the pirate life is much livelier,” Leo held his finger up. “And the Emperor sanctioned his piracy against the Julkan Emirates for the glory of the Empire.”

  “Such a noble endeavor, for one to face a foe so dangerous,” Contessa said.

  Nicco regarded her and frowned. “A pirate is a pirate, no matter how you cut it. They live by a creed bound to greed. A nobleman lives by the Five Sacred Virtues and Seven Tenants of the Chivalric Code.”

  “So many rules,” Leo said. “Tell me Nicco, do you abide by them all at once, or merely one per day a week?” The crowd roared with laughter.

  “What would Master Medistein, a virgin on the battlefield, know of virtue and chivalry?” Nicco asked.

  “I haven’t taken notes since I left the Academy.” A few patrons chuckled.

  “There will come a day when jokes won’t aid your avoidance of danger.”

  “I embrace danger, Nicco. I’ve climbed this great tower, with fierce winds threatening to topple me to my death.” A crowd gathered around. “I’ve jumped from the bridge in Ryvium, I’ve been at the mercy of the Grand Vicar, I’ve sailed the Avict Bay with Kaljer pirates in pursuit, I’ve negotiated my release with brigands, and fled through the windows of many maids at the sound of approaching lovers.”

  Some of the gathered men laughed, and others scowled, Nicco included. Maidens blushed and giggled.

  “There is no limit to your accomplishments, Master Medistein,” Contessa said.

  “Indeed, there isn’t,” he stepped over toward a marble pillar. From it hung the Medistein banner, red lozenges on a field of black. Styled after his grandfather’s Black Fleet, ship hulls were painted black with red sails. A pirate’s flag, Leo thought. He tore the banner down, snapping the fine string that held it. “For wherever you see the Medistein flag, you see perfection.” He draped the flag over the shoulders of Contessa. She blushed bright as a plum.

  “At it again, I see.” Leo recognized the voice of Bianca. From the corner of his eye, she approached and held out her hand. He kissed it, pulled her close, and whispered in her ear. “Dressed already, I must be losing my touch.”

  “I believe you said I required little cosmetics,” she whispered back.

  “And how right I was.”

  Bianca stepped away. “Nicco, what did I miss?”

  Nicco shrugged, “the usual narcissistic behavior, my lady.”

  Leo feigned offense as a young maid might. He dropped his jaw and bent his hand inward, gesturing to himself. Chuckles from nearby guests.

  “Mocking me is one thing, burgher, but I will not stand for you to dishonor Lady Bianca!” Nicco’s voice boomed off the domed ceiling, it’s acoustics aided his volume. Leo peered up and nodded with pride. The bard’s lute playing a singing abruptly ended. A hush fell over the room.

  A vein in Nicco’s neck bulged, and his tanned skin darkened scarlet. Nicco pulled the fingers from his glove and threw it down. The crowd gasped and spread outward. Nicco was a far superior swordsman. He had won many tournaments and was the reigning champion at the Centennial Celebration in Tarona. A tournament he had won in Bianca’s honor. Leo suspected Nicco intended to court her and Bianca had accepted Nicco’s compliments in the past.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Uncle Reinhard demanded, pushing through the crowd. Technically Reinhard was his great uncle--younger brother to Markus, but Leo always called him uncle.

  “Your nephew’s vile acts dishonor the virtuous Lady Bianca. I won’t tolerate it, especially from a woman whose favor I’ve recently gained.”

  “Two months ago is not recent.” Leo japed. The crowd laughed.

  Reinhard glared at him and looked at Bianca. She turned away, avoiding the confrontation.

  “Leo apologize--”

  “The chivalrous Lord Bizzi has issued a challenge,” Leo said. “His honor is at stake--”

  “Lady Bianca’s honor,” Nicco corrected through clenched teeth. “Do you accept?”

  Leo stooped and picked up the glove. “I accept.”

  The gathered guests gasped.

  “Tomorrow, at dawn.”

  Leo wasn’t a knight, but having practiced for over a decade with the sword instilled confidence in his abilities. “Tomorrow is so far off. Why must we wait? For what is a duel, if not entertainment?” Leo peddled. The crowd enthusiastically applauded. The cheers grew louder and the circle around the two men spread outward. Onlookers crowded the overlooking balconies and the grand spiral staircase.

  “I dare not spill the blood of my host,” Nicco said. “The All-Father disapproves of such things. However, if Master Medistein is so eager to fight, I will pray for forgiveness if we duel to first blood.”

  “How can I be sure you won’t break your sacred vow and kill me, anyway?” Leo raised a finger. “Perhaps we do the honorable thing and wait until tomorrow.”

  “Because I never lie.”

  “I’ve known many men to make such a claim, few to keep it.”

  “A man without a creed is no man at all.”

  Leo shook his head. “I find creeds as valuable as sand in a desert.”

  Nicco’s eyes pierced through him. “I swear on the Essence of Lorenzo and Isabella Bizzi should we cross swords today; I will honor the sacred laws of the All-Father and not kill you, merely bleed you.”

  Leo regarded his words. Nicco had a devout adherence to his faith. To swear on behalf of his dead parents ensured he spoke the truth, reaffirming Nicco’s reputation. The crowd waited in silence. Leo felt their eyes on him, the tense anticipation of his answer. Perhaps he had finally bitten off more than he could chew. It didn’t matter. Leo trusted in the gods. Refusing to allow anyone to upstage him at his own celebration. “Draw your sword,” Leo prompted.

  “Are you capable of spewing something other than liquor and lies?” Nicco asked.

  “Oh I don’t lie, but on occasion I have elaborated or omitted.” Laughter spread through the crowd. “Does that worry you count?”

  “Not the slightest. Draw your sword.”

  “Lord Nicco,” Reinhard said with sorrow and embarrassment, “I beg you, of all the times you two decide to settle this petty rivalry you choose now?” Hope filled Leo’s heart at the prospect Reinhard might temper such passions. If nothing else, at least mediate an honorable withdraw.

  “I do,” Nicco said and drew his sword. It hissed from its scabbard.

  Leo sighed. So much for Uncle’s persuasion. “I require a--” The ringing of another sword resounded within the chamber. His brother Karl stepped forward and handed Leo his sword.

  “Once again, your mouth gets you into trouble,” Karl whispered. “Fortunate for you I am still captain of the watch.”

  Leo leaned in and whispered as he took the sword. “What’s he doing? This was supposed to be a ruse for entertainment, nothing more.”

  Karl shrugged. “You remember how to use this? It’s like a pen--”

  “Funny,” Leo interrupted, not amused. “You sparred with Nicco dozens of times, right?”

  “Yes,” Karl stated.

  “Any weaknesses, tips, or tricks to be aware of?”

  Karl took the glove from Leo’s hand, pondered a moment. “Yes.” Karl slapped him on the shoulders and stepped back.

  “Most bewildering,” Leo said to himself.