3. Chapter Three: Luka

The sun casts long shadows over Cesscounthe as Luka hurries home.

Autumn afternoons in Cesscounthe fade quickly to evening, and Luka needs to be back by dinnertime. His mother will be disappointed that he hasn't stayed in the competitor's apartments, but he has already dealt with his defeated opponent (thoroughly) and the thought of spending another night in that glass box, tucked against the naked stars, brings bile to the back of his throat.

So instead, Luka dodges paper-runners and ducks his head, skipping past the bustling markets and the glowing lanterns of the spices district, ignoring the beckoning call of peppermint and instead taking the back alleyways. Here, the cobblestone juts, tooth-like, sprigs of wildflower and dandelion cutting through the early autumn chill, barely lit by the glow of residential apartments and flickering sconces.

Luka stumbles twice, half-blinded by the hood of his cloak, but he needs the anonymity. It's such a relief to be out of the unfamiliar heat of the spotlight – his mother has surely received her needed fame for the day. Now Luka can retreat into the life he once had, like a snake returning to shed skin; it might not fit quite right anymore, but it feels so much like home, he doesn't care.

By the time Luka crosses the primary shopping plaza and reaches the Abraxi District, the noble residential quarter, it's nearly dark and he's nearly late. The newly instated curfew draws tight like a noose. He finds himself outside the gates of the Lockehart compound panting, sweat gathering at the back of his neck beneath his velvet cloak. He crunches across fallen leaves as he takes the hidden side door. No need to make a grand entrance.

The Lockehart compound matches its neighbors – enormous, often cold, and bone-white, there are no distinguishing features to set it apart from the other residences in Abraxi beyond the emblem carved on its white beech doors: a clenched hand wielding a long tooth. It is the only sign that remains of the Lockehart's legacy, a legacy Luka knows his family would much rather live without.

And if not for Luka, centuries more might have passed before the Lockehart family had to be reminded of their roots. If not for Luka, his family wouldn't have to worry about sideways glances from the neighbors and whispered rumors – rumors that chased him through his childhood, rumors that saw to locking him away until he was finally fit to be seen.

Things would be much easier without Luka – which is why he needs to win this tournament.

Luka shakes himself as he enters the courtyard. It's dimly lit by lanterns and heavily shadowed by perfectly groomed maples and crape myrtles. Fallen flowers line the manicured cobblestone, sparks of pink and red against the white. This had been his favorite place as a child – right there, next to the tiny pond, where the gurgle of water and the bubble of the scarlet koi had been his only companions beyond the warmed wood of his Cesse set.

"Framellio!" a high-pitched voice cries, and Luka's head snaps up.

His heart warms and an almost painful smile stretches his cheeks – all lessons from his tutors on emotional control forgotten – as Cassian rushes from the house.

Small for his age and always laughing, Cassian looks more like their mother than he does their father; his dark hair spirals in tight curls, his eyes a deep brown. Even his skin, pale in the winter, freckles in the summer, same as Linne.

He runs to Luka, wrapping his arms around Luka's leg and pressing his face against the soft leather. "Framellio – we didn't know you were coming home today!"

Luka hefts his brother up with a grunt, holding him close and breathing him in – honeydew from an early stolen dessert and sage from the Cesse room. Cassian has been practicing.

"Have you gotten even bigger?" Luka asks as he tosses a squealing Cassian about. His brother writhes, wiggly as a snake, in reply.

"Luka."

His mother's voice is always a cold slap of reality.

Linne stands in the doorway, backlit by the dining room, face cast in grim shadow. The sweet smell of roasted pork and the bitter of freshly picked herbs sweeps around her, drawing a growl from Luka's stomach.

Luka places his brother down and Cassian giggles, wrapping himself around Luka's leg. "Carry me!" he chimes when Luka tries to take a step forward.

"Cassian, you're too old for that," Linne chides, crossing her arms. "Go inside. You'll need to wash up."

"Again? But –"

"Cassian."

His mother only needs to repeat their names with a sterner cast to her voice to receive obedience. Cassian untangles himself, leaving Luka to stagger for balance, and rushes up the bamboo steps. Linne catches him at the doorway, straightening his hair and adjusting his shirt before shooing him in.

"You're back early," she says to Luka.

"I got you your headlines."

"I heard. A match at midnight? With this curfew in place? I told you victories and winning smiles, Luka, not dangerous controversy."

Luka clenches his jaw. "Actually," he begins, but Linne's eyes flash and the words tangle in his throat. He bows his head. "I just wanted some dinner, Mother."

"Is that Luka?"

Luka's father, Carlo, pokes his head around Linne, brown hair falling across his forehead. His warm blue eyes brighten. "You're home!"

"Yes," Linne says. "He's home. And the tournament isn't over."

"Come now, Linne," Carlo says. "Surely he could come in for a meal? Maybe stay for a bit?"

A breath hisses from Linne's clenched teeth before she spins in her soft house shoes. "Oh, you boys," she says as she pads inside. "I swear, I"ll let you get away with anything."

Carlo rolls his eyes and beckons Luka in, smiling widely. "It's good to have you home for the evening, figilo."

"And the night. I don't like sleeping in that room." Luka wrinkles his nose, climbing the steps and entering the house.

The Lockehart compound is the same as always: white, chilly, and painfully clean. The oak dining table stretches to cover much of the room, made larger by the lack of plates on it. Three spots have been made – though their household's Aiutani, Mina, rushes to pull up a chair and meal as Luka enters, her eyes downcast as she lays the silverware. At the head of the room, Carlo's automated hunting fuille hangs over the empty fireplace, muzzle gleaming in the gaslights. Luka perches at the threshold before tentatively stepping inside, sliding off his boots.

Carlo laughs, the sound jolly and warm. He pulls Luka into a one-armed embrace, smelling sharply of chemicals and faintly of blood – his familiar doctor smell. He adjusts his spectacles as he draws away.

"You've done marvelously so far, figilo," he says. "We're very proud of you."

Both of you? Luka's eyes flicker to his mother as she lowers herself primly into her chair, adjusting the long white sleeves of her blouse. Even in the late evening, she looks put together enough to face the Council; her curls have been cut to frame her face in a dark halo, her deep brown eyes outlined in kohl, making them appear otherworldly. Her lips, a brilliant red, curl as she catches his eye. Even her freckles have been dusted away beneath makeup, leaving a flawless white canvas behind.

"Well, aren't you going to wash up?" she asks. "Some of us are hungry."

Luka and his father do as told, and together with Cassian, all sit at the four ends of the table.

The sounds of chewing and swallowing are only allowed to be broken by Linne, so Luka avoids eye contact with his brother, who will surely burst into questions about the tournament if they so much as look at each other, and instead focuses on the perfectly spiced food. The pork is spicy and the salad bitter with a hint of sweet from the autumn apples, crunching with each bite.

Linne waves Mina over a few bites in, requesting black olives and the late summer strawberries. Cassian wrinkles his nose and trades grossed out looks with Luka, who barely manages to smother his laughter.

Finally, Linne says, dabbing at her face with a napkin, "The Kiterans are having a new soldier head their attacks."

"Really?" Carlo replies. "Where did you hear that?"

"Oh." Linne flaps her hand dismissively. "Here and there. That doesn't matter. Their new leader – he's supposedly been hand-picked for their new attacks on Siacchi – is said to be more beast than man. The Wolf-Born, I believe he's called." She cuts into her meat with a deft hand, the juices spilling across her plate. "Ruthless, apparently. He sliced through our bordering villages and left them to bleed. Siacchi has never experienced such… such violence before."

Cassian pales. "But we'll be safe, right?"

Linne shakes her head, a rueful laugh escaping her. "Safe? No. There"s a reason why these Kiterans have made it this far. Their leaders are not only ruthless, but also smart, despite their brutality."

"That's impossible," Luka scoffs. "They have no control."

Linne's eyes flicker to his. "Even the beasts can learn a few tricks," she says. Luka swallows harshly and looks away.

Linne continues, "I've heard they are cutting directly toward Cesscounthe. They know we are the jewel of this country – the brain, to be more apt. Capture the leaders and break us… Well, then the Kiterans could use our intellect to take control of the other nations. With our intelligence and their brute strength combined, the southern nation – even the eastern kingdoms across the water – wouldn't stand a chance."

"But – but we have our walls," Cassian says, eyes darting between his parents. "They won't be able to break through – right? We haven't been attacked in… uh… a cen-centuries."

When Cassian speaks, it isn't his voice that Luka hears, but their tutors speaking through him.

"We haven't been breached in a hundred and thirty-one years, Cassian, and that is only because our enemies have not learned of the ancient tunnels beneath our city," Linne corrects, scowling. "Hide that fear of yours, son, it will get you nothing."

Cassian shrinks. Luka grits his teeth, saying, "Mother, they would perish in the tunnels without a guide and die before they manage to breach. We have the Aiutani – our impyassi – to uphold our non-violence pact, do we not? We would use them to defend us."

Mina, standing with her back to the wall, pales. Luka tries not to look at her – tries not to think that she might be able to use her own beastly powers to smell the monster inside him.

Linne turns up her nose. "Do you think our country has the wherewithal to train all of those that failed the Bombani Exam how to fight in addition to how to clean? They already struggle enough with the latter. We will have to make do with the few guards we have. It's not like the impyassi pick up things quickly."

"Linne," Carlo says. "Perhaps you should tell the children where you're going with this."

"Oh, yes." Linne nods. "Tomorrow, when I speak before the Council Members and compete with Council Member Childes for the open position, I will present a solution to this. So, you needn't worry. I will ensure your safety."

"How?" Cassian asks, eyes wide.

"Well." Linne smiles. "I can't tell you the whole plan now, can I? That would ruin the surprise."

When Cassian frowns, she adds, "But I will make sure we are properly stocked for a siege. The Kiterans shouldn't arrive at least for another week, so we should have time to pool our supplies from those in the Gamgy District."

"Gamgy District? What will they do about food then?" Luka asks.

Linne narrows her eyes. "What they must. They are barely citizens as it is. We already have an ample supply of Aiutani here, in the Abraxi District and the upper reaches of Cesscounthe. Surely we needn't worry ourselves about any of the impyassi or humans that failed the Bombani Exam. They're really of no use to us."

"They were still born here, though," Luka presses. "They still deserve our protection."

"They are little more than animals with their poor intellect. They likely won't even realize what is happening."

"But –"

"Luka," Carlo says softly. "Please don't press your mother. She is already not feeling well. She is –"

"Carlo," Linne cuts in. She dabs at her lips again, a green pallor creeping up her cheeks. "You… needn't worry them."

Luka glances at his mother's plate, surprised to see she has little more than nibbled at her meal. He blinks. "Would you like me to have Mina fetch you some soup?"

"I'm fine," Linne snaps, pressing a hand to her stomach. "I will be fine. Carlo, I told you not to say anything."

Carlo shakes his head. "But Linne –"

Linne silences him with a look. "You must excuse me," she says, rising from the table, her napkin falling to the floor. Mina rushes to collect it.

Cassian waits until Linne has left before stage-whispering to Luka, "Will you tell me about your matches after dinner?"

Carlo levels an unneeded warning look with Luka that Luka pointedly ignores. "Of course," he says with an indulgent smile. "You'll need to learn all the tricks when you're grown."

After Luka has walked Cassian through his moves, explaining the hidden messages he left for his opponents on the board – that is, the messages appropriate for a child's ears – he rises to retire to his chambers. Cassian clings, batting huge dark eyes lined with soft lashes, begging for Luka to stay. When they were younger, they spent long hours in Cassian's rooms, playing games and telling stories – and even before Cassian was old enough to be aware, Luka hovered, entranced by the magic that was his little brother.

But Luka has matches to win tomorrow – and a man to beat tonight. So instead of indulging his little brother, he kisses Cassian on the forehead and bids him goodnight. "I'll see you tomorrow evening. I'll teach you my top secret move then, alright?"

"I already know your top secret move," Cassian replies, eyes gleaming. He's remarkably wicked looking in the flickering gaslights, his halo of curls casting horn-like shadows against the blue walls of his bedroom.

"Well, I'll show you how to perfect it then, you little prodigy."

Luka is nearly out the door when Cassian calls, "Do you really think that?"

"Think what?"

Cassian pokes the Cesse board they have been playing with, lips tugging into a frown. "That I'm a… a prodigy."

Something tugs on Luka's heart. He shoves the feeling away. It doesn't matter the situation; the emotion is unnecessary.

"Of course," Luka says.

"Mamma thinks… she thinks…." Cassian takes a sharp breath and starts to put the Cesse pieces away. Good. He's learning to control himself. But as Cassian's hands shake, Luka is reminded of Evland's words with a flicker of hot rage – the rumors that Cassian failed his Bombani Exam pretests.

Even now, memories of Luka's own test haunt him – the examiner's unwavering gaze, noting even the smallest furrow of Luka's brow. The twisting and winding questions, like a path with no end.

"She's worried," Cassian finally says.

"She's always worried," Luka replies. "But you have nothing to worry about, fratenillio. I have seen you play all these years, and your Cesse is as flawless as mine. Better, even."

His tutors only need to teach him control– then he will be safe.

Cassian attempts a tentative smile. "Really?"

Luka nods. "Really."

It's the truth. Though young, Cassian is bright and quick, picking up strategies and theories with little to no questions.

But Luka has also seen the pretest scores; he saw the look on their mother's face as she pulled the letter free, the horror that carved her mouth into an "o". Despite the words he feeds his brother now, fear gnaws on him.

"Do I look like Alessandro?" Cassian whispers, crawling into his bed and drawing the covers to his chin.

Luka freezes. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Papa mentioned it. When he came home from work the other day after a night shift."

Luka grits his teeth. "What did he say?"

Cassian shakes his head. "He said he was just tired and we… we acted similar. That he was another framellio. Long before I was born." Cassian toys with the decorative tassels on his comforter, drawing the golden threads taunt before releasing them. "Did you know?"

"I've only heard his name."

"Papa said Mamma was so sad when he died."

"I have no doubt."

"Do you think… Do you think Mamma would be sad if I died?"

"Oh, Cassian," Luka says. He steps into the room, sinking into the bed so he can stroke his brother's soft curls. "She would be destroyed if anything ever happened to you – to either of us."

"But –"

"I know things are confusing right now with her running for Council Member, but she loves us to the bottom of her heart. I swear on Cesse."

Cassian covers a yawn with the back of his hand. "Alright. I believe you."

"You better." Luka pops another kiss onto his brother's head. "Now go to sleep. You're half in dreams already."

Cassian mumbles something too soft to hear as Luka closes his door. He nods to the nursemaid sitting watch at the edge of his brother"s chambers. "Light the incense for warding nightmares tonight," he orders. The woman dips her head in acknowledgement.

Luka is lost to stormy thoughts as he crosses the compound, head ducked, thankful most of the other Aiutani have already retired for bed.

He had been telling the truth to his brother – mostly. He had heard of Alessandro before, not because of any slip of the tongue from his father, but because of his research.

Luka slows to a stop at his quarter's entrance, drawing open a heavy door. He heaves a sigh of relief as he crosses the threshold; only a handful of days have passed since he last breathed in the soft smell of his rooms, but he missed it so much. Pine and cinnamon and sweet vanilla fill his nose as he lights the scented candles, passing through the emerald entry to the Cesse room overlooking the city.

Though lacking the view from the tournament competitors' chambers, Luka far favors this; splayed below him, the Abraxi District glows and flickers, compounds bright like fireflies. Lights wink in and out as some fall asleep and others wake.

Luka sets his Cesse board, allowing his thoughts to drift – to his elder brother.

Alessandro had been three when Luka was born, and dead at seven.

Luka learned of his elder brother through a tucked away sketch, dim with age and creased down the middle, shoved in his father's research books. He discovered a gap-toothed boy with curly hair so like his own. When he pressed his father – and then his mother – on the issue, both responded with varying degrees of animosity, forcing Luka to drop the subject.

But Luka did learn this: Alessandro had failed his Bombani Exam.

A shudder goes down Luka's spine, and he shakes his head. He can't think of this now – he needs to prepare for his match tonight. A match that might be interrupted because those Thought-damned Northerners are coming to ruin everything.

Luka moves his first Cesse piece forward and nearly leaps from his skin when something goes tap, tap, tap on his window.

Thoughts of muscled Northerners in their skimpy fur garb flash through his mind, and his fangs lengthen to his jaw. Luka flies to his feet, seizing the Cesse board and scattering pieces. He isn't sure if he's planning on cradling it to his chest protectively or throwing it at the source of the noise. He's saved from having to decide when he sees Xyla Mobiele scowling at him through the glass.

Tap, tap, tap, goes her finger. She mouths obscenities at him and gestures for him to open the window.

Luka touches his fangs, automatic nervousness making his hands shake. But then again, none of that matters. Not with Xyla.

Nostalgia seizes him as he slides the window open. It has grown stiff from nearly half a year of disuse, and they both have to heave to open it wide enough for Xyla to slip through. It doesn't help that Xyla's generous hips always catch on the gap.

Once inside, Xyla levels a manicured finger with Luka. "You," she hisses.

"Xyla," Luka says, aiming for nonchalance and landing on breathlessness – which is entirely due to the effort he had put into opening the window, nothing more. "What are you doing here?"

Xyla's pointed finger lands on Luka"s chest with three sharpened pokes. Her eyes flash amber, her fangs growing to match his. By the final jab, her nail is more animal than it is human, and Luka cannot help but to wince.

"I told you not to do anything!" she growls, her voice no louder than a whisper. "I told you I could handle it." Xyla spins, tossing her hands into the air as red fur ripples down her arms and then vanishes into her tan skin. She paces the length of Luka's room, words diminishing to garbled growls. "But no! You had to go and protect me again! I have never needed your protection – not now, and certainly not when we were –"

She abruptly pauses, words jerking off and angry strides pulling to a halt. She has always been like that – a burst of emotions that is contained so rapidly, Luka is left with whiplash and admiration at her sudden control. Xyla swallows and spins to face Luka. Her eyes are pure animal as they meet his, and Luka finds it hard to hold her gaze. "You are not going to that match tonight."

"I am." Luka's voice sounds distant to his own ears. He's finding it hard to focus. The pull of memory is too strong with her here. He tucks his hands behind his back to hide the tremble.

"Luka," Xyla begins, and he shudders. The sound of his name on her lips always did unkind things to him. Xyla looks him over. She presses her lips together. "Luka," she tries again. "You know I love you –"

"Don't say that!" Luka forgets to keep his voice low as he snaps the response, slashing his arm across his body as if to fend off an attack.

"I do. I just don't think we're… I just… you know the Toula is probably right. I don't think we're meant to be mated."

Luka flinches at the words, his heart twisting. He resists the urge to look at Xyla's hand, at her fingers – the lines on her palm that he thought told of their intertwined fates. The lines that the Toula must have misunderstood. His voice is reduced to a rasp when he replies, "I know."

"I don't need you defending my reputation. I told you that when I decided to tell them the truth about me – when I gave you that option, too. Besides." Xyla's pinched concern changes to an ironic smile. "You said you didn't want that kind of attention on you, right?"

"I said I didn't want them to know. I'm not like you, Xyla. I can't just go telling everyone and anyone that I'm a…" The word impyassus is even impossible for him to say, so instead Luka closes his eyes and gestures at the disaster his emotions are rending on his body; to his nails, which have lengthened to claws, to the splotches of fur sprouting and dying on his arms and legs.

"You will be happier."

"I will be forever shunned. You're from the Mobiele family, your reputation is already sound, Xyla – you don't understand."

Xyla looks away. "I don't know why I'm talking about this with you again. Stupid – I'm so stupid."

"Xyla…" Luka shakes his head. "You're not… that's not… look, the reason I challenged Evland wasn't for you. Well – it wasn't just for you. He was saying things about my mother and about… about Cassian." The last word is little more than an exhale.

Xyla blinks, the fur vanishing from her forearms. A worried pinch that Luka knows well – he has smoothed it from her brows so many times before – grows on her forehead. "Cassian? But Cassian hasn't shown any signs, has he?"

"No. I've been so careful watching him, but he – no. Nothing."

Xyla's scowl deepens. "You know, it wouldn't be the end of the world if he were one of us –"

"But it would, Xyla! I don't see how you can't ever see that." Luka tangles his hands in his dark curls, shaking his head. "If Cassian is an impyassus, it will mean death to my mother's political career – they will all think she cheated on my father with some monster. And worse – it could mean the end of the Lockehart line! No good blood to pass on our intellect –"

Xyla bares her teeth. "You realize it's inherited."

"And it skips generations. For centuries, my mother and the Lockeharts have kept it from their children… and now… we're so lucky that Cassian hasn't shown any symptoms."

Xyla stares at him, the lines on her face softening from anger to something that looks alarmingly like pity. Her hand quivers at her side, half rising toward him, but then she shakes her head. "Fine. If that's how you want to see things." She turns to face the Abraxi District through the open window, the cool night breeze brushing auburn curls from her forehead. "I just came here to make sure you weren't going to that silly challenge."

"Oh, I am."

"Luka! Kiterans are nearly upon us. It's not safe."

"Kiterans are nearly upon us," Luka mimics, but now he uses the Kiteran dialect. His accent is poor. Xyla scowls at him, crossing her arms over her chest as she refuses to play along. She has always been better at him when speaking in the Kiteran dialect. She sounds almost native.

Instead, she says in a low voice, "You can't do this."

"What you said is true, Xyla: we aren't together anymore. That means I won't fight any matches in your honor. It also means you can't stop me from doing something stupid."

Xyla's nostrils flare. "He's already beaten you before – what's to stop him from doing it again?"

Luka somehow manages to hold her gaze as he replies: "I know him now. I've studied his matches – all the silly little messages he tries to leave his opponents. I know the way he thinks." His hands curl into fists, claws cutting into his palms. "I will go out tonight, Xyla. And this time I will beat him."

The words sound so confident – so true to his ears. Luka must believe in them. After all, there is only one thing left for him in this world now, and that's Cesse – a skill Luka has proven himself adept at with the Bombani Exam. He cannot let Evland Childes of all people take that from him.

Xyla crosses her arms. Luka continues, "And when I win, he'll be done for. Defeat in a back-alley tournament by me? To the public, I'm still new to Cesse competitions. Evland will be forced to withdraw from the tournaments and face humiliation. It will be perfect." Luka cannot help but to smile at the thought.

Xyla shakes her head. "It's a bad idea. But… but you're right. I don't get to stop you now." She sighs and slips through the cracked window. "Just don't go alone, Luka. I don't… I don't want you hurt."

Luka replies, "I'll be fine," but Xyla is already moving away. Luka presses his lips together. To avoid watching her go, to avoid the crumpling hollow in his chest, the empty ache that reminds him he is so alone, he returns to his Cesse board. He picks up the pieces.

He knows he will beat Evland in this game tonight. And Luka knows that he will win. Things will finally change for the better.

Luka is sure of it.