PART ONE

Chapter 1: Antares

The arrow whizzed past Antares’ head and hit the wooden wall behind him with a resounding twang, just inches from his ear.

He raised an eyebrow. “You missed.”

“Would you prefer for me to shoot you in the face?” Rigel chided, plucking at his bowstring with soft thrums.

Antares rolled his eyes and yanked the arrow out of the post. He checked its head before setting it across his own bow, the rubbed wood fitting perfectly against his gloved palm.

The string went slack as he let go, the arrow headed straight for Rigel’s face. In a blur, Rigel grabbed the arrow moments before it found its target and whipped it around back at his friend. Antares slid easily from its path, and it embedded itself back into the wood, vibrating from the speed.

It all took place in less than a second, and the boys came to a stop. They were both Runners, gifted with incredible speed, though Antares was significantly faster. A cool breeze blew from the north, despite the days growing warmer as they entered the summer.

“Nice try, Tare, but I’ve been practicing that throwback,” Rigel said, coming over to grab his arrow.

“Not enough to catch me.”

“Whatever. Be happy that I didn’t hit your sorry face.” The smirk on his lips morphed into a frown. “I think I might’ve cut myself grabbing it, though.” He studied his thumb before pressing it against his shirt.

“Try grabbing it by the feathers, then.”

Another cold rush of air made its way around the courtyard, sneaking under his layers and cooling his sweat. The fine stone of the grounds rubbed under his thin boots. The smoothly carved surface circulated around the area as it broke off towards the back of his house. Lush green grass surrounded the tall, stoic building, its walls made of a darker stone and deep windows set into it.

“We’re nearing the summer solstice and it’s still bloody cold,” Rigel muttered bitterly as he peeled off his archer’s gloves.

“Well, what do you expect, living in the Terris Court?” With their fathers being crucial members of the Terris Court Guard, they had both grown up in this rocky terrain together, close to where the Guard base sat. Antares strode over to the rack of weapons, stored in a small, well-built outbuilding nestled in the grove of trees bordering his home.

“We should visit Aldebaran some time soon, or maybe even the Aquae Court. Imagine those sandy beaches, the blue ocean.”

“You’d burn in that sunlight,” he replied, giving a pointed look at Rigel’s pale skin. It complemented his longer, light-colored hair, which was currently tied back.

His friend waved him off, discarding his set of arrows inside the storage. Then Rigel eyed the racks of metal and steel. “Did you get some more blades today?”

Did we? I can’t remember.

Antares searched the dimly lit space, his gaze passing over blades and bows and spears and knives and countless other weapons, all of which he could name and wield on command.

“Uhh, I think those over there.” He pointed to a set of swords in the back, long and thin and kept in light-colored sheaths.

Rigel stepped inside and grabbed two from the collection, tossing one to Antares.

“One more spar, you up for it?” Rigel suggested, brushing past him and towards the center of the training grounds. Antares glanced at the lowering sun, taking refuge behind the peaks. The prominent mountains of the Terris Court city stood proudly, jagged and scraping the sky with white ink. Low clouds brushed up against them as they disappeared down past Antares’ view.

“My family will be expecting me. I can’t be late, you know that,” he called back. Still, he shut the door and followed Rigel back to the courtyard, pulling off the scabbard.

“I swear, just this last one. Then I’ll leave.”

Antares pursed his lips, Rigel spinning around with his sword unsheathed as well, silver and gleaming.

“All right, fi—” he started, but his words broke off as Rigel’s sword swung down and from the left.

Automatically, he brought his own weapon up, and they crashed into each other with a ring of steel. This sword was much thinner than his typical one, and he twisted his blade around and over Rigel’s, smoothly breaking free and stepping backwards.

“Oh, that was low,” he panted, holding the sword in front of him defensively.

“Just keeping you on your toes,” Rigel replied with a grin.

The pair met with their swords again, and they continued their spar, dodging and jabbing and meeting in the middle. The hiss of the metal and the beat of his heart was all Antares could hear as he fell into his motions, a deadly second nature to him.

At last, they finished, Rigel bidding farewell and jogging to the front of Antares’ house, where his carriage was expecting him. That left Antares to stash everything away and rush back into the house, the darkening sky streaked with yellow, pink, scarlet, and fading into a deep indigo. Pushing the heavy wooden door open, he almost smacked it into a servant rushing by, her apron tied tight and her hair high on her head.

She let out a small yelp, her eyes widening as she stepped back from the door. “Oh, my apologies, Mr. Euphorion!”

What was her name again? Meredith, Merida…

“It’s all right,” he mumbled before continuing forward, letting the door shut behind him with a thud.

The narrow back entrance of his home soon opened up, stretching out in an impressive collection of stone and decor. Wooden beams accentuated the walls, extending to the ceiling or rounding over archways and doorways with extra support. Candles and torches hung against the sides, creating spots of warmth and light as servants lit them.

Antares passed by the entryway to the sitting area and the dining hall, catching a glimpse of the bustling maids setting the tables and scurrying back and forth from the kitchen. At the sight of that, he hurried forward to the staircase near the front of the house, rising up above him in slow spirals.

He went to his room and washed away the sweat and dust from his body, changing into somewhat presentable pants and a shirt paired with a vest. The dark blue was stark against his lightly tanned skin, and made his wild red hair look even brighter. He glanced into the mirror, wiping away a drop of water from his jaw before leaving the chamber, his feet bare.

Antares pushed the thick drapes away from his window and opened it to let some of the cool night breeze blow into the bedroom. He took a deep breath and stared outside, keeping his fingers away from the sill—the sheer drop always left him uneasy. He had a partial view of the front, the clean, paved dirt road leading up the steep hill to his house. The path was empty apart from a worker leading a lone horse away.

It was much harder to see now, everything cloaked in shadows. Antares frowned, barely catching something in his view.

Is that…a person?

He curiously narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look of whatever it was. The figure dashed into the trees, joining the obscure night shadows. Without a whisper, they were gone before Antares could study them any further.

I’m probably just seeing things, he assured himself, turning away from the window.

His bed sat adjacent to the window with its maroon covers and dark wooden frame, crafted by the highest of Ophelian woodcarvers. Dual swords hung on one wall, a remnant of some past ancestor. A tall bookshelf stood in another corner, dark-colored spines filling its crevices. A plush carpet, woven with fine threads, lay across the floor with intricate patterns, soft against his calloused feet. Antares spent more time outside rather than in his room, leaving it mostly bare.

He took one last look outside and strode to his desk, a wide surface that carried quills and ink and a small collection of notebooks and books in a scattered pile. However, only one of those books was of any interest to him. That last line he had written in his poetry notebook earlier that morning had been tugging at his mind all day, and he flipped open to the marked page, dried ink greeting him with his own slanted handwriting.

Each day plays the same tune

Weapons clashing and drawn

Frowning at the words in thought, his fingers reached for a pen, the incomplete poem turning over his mind. He pressed the tip to the paper.

Yet some dance alone and wonder

When they will escape this dreaded song

A knock came from his heavy wooden door. “Dinner, sir.”

Dammit. He would have to finish the poem later.

Antares straightened his shoulders and let out a small sigh. He shut the leather-bound book and left it on his desk. His normal shoes sat near his bed, and he shoved them on, disregarding any socks. Stealing a glimpse at his small mirror by his desk, he combed his fingers through his curled auburn hair, trying to tame it one last time. When he opened the door to leave, he saw that the servant was already long gone, off to finish some meager task.

Shutting the door behind him, Antares left the hallway and returned to the stairs, his fingers brushing against the cool stone as he descended. All the corridor lights were lit now, fighting off the dark. The doors of the dining hall were still wide open, and Antares entered the room with a deep breath.

It was the same setting each time, the stretching table surrounded by dark amber chairs. Candles sat on the table, adding to the torchlight that had followed him from the main foyer. Towering, elegant, metal-lined windows were at the opposite wall, partially covered by drapery that allowed a small portion of the star-speckled sky to peek in. The few servants in the room were either by the doorway, eyes avoiding Antares, or through the door to the side that led to the busy kitchen.

The captain of the Terris Court Guard sat at the head of the table, as usual, in his pristine uniform with all of its ornate golden pins and well-fitted layers. Cepheus Euphorion’s eagle-like eyes were sharp and black, matching with his inky hair, the roots fading into a dim grey. A beard adorned his jaw and upper lip, trimmed to perfection and accentuating the sharpness of his jaw and narrow nose. At first glance, most wouldn’t even be able to tell Antares and his father were related.

Antares’ mother, Wren, sat to the right, her russet hair—the one Antares inherited—piled in a neat style on top of her head. The warm glow of the candles softened her kind features and honey eyes. His older brother, Janus, still hadn’t shown up, his seat across from their mother still empty. Archer had left the house last year, moving to the south of the Terris city, so his spot was always vacant.

“Hello, Antares,” his mother greeted.

Antares gave a slight nod and slid into his seat next to her, sinking into the plush cushioning. Plates and silverware and cups sat in their normal spots, washed clean every day to be used again and again.

“Hello, Antares,” his father echoed, meeting his eyes. “Good to see you on time today.”

Heat prickled at his neck, and Antares pursed his lips and nodded as the memory of stumbling in late the night before resurfaced.

Well, maybe it’s Janus’ turn tonight. Maybe he’ll be—

His thoughts were cut off as he heard approaching footsteps, and looked to the door to see his brother walk in with his usual haughty gait.

Never mind.

“I’m not late, am I?” Janus asked with a grin, pulling his seat out and plopping down. He was still dressed in his Guard training outfit, identical to the one Antares had in his closet. His dark hair was sprinkled with water, catching light in the torch flame. Similar damp spots peppered his clothing.

“Has it begun to rain?” their mother asked, glancing behind her through the windows.

“Just a small sprinkle,” Janus responded, running his fingers through his hair and letting small drops of water fall from it. “I got caught in it coming back from the pub.”

“What were you doing there?”

He shrugged. “Graham and the others went there after training.”

As Janus spoke, the kitchen door swung open, and a few workers spilled out, carrying individual plates and pitchers. They stepped between their seats and set down a silver plate in front of each diner, filling their glasses simultaneously. The captain’s glass was filled with a dark purple while everyone else’s stayed clear.

The servants departed just as quickly as they came, leaving the room with a shuffle of their feet.

“Oh, we have fish today,” his mother remarked.

Clean, even slices of seasoned fish sat on Antares’ plate, most likely brought in from the coasts of the Aquae Court city. Paired with vegetables and a thick sauce, steam rose from the plate in ghostly curls.

Janus immediately picked up his cutlery and tore into the food.

“You know,” he started between bites, “we caught a few thieves there too.”

“What?” Their father paused midway on cutting his fish, staring at Janus.

He nodded. “That’s right. We were walking down the south end, and two pickpockets rushed out of that tailor’s shop by the main road. They took one look at us and froze.” Janus let out a bark of laughter.

“Why?” Antares asked. “You haven’t even graduated yet.” He was barely two years older than him.

“So? The green uniforms were enough to get them to stop. You should’ve seen the look on their faces.”

Antares frowned, pushing at the food on his plate with a fork.

“This is why you haven’t graduated yet,” their father said firmly, his eyebrows bunched together. You need to learn to take things seriously and respond to your superiors. What happened to them?”

“Oh, they ran off.”

The captain frowned, pressing his lips together tightly.

“Anyway, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Besides, I’m supposed to graduate next month, so who cares? I’ve been to every training lesson and more.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Antares muttered.

“Well, at least I want to graduate,” he shot back, the same retort he’d been using forever.

The tension increased tenfold the moment the words left his lips, and Antares could practically feel his father stiffen. Janus raised an eyebrow with an amused smile.

I don’t care. Damn the Guard, I’m never going to become one.

Having three sons meant Antares’ father had spent most of their childhood training them to follow his path of the Guard. Curfews, orders, and countless hours of physical strain was all Antares had known. Only, he had soon realized that the life of a Guard was never what he wanted for himself, the orders and shifts and all. And ever since his father had found out about his rebellion, he hadn’t treated him the same as he used to.

His mother gripped her glass and glanced between her family, sensing the unease. She firmly set her water down and cleared her throat.

“Not at the table, loves. What else did you see at the market, Janus?”

Antares slowly tuned out the conversation, lazily poking his fork into his slices of fish. His thoughts turned back to the poem he had left upstairs, dissecting and throwing away pieces of potential verses in his head.

‘The chorus leaves us’… ‘We find ourselves’... ‘Where will it end’? No…

His fingers itched for a pen.

The dinner continued in small talk and glass against metal clinks, the windows pitch black as the cool of the night seeped through the stone walls.