Secondborn

With Hawthorne’s fusionblade still in my hand, I explain, “Tyburn is a demigod, known as the Warrior of the West Wind. To pay homage to the West Wind, you assume the warrior pose, facing the west.” I extend my right hand out in front of me with my left arm behind, bending my right leg in front of me at a right angle, and my right foot to the west. My left leg extends behind me, my toes pointing south. I hold the pose for a moment. Then, extending the sword in my right hand, I point it straight up. Rising on the points of the toes of my right foot, I bring my left foot up behind me, holding it in the palm of my left hand until the pad of my foot touches the back of my head. I hold it for a few breaths, and then twist, jumping into the air and turning in circles over and over, like a whirling tornado. When I stop, I’m in the warrior pose once more, facing west.

Hawthorne follows the line of my right hand to a bronze sword on the wall. He presses it. It locks in place. Turning, he follows the line of my left arm, depressing the sword it points to. It locks into place. The door doesn’t move.

“Try the ones by my feet.” I wiggle my toes. He moves to the sword in front of my right foot on the floor. As he presses it, it locks. My left foot points to the last one. He touches it, and suddenly the whole building starts to rumble. A stone door drops from the ceiling, cutting off our way back to the Palace. The door on the north wall makes a horrible scraping sound and rolls open. Water cascades in front of it, and as soon as it opens all the way, it begins to close again. We scramble forward together, jumping through the wall of water, and land in a deep pool. My grip on Hawthorne’s sword loosens and it extinguishes, but I manage to grab it before it sinks. I come up coughing and sputtering.

Hawthorne is beside me. He hugs me to him. “You’re brilliant. Do you know that?”

I hold him, my breasts pressing against his chest. My lips move to his. I kiss him like I’ve longed to kiss him since his moniker turned golden. He stands and lifts me out of the water, my legs wrapping his waist as he wades through the fountain. Reaching the low wall, he sets me on it and sits next to me. I pass him back his sword and he puts it in his scabbard.

The fountain is lit from underneath. In the center, the stone obelisk points to the night sky. Wild-eyed bronze horse statues kick their hooves into the air. Ferocious sword-wielding soldiers and fierce demigod statues in horrific poses adorn the multilevel water feature that circles the obelisk. Tyburn is the largest, most virile statue, slashing with his vicious sword at Hyperion, the demigod of water. Water flows from the wound in Hyperion’s side, an enactment of the tale of the West Wind giving water to the people.

The door we came through is on the north side of the monument. A statue points to it with a rose in its hand, a young naked woman—Tyburn’s lover, Roselyn. She stares with a devil-may-care smirk. A thick crown of roses hangs low on her beautiful brow. Breathing hard, I whisper, “I think my secret hideout is a Tyburn temple.”

“I think we should start worshipping him.” Hawthorne sees me shiver violently. “We have to go,” he urges.

We start jogging, looking for a way out of the park. It must be past midnight by now, and the park is empty. We stay on the grass and avoid the lighted paths.

“I don’t know which way to go. I’ve never been in Westerbane Heath. I only know it from pictures,” Hawthorne growls as he looks around, trying to decide in which direction we should go. “My family spent very little money educating me before turning me over to our Fate.” He sounds ashamed of that. It must have been a rough few months trying to Transition from secondborn to firstborn. I can only imagine the ridicule he has faced not understanding their etiquette and rules. He must feel like a club-wielding barbarian among butterflies.

“Your training is better than their education,” I tell him. “You know how to catch a fish, gut it, and cook it. You know how to pilot a fighter airship and rebuild its engine. You know how to defend yourself, and what it feels like to help a friend.” City lights shine up ahead. We step up our pace.

“Exo training has helped Transition me,” he continues. “It’s soldiering, something that makes sense to me. It’s geared toward special operations. I’m in a unique position, already having core secondborn training—a fact that appeals to Admiral Dresden.”

“Admiral Dresden is an unscrupulous killer, Hawthorne. If he has taken an interest in you, it’s nefarious at best.”

“He has definitely taken an interest in me.”

“He’s my mother’s right hand. Be extremely cautious where he’s concerned.”