“I thought you wanted some tips for Rings.”
His expression lightens. “Of course!”
I start tapping my foot against the earth in a steady rhythm. “Because there are mechanisms in the undercourt to turn the rings, the rate of turn remains constant. It’s different for each individual game. It might be a quick one-two-three one-two-three one day, and another day it might be a slower one-two-three-four. Find a way to identify that rhythm in your head. That’s how I judge the pace of the turns. That’s how I time the leap from ring to ring.” With a hand I indicate Dusty and Gira as I tap my foot loudly to emphasize the pattern.
They’re a little off, trying to judge by eye rather than beats.
“But the rings aren’t all turning at the same time,” he protests.
“Each ring starts up at a different moment. That’s how you get that unfolding movement. But they all turn at the same speed once they’ve started. The first ring starts turning and then a beat later the second one starts, and a beat later the third starts.… Does that make sense?”
He tugs at his hair, mouthing numbers as he counts, “One-two-three-four… but that one—no wait, I see what you’re saying. This is a six-count turn.” Because he’s staring with such concentration and I’m watching him, I don’t notice Darios come up behind us until the baton slaps my butt. I’m so startled I jump and stumble and have to catch myself on Kalliarkos’s arm.
“I told you to run with Dusty, Spider!”
“Her shoelace came undone,” Kalliarkos says while I’m still biting my lip because Darios really whacked me and my rump stings. He doesn’t let go of me and I lean into his strength like it’s the only thing stopping me from falling into the abyss of terror for my family.
“Yes, sorry. My shoe. I told Gira to go ahead of me.”
“Don’t take it upon yourself to change my training!” The old man looks genuinely irritated as he glares directly at where Kalliarkos’s warm fingers are curled reassuringly around my elbow. Kal releases me and steps back like a chastened child. “You two are up. Move!”
The beat of these rings already runs through my bones from the foot-tapping I used to show Kalliarkos. But he hesitates, blinking, and as he starts counting all over again like he didn’t already do it before, I fling myself into the first turning hoop. I beat him easily, and Darios sends me off with Dusty to train on Rivers while holding Kalliarkos back to run Rings again.
When the break comes I walk to the dining shelter with Dusty and Mis. She is teasing him about the way he planted his face in the water on Rivers. His nose is bleeding but not cracked. I pretend to laugh. In another life, the one in which my mother and sisters haven’t just been buried alive, I would be laughing with my heart and not just my mouth.
Darios calls Dusty away for tending. Mis and I grab a mug of broth and sit.
“You seem tired,” she says. “You were a little slow. You all right?”
I want to break everything on the table, smash it to pieces. My hands clench.
Mis glances toward the counter where Kalliarkos is bantering with the serving girl as she hands him a bowl of broth. “He flirts with everyone, Jes. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He likes people to like him.”
He scans the dining shelter, spots me, and with a smile starts our way.
Mis coughs. “I mean this in a friendly way, Jes. Don’t play with that fire. Nothing good will come of it.”
She stands up and makes way for him to sit down. He nods at her in the same friendly manner he uses with everyone, but he doesn’t think of asking her to stay seated with us, nor does it seem to occur to him to ask why she is leaving.
“I worked on counting. I was just starting to get the pattern of it and then Darios told me to stop talking to myself. Like he doesn’t want me to figure out a way to improve. So I counted in my head. Is this something Anise taught you?”
“I just always did it, from the first time I tried Rings.” I see the opening and take it. “You said we can help each other. I need your help.”
The rim of the bowl has just touched his lips but he lowers it without drinking. Steam curls into the air like hope stirring. “With what?” he asks.
“Help me get to my father. I need to see him.”
The rough movement he makes with his hand, like pushing my words away, tips the bowl, but I grab it before it spills.
His eyes go wide. “You can’t see him. Uncle Gar told me General Esladas is never to see any of his old household again, on pain of death. He was only allowed to retain his military people.”