He looks at me for a long time, as if he’s considering whether or not he agrees.
“How do you persons do this?”
“Do what?”
“Live in these little boxes. My people put criminals in prisons like this to punish them. It’s considered torture.”
“It beats sitting in the rain,” I say. I slide into the desk nearest to the door, far from where he is lying. He looks up, frowns, then crawls over to sit nearby. That’s when I see the blood on his other hand and the huge purple welt on his right arm. There’s a rash poking out of his collar too. “What happened to you?”
He waves his hands dismissively. I’m too concerned to let it make me angry.
“Let’s go to the nurse’s office. I think there are some bandages there, maybe some peroxide.”
“An Alpha does not tend to his wounds.”
“What? You could get infected.”
He shakes his head. “It is dishonorable. It implies weakness.”
“Says who?”
“All of my people.”
“Who did this to you? Was it one of the Niners?”
He rolls his eyes like I have told a ridiculous joke. “I responded to challenges.”
“Challenges?”
“Yes, one from two Sons of Sirena, one from a Son of Triton, and a Son of Selkie with a very hard face.” He looks down at his knuckles. They are rubbed raw and bloody.
“You were in three fistfights last night?”
“Two of them did not involve fists.”
“How often does this happen?” I ask as I eye a wound on his forehead that looks like it needs stitches.
“As often as necessary. I am the prince of the Alpha, and my responsibility is to fight in defense of my father’s decisions.”
“You fight his battles? That’s crazy.”
He scowls. “Humans do many things I think are crazy.”
“Humans don’t handle their problems with fights to the death.”
“No, they wear brightly colored shirts and throw fish,” he snarls. “You are quite a noble race.”
“Your dad’s decisions must not be very popular if you’re getting your butt kicked three times a day,” I say.
“The prime cannot concern himself with what is popular. His duty is to lead. He must be free of distractions to make wise decisions.” It sounds rehearsed to me, something he’s repeated to himself until it feels true.
“What if you get killed defending him?”
“My father would be overthrown by challengers to his rule. He would most likely be killed and his body tossed into the Great Abyss. The Alpha will not follow a prime who has no heir. The path to the throne must be secure or it will be seized by another with stronger family lines.”
“So killing you would topple your government.”
He nods. “My father’s name would be ruined as well. His rule would be condemned for generations, and children would sing songs of his foolishness a hundred years from now.”
“I guess it would suck for you, too,” I say. “Being dead and all.”
“I would be labeled the son of a fool. My people would sing songs about me as well. So, yes, there is a powerful motivation to stay alive, even if it would solve a number of problems for you. I’m told you do not want to meet with me.”
“You were a little unhinged yesterday.”
“Unhinged?” he asks.
“Crazy.”
“And you would prefer to not be around someone who is unhinged?”
“Oh, I’m around crazy people all day. I don’t know if you noticed the big crowd of screaming people outside. But none of them have swords that come out of their arms.”
“They are not swords.”
There’s a shtickt, and the blades on his arms extend. I let out a little scream. I can’t help it.
“They are bones, blessings from the Great Abyss. Sons and Daughters of Triton sharpen them as soon as we can hold a sanding stone.”
“The Great Abyss?”
“The birthplace of all life, the mouth of the hunt, the giver and the taker.”
“So, like God?”
“Like your God? The one who loves his creations? Or so say the screaming people who tell us we are monsters. No, the Great Abyss is not like him,” he scoffs. “The Great Abyss has higher standards.”
“My father used to tell me you can’t blame God for his fans,” I say.
He stares up at the ceiling again. “I will try to be less unhinged.”
“Deal.”
“Yesterday you asked if there was anything I would like to know about you, Lyric Walker,” he continues. “What did you write on that white wall?”
I look over and see the words I scribbled yesterday in anger.
“I have not yet learned to read your language,” he explains.
Thank God!
“I could teach you,” I say. “If we’re going to be stuck in here an hour every day, we might as well do something useful.”
He sits up and stares at me. His gaze is like an anaconda, wrapping me tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe.
“I mean I could try,” I say, finally breaking its hold.
He frowns. “The lady with the red cross on her shirt read stories to me when we first arrived. It helped me to understand your language, but learning to read it might present a problem. There are many Alpha who believe it is traitorous to learn anything of the human world, my father included.”