LITMIR.BIZ

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Pretia had ever seen before.

      When a Realist from Alkebulan, the wild desert continent across the sea, came forward to accept her bag, Janos placed a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “We have been waiting for you at Ecrof, Vera,” he said. “We expect great things.” She grinned and nodded in acknowledgment, her glossy black ponytail bobbing as she did.

      “That’s Vera Renovo,” the short Realist boy next to Pretia whispered. “Julius Renovo’s sister.”

      Pretia’s eyes widened in admiration. Julius Renovo was one of the most famous athletes in all of Epoca, and he was only seventeen. He was a three-time Epic Champion in the last games. And he was still a student at Ecrof.

      “She probably thinks she’s already made the Epic Elite Squad just because of her brother,” the boy said. His next comment was cut off when Janos called his name, Leo Apama. Leo stumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees on the dock.

      After Leo, Janos summoned a scrawny, olive-skinned boy, Rovi Myrios, who snatched his bag from Pretia’s uncle before Janos had a chance to greet him. The boy’s black hair was dirty and tangled and hid his eyes so that Pretia was unable to hazard a guess at his place of origin. He tucked his duffel under his arm and darted back into the group of recruits without a word to Janos.

      Next was Castor, who proudly approached his father and took his duffel and held it over his head like a trophy, which made a group of Realists, Vera Renovo included, whoop and cheer. Then came two Dreamers, Zoe and Jason, who seemed to be brother and sister.

      Then it was Pretia’s turn. When her uncle called her name, Pretia felt the eyes of all her fellow recruits on her at once. She took her duffel and her cheeks burned with pride. Back in the group of recruits, she unzipped the bag, digging through a stack of Ecrof school sweats, gray practice T-shirts, shorts, sweatbands, wristbands, socks, and caps all trimmed in green and gold and printed with the famous Tree of Ecrof and their class year. None of them bore any house affiliation.

      She bowed her head, trying to hide her excitement from her fellow classmates. Back home at Castle Airim, Pretia had closets filled with dresses made from the finest fabrics in all of Epoca—silks from the Sandlands, traditional wax prints from Megos, water-dyed cottons from the Rhodan Islands. There was a whole room filled with royal costumes that had been passed down from generations of Realist and Dreamer women that were waiting until she was tall enough to wear them, if indeed she ever grew tall enough to wear them. But never had clothes meant so much to her as the simple gym kit she was holding in her hands.

      “It’s like she’s never seen clothes before,” Castor said. The little group of Realists gathered around him all snickered. But Pretia didn’t care. She was a recruit, just like the rest of them. Nothing was going to change that.

      Janos cleared his throat, summoning the students to attention. “You will receive your official house colors and competition uniforms when you arrive in Ecrof after the Placement Ceremony. But for now, it’s time to board the ship and set sail.”

      The recruits charged down the dock. Two kids, a Dreamer and a Realist, both clearly Rhodan Islanders, were in the lead. They scrambled up the rickety gangplank and clambered onto the deck. The rest of the recruits followed. The second the last recruit got on board, two sailors raised the gangway and two others, who were on the dock, unleashed the ropes securing the ship. The boat swayed, the sails rippled and snapped, and the ship began to sail from shore. Except for Leo Apama, who was already looking a little green, the recruits cheered.

      Janos stood in front of one of the masts and blew his whistle. “Your quarters are below. This will be the only time you will share quarters as a class of recruits. When you arrive in Ecrof, you will be placed according to your house affiliation. The Dreamers will go to the Temple of Dreams and the Realists to the Thinkers Palace.”

      The recruits hurried below deck, jostling one another as they descended the narrow, steep stairs. The hold of the ship was one big room with round windows just above head height. Seventeen hammocks swayed from the rafters. Leo clutched his stomach.

      “Choose one near a window,” Pretia said.

      There was a mad rush as the kids claimed their berths. Pretia was left with a hammock wedged in a narrow corner far to the aft of the ship. She flung her duffel onto the hammock and quickly pulled on her Ecrof sweats. They fit as if they’d been cut for her and her alone. She traced the Ecrof crest with her fingers, still unable to fully comprehend that the destiny that awaited her was precisely the thing she had dreamed about for years.

      Pretia was the last recruit to return to deck. While she’d been below, the deckhands had laid out a breakfast feast. There were fantastic fruits from all regions of Epoca—fluorescent oranges and luminescent red pomegranates, grapes as big as tennis balls and finger-size bananas. Jars of Megos honey sparkled next to the famous golden suncakes that were the pride of the bakers in Helios. There were bowls of sweet oats and grains, and rich pitchers of creamy nut milk.

      Except for Castor and Pretia, none of the recruits had experienced all of these foods before, and they marveled at the exotic tastes. Even Pretia had to conceal her wonderment that these foods, which were already familiar to her, tasted so much better when eaten on the deck of the boat carrying her to Ecrof. Pretia took a suncake and a shiny orange and carried them to the starboard side of the ship. She sat down and dangled her feet toward the turquoise water as she watched the distant coastline of mainland Epoca.

      From what Pretia could tell, they were sailing northwest, leaving southern Epoca and the Dreamer-dominated cities of Helios and Mount Oly behind, and crossing into the north of the country where the Realist seats of Megos and Hydros lay. She could just make out the white salt cliffs of Limnus, where the juiciest olives were said to grow.

      West of these cliffs, a jagged cluster of rocky land disrupted the pristine water. These were the Rhodan Islands, home to Epoca’s finest fishermen who braved the seas far from the shore in narrow, swift boats that were built so they could pursue the largest and most dangerous catches. Epic Athletes who came from these islands were praised for their incredible endurance and usually dominated the long-distance sports in the Epic Games.

      The farther into the Helian Sea they sailed, the bluer the water grew until it became the unblemished lapis lazuli hue that was the color of House Relia. The sun was reaching the midway point of its climb and now hung overhead like a great fiery ball. And just visible in the distance was the mainland that glittered gold and white.

      The ship kicked up salt spray into Pretia’s nose. But on the open sea, the water didn’t carry the same briny, fishy scent that rose from the harbor below Castle Airim. Instead, the water smelled fresh and clean, like the sun-kissed laundry that snapped in the breeze behind the castle.

      While Pretia was watching the sea and the vanishing coastline, she saw Rovi, the boy who’d snatched his bag from Janos without a word, darting back and forth between coils of rope at the prow of the ship. He moved like a cat, slipping from the prow down to the buffet table, then back to the prow. His movements were nimble, agile—and somewhat mysterious. Three times, Pretia watched as he crossed the deck to the table and returned to the coiled ropes.

      And then she saw what he was doing. The boy was stealing food. If she blinked, she nearly missed it. It was like a magic trick, the way he slid an orange or a banana off the table, then hid it somewhere on his body before crossing back to the prow, where he stored his plunder in a coil of rope. Pretia couldn’t keep herself from openly staring, confused as to why the boy would be stealing food, but impressed by the masterful way he was doing it.

      On his fourth trip, as he was bending over the rope, he looked up and caught her eye. Pretia quickly looked away, but she knew he had seen her. The boy left the prow and was at her side in no time.

      “What are you staring at, Princess?” he said.

      “Don’t call me Princess,” Pretia replied. “My name is Pretia.”

      “But that’s what you are, a princess,” the boy said. “So that’s what I’ll call you.”

      “And do you want me to call you

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