At the far end, Pretia skidded to a stop. She smoothed her dress and patted her hair so it didn’t look like a rat’s nest. A glance down showed that the laces on her left shoe were untied.
“Pretia!”
Her father’s deep, melodious voice echoed from the Atrium below. “How many times have I told you not to run through the Hall of the Gods?”
There was no time to tie her sneaker. Pretia started down the final flight of stairs. “I wasn’t—” she tried. But she knew it was pointless. She could never lie to her father, and he could never stay mad at her.
“Sorry,” she said. The room was semicircular with great columns on all sides that let out onto a balcony that overlooked the Campos Field, where the Epic Games ceremony was held.
King Airos and Queen Helena stood together underneath the high-domed roof. They were dressed, as always, in the colors of their houses—the king in purple and the queen in blue.
Pretia was always struck by the sight of her parents standing side by side, especially by their height, but also by the fact that she didn’t look much like either of them. Some people acknowledged she bore a slight resemblance to her mother. They had the same black hair and the same green eyes. That’s where the similarities ended. While Helena’s pale skin darkened only after much exposure to Epoca’s constant sunshine, Pretia was naturally tan, the color of the people of the Sandlands.
Unlike her parents, who were both tall and sturdily built, Pretia was fine-boned and narrow, more like a long-distance runner than a formidable basketball player or soccer star. And she was short, shorter than her only first cousin, Castor, as well as all the castle workers’ children. But she was only ten, her parents told her, and they assured her that height and strength would come.
The king was large and athletic, with reddish-blond hair that, like his wife’s, was now streaked with silver. His features were round and had grown more so as he aged. Pretia knew the rumor that her father had been one of the most promising athletes in Epoca but had chosen the art of statesmanship over sports when he’d been selected by his father to lead House Somni. So now his stomach was a little larger than it used to be, and his face a little softer. Deep creases ran away from his eyes, the result, Pretia liked to imagine, of years of laughter.
Pretia understood that her parents had been much older than was considered normal when she was born. She had been born late, after much difficulty and sadness. She didn’t quite understand the nature of this sadness, but she could see it written on her mother’s face in the downward turn of her mouth and the distant look that crept into her eyes from time to time. While the king made his presence known at every moment with his rolling laugh and loud, jovial voice, there were times that Queen Helena seemed to retreat so far into herself that she became nearly invisible.
Pretia also knew that people, from the cooks to her royal relatives, whispered that her looks were due to the unusual—some would say unnatural—marriage between her parents. Until the king and queen married, there had been no royal union between Dreamers and Realists. The houses kept to themselves and only competed against each other once every four years in the Epic Games for control of Epoca.
But Pretia’s parents’ marriage had changed everything so that no matter whether the Dreamers or the Realists emerged from the Epic Games victorious, Helena and Airos would still hold power—together. And when it was Pretia’s turn to take control of Epoca, the Epic Games would be even less meaningful, since she would remain in control of the country regardless of the outcome.
“Are you ready?” King Airos said, looping his arm through Pretia’s.
Pretia looked into her father’s eyes. Was he crying? “Are you okay?” she asked.
“It’s a big day for you, Pretia, receiving your Grana Book.”
“Oh, come on, Papa,” Pretia said. “It’s just a book.”
The king placed his hand on Pretia’s shoulder. “No, Pretia, it’s not just a book. It’s the key to the rest of your life.”
Grana Books were a tradition unique in Epoca. Every child had one made for them on the hidden island of Docen by the Guardians of the Book. No one had ever visited this island. But once a child’s birth was registered, his or her parents would report the birth to the Guardians and a book would be crafted using craft known only to those on Docen. Some said that the books were inspired by a child’s parental history. Others said their contents were conjured through prophecy. When the books were ready, they were sent to the new parents to be handed down on a child’s tenth birthday. The books were made to guide children through life, to offer answers when parents could not, and then long into adulthood. They were a mixture of nature and nurture—half tailored to the child’s projected personality and half reflecting the parents’ worldview.
Pretia had heard rumors of outcast or orphaned children unlucky enough not to have Grana Books, who passed through life lost and without guidance. And there were even stories of families who had passed down the wrong Grana Book to a child, which made the child’s work of interpreting the book much more difficult.
Now the queen looped her arm through Pretia’s free one. “Sweetheart,” she said. “You must never dismiss the importance of your book. Now, let’s go. The Speaker of Grace and the rest of our family are waiting under the Gods’ Eye.” And together, Pretia and her parents proceeded to the very top of Castle Airim.
The top floor of the castle was off-limits to most of the castle staff and inhabitants. Only the immediate members of the royal family and their chosen advisers were permitted to ascend into the domed chamber.
Pretia and her parents climbed the increasingly steep and narrow stairs and emerged in the cool, domed room. The Speaker of Grace—a Realist in a somber blue cloak—stood in the center of the room surrounded by six esteemed Granics from House Somni and House Relia. Everyone was dressed according to the colors of their houses in high ceremonial robes with long bell-shaped sleeves and gold corded belts.
A small group of Pretia’s closest blood relatives stood to one side. Her father’s aunt Chryssia, an elderly lady who shook when she talked and smelled of myrtle tea; her mother’s brother, Janos, Head Trainer of Ecrof; and his son, Castor. Chryssia was dressed in her ancient purple Dreamer robes with dozens of golden rings and necklaces, while Janos and Castor wore Realist blue dress uniforms. Janos’s wife, Thalia, was not permitted into the Gods’ Eye chamber because she was not related to the royal family by blood. She would gain access only in the unlikely event that Castor became king instead of Pretia becoming queen. Next to Janos was an empty spot where his and Queen Helena’s oldest sister, Syspara, should have stood. But Syspara had been lost to the family many years ago—Pretia had never met her. Although the queen insisted that place always be held for her sister at royal events, Pretia had heard it whispered through the castle that her aunt was dead.
Janos always reminded Pretia of one of the sturdy and ornate columns that supported the Atrium at Castle Airim. He towered over both his sister and the king. He was the same age as King Airos, but unlike Pretia’s father, he still looked as if he could defeat the youngest, fittest, and most promising athletes in the Epic Games. On the left lapel of his ceremonial uniform were seventeen gold bars representing his seventeen Epic Games gold medals. And around his neck was a heavy wooden whistle he never took off. His arms were like tree trunks, his fists tough like marble, and his jaw square and strong. Despite the stern look on his face, Pretia could see the delight in his deep-set green eyes that were shaded by a prominent brow that cast his face into permanent shadow.
“Hi, Uncle Janos,” Pretia whispered.
Janos winked. But Castor, standing at his father’s side, just rolled his eyes at Pretia.
Castor was a miniature version of his father—compact and muscular with a heavy brow. Pretia knew that the last place Castor wanted to be was in this room watching her, of all people, receive another blessing. Yet there he was as always, forced to watch as people made a big deal about Pretia—the Child of Hope. Pretia understood Castor’s exasperation. Even she wanted to roll her eyes at the