The Poet Heroic (The Kota Series) by Sunshine Somerville Page B

play and waved Vale onto the field.
    The other boys didn’t argue, but when they looked at Vale he felt waves of contempt and respect radiate from their minds in equal measure.
    “Hey, Beathabane,” said a muscular, dark-skinned young man a little shorter than Vale and Cruelthor’s height.
    “Hi, Troubogaust,” Vale answered politely. He never argued their use of his father’s nickname for him. There would be no point. But in his own mind, he still thought of himself as Vale – the name his mother had given him.
    “Play with us,” said Cruelthor.
    Vale wavered.
    “Oh, come on,” said Cruelthor with an I-can-win-you-over grin. He kicked Vale the ball. “Clearly you’re done studying if you came out here to run. Join us.”
    Vale rolled the ball with his foot, testing the air pressure. He smiled. “Okay. But only until the first goal.”
    The other boys were satisfied with this and returned to their positions on the field. Cruelthor gave Vale a playful shoulder slap, which was harder than it would’ve been a few years earlier…
    While Vale was secretly a telepath, his twin brother had a very different skill set. Their father had had them tested when they turned ten to see if they carried mutate-genes, but only Cruelthor’s tests were positive. For the next few years, the talk of the land had focused on guessing what Cruelthor’s mutate-genetic abilities might turn out to be. Then came puberty, and Cruelthor’s mutate-genes had kicked in, enhancing his strength tenfold. It had been a dangerous time to be his younger twin, and Vale had been careful not to piss him off. Vale, meanwhile, developed the ability to hear other people’s thoughts, speak in their minds, and sense their feelings. This had been a complete surprise and freaked Vale out at first, but he was glad he could hide his gift and avoid the attention Cruelthor’s strength received from the public.
    Vale kicked the ball to his brother, and together they raced for the other end of the field. Vale was faster – at least he had that. Cruelthor cut left around a defender, passed the ball to a teammate, and Vale ran into position to score.
    Suddenly, a loud shout cut through the game’s commotion. “What in the name of the Twenty-Five Regions do you boys think you’re doing?”
    Everyone stopped running and looked over to see Commander Guown, the Youth program’s History instructor, on the edge of the field. The big man stood with his arms crossed. He didn’t look pleased.
    The whole herd of boys jogged off the field and scrambled to stand at attention before the commander.
    Guown stroked his sandy mustache and let out a huff. His Euro accent grew thick with his anger. “Three days until final exams, and you knuckleheads think it’s a good time to play football? If every single one of you doesn’t get your butts back to your desks in the next half hour, I’m going to report to your fathers if you do not absolutely ace my section exams!” He raised an eyebrow at Vale in particular.
    “You can’t afford to give your father room for criticism, lad,” he thought, knowing Vale could hear his thoughts through a mind link Vale had created a long time ago. There were few people Vale fully trusted, but Guown was one of them.
    Vale nodded slightly at his teacher.
    Guown took a step into Cruelthor’s face. “Especially you! I expect you to be a better leader by now. Set an example, heir. Hop to!”
    “Yes, sir!” Cruelthor saluted and turned to his friends. “You heard the commander!”
    The boys took off in different directions across the gardens, each heading for their quarters. Vale jogged with his brother, matching him stride for stride.
    “I’m going to gut that old man when we take over.” Cruelthor laughed.
    Vale smiled, hoping his brother was kidding.
     
    An hour later, Vale slipped out of his room and walked down the hall to his brother’s beautiful oak door. Knocking, Vale heard his brother think him inside.
    He walked in to find