Page 54 of Winterveil

Mikhail also looked weary as he sat down. Klaudia’s expression, as usual, revealed nothing. Jane was nervously picking at her nails.

“They’re calling the four of us the Athenians,” Mikhail said.

“In the context of their historically unrivaled artistic and political culture?” Julian asked, raising a brow.

“In the context of something called . . . the Melian Dialogue?”

The Melian Dialogue was the text from which all realist theory was derived. Thucydides, a Greek historian, had reported on the supposed negotiations between the Athenian invaders and their victims, the Melians. Prior to the siege, the militarily superior Athenians had offered the Melians terms of surrender, leading to the famous line: The strong do what they will, and the weak endure what they must. After the Melians refused the terms, the Athenians massacred them without mercy.

Klaudia swiftly explained the finer points of this to Jane and Mikhail.

Jane wrinkled her nose. “They don’t really think that about us, do they?”

It was true that the four of them had been summarily trouncing the rest of the school. But Julian suspected that there was one person responsible for this particular epithet.

“No,” Julian assured her. “This is just Carter’s way of coping with his inferiority and inevitable defeat.”

Jane still looked distressed. Another chorus of whispers rose, and more sharp glares. Finally, Mikhail said, “I’ll drop out.”

“What?” Jane’s eyes widened. “No, you can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Mikhail said. “My ranking is safe. And besides, I kind of get why they’re upset. I’m the developer of the game. I wrote all the code. I do have an unfair advantage.”

Jane opened her mouth to argue, and then shut it again. Julian’s stomach fluttered with unease. None of them pointed out that Carter’s quarrel was obviously with Klaudia. She was the favorite to win. But Julian doubted that anyone could have convinced her to drop out.

And why should she? She wasn’t going to lose to Carter. Mikhail’s words echoed. You want to be the one to do it. Much as Julian resented to think it, Mikhail was right. If Klaudia was going to lose, it would be by his hand.

If the first phase of the tournament had lacked spectacle and pageantry, the same could not be said for the final round. It took place in the main building’s large lecture hall, a sweeping, echoing auditorium.

The double doors had been draped in laurel wreaths, sprinkled with gold flakes. On the dais, two podiums had been erected, facing each other, a tablet set on each one. The stage itself was also dressed up in laurel wreaths, and curtains of rich purple velvet had been raised overhead. The evocation of ancient Rome could not be ignored.

But this was no gladiatorial arena. This was the Senate chamber, where orators battled with their words and minds. One could only hope to leave as Cicero, and not Catiline.

As soon as Julian entered, one of the first-year volunteers handed him a plastic case of nodes. “Here. Put these on.”

“Why?”

“Dr. Iver said to.”

Julian glanced around the room and saw that every student, even the audience, had the nodes fixed to their temples. He sought out Dr. Iver and found him sitting in the first row, right next to Mikhail. They had their heads bent toward one another and were speaking intently, but Julian was too distant to hear anything that they were saying.

He took the nodes out of their plastic case and fixed them to his temples, feeling the slight heat of the metal against his skin as they flickered on. He had never gotten used to wearing them during the simulations, of the strangeness of not having to speak aloud yet seeing his thoughts shift the map before his eyes. But if he won today, it would be well worth the discomfort.

Klaudia’s semifinal round was to be played first, and Julian watched as she stepped to the podium. He tried to see her face, but she stared determinedly down at her tablet, consummately focused.

“You made a good showing.”

Julian looked up with a start. Carter was standing before him, smirking.

His skin prickled. “And I happened to do it all without cheap tricks. Imagine that.”

“It’s your friend’s game. It’s not fair. You’re cheap for getting his help.”

“Not as cheap as assaulting your competition.”

Carter’s smirk only grew wider. “She’s a frigid bitch. That’s the closest she’ll ever get to any action. She should thank me.”

He had thought it was a cliché, but in that moment, Julian truly saw red.