Page 12 of The Amber Sunburst

“Aren’t you a Councilman? You can’t do anything?”

Bios shakes his head. “The Council of Kings are lawmakers, upholding Justice. We don’t have power over economic organization, only maintaining order.”

“How wonderfully immoral of you,” Alexander quips, before remembering that he is making fun of one of the actual leaders of this city. It’s time to put a lid on the sarcasm.

It’s just strange to him, such intense class separation. The Holy American Empire isn’t communist, but the ‘love your neighbor’ concept is taken so seriously that wealth mostly redistributes itself. He wishes it were because his country is full of kind, giving people, but he’s pretty sure they just fear God’s wrath too much not to do good.

Bios shrugs and responds, “Entirely. I’m not saying I don’t want to fix it. Or that I haven’t tried. Just that it’s not my jurisdiction. Morality isn’t Justice.”

Alexander hums again and his eyes drift to the surface of his coffee, which mirrors his face back to him. His hair is a mess. Ugh.

When he looks back up, Bios is sliding a steel ring off his index finger. He lays it on the table and then, from the ring, a small screen and keyboard project in front of Bios, and he starts to type.

Alexander stares incredulously. This is more than a tablet. This is technology so advanced that pre-Fall nations never made it, and they created everything they could think of to stay in the race to the top.

Bios must take his stare to be one of offense because he explains, still typing, “Sorry, kid. Just letting Zeno know where we are.”

Once Bios has sent the message and slipped the ring back on, Alexander asks, “Zeno?”

“He’s your new roommate. You’ll get along well, I think.”

His life right now is a nightmare, but somehow that is the most ludicrous thing Alexander has heard yet. He’s a prince. He lived in a castle. He’s never had a roommate a day in his life—not even his twin brother.

Maybe his irrational side is kicking in because he wants to cry.

Instead, he exclaims, “Can’t wait to meet him!”

He isn’t sure he could sound faker if he tried.

“Good,” Bios says, nodding to Alexander’s coffee. “Now, finish that and then we’ll keep going.”

“Yay. More stairs,” Alexander says, and so much for controlling the sarcasm.

“Best part of my day for sure,” Bios jokes.

Alexander gulps down the last half of his coffee in one sip. “But really, why all the stairs? You must have the technology now for a more advanced system.”

“I think it’s about power,” Bios says. “The Producer Class lives down here, and looming over them is the Academy, where Auxiliaries and Guardians work to protect and uphold Justice. To get from the bottom to the top is nearly impossible. Like the Academy is watching but unreachable.”

“To get from the top to the bottom is easy, though. You just need to be pushed,” Alexander counters.

“That’s truer than you know.”

The coffee is helpful for all of ten minutes before Alexander begins to wish he really had drowned. Bios was right when he said it’s about power; Alexander can’t imagine starting at the bottom. You simply wouldn’t make it. And every step would be a reminder that you’ve moved further than you belong.

They pass a very well-kept Arc—the First Arc, he presumes—full of sprawling estates and egregiously wealthy-looking people. The only thing this Arc has in common with the third is the steep, winding streets that keep the neighborhoods on a slant to match the stairs.

He’s so used to the steps that when he reaches level ground, he lifts his foot as if to ascend more and falls onto his face.

“Aargh,” he groans.

Bios laughs somewhere above him.

“I’m never using stairs ever again.”

“Oh, buddy. Auxiliaries have patrols once a week in the Arcs, and they always use the stairs.”

Alexander’s ears perk up at the mention of patrols. So he’s part of the law enforcing body? Like a Keeper of the Faith at home.