Page 65 of The Amber Sunburst

“Who says I don’t?”

Kallias snorts like he’s never heard anything more stupid, which, fair.

Alexander leans against the wall watching Kallias pick the lock to their library. He shouldn’t be thinking about it like that: as their library. But as he follows Kallias into the room and takes a seat at the back table, he knows he can’t stop himself.

“Now shut up and let me read,” Kallias demands, but before he can start, Alexander snatches the thin-rimmed glasses off of his face and puts them on his own.

“Nope.” He grins, vision blurry.

They spend less and less time reading every visit and, yes, he is aware that the whole point of being here is for him to educate himself so he can go home, but all that feels dull compared to engaging Kallias in conversation.

“You look ugly in glasses.”

“I never look ugly.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Kallias groans and drops his head to his book so that all Alexander can see are golden locks fanned across the table. His muffled voice says, “I don’t know how I got stuck with you.”

Alexander laughs, but his mind wanders. If Kallias knew where he came from and who he was, would he send Alexander back right away, happy to be rid of him? Or would he tell him to stay?

It’s probably not healthy, but Alexander wants Kallias to want him to stay.

Or maybe he just wants to bring Kallias with him.

Kallias flicks Alexander gently on the forehead with his finger, which brings him back to a reality he doesn’t mind quite as much as he used to. Not here, where Kallias’ arms are pillowed under his chin and his dark eyes are staring up at Alexander, his gaze assessing and his bottom lip between his teeth.

“What do I have to give you to get my glasses back and stop hearing your voice for the rest of the night?” Kallias asks, his contemplative look transforming into the cute scowl that Alexander is so weak for.

“Is it so bad that I want to talk to you?”

“Yes.”

Alexander ignores him. “You’re the only one that’s any fun anymore. Everyone else is too stressed about the Trials. I don’t get it. I mean what is it that we’re fighting for? What’s even going to happen?”

Kallias sits up straight. “Have you really not gathered that from the cohort meetings we’ve had about them?”

He’s not that stupid. “I know they’re, like, officially cementing everyone’s place in the bureaucratic hierarchy or something, but people are treating it like life or death. Even Zeno and Eudoxos.”

Kallias props his chin on his hand and sighs in acquiescence. “The Trials are life or death, in a sense,” he says. “When you’re an Auxiliary, you are born and raised to be a Guardian. And Guardians live to uphold Justice. But most Guardians don’t have the power to do that: they’re not respected or liked or even known outside of their own circles. The only people with real influence are the Council of Kings and the Educator.”

“Right.”

“So, when you’ve been raised with the single goal of being beneficial to the bureaucratic system, the idea that you could end up some low level official with no say over the state is harrowing. This isn’t even how it’s supposed to happen, not according to The Republic itself. Auxiliaries are supposed to stay Auxiliaries forever, but whoever founded this place decided to make the Leadership Classes more fluid. Auxiliaries are precursors of Guardians, probably to save resources and only train one group instead of both Auxiliary and Guardian children,” he explains, emphatically—emphatic by Kallias-standards, at least. “The Trials are held when the Educator turns sixty. Then, those who make it to Council are trained until the Educator dies and they take their spots. But the current Educator⁠—”

“Lykos.”

Kallias winces slightly. “Yeah. His predecessor died mysteriously six months after the Trials—do with that what you will—so he ascended to power very young. There haven’t been Trials in a generation and the introduction of a new regime could be cataclysmic for everyone.”

“But then why aren’t you all freaked out?” Alexander asks, pushing Kallias’ glasses up into his hair.

“It’s simple: I don’t care.” Kallias shrugs. “I don’t need power. I don’t even want it. I am where I am, and I’m going to be stuck here forever. So why should I care?”

Alexander can’t help but feel like they’re talking about something else now. An old wound that’s still tender. “Is that what you want? To stay here forever.”

Kallias’ brows stitch together, like he’s really considering it.