Young Writers Society

Rudi secretly hoped his Pa’s request would be denied. No way could he live for a whole six months without his adopted father teaching him interesting ways to memorize his times tables, or go without the heroic retellings of his Pa’s life as a soldier. He moped around the house all week, staying far away from the regular courier who passed through on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Of course, when a royal eagle perched itself on Rudi’s windowsill Sunday morning, all of his hopes died. The training master would not spare a royal eagle for a rejection letter. Not unless he wanted to spite someone, and no one wanted to spite Rudi’s Pa. Rudi’s Pa was a hero.

Taking the letter downstairs, Rudi opened it and took a peek. He could read pretty well, or his Pa said he could, but half of the words were too big for Rudi to understand, and the words were all mixed up. Cringing in fear of the inevitable, he handed the letter to his Pa over breakfast and sat quietly at the table. As he picked at his food, his Pa skimmed the letter.

Pa smiled. “Looks like you’re going,” he said, picking up a knife. They were a little rusted, bought second-hand from a noble family. “I hope you make lots of friends, and remember not to let your magic get out of hand. There will be a teacher there who can help you control it until you know how to use it appropriately, got it?”

Rudi sniffled and poked his sausage. “I don’t wanna go,” he whimpered.

“Oh, come on, Rudi,” Pa said, “I know you don’t want to now, but a month from today, you’ll be having the best time of your life. You might not even want to come home!” Pa winked and stuffed ham into his mouth.

Dropping his utensils, Rudi doubted he would ever like page training. Life just couldn’t be good without Pa. He looked up to try memorizing everything about Pa. His graying brown hair, tied in a short ponytail with a navy blue bow, just like a soldier’s. His bony fingers for dramatizing war stories. His bright brown eyes that always shone as mischievous as Rudi’s own. That was the only trait they shared, he and his Pa. Rudi had stiff blonde hair that Pa made him cut every month, and Rudi wasn’t as skinny or wrinkly as his Pa. He wasn’t chubby, but he wasn’t particularly nimble with his hands either.

Sensing his son’s sadness, Peter Fluß forced a grin. “I’ll miss you Rudi,” he said, “and I’ll write you as often as I can, but just remember that I’d never do anything to you that wasn’t good for you.”

Rudi nodded solemnly. He still didn’t want to go.

But go Rudi did. The next morning, Pa saddled his horse and a pony for Rudi and packed the saddlebags with enough food and clothing for the next three days. He hoisted his son into the saddle and patted his back before leading the both of them towards Shönluft Palace, better known as the Summer Palace.

Shönluft definitely matched Rudi’s impression of a summery place. The outside was painted in pale yellow, with white frames around all the windows. All of the gardens blossomed with roses and tulips, and the low iron gates were covered in climbing vines. A line of horses and chauffeurs already circled around the front fountain, with children and parents stepping out. One boy, obviously from the Selim Empire based on his skin, had twelve horses in his train, not including the black-socked pony he rode. Twin boys from farther north stepped out of an elaborate carriage, a pair of servants hauling their luggage. Both were blond and blue-eyed, but it was obvious that the one with his hair smoothed down was the sensible one.

“We’re here,” Pa said, even though Rudi could have guessed as much. “Everyone’s going to know as soon as you introduce yourself that you’re not a noble, and I want you to know something.” He lifted Rudi to the ground and looked his son straight in the eyes, very serious. “No matter what anyone says, or what anyone does to you, even if they insult me, or you, never let your magic get the best of you. Kids might make fun of you, but you have to know that the only people you need to please are you and your teachers. Got it?”

Rudi nodded and let his Pa push him towards the front entrance. All he had with him was a sack of clothes and a sketch of him and his Pa to tack on the wall. Once they climbed all the stairs, Rudi looked back. There were two others without huge entourages. Both were girls, though the one closer to the palace had finer horses and clothes than the short one who had to ride on the same horse as her company.

Wondering who the girls were, Rudi walked into the palace, his Pa following right behind.

Almost immediately, a tall young man greeted Rudi’s pa. Rudi knew this one. He was Prince Branden, second in line for the throne, and the knight who led the invasion of Altland six years ago. He had visited once before when Rudi’s Pa retired after the war.

“And you must be Rudi,” the prince said warmly. He shook Rudi’s hand and chuckled. “You’re a fine little man, aren’t you? Got your father’s eyes.”

The way his Pa smiled was the exact same way he always did whenever someone said they looked alike, as if he'd won his hero's medal a thousand times over. “Thank you,” Mister Fluß said. “I'm lucky to have him.” He did not say where from, or how. Rudi’s Pa never explained that to anyone except Rudi, and there was no talk of it afterwards. No one needed to know that ‘Old Hero Fluß’ quit fighting because he found an orphaned baby next to its dead parents.

“He's adopted?” the prince asked, raising an eyebrow, “where from?”

“His parents asked me to care for him if they died. Old friends, you know.”

Rudi nodded for emphasis. It was a half-truth, his Pa had always said, and no one would ever try to extract more with a story like that.

Exactly as Rudi’s Pa told him, Prince Branden looked away, a depressed look in his eyes. He did not ask further. “Well, I do hope you’ll stay tonight, Mister Fluß,” the prince continued, “and we’ll take good care of Rudi while he’s here.”

With a nudge from his Pa, Rudi walked towards the other boys who had arrived first. They had gathered in the middle of the entrance hall, scuffing their shoes on the marble floors. Too shy to introduce himself, Rudi joined them in their boredom, tapping his foot anxiously. He glanced around at the room. The walls were painted pastel green, and flowers in vases decorated every available table. He wished there was carpet here, because the echoes of shoes tapping the marble grated on Rudi’s senses.

Suddenly, the one of the girls strode straight towards the tan boy from the Selim Empire. She was the richer one, and she wore dark blue trousers over her hose, and a tunic in lighter blue. Her short red hair only made her seem more boyish than her already tall, lanky frame.

“I’m Bridget of Glasserow,” she said loudly. She offered the tan boy a hand and he shook it hesitantly.

“Çem, fourth prince of the Selim Empire. But your Stadten accents do not accommodate my name well. Please call me Chem.” He was obviously a year or so older than Rudi, who had turned seven half a year ago. His black hair was shiny and smoothed back in the normal style for princes.

“I’m the daughter of the Anglonian ambassador,” Bridget said, laughing, “I can certainly pronounce your name right, Jem.” She promptly moved on to the twin boys, who introduced themselves as Dieter and Reiner of Norden. Both spoke the strangest version of Stadten, sounding very posh and northern. Their words were harshly articulated, and the slang was, well, hard for Rudi to interpret.

The last girl snuck into the group, standing politely next to Rudi. She was a girl girl, very small and delicate and long-haired. She wore brown trousers, and her shirt hadn’t been tucked in, making her look strangely poor. Her hair was tied up very tightly in a crown of braids, and her eyes looked empty.

“Good day,” she said. Her accent was unfamiliar and faint, but there was something funny about how she said her vowels.

“Same to you,” Rudi said, before looking up to see Bridget staring at him. Her eyes were the most frightening shade of green.

“Your name?”

“Rudolph Fluß, but I prefer Rudi.”

Satisfied, Bridget moved to the short girl. She had to bend over to try making eye contact, and even when the short girl looked up, Rudi could tell by Bridget’s squinting that her goal went unfulfilled.

“I’m Bridget of Glasserow,” she said slowly, “what’s your name?”

“Vinnia,” the short girl said. She fidgeted and curled a stray hair around her fingers. “Of Reysa.” Then she looked straight to her feet and studied the floor. She wore ankle-height riding boots with worn brown leather and frayed laces.

A few chuckles escaped the throats of the Norden boys while Rudi tried to remember where Reysa was. It didn’t sound like a place in the Stadt, and if it was, it had to be recently conquered.

“Reysa?” the messy-haired Norden boy said. He tried to smile without looking mean, but failed. “Uh, congratulations to your family then.” His brother elbowed him and pulled him to the side for a private twins’ conversation. Vinnia rolled up her shoulders and clenched her fists in her tunic.

Then Rudi remembered. His own Pa had helped take over Reysa. It was a stretch of mountainous terrain in what used to be Altland. A spy for the Stadt had visited Rudi’s Pa on his way to the area, just so he’d have a better idea of what to expect when he got there. Apparently, that spy had gained nobility for his efforts during the invasion. Rudi glanced awkwardly at Vinnia, wondering why it was so bad to be from Reysa.

Suddenly, she hmphed and spun on her heels to show the Norden twins that she didn’t care what they said. Closing her eyes, she muttered something incomprehensible under her breath. After that, Bridget gave up on conversing with the girl and invited Rudi to talk with her and Chem. When Rudi tried to refuse, she simply dragged him over.

“So Jem,” she said, “what’s it like in the Selim Empire?”

He shrugged, still managing to look princely. “The colors are much brighter, and it smells better at home.” His lips curled into a smirk. “Our palaces are also much more elaborate. We have some of the largest domes in the world. They would make all of the churches in Altland look puny.”

“Leave it to an Easterner to be good at engineering,” Bridget laughed. “I guess you could say that the Altens stole it from you, and the rest of the world stole it from the Altens.”

“Based on the commutative property, it still means that everyone stole the domes from us.”

“That’s true. Wait, the commutative property?” Bridget eyed the prince suspiciously. “How old are you?”

He told her that he would turn nine in four months, and she answered that she was already nine. Then, both turned on Rudi, a questioning look in their eyes.

“Seven,” he grumbled, “and a half.”

Like Rudi thought they would, Bridget and Chem snorted. They turned away, snickering about how little and cute Rudi was, and how they had to be much better and smarter than him. Scowling, he looked up at the stairs.

The scowl was replaced by curiosity in a split-second, for the welcoming committee had just arrived.