The Chosen Prince Read Online Free PDF Page A

know, famously merciful and kind. And I think she must have looked down on me that day—so tiny and defenseless, you know, with all that hard work ahead of me—and felt pity in her heart. So she changed her mind and gave me one gift after all. What do you suppose it was?”
    Teo cannot imagine.
    â€œIt was you, Teo. The goddess gave me you.”
    â€œOh,” Teo says with a contented sigh. “That was very nice of her.”
    â€œYes, I think so too.”

4
    THE MORNING HAS FOLLOWED the usual schedule: mathematics, literature, poetics, then music. But in no other way has it been routine. The boys are inattentive; the masters are distracted. They all keep glancing at the door or gazing out windows as if expecting news to arrive at any moment. This is pointless, of course. They aren’t likely to hear anything till midday at least. And since this is the final round, there will probably be some formalities afterward—speeches of congratulations, instructions on where and when to assemble for the race, how they will enter in procession—which will take even more time.
    But the formalities would only apply to the eleven winners, the ones who will run on festival day (Alexos, who already has his place, being the twelfth). So thelonger they wait for Leander, the better the news is likely to be.
    And no one wants Leander to succeed more than Alexos does. But his reasons are complicated, a web of dark and light, genuine good wishes woven with his own deep fears: What if Leander fails to win a place, and after his brave struggle and well-earned glory, he has to sit in the stands on festival day while Alexos gets to run? Far worse, what if he comes in twelfth —but too bad , that place is already reserved this year?
    This thought is so appalling that Alexos has been seriously thinking about arranging some kind of accident, conveniently breaking a leg and thereby opening up that twelfth spot. The more he thinks about it, the more appealing the idea becomes, regardless of how Leander fares in today’s trials. It would be such an easy way out of an impossible situation. Why did he not think of this before?
    He’d have to plan it carefully, though; it mustn’t look suspicious. And it would have to be a serious fall, enough to do real damage without causing his actual death. He’s mentally working out the details, not paying the least attention to his classmates (two of whom are trying, in an unfocused sort of way, to play a duet on their lyres), when his thoughts are rudely interrupted by the music master’s voice.
    â€œMarkos! Timon! Stop! ” The master has covered his ears and is scowling as if in physical pain. “You offend the very gods with that disgusting noise—I will not dignify it with the name of music.”
    Markos and Timon fall silent as ordered. They know their playing wasn’t that bad. It’s just the master’s way of breaking early for the midday meal. He, like everyone else, is too nervous to concentrate today.
    In summer they eat outside on the covered porch, the whole class at a single long table. For Alexos this has always been the hardest moment of the day. Sitting together like this, free of masters, free to talk, the boys at their ease, he is made keenly aware that he really isn’t part of the group. When they speak to him, it’s always with forced politeness. But most of the time they don’t.
    It’s even more uncomfortable now that they talk of nothing but Leander and the race. Alexos is never mentioned; you’d think he wasn’t running at all. So he sits quietly in his usual spot at the far end of the south bench, tearing off bits of bread and putting them in his mouth. He isn’t the least bit hungry.
    â€œWhat should we do if he makes the finals?” Titus asks. “Throw him into the horse trough?”
    â€œDon’t be stupid,” Delius says. “We carry himaround the track with a