Innocent laughter teased Rico Terriot back from the doorstep of hell. He'd balanced there all night, still, stoic and barely breathing.
For three grueling days, the young princes in the shapeshifter House of Terriot had been pitted against one another, this their last, tortuous challenge. Schooled to ignore pain, to push beyond exhaustion, they’d perched on evenly spaced posts the previous afternoon, barefoot, wearing only camo fatigues and tee shirts, to balance there without rest, without water or sustenance, holding a sand-filled jug in each hand with arms outstretched in front of them. Easy peasy . . . for a while. By dark, their number had halved, and over that brutal evening, was halved again. And now just two of the twelve remained. Just Colin and him.
How that must have irritated Colin as the pinks of dawn became the hot glare of near noon. Imagining his brother's humiliation, not just before their siblings but also their trainer, Abel Conroy, Colin's revered step-father, kept Rico going even after the other favorite, Turow, had succumbed to a leg cramp several hours before.
No one expected Frederick, the screw up, the goof off, to shine equal to Abel's golden boy.
Rico slid a look at his brother. Colin stood steady and strong, more chiseled monument than thirteen-year-old male. There'd be no shame in losing to him, but no satisfaction, either. Though his arms trembled, his back ached, and his legs had gone numb, he determined to stick it out just a little bit longer.
To distract himself from his misery, Rico’s attention followed playful sounds to the rocky edge of Lake Tahoe. Colin's two young half-sisters played along the shoreline under the supervision of his step-father's oldest son, Anson, who held the baby of the family in his arms. Anson had attracted the interest of several flirtatious females who cooed at the child and made eyes at the young man. None paid any attention to the brutal trial going on . . . or to the two little girls hopping from stone to stone along the choppy water before racing down their family's dock. Rico and Colin were the only ones facing the lake. Alert to the potential danger, they exchanged quick glances.
Colin cleared his throat roughly. "Sir, permission to speak.”
Conroy's attention slashed to his step-son in surprise, brows lowering in ill-concealed disappointment. "Denied. You know better. Hold your position or forfeit."
Colin hesitated, torn as he looked again toward the dock. His balance wavered. "Sir-"
"Hold or forfeit!"
Colin firmed up his posture, staring straight ahead. Stunned by his brother’s decision, Rico held his position, too, but his focus remained divided.
Still grinning over what one of the young ladies had said, Anson glanced toward his sisters, yelling, "Lu, Katy, slow down before you break your necks! Get back up here so I can keep an eye on you." Then he turned away before his orders were obeyed.
That second of inattentiveness was all it took. A misstep on a slick board, and Lucy Conroy disappeared.
Colin had to have heard Rico grab a startled breath, but he didn't react. He remained eyes front, position locked. He wasn't going to do anything!
Stare riveted to the glassy surface where five-year old Lucy had gone under, Rico leapt from his post, knees buckling, barely supporting him as he scrambled toward the shore. Too long without fluids, he couldn't force an alarm from tight vocal cords as he raced past a surprised Anson, down the dock to where little Kate stood motionless, studying the water curiously. And he went in.
It was deep and cold, momentarily shocking Rico’s already abused body. Then he dove, outstretched hands searching wildly until they brushed against the smooth nylon of the little girl's coat. For an instant, he couldn't force his cramped fingers to close. Then arms were about his neck. He pushed off the bottom, breaking the surface, struggling to lift the girl up so a very pale Colin, who now knelt on the dock, could grab her. She clung to her brother, coughing and crying his name frantically.
Abel flung a blanket about both step-son and hysterical daughter, his arm around Colin in support. A shamefaced Anson scurried behind them on their way up from the water’s edge to their family compound high above, stuttering apologies as he carried both the baby and his other whimpering sister.
Pulse still banging furiously, Rico stumbled up onto the rocky shore where he stood shivering, alone. He'd won nothing, no prize, no praise. He had no one to worry over him or applaud his accomplishments and quick thinking. No one would remember that he’d gone into the water, only that Colin was there to lift his sister out. All his efforts, forgotten. The man he worshipped, the brother he admired, the girls he adored wouldn't give him another thought.
He had no family, no one to go home to. Only the name Terriot. And today, as in all those that came before it, he would trade one for the other in a solitary heartbeat.