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the dud farm. Taemon could not control Yens — no one could — but he would make sure
he
never got sent away.
    Yens showed no such concern. “Da, you’re a religion teacher. You should be proud — I mean
pleased
— that I’m to be the True Son.”
    Da gripped the table. “It’s not a contest. It isn’t a prize to be won. The Heart of Earth will choose the one to begin the next Great Cycle.”
    “But the high priest says the True Son has been born. They’re looking for someone who —”
    “The high priest is looking to increase his own power,” Da said. He shook his head slowly. “He only wants someone he can mold into the True Son. Someone to help him manipulate the people. If he takes you to the temple, you’ll be the true puppet, nothing more.”
    “What is wrong with this family?” Yens stood up and left the table. As his brother stormed out of the room, Taemon noticed that the red mark on Yens’s cheek was in the shape of a rabbit. Mam had left her mark, sure as sunrise.
    Taemon frowned. Could Yens really be the True Son? He was powerful enough. But somehow Taemon had always thought the True Son would be different. Someone . . . good.
    A new thought struck Taemon: What if he had come a breath away from killing the True Son?
    Worse yet, what if he should have killed Yens in order to
prevent
him from becoming the True Son?
    Skies! It was all so confusing. He’d lost his psi either because of his unworthy thoughts or because he wasn’t brave enough to do what needed to be done. Did it really matter which one? Either way amounted to a massive failure.
    Taemon and Yens had never spoken of what happened that day. Talking about it would mean admitting that Taemon had bested him, and Yens wouldn’t do that. Just as he wouldn’t say anything about his little brother being a powerless slug — not when it might mar his prospects for becoming the True Son. But once he was chosen, if he was chosen, would he still keep quiet?
    Perhaps the one bright outcome of all this was that the competition between Taemon and his brother had evaporated. Yens was clearly the star in the family, and Taemon was clearly the weakling. Yens was the psiball champion, the outstanding scholar, the gifted musician. Taemon fell easily into the role of Nobody.
    Mam did not come back to the table, which meant Taemon’s meal was over. The cucumber lay tepid and limp on his plate, which was fine with him. But walking away from the untouched lamb roll?
That
was difficult.
    Four days later, Taemon’s big moment came. It was time to demonstrate his lock. Taemon had already attached it to the handle of the locker when no one was looking. He stood in the hallway and waited for the teacher. It was midmorning break. Taemon had specifically requested this time slot to complete his lock assignment. He hoped the people milling around in the hall would distract the teacher. And Taemon needed all the distractions he could get.
    The lock worked at home, but could he do it in front of the teacher? Was it good enough to fool her? Or would he wake up tomorrow at the dud farm?
    The teacher walked up and stood next to Taemon. She leaned forward, peering at the lock. “It certainly has a . . . unique design.”
    “Um, thank you,” said Taemon. “That’s what I intended.”
    Was it too different? Would it stand out too much? He’d soon find out.
    Tilting the lock upward with her psi, the teacher peered at it and frowned. “This slot on the bottom . . . what’s it for?”
    “I . . . don’t want to be rude but . . . I’d rather not explain.”
    The teacher sniffed. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s the point of a lock, to make it incomprehensible to others.”
    Taemon exhaled. “Exactly.”
    He slid in between the teacher and the lock. He couldn’t afford to have her scrutinize it any further.
    With a gentle nudge of psi, she turned Taemon around to face the locker. “All right. Let’s see you unlock it.”
    “The thing is . . .” He leaned