Chapter 5

T he Academy's main building thronged with people. Vala hurried to the janitorial staff room, dodging the sweeping robes of teachers and students. She gazed up at the runes carved upon the ceilings and walls, protection seals blocking out unfriendly intruders. Rune carvings were placed all over the campus, locking away possible entrances save the official, approved alcoves where people could open those undulating holes of darkness. No one could access the grounds from that otherworld unless they had the correct permission runes which were given out only to authorized individuals. Most days, the alcoves just provided a way for students and teachers to skip rainy dashes between buildings.

She found the openings to be the worst part of the Academy. It reminded her of what had happened…of what she had done. Some days, she wondered why she cared to be alive knowing they were not. Other times, she reminded herself that a life of suffering was a worse fate than a quick, simple death. Mostly, she tried to never think about it at all.

Entering the staff room, she closed the door with a heavy sigh. Luckily, there was no one about. She hated making small talk and had a funny feeling that people knew it and felt sorry for her attempts. Flinging her backpack into the locker, she buttoned the white janitor's outfit over her shirt and sweatpants and checked her cleaning supplies. She pushed her cart into the hall, headed to the staff-only elevator. She kept her eyes down, ignoring how people seemed to see through her. As if she was invisible. Like she didn't matter . She shook her head, causing her braid to reassuringly swish across her back. There were more important things to consider, such as today's mission to lift certain rune books from the Library. Their titles floated before her mind's eye; letters tilted sideways as she had read them on the shelves while pushing the cart through the library. Thank the gods for her photographic memory.

The Rise and Fall of the Imperial Dynn Knight

How Dynn Knights Trained the Dragons

Dynn Knights and Their Impact on Inefficient Rune Markets

Fighting Styles of Dynn Knights Across Five Countries

Of Dynn Knights and Rogue Traders: The Story of the First Rune Market Collapse

Solitary Madness, or the Roaming Lifestyle of the Knights who serve the Dynn

Fortunately, the school filled the stadium for the welcoming ceremony. Another opportunity like this would not happen until the campus was abandoned for the holiday week. Armed with books on Dynn Knights, she could determine the Masked Man's identity. When he found her next time—and she felt sure there would be a next time—she would be ready. She sighed, tugging her cart from the elevator and into a side hall. Two errant students lingered in the echoing corridor, grabbing items from lockers.

"They say he's just marrying Princess Helen for her money." The nearer student slammed her locker door shut.

"Yeah, that's what I heard. He's so deep in debt, his father nearly exiled him," her friend laughed as they hurried past.

"Too much gambling. And you know he's a total womanizer. They say half the Thevian women have broken hearts and the rest, broken beds. Did you see him arrive at the gates?"

"No, why? Is he hot?" The friend made a hand gesture and a Dynn opening flared black and strong in the appropriate hallway recess.

"Mary, by the gods. He's walking sex. But kinda full of himself too, if you know what I mean."

The Dynn opening winked shut, students vanishing into nothingness.

She clutched her stomach, feeling the wave of nausea that accompanied their departure into the other world. She felt glad not to be ordered to help out at the ceremony. A pompous, royal oaf would get on her nerves to no end. She pulled out a mop.

"There you are."

She ground her teeth at the voice.

But a court-appointed supervisor needed to receive a nice, welcoming smile. She turned around from the moping to catch the dark vestiges of the Dynn vanish behind the approaching man. Her stomach heaved again and she clutched her stomach reflexively.

Professor Heep, or Heep as students liked to call him, was tall and lanky, his face pockmarked by years of poor health, shoulders hunched in a way that suggested early-stage skeletal degeneration, wore the red and black Academy robes of a professor with an intellectual frown to match them.

"What are you doing?" His voice wheezed as though he had run across the grounds instead of compressing time and space into several quick steps through the Dynn.

She had learned that the rain did not help his feeble lungs. She would feel bad for his health issues but he sucked as a person so she didn't care. If she could not get rid of Heep and soon, then so much for any opportunity to sneak away to the library.

She gestured to the mop. "Cleaning, sir. It's my job."

He cracked his knuckles, a gesture that annoyed her to no end. "Spare the sarcasm. Do you know what is happening right now?"

"Happening?" She echoed and added a polite smile so he could not repeat his lectures on guarding against the arrogance that had placed her in prison in the first place.

"Here, in this school. We have a massive, international event and yet I checked your rune plants for your near future location. Imagine my surprise to find you in this clean hallway, scrubbing an already polished floor."

"Sorry, sir? My manager said I had to clean here today." She was uncertain of where this conversation headed. But then Heep loved pestering her. Maybe he needed to take out his bad morning on someone. She was an easy target.

"The prison warden told me you were smart. Why must I continually think so much on your behalf? Go to the stadium at once, and make yourself useful in the kitchens. The emperor has arrived and the Academy is woefully understaffed."

"Emperor Luiximor is here?" Her surprise was now genuine.

"Are you hard of hearing?"

"But sir, I never clean the stadium. That's not my assigned area?—"

"Don't dare interrupt me. There are dishes to be washed and the kitchens need all the help they can get. Leave your cart and go at once." Heep flung his arm wide, rendered a Dynn opening, and paced off into the eternal night.

The blackness vanished and Vala made a rude gesture after him. If every emperor in the history of the world had been resurrected to attend the silly event, she could care less. But she knew Heep would be waiting for her to show up. One bad word from him and those prison gates loomed once more. Heep would make good on his threat. He always did.

A downpour greeted her upon the steps of the main entrance. Vala cursed under her breath, feeling as bedraggled as Corina's cats. She hated all types of condensation. But such was Ovgarod. Rain in the summer, snow in the winter, sleet and hail in between. Not a full, sunny day in years. The stadium rose several hundred yards away. She grimaced ruefully. Of course, she had forgotten her raincoat. She had been too preoccupied with thoughts of the Masked Man.

Swiftly removing her janitorial coat, she tucked the bundle into her arms. At least her uniform would be somewhat dry.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the torrent. Rain smashed her face like a bucket of tipped water. Gasping under the deluge, she dashed across the gravel paths, braid whipping and legs flying. Ahead, the floodlights shone bright in the storm, turning the rain into spears of silver glass. Reaching the broad, marble and granite steps of the stadium's colonnaded entrance, she leapt two at a time, puddles spurting under her sneakers.

The guards halted her at the doors. But a soaked and panting female with a janitor's coat clasped between her arms raised no alarm worthy of note so they waved her inside.

She hurried into a massive hall of marble and stone. A loud hand-clapping rose within the stadium, echoing around her. Some male voice spoke in clear tones upon the loudspeakers, welcoming the Thevian visitors to the Empire as she hurried through the empty corridors, past the closed doors which led to various seating arrangements in the stadium, looking for indications of a familiar staff face, her manager; even Heep.

Guards wearing the imperial crest were positioned along the hall but she avoided eye contact and shrank as they appraised her sodden form. She remembered how they had been during her arrest and in prison, clubs raised and boots ready to kick and punish some minor infraction. Yes , she thought,guards were always cruel and inhumane. She could never ask them for directions.

Several minutes later, all the hallways looked the same. She had never been in this part of the Academy and had no idea where to go. She must have stalked round half the stadium by now, shoes wetly squeaking, braid heavy and limp down her sodden, shivering back. Judging by the marble walls tapestried with velvet hangings and guards stationed beside each door, she stood in the private booths section.

Another voice drawled on with a pompous Imperial accent, praising the goodwill between the Academy and the like-minded Thevian institute, the Temple School of Lagos. She grimaced as she tried to find any sign of a kitchen. Typical politics. Both schools looking to stab each other in the back while rambling on about intellectual unification. Joe had told her that the only quantifiable goodwill the schools shared was mutual hatred. The Exchanges were no different. A quietly active, international trade war had existed for centuries but Joe had always said the Imperial Exchange remained unbreakable.

Just as she decided to head to the library and escape Heep and his stupid request, a loud guffaw shattered the silence. The two guards beside the nearest booth immediately stiffened to attention as the door flung open, hot light spilling upon the floor.

"HAH! HAH! HAH!"

Out tumbled several men: Imperial courtiers, judging by their designer suits and coiffed hairstyles. The laugh came from the large man staggering after them. He merrily clapped the back of one noble, causing the other's knees to buckle from the blow. Another man was grabbed and hugged fondly, a great bellow ripping from his throat as he squarely shouted in his face, "HAH!"

The courtiers tittered in reply. Some men had normal skin, tanned, black, pink…while others were unmistakably pale in a way that spoke of excessive Dynn living. She saw the drinks in their hands, flagons of beer, the foam stuck upon both mustache and beard, the bleary eyes within those puffy faces. The laughing man towered above them and he looked drunkest of all.

He released his tottering victim and spun round to face the group, flinging out his arms and sloshing his beer. Someone ducked just in time.

"Did you ever hear anything more incredibly, hopelessly dumb?" he roared. "The golden splendor of Theves? Our children run in the streets like rats and our sunships leak. We are but a sad country ruled by a stupid, old man."

The courtiers broke into hesitant clapping. One man whispered to another, "He talks about his father."

His dark eyes sparkled in sudden mirth. "Right, you are. Ten points to Lord Chairl for correctly identifying the King of Theves!"

He deeply bowed to the suddenly nervous courtier, bending his frame like a tree caught in a heavy wind.

She froze as laughter rang forth. King? By the gods, he was Prince Rafeal of Theves, the island competitor of the Empire. She had wandered too far into the stadium's warren of corridors. Prison would be a welcome punishment should this foreign royal decide her head looked better on the ground. She slowly walked backward, careful not to let her wet shoes squeak on the floor.

"And don't forget their crazy queen," A courtier who must have been no older than a teenager snickered to his friend who hiccuped in reply.

Prince Rafael wheeled upon the man, eyes murderous, voice flat. "If you weren't so drunk, I'd demand Luiximor give me your head for insulting my unfortunate mother."

The courtier bowed, stammering apologies. But the prince guffawed and slapped his knee with merriment. "HAH! Look at that fear on his face. I only joke, my young friend. I don't plan violence when excellent imperial beer awaits the gullet!"

Everyone cheered—perhaps in relief—as he tossed down the last of his drink and swiped his mouth upon a gold-embroidered sleeve.

She felt another ripple of fear stab her. Just a few more steps and she could duck out of sight and RUN. Please the gods, she could yet escape this mess?—

The tall prince bowed before their shouts and clasped a heavy hand to his breast. "Thank you, my imperial friends." He grabbed the shoulders of the man nearest him, spinning back towards the open door, "Come! We must ALL drink to forget such doldrums… what is this? "

These last words fell softly upon the echoing corridor. She realized the prince had addressed her. For a long moment, his reddened eyes studied her, sweeping from her glistening hair, over the wet shirt stuck to her skin, down to where her filthy sneakers dripped upon the floor. She tried to look away—every mud slummer knew to avoid direct eye contact with their betters—but his presence filled the room.

He was handsome. Breathtakingly so. His shoulders were broad and his body, strong and commanding. A shapely forehead, chiseled nose, and firm jaw gave him a noble presence framed by curled chestnut hair tumbling to his neck. Yet his face was utterly ruined by the arrogant smirk twisting his lips. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties by mortal years, but his skin was Dynn pale, making his black eyes stand even more contrasted. She could not guess how old he must be. Fifty years? Two hundred?

He loudly hiccupped. "Damn it all. What bedraggled object has the rain washed in?"

The courtiers stared at her, some in disgust, others with amused frowns. Anything or anyone could entertain when multiple drinks had been downed. She was their prey, a toy for their amusement. She hated them all.

He stumbled to her, silver boots rapping sharply upon the marble floors. "It is a wet, muddy little creature, seeking shelter from the storm. But why has it come here?"

As if to answer his question and remove the dripping offender, the two guards approached but he languidly waved them back. He stepped behind her and she felt his eyes upon the back of her neck. She shivered under the intensity of his gaze.

His voice was a soft rumble in her ear. "Speak, or are you also deaf and mute?"

"I…I'm sorry, your…Highness?" Should she curtsy?

"Why are you here?" The voice slurred but the tone was firm.

She felt this man could order her death without a blink of remorse. "I have to work here…in the kitchen." She dug her fingers into her palms, wishing her voice would not quiver and her knees stop shaking. He finished his pacing and stood before her.

His eyes narrowed in focus upon her neck and drifted lower. She bit her lip in sudden, absolute rage. Her sopping top outlined every curve and swell of her figure. His eyes were appreciative and undressing . If looks were actions, she would be standing naked before him right now. She reminded herself to remain calm.

"Are you a slave?"

The courtiers gasped but he looked at them, stilling their chatter.

"Your Highness, Ovgarod doesn't have slaves," a portly man tentatively offered, "We outlawed the practice centuries ago."

For a long moment, the large prince swayed and studied them with an unnerving glare. The silence again shattered with his loud guffaw. "HAH! I know that. And when the fair Princess Helen becomes my wife, that noble practice may yet extend to my poor, backwards island. Liberate all Thevian slaves? I love the idea. My ancestors will roll in their graves!"

The courtiers applauded and cheered, melting with relief at his improved mood. He smirked at everyone, nodding as though he had said something clever.

She stepped backward, cursing the squeak of her sneakers. Luckily, this royal was drunk and easily distracted. She could yet escape?—

A blast of trumpets shook the loudspeakers stationed along the corridor.

"Come or we will miss the dragon!" The prince roared and grabbed her arm. "You cannot run from me so quickly. Have you ever seen a Dynn dragon?"

She curved her lips into a smile, furious at him and with herself for getting caught in this terrible situation. His hand clamped tightly and she could never escape the army of guards that stood between her and the entrance. "No, Your Highness."

"Then you must join us!" He gave another great laugh to the group.

Her heart thumped hard. Under any other circumstance, she would shout for joy. A dragon? The stuff of legends and nightmares. Not even the best Academy scholars dared pull dragons out of the Dynn. They believed the remaining dragons should stay locked in that otherworld, chained and guarding the rune treasuries of kings and emperors, forever imprisoned under the eternal night skies. She remembered reading in a textbook— Our world, with its trains and cars, radio talk show hosts and corporate sensibilities, holds no more room for the monsters of yesterday.

"Must it enter my family booth?" A courtier spoke. She had seen him visit the Academy on several occasions, his face nearly translucent from Dynn overexposure, holding his silver robes to him as though perpetually disgusted with the dirtiness of this world. "Prince Rafeal, she is a mud slummer. Besides, she is filthy. Literally ."

A furious glare from the prince silenced the other man. "I'm BORED and this ceremony is lasting beyond what time I care to lend. The creature amuses me. Look at how angry she is. Besides, she has kitchen knowledge. I want her to serve us. I'll wager a Lagosian emerald that she can mix better drinks than the oaf currently piddling about in there."

And without further ado, he wrenched open the door and dragged her into the booth.