Chapter 6

A massive, bowl-shaped arena spilled from the huge windows of the booth, tumbling in a steep arch to a wide, green field, then soaring up, packed with people to where the rocky overhang of the mountain loomed. Thousands—her eyes blinked in rapid calculation of the rows and density of human bodies—yes, fifty thousand people were packed into the seats, all cheering and clapping expectantly. Most of them were Mid and Upper Level dwellers, having arrived by bus or pre-approved Dynn opening, depending on their ability to afford a Dynn worker or have a family member with practicing skills. She suspected a good amount of foreigners were here as well, going by the translators stationed in kiosks around the stadium. A grand, flag-decked stand rose in the center of the field. A man wearing Academy robes stood behind a podium and spoke to the crowds, his voice clearly heard despite the glass windows of the booth.

The Thevian Prince cheerfully dragged her down several steps to the booth's front row of seats and sank into a chair. Only then did he release his hold on her arm. She stepped back, glad to put some distance between herself and this grasping royal. A servant plied him with wine and she recalled the cloth bundle tightly grasped in her hands. The janitorial coat. Not at all appropriate for a royal booth, but the extra fabric was better than the wet sweater sticking to her skin, showing every curve and dip of her thin body. She quickly donned the damp coat, glad for the layering it provided.

Her eyes noted the door, ten steps away. When they were distracted with the spectacle, she would flee.

"Are you planning to run off without seeing the dragon?" His eyes were bright and hard upon her. Of course, he had noticed her glance at the door. She inwardly cursed Heep and all the gods that had ever lived for putting her in this predicament.

"Please, Your Highness," she tried to sound as soothing as possible, "I was just about to make you a drink as you asked. It's not appropriate that someone like me doesn't work."

"I don't give a damn about what's appropriate." He thumped a large hand upon a neighboring chair. "Now, SIT."

"Your Highness, that is a reserved chair. I really must protest." The pale courtier who had complained earlier shot a revolted look at her.

For a long moment, Prince Rafeal glowered at the man. She squawked as he clutched her arm, pulling her upon his knee. "Then she will share my seat. Are you satisfied?"

The other man only shrugged and turned away. "Whatever pleases your Highness."

She perched upon his thigh and gulped hard. What the Helel had just happened? She, a mud slummer, sat in the lap of a foreign prince. A prince famous for his womanizing and hot as fuck, she breathed, stealing another look at his chiseled face and toned shoulders.

So , she thought to herself, this was what Corina must be talking about when she obsessed over a guy . This was desire. She had never felt the feeling in her prior trysts, never even knew that she needed to feel it. Of course, she reasoned, she had to feel attraction for a foreign prince, the most impossible man to be interested in short of Luiximor himself, especially given that she was simply a toy for him to play with and discard. But then, here she was, sitting on his lap with her nerves tingling at his touch. Her body betrayed all the logic in her mind that told her to run.

She found him studying her with a speculative frown.

"What strange clothes are you wearing?" He sniffed, his fingers playing with the sleeve of her janitorial coat.

She hesitated. He wouldn't care to know about her job anyway. "It's a coat, your Highness. I'm cold."

Deep concern flitted through those bleary eyes. What a clever, evil man to pretend to care for someone so beneath his station in life, she thought with a flash of anger.

He grinned and pulled her closer into his arms. "I have fairly hot blood in my veins. You will feel better like this."

She froze, her head firmly planted against his chest. He was right. Warmth emanated from him like a furnace. The heat felt nice. Leaning against him was another thing altogether. It was like cuddling with a panther. A panther who could order her death or kill her with his own bare hands.

"If you don't relax, you'll pull a muscle in your neck," he murmured.

She bit her lips and said nothing.

"Are you otherwise comfortable?"

She didn't have to meet his face to feel the smirk in his voice. Something about this predicament caused him great amusement. She hated to feel like a mouse a cat had trapped.

"No, please, your Highness…I want to leave."

"A lot of women tend to prefer my lap, even when they're not shivering with cold," he replied smoothly.

"Then go find one of those women." She retorted, momentarily forgetting to sound courteous.

"Rude, aren't you?" He laughed. "I think I like it. No, I'd rather have a muddy, little creature."

"I'm not muddy," she muttered, flushing. She was sopping wet and chunks of dirt clung to her shoes. Everyone else here had used Dynn travel to avoid the rain and looked impeccable. She looked and felt like…well, like a mud slummer .

His breath fluttered her hair with a short laugh. "You are a little dirty but I like it. You remind me of the earth and rain of this world, things which do not exist in the Dynn. Even the dark god would approve."

A huge roar burst from the crowd. Prince Rafeal swirled his drink, leaning forward in great eagerness. She straightened, following his gaze.

A dozen white-clad men and women strode upon the field. The ripple of their uniforms upon muscled shoulders and legs suggested a highly supple leather, stitched for comfort and ease of movement. Silver glinted within their stiffly plaited hair and bright swords were clasped in their gloves.

Surrounding the stage, the group saluted the crowds and bowed low as clapping rang forth.

"Look at how stupid our Sanuri look with those swords." Prince Rafeal thumped his free fist upon the armrest. "Archaic, ceremonial nonsense!"

Sanuri. She let the word silently roll over her tongue, savoring it. The skilled Dynn Knights of Theves. Legendary warriors and assassins.

"Blades do become useful when in the Dynn," some courtier observed in the row behind them.

Rafael turned and scowled. She heard a mutter of apology from the courtier.

The prince's mood brightened and he flashed a grin. "HAH! My father certainly believes so. I tell you, when I am king, I will send all the Sanuri to this Academy for a solid year of modern Dynn training under your Imperial teachers. Maybe then our feet would not drag so terribly upon the world's stage!"

Loud and approving hand-claps sprang forth from the seated courtiers around them.

Vala rolled her eyes. The prince was such a suck up. He was the future king of the second most powerful country in the world and yet he lost no time in deriding his own people before these drunken courtiers.

She noticed that the Sanuri had turned, as if on cue, to face a huge booth festooned with silver imperial flags. The area was packed with even more courtiers, their bodies and hair shimmering with jewels and glittering fabrics. It was through this crowd that Emperor Luiximor emerged, people parting to make way for him.

The Sanuri bowed low and the crowd roared.

Luiximor was tall and commanding in a robe of black silk under which black armor glinted. A great crown with diamonds rested upon long, silver hair. He gripped the railing and surveyed the crowds with a proud, quiet stare. He may be the sun emperor but he dressed like a creature of the night, she thought. Perhaps it was an intimidation strategy. After all, he wielded sunfire and immortality flowed through his veins. He had nothing to prove.

For being an emperor who had reigned for nine hundred years, he looked shockingly young, perhaps in his early thirties. Although much had been made of his sister, Princess Helen, his image was not often distributed through the empire, Luiximor obviously preferring to live in a sort of grand mystery. The history books had described him to be handsome, but she had figured it to be a form of speech. Staring at him, she realized just how true those words were. His face lay angled in pale shadow, with cheekbones sharp enough to slice a careless hand, and a jaw set firm as he gazed forth upon his cheering subjects.

She realized her jaw hung open with admiration so she closed it with a snap. Again, she became aware of Prince Rafael's eyes scrutinizing her with needle-like precision. Why did she fascinate him so much? It was never good, attracting attention from someone like him. She needed to get away at the first opportunity.

Princess Helen joined her brother at the railing. Vala had seen photos of her before on billboards and in the tabloid magazines that Corina brought home and giggled over with Janie. Red hair and creamy skin, a slender neck and lips so big, she looked as though she sucked upon a rose bud. Her dress sparkled with a thousand amethysts and violet silk swept from her structured bodice to the ground in heavy folds.

"Look at her. Look at my beautiful future wife!" Prince Rafeal stomped a foot in strong approval of his feelings. The courtiers applauded his words and congratulations over his upcoming nuptials floated through the conversations around them.

She wondered what the princess would think if she saw Vala perched in her future husband's lap. Perhaps such dalliances were common among royalty and those who served them but she was not some noblewoman of suitable social status. Helen could well order her death, displeased that her betrothed paid any sort of attention to a woman of such inferior rank. She bit her lip, half-bemused at her continuous brushes with death. Corina and Janie would never believe her day. If she lived long enough to tell them, that is.

The Sanuri spread out upon the green field, taking up stance at regular intervals. She watched with fascination as their arms moved, fingers gesticulating, carving patterns of runes into the air before them. The movements were different and yet alike to the ones she knew from Imperial Dynn workers.

A great wind burst into the arena and howled against the glass of their booth. She saw the princess grab her crown and the emperor's hands clench upon the railing. Still the Sanuri carved the air with their movements, feet braced upon the grass. Where the podium had stood, a huge, eddying darkness rotted away reality, leaving a vast pool of blackness in its stead. There, before them all, a Dynn opening spread out like a sunship's sail made of purest midnight.

Prince Rafeal placed his glass down with a heavy clink and gazed with rapt attention. His fingers were firm upon her but only because he looked distracted by the proceedings. Everyone in the booth stared as if transfixed upon the spectacle below.

Behind her, some noble shifted, clothes rustling. "Is it safe?"

The prince grinned mirthlessly, baring his teeth at the man. "Oh no, a dragon is most unsafe. But your god emperor channels solar fire and that burns far hotter than any monster's flame. We may die from dragonfire but Luiximor cannot."

Vala thought of her earlier conversation with Janie. Only a god can kill another god, she supposed. She wondered if dragonfire would even hurt Luiximor.

A dim, shuddering roar shook the air, thrumming forth from the quivering, black opening. Multiple people in the audience screamed. She felt the hair on her neck rise at the guttural, chilling sound.

"The dragon." Some courtier stammered behind her. "Look!"

From the depths of the widening blackness, a dragon's head emerged.

The head, narrow and oblong like a snake, was the size of a river barge. Obsidian scales rippled dully over the undulating skin and black eyes glimmered hotly. The dragon wrenched and twisted, the neck rushing forth from the Dynn like a striking snake. Massive, onyx wings shook out, unfolding bat-like skin and great, silver claws into the misty air.

She shivered. Rafael's hand upon her arm burned like a brand.

The enormous wingspan stretched across the stadium. More shrieks rang forth as their dreadful shadow fell upon the crowd. The dragon unhinged a massive jaw into a great, red yawn. She had a glimpse of a shimmered glow hot within the massive throat, then bright fangs snapped shut with a clang that hurt her eardrums. The Sanuri gathered close, their arms twisting, fingers moving, controlling the dragon's movement, keeping the wings open, the claws firmly planted within the pooling darkness of the Dynn opening. The crowd shuddered and murmured now. Only Luiximor stood firm before the dragon's stare, a tall, black figure crowned with silver, his white hands outspread. She half expected sunfire to gush forth from those palms. But he only lowered them and then…slowly clapped.

The emperor's action sent a shock wave through the crowd. A few other tentative handclaps joined. Then everyone broke into whooping and shouting, cheering at the perched, stilled dragon in their midst. Some folk even pelted trash upon the field, thrilled to torment their ancient oppressor.

She saw the dragon's black eyes angrily roll at the shouting humans. From her readings, she knew that as long as the Sanuri controlled the runes that locked the dragon in the Dynn, the body would remain immobile in this world unless they otherwise decided. She tried to remind herself of this fact, even as the great monster arched before her, the claws of a wing hovering frighteningly close to the booth's windows. Around her, courtiers hurrahed and laughed in sudden relief.

Prince Rafeal pumped his fist in the air, turning to nod at the courtiers. "Thank you, THANK YOU! I'm delighted my Sanuri could put on this little show for your entertainment."

The wings quivered.

She stood, drawing near to the window, without realizing she had done so. Something about the dragon felt strange. That heat shimmering deep within the black throat—the warmth struck her like a flare of sunlight. Then she felt the agony. The dragon's heavy skull throbbed with tremors; a headache strong enough to hemorrhage a pack of horses to death. Like her, the dragon had tasted pain, only it had felt the suffering of centuries. So much grief poured through her that she could no longer handle it.

Vala placed her hands upon the glass panes, steadying herself. The expanse fell away as she stared at the dragon. Her head had begun to painfully throb in response. The wings shuddered again in the breeze that burst forth from the eddying black pool, billowing around the thick, scaled legs. She noticed the Sanuri glance at each other and felt their unease.

She realized with a horrible shock that they were not moving the dragon. Yet that massive head had begun to turn, slowly, as if stuck in mud, but steadily…and towards her.

With the dragon's movement, heads turned to look upon the booth window where she stood, her palms outstretched to the terrible monster. Two eyes, possessed by a monster from another era and of an utterly different species, stared deep into her soul. Her sight turned black and a vision, bright and bold, exploded upon her mind.

Her parents died before her as she staggered back, screaming. But they stared at her with melted eyes, their corpses flaking away like a cloud of soot, through the burning window and across the sunflower fields. The image faded as a thousand runes swept through her mind, beautiful equations forming around her like homing butterflies, the undulating plants curling around her arms and legs, entrapping her. There, in the darkness and floating runes, the Masked Man's hot lips crushed upon her mouth. A moment of bliss shot through her and she hungrily flung herself into the embrace but she was falling, falling into a great, black hole as all turned into brilliant, silver light.

Someone knocked her backwards and she tumbled to the floor, breaking the terrible gaze.

The dragon howled in great wrath. Its massive head flung around the stadium, eyes burning terror into the thousands of people shrinking against their seats. A great wing smashed into the green, claws peeling the grass into giant curls. The Sanuri leapt back, shouting to each other as the dragon's body strained, breaking the invisible bonds that held it captive. Once, twice, the wings beat, the resulting gale tearing flags from posts and creating a snowstorm of event flyers. The emperor watched, his hands clenching the railing as people around him fled into the recesses. Through her haze, Vala saw the great beast rear upwards as hot fire glimmered within its breast. She wanted it to break free, to fly…to BURN. The thought horrified and delighted her.

But the blackness of the Dynn opening lapped up its body like a crashing wave, hastened by the fast movements of the Sanuri, eager to shove the dragon back into the Dynn before they lost further control over its runes. The wings snapped shut and the darkness sucked down the neck. With a final, pain-riddled roar, the dragon's massive head vanished backward into the Dynn opening. The Sanuri clapped their hands shut, and the opening vanished, winking out of existence like an exploded bubble.

Thunder crashed and the stadium lights flickered, shaken by the violence of the Dynn world and roar of a dragon unheard in Ovgarod for many a century.

Luiximor sharply wheeled from the railing and strode back into the stadium halls, vanishing from view. The grass heaved, rain crashed down, and all was chaos and madness, echoed by the throb of her head.

Above her, the courtiers shouted amongst each other all at once.

"DAMN IT ALL!" The prince was loudest of all. "The Sanuri assured me the dragon would be secured. I swear that wasn't supposed to happen. I will ensure my father punishes them —"

Vala shivered, awareness trickling into her mind. She had to leave. Now. Wriggling back from the prince's boots, she crawled under the chairs. Staggering upward, she dashed up the steps, ducked under a courtier's arm and slipped past a loudly arguing man.

The door. A quick twist of the knob and she slipped out—away from that terrible room filled with shouting courtiers and the idiot prince—and into the cold, gray corridor. The hall was packed with a throng of nobles and liveried personnel bursting from their private rooms, fleeing the terrors of the arena. Multiple Dynn openings flared around her like shadow explosions, their workers helping wealthy patrons escape into the safety of the other world.

She ran on, cursing under her breath and avoiding the guards. The private booths section finally ended and a great mass of people met her eyes, cramming against the entryways to escape. Vala gladly let herself be swept into the turmoil and stumbled to an entrance, blessing the anonymity the mob provided.

Rain gushed down upon the hurrying bodies as the crowd piled onto the Academy grounds, heading for the wet streets of the mountainous city. Vala shoved her way against everyone and headed for the outskirts. She stumbled down the Academy entrance stairs, the pressing, heaving bodies threatening to trample her.

She ran, looking for an escape route and praying that she would not fall under the crowd. Gradually, the packed bodies thinned, people hurrying their separate ways, dispersing through the streets.

Some four city blocks down the mountainside, she collapsed in an alley, unable to take another step. The terror that had possessed her since the dragon's appearance shrank away and, overcome with the adrenaline, bile rose in her throat and she vomited. For a moment she stayed on the pavement and tried to make sense of the roaring in her brain. A dragon had stared into her soul and saw her very being. And the beast's pain? Nausea rushed over her again.

How could anyone treat such a magnificent animal that terribly? To be stuck in an eternity of anguish while guarding its rune forests, controlled by human hands. She had always just assumed the beasts were a security method she had blithely relied upon in her equations jotted out for the various members of the Exchange. Runes secured by the full faith and credit of the Empire's Dynn dragons… But now the words from her textbooks spun around her head, condemning her.

She needed answers. And she needed to escape. First, however, she needed several shots of hard liquor, straight from the bottle. Then, perhaps, she would feel like her old self. Hopefully, in the flight from the stadium, Heep would forget all about his kitchen request. As for Janie, she would call her work from Sandy's and tell her where to pick her up.

She had to see Joe. He had always been so quick to ask her to work on the rune equations for his trades. She remembered what he had said. He wanted to meet her Monday night. Which was today , in a few hours. She would ask him about the dragon. He was certain to tell her something of use. At this point, she was craving answers perhaps even worse than liquor.

Staggering upward, she wiped the rain from her eyes with a wet arm. Judging by the early afternoon light, Sandy's was already open.