Chapter 8

W hen Vala opened her eyes, the world had changed. A ceiling bathed in warm light rose above her and she lay in a bed. The mattress felt soft and the wool blankets were scented with something nice, perhaps vanilla. She tried to move and moaned as pain dully stabbed her insides from Titus's boot kicks.

"Lie still." The voice was firm and familiar.

The Masked Man came to her bed, a bowl in gloved hands, his cloaked form dark and brooding in the small room. His hood was pushed back and she looked at his mask with interest. It was made of a soft, black leather and covered his upper head entirely, leaving only holes for his eyes and his mouth and jaw exposed. It terrified her and yet she found the sight fascinating and oddly reminiscent of something she could not recall.

Beyond him, she saw a window with the curtains drawn shut.

"Where am I?" She forced the words through puffy lips. A jagged ache throbbed her head from the effort and she winced. Janie was going to kill her, be overjoyed she was alive, and then kill her all over again.

He placed the bowl on the bedside table. Some type of gelatinous liquid lay within, pungent smelling but not unpleasant. She knew it was balm infused with the magic of Luiximor and expensive enough to buy a car. He peeled off her covers. Vala felt the cold air sweep upon her and realized she was naked save her underwear. He must have removed her wet, bloody clothes while she lay unconscious. She grabbed for the sheets but his gloved hand arrested hers.

"I am sorry. I know you're cold but this will only take a moment."

Wondering and yet oddly self-conscious, she nodded. He probed her abdomen with cautious fingers. Dull pain greeted her and she bit her lip to stifle a groan.

He gave her a sideways glance. "Try not to wriggle so much. I'm determining your treatment area."

"Just give me the medicine, will you, and stop poking me." She snapped, her temper rising with the pain.

"Cordiality would improve this moment," he sighed. "I'm nearly done. I fixed the worst of your wounds some hours back."

"Hours?" She stared as he scooped up the balm. "I…why would you do that?"

"This may feel unpleasant," he murmured.

Her eyes flickered to those sky-blue irises behind that mask. The same hands that had just killed four men now gently stroked the medicine upon her broken stomach…had been healing her as she lay unconscious to the world.

She felt a strange, sharp, tingling sensation burst through her abdomen and something inside shifted . He continued, patting the substance upon her throbbing, swollen temples. Her head felt clearer. Not even the effects of the downed shots lingered. The heaviness in her lungs was gone too. Whatever he used, she needed more of it in her life. What a great hangover cure for the classless drunk…like yours truly, she thought, grimacing at her hazy memory.

"Thank you," she muttered.

He pulled the covers back up to her chin. "Rest now. You will be completely recovered by morning."

"Where are we?"

He poured a glass of water from a pitcher that stood on a table, surrounded by several knives, now shining bright and spotless. "I obtained a room in a hotel close to the Academy. I needed to get you treatment quickly, otherwise I would have brought you to a place more suitable for you, Bright Eyes."

That pet name again. This time, it sounded apologetic, as if he deliberately tried to keep the mood light. She glanced at him and saw a smile flicker in return. Improbable that he cared but he must have, given that he risked his life to save hers last night. Her eyes flitted around the small space, taking in the brick fireplace, the solid chest of drawers, a radio set, and the open door to the bathroom. A towel lay soaked with blood and dirt in the sink. The room shimmered and vibrated with the same energy she had felt every day in the Academy. Protection runes, drawn in the air to seal off unwelcome Dynn visitors. She clutched the blanket to her bare neck, accepting the water. Too late, she realized that her tattooed arm was outstretched?—

His eyes narrowed at the sight. "You served time in prison. Why."

She greedily drained the glass and exhaled. "I don't want to talk about it."

He sat beside her on the bed, his wide shoulders looming strong and corded in the lamplight. He seemed to choose his words with care, looking at his broad palms as if to gather strength from them. "You will always have my protection. I swore it. But I must know what happened."

Vala shook her head. The last thing her tired brain wanted to dwell upon was that memory. That night when the fire raged forth and the soldiers took her away. The bloody, burned faces forever trapped in permanent horror, the bodies crumpled upon the living room floor. She had snatched her doll, screaming as the fires tore and smoked above her. It had been so dark within the smoke, she had felt her way to the front door and collapsed, heaving, on the lawn. Her lips clamped in recollection.

"I've seen tattoos like that on imperial convicts. For the worst of crimes. Talk to me." His voice fell, soft and full of scrutiny, upon the quiet air.

She turned her gaze to the wall. "I thought you already knew everything about me."

"That's the issue. I don't know. I traveled across time and space to rescue you but the Vala I found is not at all the woman I expected. Your life has evolved differently to what I saw of your runes in the Dynn." He appeared to say this as if accusatory.

Her eyebrows scrunched. "I watched you kill those men without a single qualm. I'll bet a Dynn Knight like you has killed plenty of others too so don't you dare judge me."

He studied his gloved hands. "This is all my fault. If I had gotten to you sooner, I could have salvaged your runes."

He spoke as if she were damaged beyond repair. The sheer gall of him. "Oh? You mean, if you had swooped in and saved the day, I wouldn't have turned out to be such a mess?"

A heavy sigh was the response. "I'm just trying to help you. You must trust me."

She sat up, furious. "Stop pretending like you know me. I told you, I don't know you from fucking nowhere. YOU just killed four people and you're saying I need to trust you?"

"I saved your life from those men. Does that not count towards establishing trust?"

She settled back into the pillows with a small huff. "I could've escaped them."

His jaw clenched. "Well, you were certainly taking your time about it. From the looks of it, when I arrived, they were about to rape and kill you."

A horrible shudder ran through her body despite her bravado. She had been so afraid and utterly powerless . She hated herself for being so weak. She glared at those infuriatingly calm, blue eyes and that placid, firm mouth. He demanded answers and, truth-be-told, she loathed to give them. If he really knew what had happened, would he continue to help her?

"I didn't mean to kill them," she found herself saying, "It was an accident. You must believe me." After all, he was a murderer too. She was certain that he had killed other people, perhaps many others, judging by the ease in which he had ended life.

Those blue eyes narrowed again, this time in confusion. "Who are we talking about now?"

She only looked at the covers, unable to form additional words.

"You went to prison for murder." He whispered. "How strange they needed your runes to undergo…tell me more."

"Keep dreaming." She already regretted telling him so much.

His eyes locked hard with hers, analyzing and challenging her response. "Dreaming is what brought me to you."

"A trance is NOT the same thing as a dream." She snapped, feeling better now that she could argue over something.

He frowned. "Come, there's no need to be so defensive. What if I believe your story?"

"Right." She blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes.

"I mean it." He leaned forward, his arms resting on powerful thighs.

"No one else believed me. Why should you?" She felt the bitterness flavor her words with an iron edge.

He frowned, thoughtful, his hands clasped. "I am not everyone else."

"I wouldn't know anyway with your mask…" But a warning look in his eyes made her fall silent. He really valued his secrecy.

"How long were you locked up?" He interrupted, his tone deadly quiet and slow.

"Seven years," she whispered. Two words that rolled off her tongue, surprisingly easy to confess, and yet, how could merely uttering them convey all the horror and loneliness of that time?

His sharp intake of breath surprised her. He stood up in a rustle of cloaked fabric.

"Where are you going?" She felt her heart sink. This was it, then. He had decided that prison had turned her into a freak. Unnatural.

He paced to the table. Picking up the desk phone, he dialed several buttons, raising the phone to his ear. "Hello? Yeah, good morning! I need a large, hot breakfast delivered to room 313. No, just set it for one. Seven o-clock is perfect. Thank you."

He plunked the phone down. She wondered about this. Did he not understand that she was strange? Perhaps he did but was able to hide his low opinion of her. After all, he was good at disguises. That jovial, easy voice on the phone had sounded so pleasant and thick with a familiar Imperial accent, unlike the clipped, quiet tones of his natural voice. She looked at him with fresh eyes, hit by the loneliness emanating from his body. The intensity of how alone he was sent a pang of sadness through her. Perhaps Dynn Knights never had much company in that dark otherworld. She, herself, had spent her childhood alone. She remembered how terrible each day of solitude had been, how the concept of a weekend or holiday still seemed utterly foreign to her. She really wished that she could have read those Dynn Knight books. Perhaps then his actions would not continue to startle her.

He returned to her bedside, strange and dangerous in the small, warm hotel room…like her. She felt gladdened at the thought.

"You need to eat and then sleep. You must not leave the room under any circumstance until I return."

"Where are you going?"

"I have some cleaning to do in the Dynn." His voice was far too ominous to make her think he was brooming the dusty rocks of that eternal world.

"You're going to cut the crime scene's runes from the Dynn." She gasped, eyes opening wide. "That's so illegal. Do you have any idea how many years they'll sentence you?—"

"Vala, I just assassinated four people. I believe even one death already counts as a life sentence." His tone was unspeakably wry as he adjusted his cloak.

She grabbed his leather sleeve. "Wait. Wait! Don't you dare vanish on me. Tell me who you are."

"No."

Her eyebrows shot up once more. That damned smirk. Really. "I know you're a Dynn Knight."

"Hmm." He turned to the table and fastened his knife belt across his chest, fingers working with the ease of much practice.

"And the Dynn Knight program is extinct…which you are most certainly not."

"Whatever gave you that impression?" He wickedly grinned. He had nice teeth. The thought occurred to her, even as she felt rage at his nonchalance bubble up.

"Whatever. That means you're a Dynn Knight rogue. An outcast ."

"Magnificently deduced." He pulled his hood over his head.

"And if you're an outcast, then you're on the run. You're probably overdue for another prison sentence like I am." She paused, thinking of her own memories. That terrible, fire-strewn night. She had left the Academy without Heep's knowledge. He may forgive her this time due to the turmoil but another slipup would certainly be reported. The prison gates loomed always in her dreams. "My family hates me for what I did to my parents and maybe your family is so ashamed of you, you can't bear to face them again?—"

"Careful…" He murmured but the sound was more like a growl.

She felt a stab of regret. That part about his family had been pure speculation and not a nice thing to implicate, although it had obviously struck a chord. "Anyway, like me, you're also living a lie and two lies do not make a truth."

"Not according to the rules of rune arbitrage. Two lies cancel each other out for a riskless gain. It is a rule as ancient as the gods who formed the worlds. With all of your prodigious Dynn knowledge, you should know that." He turned from the table; his chest arrayed with the impressive set of knives. She reasoned that he looked terrifying, but in a familiar sort of way.

"I did know that. I just don't think that rule applies to masked identities." She said, trying to recall if she had ever seen him before Sandy's.

"Let me clarify. You don't know everything but you know a great deal of one, specific thing," he replied with an upward kick to his lips, as though discerning her thoughts. "For example, you have no idea who you really are, Vala who is not Vala."

She rolled her eyes, her attempts at remembering anything slipping away. "Whatever. Why can't you just tell me who you think I am?"

"Because doing so would mess up your precious runes and we can't have that now, can we?" His eyes roamed her arm with such possessive ownership that she found herself blushing.

She managed to glare at him despite the answering licks of fire warming her core. "You already messed with my runes by trying to save me in the bar. I'm certain that what you did tonight didn't improve matters."

She noticed him pause slightly as though he had been taken unawares by her words. But he only gave a mirthless laugh. "Bit choosy, aren't you? Do you prefer to be alive or have your rune path unspoiled?"

She fell silent, uncertain of where this conversation led. Why did he care so much about her runes? No one else did, provided she did nothing remarkable in return. Flippancy could buy her time. She wriggled her way into a sitting position, gathering the sheets to her chest.

"Well, if you ever try to kiss me, I'll only agree if you remove your mask."

"You're obviously recovering fast," he dryly remarked.

He didn't believe her; didn't think she had anything behind her words.

She leaned toward him, smiling in a way that had told the prison guards she was game for any and all of their demands, provided they kept to their word and gave her dinner. "That's my demand. Your mask for a kiss."

For the briefest moment, his eyes flashed with dark hunger and she felt her heart leap. But then his features smoothed and he spoke, his tone bland and perhaps even sarcastic. "As much as I enjoy these romantic negotiations…and needling into my obviously abysmal character, you must rest. You're in no condition to kiss anyone right or to be kissed." He controlled a sudden grin. "But when you are again yourself, and should I so decide, I will kiss you in such a way that will make you entirely forget your demand."

His eyes traveled to her breasts and stomach and then…lower. She felt her abdomen heave and tighten in a heated response.

"That's inappropriate." She hit his arm, angry that her body was betraying her so shamelessly.

His gloved hand grabbed her wrist before the blow fell. "Well, I am no gentleman."

That she had ever thought him lonely was ridiculous. He was an ? —

"—Arrogant prick."

He laughed outright then. "Well, and you are no lady."

"Let me go!"

His eyes burned into hers. "I think we make a good pair, don't you?"

"You say that only because no one else would ever bother to be around you." He was a Dynn knight. Famously solitary. He probably had never experienced a relationship , she figured, or even had a friend in all the years of his existence.

A painful frown twisted his face. For a moment she realized she had gotten to him but then a faint laugh echoed from those firm lips and he assessed the weak struggles of her caught fist. When he spoke, his voice was unnaturally calm. "You really should learn how to fight. Slapping is useless and words can't save you from attack. You need a teacher who can show you how to correctly duck a blow and use a blade…and how to speak to a dragon without losing your mind."

"What?"

He was decidedly composed, studying her writhing movements with a mixture of admiration and disdain. "Talk is running through the city about a mystery woman who commanded a Dynn dragon to break its bonds even though a dozen Sanuri held it captive. Quite an extraordinary feat for even the best of Dynn workers, don't you think, and so unusual for a janitor and ex-convict hiding out in the Lower Levels. If you wanted to paint a red bull's eye on your back, then congratulations, you did so with style."

"I didn't mean to do it!" She nearly shouted, fisting clumps of blanket in her rage.

"I feel like you don't mean to do a lot of things."

She stared at the ceiling as if the answer would appear in the crown molding. She had been too drunk to notice. So that was why everyone had stared at her in Sandy's. Did they suspect she had talked to the dragon? Was that why no one had stepped forward or approached when Titus punched her in the head? Were they terrified of her or just not willing to get involved? The dragon's pain smote her mind and a dull ache sprung forth between her temples in recollection. She felt like screaming. Too much had happened. Her control slipped. Tightness gripped her chest hard as spasms of panicked, hot pain shot down her arms and legs. Her skin felt burning to the touch, turning to fire from the inside out. He released her hand, staggering away in shock.

"Good heavens. Calm down. You must breathe." His voice seemed to come from a great distance.

And then she screamed.

He bent over her, swift and dark as a rising shadow. His thumbs pressed hard upon the side of her neck, even as his words murmured in her ears. Shadows raced across her vision, black spots widening, enveloping his masked, concerned eyes. She was fainting. His fingers had touched some pressure point within her nervous system. An overwhelmingly sweet, calm sensation broke upon her fevered mind. She swam in utter darkness, cold liquid caressing her burning skin as every pain and sensation faded away into nothingness. Another huge wave reared over her, smashing down, driving her deeper into the black waters—those calming, cold waves.

As she lost the last vestiges of conscious thought, something happened that forever imprinted upon her mind.

He held her hot palm within his clasp and, with a sudden and ferocious passion, leaned down and kissed her hand.