by Tabitha Vale
Braya sank back into her seat, shaking. Brielle was watching her again with wide eyes, and Emma seemed to be calculating her silently. Maydessa had yet to turn away from the game, although her jaw had tightened at some point.
“Are you okay, Miss Braya?”
“I'm sorry. Please...” she hesitated. A burning heat spread over her. She was humiliated. “Teach me the rules.”
Brielle was thunderstruck. She made a motion as to move, then paused. She seemed unsure about herself, like she was afraid Braya would have another outburst.
“Each team has eight players,” Emma droned without missing a beat. “There are two builders, two warriors, three shooters, and one healer. The game is dangerous and the players are constantly getting hurt.”
“Do you see those silver disks?” Brielle asked. Instead of locating the silver disks Brielle had mentioned, Braya's head snapped in the other girl's direction. Her features were smoothed over as if nothing had happened, and instantly Braya felt some of the tension in the room dissipate.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Braya squinted into the arena. She spotted the silver disks—there were hundreds of them hovering around the playing field. They looked like mere fireflies from their vantage point.
“They're called rings. Vicious little things—”
“They're designed to inflict damage in whoever they explode upon, so it's a requirement for them to be vicious,” Maydessa cut in, an edge in her voice.
“None of us are complaining about it,” Emma snapped.
“They can cause burning, swelling, itching, bleeding, numbing, or even knock the person out,” Brielle continued as if there were no interruptions. “That's why each team has a healer. They're loaded with boosters that revive the player so they can re-enter the game.”
“Boosters have the ability to enhance any human capability. Make people jump higher, run faster, think faster, talk more fluently. Even heal the worst injuries and diseases. Ninety-four percent of careers these days make use of them, including Moon Tamer,” Maydessa explained.
“I know what boosters are,” Braya said scornfully. Maydessa opened her mouth to add something, but Braya cut her off. “And plugs. They work the opposite as boosters. Truth plugs, lying plugs, fear plugs, lust plugs. I know. Are you done?”
Maydessa shrugged. “Crowns. It seems you guys know less about this city than I expected. I just wanted to add my input.”
“It's not wanted, but thanks.”
Brielle was tugging on Braya's elbow. Apparently her Moon Tamer lesson was not over.
“What do the shooters do?” She asked indulgently.
“They score goals, of course, Miss Braya. They use the glowing orbs—you see those green and blue lights flying around like the silver rings? The colors represent the teams and they have to throw them into the goals that surround the dome.”
As they spoke, one of the small floating people caught a green orb along their long, sword-like baton like a magnet and then swung it into one of the goals. It soared through the large open hoop and imploded into a rain of sparkling light before it could pass through and collide with the seated audience. The goal flared up in a green glow, and Emma and Brielle moaned in disappointment.
“The warriors have the best job, in my opinion,” Emma said, leaning back in her seat.
“I agree,” Brielle nodded. “They're the ones who throw the rings to inflict damage on the other team.”
“And the builders, as you can see, are rapidly trying to create the largest and farthest reaching platform for their team members to find purchase on. Their floating suits—which are made with at least a dozen boosters—won't hold them up for very long while they're too far from the platforms.” It was the most Braya had ever heard Emma speak at once, and she figured the strange girl must have a real taste for the sport.
“Then why aren't the warriors just aiming for the builders and healer?” Braya asked, frowning. She was trying to understand the game now, but it was moving on too quickly and there were too many terms to learn.
“There are many different strategies, Miss Braya. Why not go after the shooters instead? Without them there's no game!”
“Actually, if they went for the healer—”
“Taking out the healer is definitely one of the best strategies, but they're almost impossible to catch. They're the best fliers in those suits and are strapped with so many boosters that if you did manage to hit them with a ring or two they wouldn't go down,” Brielle explained. She was speaking so fast that Braya got the impression that she was just talking strategy with Emma now.
“The teams usually go for the shooters, anyway. That's where most of the game is,” Emma replied tonelessly.
“Why?” Braya couldn't help asking. Dammit it all if she actually got hooked by the game. She refused to admit it, though, even to herself.
“They're the key to win,” Emma answered.
“Not entirely true,” Brielle chirped, “but these days that's all it's about, it seems. There are actually three ways to win, Miss Braya. The easiest and most common way is to collect the most amount of points in ninety minutes. The goals set up around the whole field are sized differently because they're worth different amounts of points. Another way to win is by trying to go a whole minute with all thirty goals glowing in their color. If that happens, they instantly win!”
“That never happens, though,” Emma sulked. “Only one team has ever managed.”
“The Yorks!” Brielle cried proudly. Braya assumed they were her team—and if Emma's blue clothes were any indication, hers as well. Maydessa snorted.
“But,” Brielle added, a faint blush coloring her cheeks, “it's the third way we all like the best.”
“Knocking out the platform,” Emma supplied.
“In that case the builders would be the targets of the game. Without them there's no one to guard or build the platforms and the warriors can just keep shooting at it until it falls, and then all the other players will fall too.”
“Okay, okay,” Braya muttered. “Enough with the technical talk, birdies. My head is swimming.”
“I'm sorry, Miss Braya,” Brielle apologized. She looked down, her blush deepening.
“Sensitive to too much info? Can't handle a lot of discussion all at once?” Maydessa smiled slyly. “Girls, stop playing so rough with the gentle little Crown. She's got the symptoms of Tristant disease.” Maydessa laughed shrilly.
“At least she laughs at her own jokes,” Emma muttered.
Braya clenched her fists again. The anger was there in an instant, burning at her fingertips. She itched to lash out again—to finally slap Maydessa across the face—but she didn't.
“Do you find something funny about Tristant?” Braya asked dangerously. The three of them sensed her change in demeanor and tensed. Brielle tugged at her short, red locks nervously and Emma averted her gaze back to the game. Braya knew this was the wrong thing to do—she could feel the wrongness of it humming deep inside of her—but she didn't care. No one got away with mocking her sister.
“Everything about it is humorous, dear Braya,” Maydessa scoffed. “The bogus symptoms, the lack of a cure. I mean come on. We're capable of curing everything except some stupid disease that steals people's speaking abilities and makes them woozy around too much conversation?”
The words were on the tip of her tongue—she was ready for it—but something held her back. A silent nagging, like someone poking at her chest, made her take pause. Unsettled by it, Braya shot up to her feet and raced out of the room, leaving Maydessa's claims unaddressed. It was the only thing she knew to do.
Loud cheering and the scent of greasy snacks swept over her. The game was louder outside their box seats. Braya didn't know where she would go—she was on the verge of calling her driver—but she did know that she needed to get away from the Finches as fast as possible. Another second with them and she would have snapped again.
After getting lost multiple times in the hollowed halls of the outer stadium, Braya lo
st her patience and caved. She called her driver, who was only ten minutes away. Their family had a couple drivers, but she only ever used the same one since her mother, aunt, and cousins used the others.
Braya went outside to wait for her. The late afternoon warmth felt therapeutic against her skin—she hadn't realized how chilly it was inside until now—and she allowed her eyes to droop shut while she leaned against a tree.
When she thought about it, she was glad she'd stopped herself from slapping that dumb May-Finch. The birdie had it coming, but she wasn't worth Braya's energy. Making her ride home on the Sky Rail would be a satisfying retaliation, but she felt a twinge of guilt at punishing the other two with her.
A loud crash startled Braya out of her thoughts. She jerked backward, banging her shoulder into the tree's trunk. Cursing, Braya looked up to find the cause of the noise. Her eyes locked on two boys standing a few trees down. They were twins, she realized, and they were staring directly at her. Staring at her with...
Green eyes.
Instantly she heard Brielle's voice in her head. Apparently there's been more sightings of foreigners. Foreign men with blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes! Can you believe it?
That had been earlier in the week. Braya blinked furiously, hoping she wasn't seeing what she thought she was seeing. Brielle's voice rang through her head again. One of the conspiracy clubs is riled up about this. They don't believe it at all! So they're offering a huge cash reward to anyone who can find one and prove it.
Braya didn't need the cash. Recognition, a favor. That she could use. If she caught them—or even one—she could bargain her way into a Crown job. This was like finding a unicorn grazing in her back yard.
The boys were grinning at her now. Taunting her. Then they turned in unison and ran.
Without giving it another thought, Braya raced after them. She didn't even consider how she'd capture the two of them, let alone one. It didn't matter, though. She needed those twins.
They were fast runners. She tried to call out to them, shouted at them to stop, but she hadn't expected them to respond. To her utter astonishment they went to the Sky Rail station and darted into one of the compartments just as the doors were sliding shut. Braya threw herself into the one just behind it, intent on following them around the whole city if she had to.
The Rail made many stops. There was a stop every two minutes, and Braya had to keep her eyes peeled to make sure the twins hadn't left their compartment. The minute she saw them dashing out onto a platform, she'd follow them.
The pump of adrenaline she'd gotten from chasing them from the stadium to the station wore off quickly. Her breathing became normal and the sweat along her neck dried. The sun was sinking into the horizon and nearly an hour passed on the Rail when Braya started to wonder if she'd missed them.
They had reached the Heart District now and most of the people were shuffling off. It was a popular place for socializing, and Braya realized if they got off here she could easily miss them in the crowd.
Something told her to stay, though. It was an odd whisper of a feeling, like someone blowing on the back of her neck. She clenched the handrail apprehensively, the sweat cropping up along her back again. The Rail smoothly left the platform and shot toward the next station. Braya tried to think of what would come up next. This was probably only the second time she'd ever ridden the Sky Rail before, so her knowledge of the stations was hardly existent.
A few more stops in Heart District and still there was no sign of them. With each stop that passed by, Braya grew more anxious. What if she had missed them? What if she had let her only hope slip through her fingers?
It was two stops down that she saw them. They stepped calmly onto the platform, shot her simultaneous smirks, and then took off at break-neck speed. Braya scrambled out of the compartment just before the doors slid shut.
She followed them down a long flight of stairs, and then found herself bursting through the exit doors and into a place completely foreign to her.
She was in a barren field. Dead grass, drooping trees, and a slouching wooden structure dotted the scene before her. A half mile to her right loomed the enormous wall of Heartland Manor, a subdued hue glowing from somewhere within the property and lighting up the tops of the hedge.
It was extremely dark, but she could make out two shadows loping across the field toward the wooden shack. She chased after them.
When she approached the door of the shack, she noticed it was left ajar. Were they messing with her? They obviously knew she was chasing them, so why would they lead her somewhere like this unless it was a trap?
Curiously, she pulled the door open wider. It creaked loudly in its hinges. The inside of the shack couldn't be larger than a bathroom. There was no floor—the ground opened up in a large hole. Moldy, moss-covered stairs disappeared into the darkness below, and the smell of something rotting wafted upward.
She couldn't go down there, not when every part of her body was screaming at her to turn away and forget it. But she didn't listen. She descended the stairs slowly, reminding herself that something could pop out at any moment. If she was careful, and if she wanted the Crown job she rightfully deserved, she had to follow those twins.
The staircase was a lot longer than she imagined. When she finally reached the bottom, she nearly tripped on something. Braya's hands went out to catch her balance on the walls, and they came back slick with grim and dirt—at least that's what she guessed it was. It was too dark to see her hands. She was completely blind.
Braya took another few steps forward. She heard something clatter against stone beside her, and whirled around in what she thought was her left. A bright light lanced through the pressing darkness and Braya caught sight of a trail of red flowers along the stone floor before something slammed into her head and she collapsed into someone's arms, unconscious.
~Chapter 5: Thy Master~
Something pounded against the inside of her skull. Over and over. Braya moaned in pain, but that only made it worse. She was acutely aware of her head and how heavy it felt. The rest of her body was lost to her. She could barely feel anything. She forced her eyes open, blinked a few times, and wondered for a moment if she'd gone blind.
Then she realized she hadn't gone blind. She was underground. That knowledge startled her up into a sitting position, but her head was spinning and the sudden movement made her feel nauseous. Braya cradled her head in her hands for a moment, moaning to herself, the rest of her limbs numb.
Once she was sure she could stand, she wobbled to her feet. There was nothing for her to hold onto—if the wall were a few feet away, she would not have known—and stood there with shaking knees for a moment. She cursed herself for being so weak.
When she was able to start taking steps, Braya moved slowly at first. She was being cautious of the oppressing darkness crowding in at all angles, but she was also trying to wake her sleeping legs up.
Her fingers brushed a grimy wall, and Braya moved closer to it, hoping to follow it. Someone had obviously knocked her out earlier, and she had no idea if she was still in the same place as before, but she wasn't going to wait around for whoever it was to come back.
If they hadn't moved her, she would still be close to the stairs and she could escape. She knew where the twins were hiding now, and she could go home and tell her mother about it. Then she'd be rewarded and live happily ever after.
That thought made her feel a little better. She crept along the wall at a quicker pace, and cried out in surprise when she tumbled into a corner. This couldn't be right.
Braya followed the intersecting wall and several feet down she grazed over something wooden. She frantically ran her hands over the surface, yelping at the splinters she collected in the process, and felt something sinister sink to the bottom of her stomach when her hands collided with a metal handle.
She was in a room, which meant that someone had put her there. Braya didn't want to imagine the dozens of other things the unknown people could have done
to her when she'd been unconscious. Had it been the twins? Had they lured her here for a reason? If that were the case, Braya couldn't imagine it'd be to discuss tea.
She wrenched at the handle. Surprisingly, it opened easily. Light leaped into the room and Braya ducked away to shield her eyes. Once her vision was adjusted to the light, she peered out the door and into what appeared to be a corridor. The light that had burst through the door had only been dim candlelight, but Braya was grateful that she could see again.
She entered the hallway somewhat hesitantly. If those twins had known this underground structure well enough to throw her in some room they would surely know how to return to the room. And who knew? Maybe those foreign green eyes enabled them to see in the dark. She wouldn't doubt it.
The candlelight wasn't enough to illuminate every nook and cranny along the corridor. Great shadows swarmed along ledges, inside corners, and down intersecting halls. It didn't matter, though. Braya had to get out.
She wandered through the corridor. She continued down the same one since most of the others that rose up to the left or right were swallowed up in complete darkness. She shuddered each time she passed one.
Braya couldn't be sure since it was swathed in black, but the ceiling seemed to be very tall if the echoing of her footsteps on the stone floor was any indication.
The passage was wide, cold, and smelt like soil. At the end of it, she found another passage leading to her right. It was brightly lit with great, bulbous lanterns of blue and gold propped up in rusted brackets. She could see the high-reaching arcs of the ceiling clearly now. Tall pillars of cracked marble lined the walls, random spots of the floor were eaten up by overgrowing roots—some were thick enough to be tree branches—that curled up across the stone, and the heavy scent of fresh soil lingered in the air.
That was the strange thing. Packed around every pillar, into every ledge, and through every cracked stone was fresh soil. Placed in the soil were various kinds of flowers, beautiful in the lantern-light, all tangled together in a way that made it look like it was the flowers that had overgrown the corridor. It was impossible, though. Someone had planted them.
