Princess Ballot: Royals of Arbon Academy

by James Tate

  “Confident, my friend,” I said distractedly. My mind was already in the room of light and noise.

  Nolan made a strange sound, but didn’t speak again. When we stepped out, finally, into the place of my soul, I barely managed to stop the small gasp from emerging.

  Holy shit. It was nothing like I’d expected. The room had at one time been a huge cave, hundreds of yards in diameter. Over the years they’d fixed it up, adding some octagons, boxing rings, and a grassed tournament area. How they’d gotten grass to grow down here, I had no idea, but I could already tell it wasn’t fake.

  There were also dozens of people in the room, every single one of them clad in dark colors with a black mask over their face.

  I could pick out some features, like those who were very tall or broad, but it was next to impossible to really see anything in these masks. They clung, but did not give too much detail.

  “Are there other women here?” I whispered into Nolan’s back.

  His muscles tensed. “Yes.”

  One word and I knew that was all I’d get.

  “But they don’t fight.”

  Okay, maybe not completely all.

  And as much as the gender stereotype annoyed me, it did make it easier for me to get away with my extracurricular activities—no one expected a woman to run around wielding a sword.

  Chapter 14

  “Come on, the fight’s about to start,” Nolan said, pushing through the cheering crowd and heading for a square, roped-off section. He didn’t need to tell me twice; fighting nourished my soul and I was so fucking here for it.

  In the center of the fight square there was a single, black-clad person. I spent a minute examining him, trying to discern a recognizable feature. I really didn’t know many people in this school yet, and I had absolutely no idea who was beneath the black mask.

  “Five minutes,” he suddenly shouted, his voice unnaturally robotic, like it was being morphed by something.

  The crowd pushed even closer, and Nolan kept a hold on my arm so we wouldn’t get lost.

  “Demonica, three times broadsword champion, runner up for short blades, and a top ten finalist in hand-to-hand, will face off against the Fallen Angel.”

  A hushed murmur rocked through the crowd, and I found myself straining forward, wanting a glimpse of these fighters. And this “persona” Nolan kept rambling on about.

  Demonica was the first through, and I blinked at what I saw as they stepped into the square. On top of the black outfit, he wore a red costume that covered him almost completely. His demon mask was twisted and grotesque, with lifelike blood trailing down both cheeks. His red suit perfectly depicted the muscles that lay beneath the skin, almost like the “demonica” had been skinned alive before stepping out to fight. His outfit was still formfitting, and I was pretty sure it was a dude below—mostly because Nolan seemed sure women didn’t fight—but it was pretty hard to tell for sure.

  “Fallen Angel is our reigning champion,” the robotic voice shouted again. “Undefeated in his last forty fights and skilled in at least eight fighting disciplines and twenty weapons. This is going to be one insane fight tonight, faceless.”

  I flinched at that word. Even though it made sense, it bothered me on many levels. Faceless. Useless. Worthless. Homeless. I’d been called so many “less” names in my life that I had an instinctive dislike of that label being placed on me again, even in a not-so-derogatory way.

  My existential crisis was interrupted by the appearance of the Fallen Angel.

  Subconsciously I found myself leaning forward, to see the fighter better. I didn’t need to bother though, the Angel was tall—much taller than Demonica, who almost looked feminine now in comparison. Unlike the red, grotesque appearance of the first fighter, the second one was dressed in black with huge silver wings detailed across his broad shoulders.

  “Demonica doesn’t stand a chance,” Nolan muttered, angling his head so that he could speak without being overheard. “He’s too cocky, makes too many dumb mistakes.”

  “Oh yeah?” I replied without thinking, until Nolan jabbed me in the ribs.

  “What did I say about not talking?” He let out a long-suffering sigh. “As dark as it is, you can probably pass as a dude…” I could fucking feel his eyes running down my body “...an underdeveloped, weak, kinda girly dude. But still. It’s better for everyone if no one notices you’re a chick. Let alone you.”

  I snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I wasn’t a total moron; I whispered it.

  “Violet,” Nolan growled in a tone edging past exasperated and into angry. Rolling my eyes, I mimicked zipping my lips, but he still made a vexed grunt.

  A long pause ensued, within which the black-clad robot-dude blathered on with more fight stats to hype the crowd up. Not that they needed it when Fallen Angel was a clear favorite. Lots were cheering for him. A couple of spectators even sported imitation wings on the backs of their black hoodies. Who were all these people?

  “This network of tunnels runs for miles,” Nolan whispered, answering my silent questions. “People come from all over the Switzerlands to compete here. All over the world, if they can afford it. They’re not all students, if that’s what you were thinking.”

  That was exactly what I’d been thinking. Creepy.

  “That’s another reason anonymity is so important. If people knew how many royals were down here, unguarded…” Nolan gave a small shrug, and I nodded. Made sense. Nolan and Jordan were both here, which meant…

  “Rafe’s here somewhere, isn’t he?” I couldn’t keep the words inside my mouth, despite the sharp glare Nolan shot me. When all you could see were someone’s eyes, it amplified things like glares.

  “Somewhere,” Nolan grudgingly admitted. “We split up when we arrive; otherwise it’d be pretty fucking obvious what each other’s personas were. Safety lies in anonymity, new girl.”

  I shrugged. I’d figured as much, and really, this wasn’t crazy different from the tournaments I’d attended—and entered—back home. In a world where breaking the law meant death, not a fine or imprisonment, it was too damn risky not to adopt some level of identity concealment.

  Both combatants drew their weapons, and I could already pick the winner based on how they held the katanas—traditional Japanese style blades with super sharp edges. Demonica’s handle and guard was red, Fallen Angels was black and ornate, and my fingers itched to touch either of the beautiful pieces.

  The crowd roared, and regardless of what Nolan had said, the smaller fighter had a lot of support.

  I wanted to ask a million questions, but I got the feeling I’d pushed Nolan as far as I could. Instead, I just bit down on the inside of my cheek and soaked up every little detail I could. When I got my chance to enter a fight, those observations could damn well save my life.

  The fight began, and soon the whole room rang with the clang of steel on steel. It was a heady, intoxicating sound, and I bit back a groan of anticipation. My whole body thrummed with excitement, though, and I scarcely dared to breathe for fear of missing a moment. Nolan had positioned us well, with uninterrupted views of the fighters.

  Demonica was putting on a good show. I could see why he held such prestige, but Nolan was right. He put too much focus on showboating and not enough on getting the job done. Fallen Angel would have this won in a matter of minutes.

  But holy damn, I’d enjoy every second left in the fight just to watch Fallen Angel move. The dude was like some kind of lethal ballet dancer, all fluid grace and deadly quick strikes as he manipulated his opponent into the trap he was laying.

  Fallen Angel was unlike any fighter I’d ever seen. Myself included. Fuck… I needed to go up against him.

  “Shit,” Nolan hissed. His whole body stiffened, and his attention was fixed across the room from us. “We need to go, new girl. Now.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to miss the end of the fight, which promised to be soon, but my gaze snagged on something out of place. Something that had clear
ly startled Nolan. From a gloomy tunnel entrance, a group of black-clad people had just entered the cave and were looking around. That in itself was not out of place. What was out of place was the fact that none of them wore masks. Why would they? The royal Swiss guards had no need to conceal their identities.

  “Oh fuck,” I breathed, my eyes locked onto the glittering gold crests adorning their chests. “Nolan, fuck!”

  “No shit,” he snapped back, grabbing my hand and tugging me through the crowd in the direction we’d come in. Everyone’s focus was still on the fighters and their high-speed blades, so chaos hadn’t broken out. Yet. It’d only be a matter of moments, though.

  “Follow the little hawk symbols,” Nolan ordered me as we reached the tunnel entrance. “The door into the academy is marked with a larger hawk on the ceiling above it. The latch is bottom left; lift it with your foot.”

  “Wait, what?” I demanded, shaking my head. “Where are you going to be?”

  “Making sure Jordan doesn’t wind up in Rafe’s dad’s prison.” He snorted a laugh, like he really wasn’t all that worried. Maybe he wasn’t. The worst they’d get would be a slap on the wrist or maybe a lecture from their parents. “You’re in much more danger than us, new girl. Move your ass and don’t look back.”

  Nolan gave me a shove into the tunnel and pointed at the wall above our heads as a reminder before disappearing back into the black-clad, anonymous crowd. Sure enough, there were dozens of little symbols, all probably marking a different tunnel entrance. So cool. I’d been so focused on the arrows earlier I hadn’t noticed the other markings.

  I hesitated a moment, torn with indecision, but panicked shouts across the room decided for me. Fuck the royals, I needed to look after my own ass.

  Chapter 15

  I wasn’t the only one looking out after their own ass; more than one black-clad person was in the tunnel with me. Thankfully, no one looked around, all of us focused on getting out in one piece. Someone had their palm reader light on, so I didn’t need mine, but when I was pushed out of the way by a behemoth, I veered off the path, ending up in another section of the tunnel. It took me a few moments of growing darkness to realize I was no longer following the crowd. Shit.

  Activating my light, I took a second to find the hawk symbols, and found… none. Instead, I blinked at the double-sided arrow right above me. What did that mean? Was I supposed to go left or right?

  The decision was made for me when a black-clad figure stormed into sight—A royal guard.

  I didn’t think, I just ran, but the youngish guard was fit and fast, catching up to me in no time.

  “Halt!” he shouted, that word deeply accented. “You will answer to the king. We’re shutting these fights down for good.”

  Yeah, right. Like I was just going to let him take me. I wasn’t a royal. Not being in the fights might save me from death, or it might not. Depending.

  Picking up speed, I stayed out of his reach for a few more seconds, but I barely had time to see any symbols or arrows. When I finally caught sight of one--an arrow--I realized that I was following them right back to the fighting area.

  This was bad. I was going to end up where all the guards were, and if evading one was hard, evading them all would be impossible.

  I had no alternatives at the moment, but the second I saw another path, I was taking it. Anywhere was better than back to the fight.

  “Halt!” the guard shouted again, his accent deep.

  My palm reader light flashed off a side tunnel, and I tried to suck air into my starving lungs as I ducked to the left. I had a brief thought that I should shut my reader off and try to double back, but the guard had a light too. I wasn’t sure this part of the tunnel was wide enough to slip around him.

  “Hilfe!” the guard said, loud and echoing and clearly not in English. Then there were two guards. One had appeared in front of me, and I was heading straight for him.

  I could also see the illuminated path to the fight area right behind him, and I knew I was fucked.

  If I wanted to get out of here, I had to fight.

  Picking up speed, I charged at the new guard, knocking the traser, his weapon, aside in one swift movement. Trasers were the weapon favored by royals. The small black devices were part taser, part tranquilizer. They were deadly and effective with multiple prongs that fired with the speed of a bullet, injecting the victim with benzodiazepines, followed by a jolt of electricity, rendering them unconscious in seconds. The world’s press took all kinds of delight in showing footage of them being used on “troublemakers” so I was all too familiar with how they worked.

  It made sense that they’d be using them tonight. They didn’t know who was under the masks. What if they killed a royal?

  The new guard was a little older than the one chasing me, rounder around the middle, with mousy brown hair and a receding hairline. “You don’t have to fight,” he said, sounding very French.

  No time for words. I disabled him in four moves, taking out both arms and crippling his left knee first, before slamming into his right. Leaving him howling on the ground, I jumped over him, but I was too slow. The other guard, catching hold of my shirt, yanked me back.

  Using this momentum against him, I pushed off from the ground and slammed all of my weight into him, sending us both tumbling down. Rolling in a way to minimize my damage, I was back up in a flash, my hand striking him hard in the temple and knocking him out cold.

  My breaths burst in and out as adrenaline overloaded me, but I was safe for a second, and that allowed me to get myself under control. I was about to take off away from the fight, when something caught my eye right in the main light.

  I hadn’t noticed when I was busy fighting for my freedom, but there was another fight going on—one black-clad fighter against five guards.

  No, not just one fighter … it was the Fallen Angel.

  He’d ditched the weapons and was taking them all on hand to hand, holding his fucking own. I was again mesmerized as I watched, both envying and admiring the smooth skills he possessed. I’d never seen a fighter like him, and I’d seen a lot of fighters before.

  But the odds were against him because the Swiss guards were at the top of their game and highly trained, and they were going to wear him down.

  My feet started to turn away, but then I couldn’t leave. What if they killed him? And I’d just walked away, too busy saving my own ass.

  I couldn’t do it.

  Muttering out a series of curses, I sucked up some bravery and sprinted toward them, taking the guards with their back to me by surprise. I roundhouse kicked one, knocking him out cold, followed by an uppercut-elbow action to another, clipping his chin and dropping him to the ground. I knew the second guard wasn’t out, but I’d hurt him enough that he didn’t jump back to his feet.

  Fallen Angel now had the advantage he’d been searching for, and he took on two guards, fighting them both in hard, striking blows.

  That left one for me, and I was almost excited to flex my muscles. The last two had been on the run, but this was different.

  The guard was a foot taller than me, and he had a lot of bulk. His red hair was shaved military short, just like the others, and his eyes were hard. Mean. This was a guard that liked inflicting pain and abusing his power. Perfect.

  Seeing me as weak because I was small, he launched himself at me with swinging arms and hard fists. I dodged the first two hits, but let a third graze across my shoulder. It hurt, but it allowed me to get in under his guard to deliver a fast series of gut and chest punches. I went for the softer, fleshy parts, so that I didn’t break my knuckles or hands. Usually I’d be taped up for hand-to-hand, so I’d have to be careful.

  The guard let out a gush of air, and I cracked him again in the exact right place to wind him.

  I didn’t realize that the Fallen Angel had dispatched his two until he tried to step in on my fight.

  “No!” I said harshly. This was my battle to win.

  Both the Angel and
the guard jerked their heads back, and I cursed my own stupidity. I’d spoken. They now knew I was a chick. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

  Oh well, the damage was done now. And they didn’t know what chick, even if the Fallen Angel was staring at me hard. I could feel his gaze.

  With a huff of annoyance, I ran at the guard, and no longer fucking around, I used the wall for some momentum, pushing myself up so I could hit him with a straight shot. Maybe it was because I was female, or maybe I just took him by surprise, but he never even raised his hands, taking the hit like a pro and going down in a loud crash.

  A hand wrapped around my biceps, and I swung out, slamming the side of my forearm into whoever was holding me.

  “Whoa… whoa,” Fallen Angel said, holding his hands up. “I’m not the enemy.”

  There was something familiar about his voice, the husky rumble triggering a memory. “Jordan?” I asked because he had a slight American inflection.

  There was a pause, and then the angel nodded. “Who are you?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him, but then … I decided that wasn’t the best idea.

  “My persona is Vengeance,” I finally said. I’d always been Vengeance, dressed in purple but without a mask because in our underground circuit no one hid their faces. But I figured I could step right back into that world here.

  “Well, Vengeance, we should maybe get out of here,” Jordan said, holding out a hand to me.

  I ignored it because I didn’t want him to think I was a damsel in distress, just because he now knew I was a chick. Men were all the same; even after seeing me fight, they couldn’t help themselves.

  Pushing past him so I was first, I ducked into the right tunnel and sighed with relief at the little hawk on the wall. Jordan stayed right with me all the way back to the academy, and there were thankfully no more guards.

  He showed me how to open the entrance. When we stepped into the light, I turned to thank him, then stopped dead as I finally got the full picture of just how tall, broad, and overall fucking huge he was.