The Prince's Trap

by Griffith, P. D.

  Landon had a bad feeling about this tournament. It seemed dangerous and archaic. When people talked about it, it reminded him of the Roman gladiatorial games—they appeased the mob, but a lot of people got hurt in the process.

  A short while later Dr. Wells strolled down the large hallway. His figure caught Landon’s eye because he was coming from the Southern entrance rather than from the Western hallway like everyone else. His shadow trailed behind him like a dark cape, formed from the light cast off the Atrium’s mirrors. When he got close enough to speak, his voice was miraculously audible over the crowd, drawing attention and silence.

  “Students,” he bellowed, “the testing has concluded and the results are being tabulated as we speak! The tournament will begin tomorrow at noon in the fields alongside the forest. Dinner will be served shortly and please get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow will be an eventful day. Thank you for your cooperation today.” He took an exaggerated pause to savor the attention he’d stolen from the crowd, who all eagerly awaited their release from the confines of the Atrium. “You are free to leave, and remember, you are all that’s holding you back from reaching your full potential.”

  With those words, the students dispersed, coursing down the four main hallways or disappearing behind one of the barrier walls that concealed the staircases. Landon made his way down from the oak tree and, with Riley beside him, headed off to the dormitories. They filed into the crowd that began to bottleneck at the northeastern stairwell and slowly moved with the masses until they were able to reach their floor and head to their respective rooms. They’d agreed to relax and change before meeting in the cafeteria for dinner in a half-hour.

  When Landon entered his room, he found that Brock hadn’t returned yet. Glancing at his bed, Landon suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion consume him and quickly decided that a little lounging was a marvelous idea.

  He went over to his closet, flicked off his shoes with a skilled leg maneuver, and began to change into something more comfortable. As habit dictated, he checked his pockets for anything that may have accumulated in them during the day. He couldn’t remember putting anything in them, but when he reached inside the front right pocket of his jeans, he felt a small wad of paper. Landon pulled it out, unfolded it, and found a singular phrase written in none other than Katie Leigh’s messy handwriting.

  “What man has joined, nature is powerless to put asunder.”

  She was trying to tell him something, he figured. But God only knew what strange message or clue was contained in this quotation that Landon thought looked familiar, but couldn’t place. And he knew by the sheer fact that she’d secretly slipped the coded message into his pocket that she herself wasn’t going to shed light on the subject. Landon would have to figure it out on his own. He only hoped that was sooner rather than later.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A WINDOW OF

  OPPORTUNITY

  When Landon entered the cafeteria the following morning, Riley, who bore a grin that filled his face and formed deep parenthesis around his mouth, immediately met him.

  “I assume that means I made the tournament,” Landon said, and instantly felt apprehensive as he thought about what would be required of him and the noticeable expectations he’d have to meet.

  “Yeah, you landed in sixth,” Riley confirmed as he grabbed Landon by the shoulder and shuttled him into the growing breakfast crowd. “Wasn’t first like I was hoping for,” he added once they reached the food service line, disappointment temporarily registering in his tone.

  Landon glanced back, curious if Riley’s face showed any sign of losses to Sam Willards. The way he said “sixth” made Landon think he might have been on the losing end of a wager.

  “But sixth is a great position for a first-timer like you. It’ll match you up with the easier people for the first few rounds, giving you a chance to see how things work and strategize for the bigger matches.”

  Landon gulped as the tournament pressures started to weigh quite heavily on his mind. What was the Gymnasium playing at? he wondered. This whole thing seems like a bad idea. Landon also couldn’t shake the fear that he might lose control of himself with competition involved. He tried to shake off his fears for the moment as he scooped a hefty serving of scrambled eggs onto his plate; he’d need the protein to be energized for his match. Why couldn’t I be a spectator just this once?

  Leaving the food services area, Landon and Riley made their way toward their usual seats and began to eat their breakfast. Riley couldn’t stop himself from talking about the tournament between bites from his monstrous plate of food. Landon did his best to pay attention, trying not to squash his friend’s enthusiasm, for Landon found it highly unlikely he would do well given the myriad of other issues he was preoccupied with. Yet as Riley continued to show excitement at Landon’s prospects, his confidence made Landon wonder if actually had a shot.

  Being a member of the Pantheon should give Landon an advantage as long as he wasn’t paired up with a teammate. Not only were they trained to reach a peak of physical fitness, but they worked on hand-to-hand combat, evasive maneuvers, as well as how to utilize their abilities in an offensive manner. If anyone was prepared to succeed in the Qualifiers tournament, it was a Pantheon member.

  Soon Katie Leigh joined them at the table, but when she looked at Landon her expression, unlike Riley’s, resembled terror more than enthusiasm.

  What don’t I know? was the first thought that crossed Landon’s mind, but he tried his best to maintain a fake smile as Katie Leigh placed her tray on the table and slid onto the bench.

  “Katie,” Landon interrupted Riley, “can you believe I made the tournament?” He hoped that her response would clue him in on whether her terror was based on the Qualifiers or something more serious—like Washington Sykes, her coded note, or their secret initiatives.

  “Yeah, I saw that,” she said, her voice overly cheery-sounding as she tried to mask her emotions. “Congratulations! But can you believe who you’re facing in the first round?” Her eyes widened.

  He had failed to realize it earlier, but with all Riley’s talk about the tournament, he’d never said whom Landon was paired up against. “Wait. Who am I facing?” he asked.

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Riley asked rhetorically. “Celia Jackson . . . she placed fourteenth. Shouldn’t be a problem for someone in your position.” Riley made an exaggerated wink, obviously referencing Landon’s status as a Pantheon agent without a hint of discretion. “I mean, she’s only been awake for two days! How bad could it be, right?”

  Landon’s eyes bulged with surprise and panic. He caught himself a split second later and did his best to revert to a vacant expression, but it was just long enough for Riley to notice.

  “Right?” he prodded, searching for reassurance from his contender.

  “Of course.” Landon shrugged with empty conviction.

  “Good. That’s what I thought. I mean she . . .” Landon stopped paying attention and his mind wandered. Learning he’d be matched against Celia was the worst news he could imagine. Given her reaction to him after Parker freed her from her coma, Landon could only hope to survive an official fight with her. She had commanded an unbreakable strength in the medical wing when she’d pinned him to the wall. How could he possibly compete with her? He only hoped her pent-up aggression toward him had somehow waned in the last two days.

  “All right, guys,” Landon interjected after downing his breakfast, “I think I’m going to take some time to center myself before the games begin.”

  “Good idea,” Riley approved. “I need to go speak to Sam anyways. I’ve got some bets to make.”

  Landon smiled at him before rising from the bench and leaving the cafeteria. He had two and a half hours before the tournament started. He initially headed to his room, planning to lie down for a while and think about what he should do
, but decided against it just as he reached his floor.

  Landon understood there was nothing he could do to stop what she was bound to do to him when his fight with Celia began, so he resigned himself to winging it. Instead, he spent his time in the Library, determining it to be an opportune time to try and figure out Katie Leigh’s message. It was something he needed to do, and he welcomed the distraction.

  He perused the shelves, checking titles as he repeated the quote in his head, hoping that at some point the quote and the book would miraculously connect in his mind. “What man has joined, nature is powerless to put asunder.”

  He wished there was an easier way to figure it out. He started with Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations, but failed to find the passage in it. If the administration granted the students access to the Internet, Landon could’ve found the answer quite easily; however, that wasn’t a possibility—the only person he knew who had access was the one who’d given him the message in the first place. Not to mention, Landon assumed the Pallas Corporation monitored any extraneous activity on their network.

  Landon found himself in the Literature section. He scanned the bindings of book after book, registering the names of familiar titles. When his finger lined up with David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, he paused—not because he thought he’d found the source of Katie Leigh’s quote but because that book pulled up a painful memory. He had fallen asleep reading that book the night of his apocratusis. Landon fought so hard to quash his guilt over what happened that night, but pangs of remorse still seeped up from the depths of his soul, tormenting him at the most inopportune moments.

  He closed his eyes and tried to picture happier times, searching for something to wash away the sadness that came over him. He found it difficult. That horrible night was just too powerful to push aside. But when Landon inhaled deeply through his nose, he felt a sense of peace. The Library always did this to him. The musty smell of old paper and ink, coupled with the dust and glue, held a quality unpleasant to some, but wondrously calming to him. This place was his sanctuary. When he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings, enveloped in a sea of stories, he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face.

  Refocused, Landon spent the remainder of his time scanning the shelves, but nothing jumped out at him. As he left the Library and headed outside, he was no closer to figuring out Katie Leigh’s message. Perhaps he could convince her to give him a clue while they watched the Qualifiers tournament.

  When he reached the northern exit that would lead out to the gaming area, Landon found Riley waiting for him.

  “What are you doing?” Riley asked as he pulled Landon to the side of the corridor. “You don’t expect to win dressed like that, do you?”

  Landon looked down at what he was wearing—a form-fitting pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of top-siders.

  “You need to be comfortable . . . loose . . . agile.” Riley kept his eyes locked on him as he danced atop the floor, emulating the qualities he wanted Landon to possess. Landon chuckled at the comedic portrayal. “Go!” Riley commanded while pointing toward the dormitories.

  Landon rolled his eyes slightly as he walked by Riley and headed up to change. Entering his room, he found Brock pulling on a tank top. He too was preparing himself for the tournament, donning some more appropriate clothing for the physical challenge.

  “Roomie,” Brock said with condescension, “you should know I put money down on your little girlfriend winning today. Don’t let me down.” He chuckled, pleased with himself.

  Landon didn’t give Brock the satisfaction of a response and bit back his words as he opened the second drawer of his dresser, pulled out a pair of thin cotton workout pants and tossed them onto his unmade bed.

  “It’s sad that I don’t get to fight you, though,” Brock added as Landon fished out a light pair of trainers from the bottom of his closet. “I owe you one after the First Frost Frenzy. There’s not a chance in hell you could beat me in a fair fight.” The arrogance in Brock’s voice tested Landon’s last nerve. “You’d be hurt so bad you’d have to go crying to your mommy. Whoops!”

  Landon bolted upright and turned to his roommate. With his teeth clenched, he hurled the shoes in his hand against the wall, and moved slowly toward Brock. It took every ounce of his willpower to not lunge at him in a fit of rage. After a few steps, however, he noticed the excitement in Brock’s eyes. Landon halted, realizing he was giving Brock exactly what he wanted. It was psychological warfare at its best. Brock’s aim the entire time was to get inside Landon’s head and psych him out, shake him up before his match. Through tensed, narrowed lips, Landon started to say something, but stopped himself.

  “Uh,” Brock goaded as he held his hand against his ear. “What’s that?” he asked mockingly.

  Landon blinked slowly, inhaled deeply and then exhaled, expelling his rage with the hot air. “You know, Brock,” he said matter-of-factly as he looked his aggressor in the eyes, “if your brain was even half as big as your bicep, you’d realize you couldn’t beat me if you tried.”

  Brock’s face tensed at Landon’s words, but he never broke his gaze. “Anytime, roomie,” he said in slow, emphatic beats. Brock walked to the door and opened it, preparing to leave. Just before he stepped out of the room and slammed the door behind him, however, he turned back to Landon and reiterated, “Anytime.”

  When the door closed, Landon let out air from his lungs that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, but a second later he remembered that Riley was waiting for him at the exit into the valley, and that the tournament would soon begin. Without delay, he changed into the light athletic pants and his trainers—he found them wedged between the wall and mattress behind his pillows. Once fully dressed, he understood what Riley was harping at. Properly attired, Landon suddenly felt springy, alive and ready for anything.

  He found Riley leaning against one of the large stone pillars near the doorway. When Riley saw him coming, he thrust his shoulder backward to propel himself upright. “Took you long enough,” he said with a sigh. Together, they trailed behind the other stragglers on their way to the tournament.

  “So, I just saw Brock. He wasn’t looking too happy.” Riley glanced at Landon out of the corner of his eyes, hoping for the dirt on what had happened when he went up to change. But he was clever enough to see by Landon’s expression that he didn’t want to talk about it.

  The sun, which hung at its peak in the clear blue sky, beat down on Landon’s brow, causing him to sweat almost immediately. The walk was short, just over a small hill (more of a mound, really) and then to the edge of the forest, the same area where the First Frost Frenzy had taken place seven months prior.

  When Landon saw the tournament grounds, his heart pumped a bit harder in his chest. The Gymnasium staff had erected a staggered tower of spectator benches, which flanked the north and south sides of the playing field. One butted up against the forest, the leaves of the oaks tickling the steel supports, and the other rested in the open grass directly opposite it. Each one had a large awning extending over the benches, shielding the viewers from the harsh rays of the afternoon sun. The setup reminded Landon of his high school’s football field—the home team on one side and the visiting team on the other. At this “stadium,” however, the staff and faculty occupied the benches against the trees. They were already settled when Landon and Riley walked up. On the other end, students still shuffled up and down the benches, searching for the best seat in the house, or the closest alternative, should the one they wanted already be taken.

  Between the stands was a square area outlined by white field paint. It was much larger than Landon had expected. After hearing people talk about the rules being similar to that of a wrestling match, he expected the field of play to be just a small circle. Spanning approximately thirty feet on each side with a thick two-foot border, it looked like a flat, hard tumbling mat, not nearly as
springy as the ones used by the gymnasts in the Summer Olympics, which Landon had watched with his mother. He gulped, realizing how much he had underestimated the enormity of the event.

  “Landon!” Riley called out, catching his attention. Landon had inadvertently stopped to take in his surroundings. “You need to go to the tent. They’re probably already waiting for you.”

  Landon glanced across the playing field to a white tent. When he saw it, he instantly thought of a miniature circus tent, or a stark white version of a caravan tent transported from the deserts of One Thousand and One Arabian Nights, with its flat panels of fabric forming a hexagonal cylinder that rose about ten feet in the air before tapering into a pointed cone. Landon turned back to Riley and nodded in understanding.

  “And Landon,” Riley continued, his tone suddenly sounding serious and concerned, which caught Landon off guard. “These matches, . . . they go one of two ways.” He paused for a moment. “They can be quick and painless or they can be long and brutal.”

  Landon gulped again. “Thanks,” he eked out, grateful for Riley’s friendship and his willingness to stand by and prepare him as the tournament loomed.

  Riley nodded and gave him a brotherly pop on the arm. “Ah, don’t look so freaked out. You’re going to win this thing,” he said confidently. “Now, get to the contestants’ tent. They have to be waiting for you.” He started toward the stands, leaving Landon alone at the head of the tournament grounds, but just before he was out of Landon’s earshot, Riley turned and yelled to him with a smile, “And make sure you win, will ya? I’ve got a lot riding on you!”