Roman reached over to pat my hand. “People die in this world, Ardie. You’ll get used to it.”

  “I really hope I don’t.” The bulk of my life, I’d kept people at a distance, afraid to make friends, certain they’d all break with Madness. I spent years lonely and isolated, counseled strictly by anxiety. With Cyrus and the Soalians, I’d experienced the joys of relationship. I cared now, and there was no going back.

  Roman nudged my shoulder. “Whatever you do, get your mind right fast. Things are about to get wild. From what I’ve heard, only two high princes opted not to go for the title of king. The remaining five will converge at Fort Bala soon. Word is, the emperor favors Cyrus’s half brother, High Prince Felix, as well as High Princess Lolli.”

  I’d heard of both royals, of course. Who hadn’t? The princess was Cyrus’s sister-in-law, a widow once married to another of his half brothers, a high prince who’d died in battle. Many called her a force of nature. HP Felix was famous for his merciless infiltration of glower strongholds. If they could be recruited to our cause, great. But if not . . . we must deal with them.

  “What about Cyrus?” I asked. “His capture-kill rates can’t be beat.”

  Roman leaned closer still. “My source says his chances are low. That the emperor—”

  “Quiet down,” Archduke Heta commanded as he reentered the room.

  Argh! The emperor what?

  To my dismay, the barons followed the archduke inside and repositioned at the door.

  “Ignore Lady Roosa’s bodyguards,” Heta announced. “They were assigned by Emperor Piven himself.”

  My eyes widened. No, impossible. Except, Mr. Vyle. The one who currently wielded the same authority as the emperor. He wouldn’t hesitate to do this.

  A barbed lump congealed in my throat as everyone but Heta and the guards reassessed me. No doubt they speculated about how someone like me had garnered such keen interest from our illustrious leader. Because there was no way Emperor Dolion would ever concern himself with a random, low-ranking girlfriend of a royal high prince, even if said high prince was his grandson.

  Roman frowned at me as I slinked lower still in my seat. So. One question had an answer, at least. They were surveilling me. An intimidation tactic meant to scare me into a confession of guilt.

  Miller gave me a look of disgust and muttered, “The high prince wasn’t good enough for you, eh? You had to go and sleep your way to the very tippity top.”

  My cheeks heated. For the most part, he’d ignored me before this. The emperor’s guards must have put me on his radar.

  I held his gaze and followed Cyrus’s example for dealing with unruly trainees. “Are you sure you want to travel this route with me, Mills? Right or not, I obviously have connections you don’t.”

  He paled and backed off. And yeah, okay, satisfaction bloomed.

  “All right, let’s get started.” Archduke Heta spread his arms. “With the mass loss of cadets who were on special assignment with King Tagin, and the restructuring of the teams, I’m now your be-all and end-all. No matter who you are, or how high your connections”—he hit me with a pointed glance—“I will not tolerate a break in the chain of command. If you have a problem, come to me. Are we clear?”

  My cheeks burned a thousand degrees hotter, but I nodded for his benefit.

  “A few updates,” he continued, casual now. “We won’t be traveling to Theirland on Friday. You require more training. Also, the competition for top soldier has been postponed.”

  His last bombshell inspired groans of disappointment and gasps of shock.

  Heta held up his hands in a demand for silence, which he received. He might be small in stature, but he projected a big presence. “Since the Soalians have increased the ferocity of their attacks against CURED, we’re accelerating your training this month. We want you focused on learning, not on winning a prize. Though I’d dare to say knowledge is the ultimate reward.”

  Done with that subject, he lifted his infamous clicker. “Since you’ll never outgrow warfare, you must learn to fight.” With the press of a button, he caused the wall behind him to light up with images.

  I saw a night-darkened sky lit by blasts of lightning and broken circus rides spotlighted by pritis stones. Those small golden orbs topped poles in clusters, resembling grapes on a vine. My fingers curled over the edge of my seat, righteous anger sweeping through me. Now that I knew how those glowing “stones” were harvested, I wanted only to tear down the posts and spit in the holes.

  “By now you’ve visited Theirland on numerous occasions,” Heta said. “You’ve walked through the rifts between our two realms. Have experienced the other world’s eternal darkness and inverted vision, and have participated in a mock patrol, slaying feeders too far gone for treatment.”

  Feeders. Of the two types of maddened—according to CURED—feeders were the most common. In truth, they were the only ones actually infected. Driven by hunger, they craved the second type: glowers. Glowers weren’t infected; they were Soalian. When feeders couldn’t get to them, they settled for whatever flesh and blood they could find.

  Heta continued, “When I feel the team is ready, you’ll each accompany a superior officer on an actual patrol. Stakes have never been higher, so I suggest you pay special attention when I speak.”

  Once again, perspiration glazed my palms. Me. On patrol. In the dark. The moment someone pegged me as a glower, I was as good as dead. And how could anyone not discover it? True to the description, I now glowed in the dark. Well, sometimes I glowed. Mostly. I did it on command but also spontaneously. Kind of. Maybe. Ugh! I just didn’t know. I was too new to this. As a two-day-old Soalian, I had more questions than answers.

  And I was missing the archduke’s lecture, dang it. Inner shake.

  “—left behind for whatever reason, hide there,” he was saying. “A knight will come for you at some point.”

  Ack! Hide where?

  “There will be more maddened than you can fathom, and you’ll be fighting for your life nonstop. Amid the pandemonium, you must work with your teammates, learning when to strike, when to dodge, and when to back off. To help you navigate this, you’ll be chained to a different trainee each day for the next five days, from warm-up until free time. Grab a tether on your way out. Today, you’re paired with whoever is sitting next to you.”

  Roman reached out, gripped the edge of my desk, and tugged me closer still. Great. I now had three guard dogs observing my every move. At least none of them were the meta, short for “metal.” The robotic dogs patrolled the cities, recording everything.

  I stayed pressed together with my partner as the archduke played footage where swarms of mindless maddened surged forward, their irises eclipsed by blazing crimson. Small, pale worms writhed from their scalps, squiggled in place of their lashes, and slithered from their ears and noses. A froth of white foam leaked from the corners of their mouths in a continuous stream.

  Revulsion rocked me. How I hated the idea of entering Theirland, the abandoned world where this type of feeder congregated. But I must. I had orders from my real boss. According to Ember Cruz, I must remain immersed in CURED’s training program.

  Budding anxiety distracted me as Heta spoke about the different places the maddened preferred to hide to ambush patrolmen. By the time the bell rang, I was certain I had retained none of it.

  “Don’t forget your chain,” he commanded. “Make sure you and your partner are secured for weapons class. Today, Duchess Mimidae is teaching you how to properly wield a spear, my favorite weapon.” As we stood and filed out, he called, “Lady Roosa. A word.”

  I winced and glanced at Roman. “I’ll meet you in the hallway.”

  “Nope,” he said with a shake of his head, his usual smug but lovable self. “We’re bound together, baby. Where you go, I go. Instructor’s orders.”

  Wonderful. Tremors overtook me as we approached Heta’s desk.

  The archduke leaned back in his chair, linked his fingers over his middle, and peered up at us. “If your personal life continues to disrupt my classes, I won’t be pleased. I don’t care who you’re dating. I will excuse no tardies, tolerate no disrespect, and show no preferential treatment. Do you understand?”

  “Sir, yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I replied, and I meant it.

  “Dismissed.” He turned his focus to his files, saying nothing else.

  Roman grabbed a thin metal cord and guided me out of the room. My guards followed. In the hall, the trainee slung his arms around my shoulders, saying quietly, “I haven’t forgotten your super-secret, special mission before all this started. I’m sure you can’t speak about what’s going on . . .”

  “Correct. I can’t,” I confirmed.

  “Just be careful. I’ve heard things.”

  As the son of a marquis, Roman had grown up among the gentry. “Don’t stop there. Tell me what you’ve heard.” I kept my volume as low as his, ensuring the guards heard nothing. “And while you’re at it, finish what you were saying earlier, about Cyrus. Why is his shot at king low?”

  “Hang on.” Roman led me into the commons, a spacious room divided into a trio of sections designated for entertainment, studying, and dining. But he didn’t stop. On we went, entering another hallway before descending a flight of stairs. Rather than huddling up in our next classroom, he kept me in the thick of a crowd, dozens of conversations taking place around us as trainees and soldiers rushed here and there. He bent his head and told me, “I heard the HP and his grandfather are feuding. Started recently. I don’t know all the details . . .” He paused, giving me a chance to respond.

  “I don’t either.” At Roman’s look of disbelief, I added, “Honestly, I know nothing about a feud.” Cyrus hadn’t mentioned it. I wondered, though. Did it revolve around me, the nobody girlfriend? I mean, our relationship was a recent development as well.

  For victory, I would absolutely, unequivocally end the relationship. At least publicly. And temporarily. Don’t vomit. “You mentioned High Prince Felix is the front-runner. Do you know why?”

  “A year ago, a glower killed his wife. He’s been on a revenge tour ever since. Across the board, his stats are mind-blowing.”

  Okay, forget recruiting him. He wouldn’t be interested in becoming a glower like me and Cyrus. Although, there must be more to the story of his wife’s death. A mistake of some sort. Murder wasn’t the Soalian way. That much, I knew.

  “Look,” Roman said. “Whatever caused the quarrel between grandfather and grandson, Cyrus will have to patch things up if he wants to win the crown.”

  I raised my chin, determined. “Mark my words. Cyrus will be the next king of Ourland.” Quarrel or not, we would find a way. Nothing would stop us now.

  Chapter Three

  In fear, there is no safety, solace, or stillness, only a path to ruin.

  —The Book of Soal 1.18.3.26

  How I survived weapons training with Roman tethered to my side, I may never fully understand. Before class began, we secured the nexus of chain to our waists, both of us grimacing as we realized only a few inches separated our bodies—and there was no way to undo it. The fasteners cinched tight.

  As we trained with weapons, he operated with total abandon and zero qualms. He spun this way and that, taking me along for the ride as he wielded his spear with expert precision, protecting us both from the hologram we fought. Anyone who got in our way got mowed down. By the end, bruises marred my legs, but I didn’t mind. Roman took the time to help me learn from my mistakes, surprisingly patient and endearingly amusing.

  At lunch, he ate his meal bar and half of mine. He also drank most of my hy-water. A blessing, honestly. I was resolute: no bathroom breaks today. Standing at his side during his breaks was bad enough.

  I even survived running a complicated obstacle course during drills, chased by a horde of holographic feeders. Actually, I excelled at the course; mostly because Roman tossed me over walls whenever necessary.

  We didn’t collide until self-defense class, now taught by some unknown baron rather than Cyrus. My partner zigged when I zagged, and I ended up with a ton more bruises and several cuts. Completely my fault! I remained distracted, continuing to mull the possibility of a breakup with Cyrus.

  Again and again, I told myself the separation wouldn’t be permanent. Once the heat with Mr. Vyle died down, we could get back together. And yet, even the thought of a temporary split-up hurt worse than these physical wounds.

  A bell rang, signaling the start of free time. The chain opened without prompting, falling.

  “Thank goodness.” I rushed to the bathroom, where I peed for an eternity. After washing my hands, I headed to the commons to swipe a meal bar and extra hy-water, which I guzzled like a madwoman. Well, not mad mad. To my surprise, my energy didn’t rally as I emptied the third carton but tanked.

  Though my team congregated in the entertainment portion of the room, eager to socialize, I trudged to my old cell. My shadows remained outside it, in front of the bars, flanking the open doorway. I tumbled into my hard, uncomfortable bed, done with the day.

  Hmm. The mattress. It was much softer than I recalled. And there wasn’t a chain attached to the wall to ensure I couldn’t harm anyone if I broke with Madness in the middle of the night.

  But. What would happen when I got a new roommate?

  Spotting a digital reader on my pillow, I reached out to press the chip in my palm against the ID pad at the bottom-right side of the device’s hard outer shell. Maybe I’d find a note from my sweet prince.

  Or not. A schedule appeared.

  LADY A.R.

  Tuesday–Thursday

  0500–0530: Wake up/Breakfast

  0530–0730: Warm up/Work out (Gym A)

  0800–1000: Realms and Travel (Room 2)

  1010–1230: Weapons (Room 6)

  1230–1300: Lunch

  1300–1500: Self-Defense (Gym A)

  1500–1550: Battlefield First Aid (Room 1)

  1600–1930: Drills (The Dome)

  1930–2000: Dinner

  2000–2200: Free time

  2200–0500: Lights out

  Friday–Saturday

  0500–0530: Wake up/Breakfast

  0530–0600: *Travel to Theirland

  0600–1600: **Patrol

  1600–0500: Free time

  Sunday

  0500–0530: Wake up/Breakfast

  0530–0600: Travel to Ourland

  0600–0730: Warm up/Work out (Gym A)

  0800–1000: Evaluation (Room 1)

  1010–1230: Testing (Room 4)

  1230–1300: Lunch

  1300–1500: Madness Basics (Room 3)

  1500–1550: Driving (TBA)

  1600–1930: Drills (The Dome)

  1930–2000: Dinner

  2000–2059: Free time

  2200–0500: Lights out

  Monday

  Free day

  *Friday only

  **Breaks scheduled by superior

  A list of cellmate pairings followed.

  Only my day off and a few room assignments had changed. The best part? I hadn’t been assigned a new roommate. Mykal, my previous roomie, had quit the program after a mutual friend broke with Madness and attacked us. I couldn’t blame her. The break had come courtesy of CURED, the government we’d trusted to protect us. Not that she knew the truth. Still. I wish she’d stayed.

  Learning to fight and defend myself had helped me in ways I hadn’t known I’d needed. Maybe Mykal would return. Of course, I would lose the desk that had replaced her bed, but better to have a friend than a workstation.

  Hold up. My new desk chair was cushioned?

  Thank you, Cyrus. I eased into an upright position, reviving, and noticed a second reader on the desk, next to a pot of pure, untainted soil with a single mystery seed germinating beneath the surface. Also a gift from Cyrus, which I’d left at his apartment in Bala City.

  Ignoring my aches and pains, I climbed to my feet and crossed over. The reader lit up thanks to a motion sensor, the desired note from Cyrus dominating the screen, inspiring a wide smile.

  Turn Me On

  With a snort, I plopped onto the ultra-luxurious cushion and did as commanded: pressed my chip against the ID panel. The screen lit up again, brighter, revealing another message.

  Lady Pink,

  Remember my command, and your agreement. Also 1) this reader isn’t for class. I promised I’d find a way for us to communicate, and this is it. Be aware—a dozen analysts will read every word. And 2) The upper right drawer of your new desk serves as a safe for any treasures I give you. The lock code is a number you recognize. I won’t get to see you tonight, but I’ll be thinking of you . . .

  Yours,

  Cyrus

  PS. When you’re alone, don’t be afraid to get dirty and find out what I gifted to you.

  Both confused and excited, I clutched the reader to my chest. While I fully understood the reference to the code, Cyrus could’ve meant several different things by “get dirty,” considering he’d gifted me many things. I thought, maybe, probably, he referenced the pot of soil with that mystery seed planted within its depths. Per his instructions, I’d watered it every day, yet nothing had sprouted.

  Considering I was a wannabe horticulturist who’d spent her life studying to unravel the Great Soil and Seed Anomaly caused by the fusion of two vastly different worlds, I practically frothed at the mouth for a chance to discover what I was growing. But disturbing the soil and digging up a seed to “get dirty” was foolish. I could interrupt and damage the germinating process. Unless . . .

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I set the reader aside and examined the dark soil. Thoughts tumbled over each other. Perhaps the seed had already grown and now thrived beneath the surface. There was such a thing as a hydrothermal vent ecosystem, where plants grew without the need of light. Although it was a unique process usually found at volcanic fissures along the ocean floor, and this wasn’t that. But. I couldn’t not do it.