 
Across

Elizabeth Edson

Copyright 2010 by Elizabeth Edson

Smashwords Edition

Part I

Chapter One:

Two moons lit the sky.

It was the first thing Marie noticed when she opened her eyes. One moon was waxing, and the other was waning. Together they looked like one orb an angry god had split in half. The stars were different here, too. Brighter and bigger than those of Earth, they hung like shining, luminescent pearls against the dark purple sky. Marie stared at them, awed and dazed, till an inky shadow blocked her view.

She shrunk down into the grass instinctively.

"Miss Nettleson," a voice rumbled from above her, "If you would kindly vacate the transport zone."

Marie blinked, and the shadow morphed into the clearly-defined features of a grim-faced man. She scrambled to her feet, trembling, before glancing down to make sure all her limbs remained intact.

"If you need to throw up," the man said, gesturing, "there are some buckets over there. Some people do it when they first come Across."

"I'll be fine," said Marie shakily, even though her stomach lurched ominously. She stumbled away from him, her eyes sliding over her surroundings. Seeing the Gate, she felt a twinge of alarm. Though she had anticipated this Gate being more basic and austere than its counterpart, she hadn't imagined it would be to this degree. Back on Earth, the Gate had been sleek and modern, like something out of Star Wars. Here, the Gate looked like it had been assembled in 10 seconds with materials from computers made in the 1980s. Its landing pad was merely a cordoned-off circle of grass surrounded by a mess of wires and tubes. This junk heap was what had catapulted her Across? Marie glanced back down at herself, stunned she had made the journey intact. She examined herself more closely just to make sure. Had her fingers always been that long?

"Miss Nettleson!" a woman's voice called, snapping her out of her examination. Her head whipped up.

A woman in a black bodysuit had detached herself from a group of her colleagues, who were all sitting on the sidelines gazing intently at a computer screen. She approached Marie briskly.

Marie acknowledged her jerkily. "What do I do?" she asked shakily. Her hands flew up to the metallic vest the prep team had snapped on her. Suddenly she wanted to get it off as soon as possible. What if something went wrong and it shot her back to Earth when it wasn't supposed to?

"Be careful!" The woman slapped away Marie's hand. "These are expensive! Didn't anyone tell you that you can't take it off yourself?" Muttering to herself about the incompetence of SpiritStar personnel, she spun Marie around and started snapping at the latches in the back.

Marie stood still, accommodating her. Well, she thought wryly, it wasn't a warm welcome, but it wasn't as bad as she had expected.

Marie had known before coming most people on the expedition would resent her presence. Her limited contact with the expedition members back on Earth had been proof enough of that. Indeed, back home, when she had been getting ready to go Across, the scientists prepping her hadn't exactly been gentle. They had snapped on the vest without a word and had jabbed her with that darn needle, injecting her with some drug that had made her woozy and weak. The effects of it, Marie noticed, seemed to have disappeared as soon as she had traveled Across. It was a relief: Earlier she had barely managed to make it to the transport zone without tripping over her own feet. She didn't want the same inhibitions in an alien world.

Once the woman had successfully removed the vest, she spun Marie around and pointed. "As I'm sure you've been told, you will be sleeping in tent 12. Your overnight necessities have already been brought there. Your nonessential belongings will arrive later tonight with the last of the expedition members." She pushed Marie, as if propelling her in that direction, and Marie's feet stumbled forward of their own accord.

Marie started walking. She didn't know what else to do. All of the questions she had planned to ask once Across had vanished from her mind. It took all of her concentration to just force one foot in front of the other. Her heart hammered away in her ribcage, and nerves made her limbs jittery and tingly. She was really here. She couldn't believe it.

Beneath her feet, she could feel hard, matted dirt interspersed with clumps of grass that stuck to her shoes like gum. Each step required effort. In front of her, an insect the size of a bee flew from its place on the ground, buzzing in her ear. Pop! It lit up in a blaze of electric blue, circling her for a moment before buzzing away, its light snuffing out abruptly. Marie stopped and stared at it.

"Straight ahead, Miss Nettleson!"

She started and staggered forward into camp. It really happened, she thought, dizzy, I'm really here.

She stumbled through the maze of tents, which to her dazed mind looked like strange crosses between Mongolian yurts and grey boulders. Here and there between the tents someone had dumped strange iron machines with spindly legs, narrow wheels, and steaming vents. Scientists in long coats and military personnel in dark uniforms scuttled back and forth between them, muttering to themselves. To Marie's right, a group of scowling men in their mid-forties grumbled loudly about the "utter lack of discipline among those SpiritStar scientists." A man in a lab coat threw them a nasty look.

She passed them and soon came upon a large paddock holding around forty dogs, many of which barked angrily at her as she passed, glaring at her with beady eyes. She shivered. She had never spent much time around animals. She scuttled away, shooting the dogs a quick, nervous look before rounding the corner.

The camp was alive with noise. The large, iron machines hissed menacingly as they worked. Every few minutes came a startling zapping sound, signaling the arrival of another team member. Everywhere people were talking: in tents in hushed whispers, around scattered campfires telling bawdy jokes. Not too far away someone had struck up a tune on a guitar and was performing a horrible rendition of Sweet Home Alabama. The clattering of silverware and the dim rumble of conversation issuing from a nearby tent told Marie she had just found the mess hall, and she lingered longingly outside of it, inhaling the tempting aroma of bread and some type of meat. Her stomach clenched; when was the last time she had eaten?

She pulled herself away and forced herself to move on. She had no idea where she was going, but figured she had to run across tent 12 eventually. Though big, the camp wasn't impossibly large, and she was sure she could learn her way around it quickly enough. As she walked, her eyes inadvertently flicked back up to the stars, and her breath once more caught in her throat. The stars were just so big and so bright, at least twice the size—

"Watch it!"

A man shoved past her, and Marie tripped, falling to the ground. "Hey!" she protested.

She scrambled to her feet, wincing. She peered around, searching for the man...and her eyes fell on a small sign proclaiming "12." Marie stared at the sign for a moment, then the grey tent next to it. Her heart suddenly thumped nervously. She hesitated a moment before ducking inside.

She could tell immediately it wasn't meant for permanent habitation. It was the type of tent designed to be set up and taken down quickly, and was empty save for ten sleeping bags rolled out on the floor. Her eyes zeroed in on a blue one in the back corner, onto which someone had dumped her backpack. She stepped closer and saw the same person had tacked a sticky-note with her name to the sleeping bag.

"Home sweet home," Marie mumbled.

She unzipped her backpack, rifling through it. As she had suspected, someone had searched her belongings. Whoever had done so hadn't even bothered to hide what they were doing. Her clothes were in the wrong place, and they had been refolded poorly. She took the time to take them out and fold them correctly, making sure as she did that nothing had been confiscated.

Confiscated...that word implied that the search had been officially-sanctioned, but she wasn't certain that was the case. While it was certainly possible that all bags were searched and someone had merely neglected to tell her—she had been given precious little information before being beamed Across—it was also possible she had been singled out. It was stupid and juvenile, but she had come to expect it in the few days she had been signed on as an expedition member. Her mind flicked back to the past week, and she scowled, her thoughts flying fast and furious like they always did when she thought of how utterly unfair and stupid the whole situation was, and she had practically worked herself into a mini furor when her stomach growled abruptly, and she realized she needed to eat dinner.

Trying not to gape too openly at her surroundings, she exited the tent and made her way down to the mess hall, once more hesitating outside of it. The roars of laughter and the excited jabbering issuing from within abruptly reminded her how alone she truly was. Her heart fluttered. Just how many people would dislike her?

At last she swallowed and steeled herself. She was used to being resented. This was nothing new. She reminded herself why she had come Across in the first place, then stepped inside.

The expedition members had gathered into clumps on the ground, where they chatted with each other between mouthfuls of what looked like mutilated chicken casserole. To Marie's right a group of scientists with dirt all over their white coats huddled together, arguing away in what sounded like Latin. Next to them, a group of soldiers threw them dirty looks as their argument grew more and more obnoxious. To Marie's left, a circle of SpiritStar personnel in dull brown uniforms loudly discussed the importance of the shipping industry to Ancient Rome—"Anthropologists," muttered a redheaded woman in disgust—while next to them a group of young soldiers argued just as loudly over the Steelers' chances of making it to the Super Bowl that year. Directly across the tent, a line of bored-looking cooks handed out small boxes Marie assumed contained the casserole. A man in a white coat grabbed his and muttered something, looking squeamish. One of the cooks glowered at him.

Marie grimaced as she weaved her way through the clumps of people. Now that she was inside, the food didn't smell nearly as appetizing. In fact, the odor was a little too strong. She sneezed. Loudly.

The conversation lulled, and a number of eyes flicked to her. She blushed and kept going. The conversation picked up again, but it was more hushed this time.

"Citizen..." she thought she heard someone whisper. Her blush, if possible, darkened even more. Of course her entrance would make a scene. As she approached the food line, the whisper turned into a full-blown rumble. "Citizen...citizen...citizen..."

A scowling cook slapped a carton into her hands, and Marie reluctantly turned to face the crowd. A sea of unfriendly faces stared back at her, and she floundered. She didn't have anyone to sit with. It felt like the first day of high school, but worse.

She swallowed, her heart sinking. She had hoped at least a few people would accept her. Then irritation flared. It wasn't like she had asked for the job! It had been offered to her! And if she hadn't taken the position, someone else would have, which would have delayed the expedition for weeks, if not months—

"Hey! Marie Nettleson!"

Marie's head snapped around, and her eyes flew to a girl sitting in the corner. The girl waved, flashing a quick smile. Marie hesitated, but the girl smiled again, and Marie approached her cautiously. She could still feel several eyes on her.

She stopped a few feet away. "Yes?"

The girl patted the ground next to her and smiled again. It was a pleasant smile. "Sit down with us," she invited. "Trust me, it's better than sitting on your own."

Marie lowered herself slowly, her eyes running curiously over the girl. She looked like a thoroughly bubbly specimen, not much older than Marie, with large blue eyes and bouncing golden curls. She was big-boned and probably a few pounds overweight, but she had an excited energy that made her glow.

"I'm Jennifer," she said quickly, "Jennifer Kingston. I'm one of the dog handlers here, work for the government, age 20."

Marie blinked. "Nice to meet you?"

Jennifer's eyes glinted with amusement. "Ah, a newbie," she said with a fond sigh. "I see you haven't yet figured out how this expedition works. Let me fill you in." She leaned in close. "Whenever you introduce yourself to someone new, you have to give your job title, your employer, and your age. That way people can decide how important you are, and therefore how condescending they can be towards you." She smiled brightly. "I have found it both easy and accurate to compare this place to high school"—so someone else had noticed the similarity!—"because it has high school's social structure. For example,"—she cleared her throat—"you've got the SpiritStar scientists, who are, of course, the nerds. You've also got the military personnel, who can be subdivided into three categories: the jocks, the bullies, and the Eagle Scouts"—she jerked her head—"They self-segregate." Marie glanced across the tent, and sure enough, there seemed to be three distinct groups of soldiers. "Then of course you've got your animal handlers, like me, who are the closest thing this expedition has to hicks, and you've also got your documenters, the artsy kids."

"And what am I?" Marie asked, amused.

"You're the new kid. The small one that immediately gets picked on."

Of course. "Good to know."

Jennifer smirked.

The redheaded boy sitting next to Jennifer leaned forward. "She's right," he said, "and to continue with that analogy, right now you're being accepted by the only group in high school that easily accepts newcomers—the losers." He grinned wryly. "But here we're called the Babies."

Marie wrinkled her nose. "The what?" Babies? They weren't very creative with their nicknames here, were they?

"The Babies," Jennifer repeated, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting its cap off. "It's an unfortunate label, but we're all called it. A Baby is anyone under the age of twenty five. As you can see, there aren't many of us." She motioned to the people in their clump, which Marie suddenly realized was composed solely of young people. "And," Jennifer added, "since you're only 18, don't expect to move up the social ladder anytime soon. You're stuck at the loser's table."

The boy next to her chuckled.

For someone at the bottom of the social ladder, Jennifer seemed to be enjoying herself. "Okay, Babies," she said merrily, "Introduce yourselves to the newest member of our group." She took a swig of water and thumped the boy sitting next to her. "Joseph, you're up."

Joseph spluttered for a second, his ears turning red. "Um," he said, his eyes darting from Marie's face to the carton in front of him. "I'm Joseph Connelly. Botanist. Work for SpiritStar. Age 21."

Jennifer turned to Marie. "Really," she informed her, "He's being too modest. Joseph here is a bona fide genius. Graduated from college when he was seventeen. Got his doctorate last year, so he's Dr. Joseph Connelly. He's here to investigate—study—whatever—all the plants we run across."

"And where does that put him in the social hierarchy?" asked Marie, amused. Next to Jennifer, Joseph turned bright red. It clashed horribly with his orange hair.

Jennifer gave it some thought. "Oh, he's still a Baby—but the most respected Baby. Less of a loser than the rest of us." She shook her head. "But enough about Joseph! Marie, meet Dustin."

Marie's eyes slid to the boy sitting across from Jennifer. She didn't need anyone to tell her his occupation. His shaven hair and dark uniform said everything: soldier. His name was Dustin Gainnes, said Jennifer, and he was 23. Obviously employed by the government. Marie's eyes lingered on him a little longer than necessary. His shorn hair somehow accentuated the angles of his face, and she couldn't help but notice it looked very good on him.

"Don't let his age fool you," mock-whispered Jennifer. "He's got like a bazillion medals. I swear he's more decorated than half the soldiers twice his age—which is why, of course, he's on this expedition."

Dustin, who had stayed silent during the entire exchange, snorted at this.

The last Baby was a stocky young man named Raymond Sanxay, age 22. His dark black eyes and hair contrasted sharply with the pallor of his skin, and Marie vaguely wondered how badly he would get sunburned in the upcoming days. He, too, stayed quiet, so Jennifer happily introduced him. "His official title," she said smugly, "is Documenter, but in reality he's just a photographer. His sole job is taking pictures. I assure you it will get annoying after a while."

Raymond rolled his eyes.

Marie turned to Jennifer, somewhat amused. "And where is everyone else in the social ladder?"

"Well, you're at the bottom, sweetheart, being the new kid and all. But that has the ability to change with time. I'm only just above you." She smiled tightly. "Animal handlers aren't seen as having the most difficult job."

Her tone made Marie pause and eye her speculatively. Maybe she had just found someone who thought this whole social structure was as juvenile as she did.

Before Marie could say anything to her about it, Joseph cut in. "So—Marie—let's hear your intro."

Jennifer nodded quickly. "Yeah, Marie, go for it!"

Marie arched an eyebrow. O-kay. "Marie Nettleson, no job other than observing, work for neither SpiritStar nor the federal government, age 18."

Jennifer considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "It'll pass."

Marie briefly wondered how it could have failed.

"Or," suggested Dustin quietly, smirking, "she could just call herself Citizen."

Jennifer glared at him. "There's no need for that to catch on."

"Too late," interjected Joseph. "It already has."

Four pairs of eyes turned to Marie.

"You're going to have to—"

"—put up with—"

"—people calling you—"

"—Citizen."

"Since that's essentially what you are," added Joseph. "That's why you're on this expedition, anyway. You're a neutral party. Sort of."

Marie shrugged. "Could be worse." She had expected a nickname and had feared it would be more derogatory.

"True," muttered Raymond, a dark look on his face. Marie wondered what they called him.

Her eyes fell to her food carton, and she yawned, suddenly exhausted. Jennifer grinned at her. "Well, Marie Nettleson, someday soon—say, tomorrow at breakfast—you're going to have to tell us your story, how you got here, all that jazz, but right now it looks like you've had a long day. Eat up, go back to your tent, and get some sleep. Trust me when I say you'll need it."

Chapter Two:

The wake-up horn sounded at an ungodly hour the next morning. Marie flinched under her covers as it blew, covering her ears. Curses and moans filled the tent. Marie slid even further into her bedroll, her ears ringing. Cold air rushed inside, and someone barked, "All right, ladies—UP!"

"Damn Pamela," muttered the woman next to Marie.

Marie blinked open her eyes. Shivering, she sat up and glanced around. Someone had turned on a small lamp, and Marie noticed with relief that several other women looked as dazed and as tired as she felt. Across the tent from her, a short Indian woman was still curled up in her sleeping bag, her face half-hidden under her pillow.

Seeing her, a woman with golden curls moaned, "I am so jealous. I wish I could sleep through Pamela."

"I'm not sleeping," muttered the woman grumpily. "I'm ignoring."

The blonde grinned. "Well, in that case, you better be careful. Sleeping will get you a citation. Ignoring will get you fired."

The woman opened her eyes. "No it won't. It's too expensive to beam me back home." She stretched languorously. "That's the great thing about this place. Job security."

The blonde opened her mouth, but the barking voice reverberated through the tent again. "I mean it, ladies—UP!"

Marie rolled out of her bedroll, her head pounding from waking from such a deep sleep. With numb fingers she opened her backpack and dressed. Noticing the other women rolling up their sleeping bags, Marie did the same.

"What do I do with this?" she asked hoarsely, glancing at the woman next to her.

"Place it in roller 12. Then come back and help take down the tent."

Marie briefly wondered what a roller was, but she saw it as soon as she stepped outside. She stopped and stared. She had heard rumors that SpiritStar had invented a few new modes of transportation for the expedition, but that possibility had never really registered with her until now. The thing before her was a hollow iron tube, with enough space inside it for the tent and sleeping bags. It stood on high wheels, but Marie could see several long spindly things for rougher terrain tucked beneath it; stretched out, she imagined they would look a lot like spider legs. On the roller's side, someone had stamped the number 12 in curly gold letters.

An older woman with red hair saw Marie's surprised look and smiled. She tilted her head toward the opening of the contraption's storage compartment. "Put your sleeping bag inside, sweetie."

Marie did as she was told and marveled at the machine for a few minutes, running her hands over its side before finally glancing back. Someone had tossed her backpack out onto the grass, and now all the women were working on disassembling the tent. An Asian woman removed a pole from the canvas and flung it aside, while beside her the woman with curly blond hair pulled stakes out of the ground. Marie watched them, her cheeks reddening. She had no idea what they were doing. Why hadn't she received any training again? That plan became stupider with each hour she spent Across.

A hand landed on her arm. Marie glanced up at the redheaded woman, who smiled sympathetically. Her eyes were kind.

"You didn't go through training, did you?"

Marie shook her head, and the woman nodded, as if expecting her response. "Well, for now just take those poles over there and place them in that bag. Then come back to me, and I'll try to explain things."

Marie scampered away.

After the tent had been disassembled and tucked into the roller, the woman approached her again.

"So—Marie Nettleson, the Citizen."

Marie made a face. "That's what I've been told they're calling me."

The woman grinned. "Don't knock it, sweetheart. I know of worse nicknames." She held out her hand for Marie to shake. "I'm Cristaña Ware, the Team 12 leader—which is your team, in case no one told you."

"No one did."

Cristaña didn't look surprised. "Well, now you know. The teams are groups of ten people, each of which—obviously—has a leader. Each team leader reports to a section leader, who reports to Barnabas Morton. Our section leader is Pamela Holbech, the lovely lady who woke everyone up this morning."

"Holbech?" Marie repeated, surprised.

"Yeah," Cristaña grimaced. "That's right. The same Holbech as Darius Holbech. They're brother and sister. I trust you've heard of him?"

Marie nodded. Of course. Darius Holbech was second-in-command of the expedition and specifically in charge of all SpiritStar employees. She had met him once, not long before coming Across. He had looked at her and sneered, "This is her?"

Seeing the sour look on Marie's face, Cristaña laughed. "I see he must have charmed you as well. I trust you know who the head of the expedition is?"

"Barnabas Morton." Marie knew he worked for the government, but he had been Across for over a month now, so she hadn't met him yet.

"Glad to hear they told you something before sending you Across."

Marie opened her mouth to reply, but a whistle blew sharply nearby, and both she and Cristaña whirled around.

Marie glanced questioningly at Cristaña.

"That's the fifteen minute warning bell," Cristaña explained quickly. "If I were you, I'd grab my bag and run over to get a quick breakfast. They should still be serving it. Then come straight back here. We're marching."

It took only another twenty minutes for all four hundred people on the expedition to pack, eat, and be ready to go, so Marie didn't have time to sit down and enjoy her meal. By the time she got to the mess hall, half the campsite was already packed away. She decided to just grab some bread and water to go, which she downed as she raced back to the team. Cristaña had told her that teams always traveled together to ensure no one got lost. Everyone had to be with their team before the expedition headed off.

As soon as they started marching, Cristaña introduced her to everyone. Havily Taite, Marie found out, was the woman who had cursed Pamela that morning. She was a tall, strong-looking woman with honey-colored eyes that looked too big for her narrow face. She nodded once at Marie before returning her attention to gulping down her breakfast. Next to Havily strode Ranjana Singh, a short Indian woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. Three women in SpiritStar garb huddled together talking, and Cristaña introduced them as Jaime Hart, Hamako Adachi, and Bryce Vibbard. They were, Cristaña explained, part of a large, specialized team in charge of making sure the Earth-communication device worked properly.—"A very important job," Jennifer later told her. The last three team members included Tiffany Claget, the golden-haired nurse, who eyed Marie curiously before someone approached her to ask a question, Valeria Hawking, an equipment specialist, and Mabel Cutting, a woman Marie suspected was small enough to legally qualify as a dwarf.

"She's a botanist," Cristaña told her, "and she specializes in poisons. She's here to make sure none of the local flora kills us, so don't get on her wrong side, or she just may slip you something that will."

Marie laughed, but she stopped when she saw the serious expression on Cristaña's face. She shot Mabel a nervous look before focusing on the ground in front of her.

The landscape passed in a blur of dark shapes. Every few feet someone carried a metal torch that emitted a feeble white light and cast everything into grey hues. It only illuminated far enough for Marie to see the ground in front of her and the people beside her. Everything else faded into dark shadows. Up ahead the group was approaching the edge of a forest; Marie could see it as a dark black line against a light black background.

"Why are we heading out this early?" Marie whispered to Cristaña. If they left this early every morning, it was going to be a very long trip. Marie liked her sleep.

"It's not as early as you think it is," murmured Cristaña. "The days here are a little different. It's the Earth equivalent of about 8:00 a.m. right now. The sun should rise soon."

They entered the forest within minutes, and everything turned a few shades blacker. Adrenaline heightened Marie's senses. Not knowing what was beside her and knowing that everyone else was exploring new territory as well made the experience of walking through the forest both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. She craned her head from side to side, straining her eyes. On both sides, shadowy trees towered over her, giants against the background. She strained her ears, but all she heard was the soft murmur of conversation, the dull thumping of feet, and the faint hissing of machines. No animal sounds. Though disappointing, she supposed it was only to be expected. Any wildlife would have long since cleared out. The expedition wasn't exactly inconspicuous, a fact Marie felt compelled to point out to Cristaña.

"It can't be helped." Cristaña shrugged. "If there are people nearby, odds are they've been watching us for a while. We couldn't hide ourselves if we tried, so we don't try." She smirked. "Hence the people with machine guns."

Marie cringed at the implication. "But why is the expedition so large? We look threatening. If we run across people, we're going to intimidate them."

Cristaña shrugged. "You're telling me. I'm not sure. Some bureaucratic decision, no doubt. But it's not totally a bad thing. There's power in numbers."

They fell silent. The group marched for several more minutes before Marie noticed the blackness surrounding them starting to look less black. The trees began to have a more definite shape. The underbrush they had been passing became more and more delineated. Up above the stars faded into a purple-red sky. She stared at her surroundings, soaking it all in, these first views of daylight on the Other Side.

The trees they were passing were huge, larger than redwoods, but with tan, mossy barks and large, sprawling roots that the group meandered between. Thick bushes with dark green and purple leaves clumped around the root system, blocking the expedition's way. Not knowing anything about the local flora, Marie made a point not to touch anything until she heard Mabel laugh.

"Don't worry about the bushes, Citizen." Her expression managed to be both amused and condescending. "We call them Prietta bushes. They're not poisonous. Their leaves will prickle you if you brush against them, but otherwise they won't hurt you. The only plant you need to watch out for is that one." She jerked her finger to her right, and Marie saw what looked like a maroon, mini Christmas tree with silver berries. "We call those trees Santa's Poison. The berries secrete a sticky toxin that will kill you if you ingest it. So stay away."

Marie eyed the tree warily, noticing for the first time how the expedition members seemed to be giving it a wide berth.

The surroundings grew slowly brighter, till at last, as if a signal had been sounded, the entire sky lit up in a blaze of red and orange. Marie stopped, staring up through the canopy in awe. The light filtered down, bathing the entire forest in a canvas of sparkling colors. The green looked greener, the purple more purple. The Prietta bushes shivered for a second, and then burst into bloom, yellow flowers popping out and filling the air with a sweet scent, something similar to vanilla. Up above, the branches of the trees had also burst into bloom, white flowers drooping all around. The layer of vines that swathed the trees released an explosion of small red blossoms. A soft breeze ruffled through the canopy, and a shower of flower petals pattered down on the group.

Delight filled Marie, and she couldn't help the big smile that crossed her face. She swelled with excitement. It was just so strange and beautiful! This is why I came, she thought with a sense of vindication. I would have missed this if I hadn't!

Seeing Marie's face, Mabel's expression softened. "It happens every morning," she explained quietly. "We've started calling it the Morning Bloom. The plants respond to the presence of sunlight here in a way they don't on Earth. We're still trying to figure out the exact mechanism that causes it to happen. But it's fascinating, is it not?"

"It's wonderful!" breathed Marie, her eyes wide.

Walking through the forest was like walking through a dream or a fantasy world. The place was so beautiful, so surreal, so unearthly...Marie smiled a little at that thought. Well, she wasn't exactly on Earth anymore, was she?

They must have marched for hours, but Marie enjoyed every minute of it. She didn't even feel tired, so enraptured was she by her surroundings. When at last someone gave the signal for the group to halt for lunch, Marie felt disoriented and slightly disappointed.

She stood still for a moment, watching as everyone suddenly rushed into action, each person knowing where to go and what they had to do once at their destination. Not for the first time, it occurred to her that everyone else on the expedition had been training for it for months. They had spent time together. They knew each other. They knew exactly what to do. Marie was an outsider.

"Ma-rie!" came the sing-song voice of Jennifer. Marie blinked and tore herself from her musings. Jennifer bounced up out of nowhere and grabbed Marie's arm. "Come with me if you want to eat!" And she proceeded to drag Marie forward. Marie stumbled trying to keep up.

Near the beginning of the procession a small line had already formed around a large roller. A man in a dark brown uniform stood next to it. He had slung an apron around his waist, but his protruding belly overwhelmed it. His face, round and freckled, seemed to be permanently red, as though he was on the verge of having a stroke any minute.

"That's Bernard," said Jennifer quietly, looking nervous. "He's in charge of food."

Marie eyed him as she waited in line. The man scowled at anyone who looked less than thrilled with the food he offered. When it was her turn to receive her carton, Marie tried to smile at him, but he glowered. Her smile became a little forced. "Citizen," he said slowly, grabbing a carton out of the roller, his dark eyes contemptuous and angry.

"Hi," she muttered, grasping the carton. He gave it up reluctantly.

She turned away. The beauty of the morning had faded. As Jennifer grabbed her arm to lead her to wherever the Babies were sitting, Marie couldn't help but feel a little irritated. The cliquey attitude was really getting old.

She sat down. Joseph glanced up.

"Hello, Marie."

"Hi." She smiled.

Jennifer plopped down beside her and slung her arm around her shoulder. "Ooo-kay!"

Marie vaguely wondered how Jennifer managed to stay so energetic and perky. It was almost annoying. As if this thought had manifested itself on her face, Dustin glanced at her and snorted into his food carton, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Okay what?" Marie asked, turning to face her.

Jennifer arched an eyebrow. "Okay...spill. Why are you here? How did you get involved in this? Why did SpiritStar choose you of all people? I mean," she added hastily, "No offense, but when they said an ordinary citizen would be joining us, we were all thinking they meant some outdoor adventurer, crazy mountaineer, Survivorman-type-of-guy, not an 18 year old girl barely out of high school."

Marie's eyes fell to her food carton. She blushed. She had known the others would ask her these questions, but she had hoped they would wait. She had wanted to come up with a reason that didn't sound dumb and naïve, although that's exactly how Grandmother had described Marie's reasoning. Marie's thoughts flickered back to two weeks ago, when she had first gotten involved.

Well, she thought, if she was truthful with herself, she had gotten involved long before then. She just hadn't known it.

The company known as SpiritStar had struggled for years. While other companies had developed new computer technologies, better communication methods, faster modes of transportation, and life-saving vaccines, SpiritStar had languished. It was on the verge of bankruptcy when a man named Bruno Campbell had become its president. He had instituted several new programs designed to explore completely new areas of research. Within two years SpiritStar had experienced a turn-around. It struck a deal with the military, and the value of its stock started to rise. And then, the rumors started...interdimensional travel...that's what they're working on...

Jennifer cleared her throat.

Marie smiled slightly. "There's not much to tell," she said simply, picking at her food. "The MIT works by recognizing the genome of the individuals passing through it. It has to be calibrated to each genome, which is not only insanely expensive but time-consuming." Marie paused. "And when they decided that an extra person was coming along...well, there wasn't much time for calibration."

She shouldn't have to explain this. It was common knowledge.

"Well, SpiritStar already had my genome—or half of it, anyway." Her eyes swept around the group, and seeing their puzzled faces, she smiled somewhat sadly. "My dad," she explained. "He worked for SpiritStar. He went to jail when I was very little. When he was released on parole, SpiritStar was looking for test subjects for a proto-MIT, and, well, they paid well, and parolees rarely get well-paying jobs...So he came to work for them. They sequenced his genome and calibrated it to the MIT's program. A year later, he died on the job."

Marie sighed heavily. "So when they decided they needed a citizen, they came to me—because it wouldn't cost them as much to 'calibrate' me, so to speak, and it wouldn't take them very long. I was a lucky break."

"And you just accepted, no questions asked?" drawled Raymond.

Marie flushed, her eyes darting to the bush behind Joseph's head. She had a feeling if she told them SpiritStar had offered her five million dollars to come, the news would spread like wildfire, and she'd be even more disliked. She highly doubted anyone else's paycheck was even a fraction of that amount. So she went for the other reason, which, if she was honest with herself, was the main reason she was here. Though the money helped. A lot.

"I just..." she floundered. "My life is full of so many what ifs...I didn't want another one. I knew that if I didn't go, I'd regret it the rest of my life. Really, despite two weeks of agonizing, it was decided as soon as SpiritStar offered me the spot." How could she even begin to explain the urge she had felt to come? Her life had been so boring, without any prospects, and then, out of the blue, this great opportunity... She remembered the night SpiritStar had approached her. Grandmother had been trying to convince her to get a job at Madame Margot's, the local café:

"They're hiring! You can make good money waiting tables!" Grandmother narrowed her eyes. "We need the money, Marie. You know it."

"But what about college?" Marie asked desperately. "Texas Tech offered me a scholarship! All it will cost is the bus ticket there and some dorm supplies. I don't even need a computer. I can use one in the library!"

Grandmother snorted disdainfully. "You don't need to go to college!" She banged her walking stick against the wooden floor. "You need to stay here, with me! Who will take care of me while you're gone?"

"But—"

"And I've heard about this Texas Tech. Party school. You'll end up just like your mother—or, heaven forbid—your father. No, Marie. I forbid it!"

Marie had opened her mouth to reply, when at that moment the doorbell rang...

"Ah." Dustin smirked. Marie slowly tore herself from her memory. "An adventurer at heart."

Marie arched an eyebrow. "And you're one to talk?" she said dryly. She glanced around at the others. "You're all the same way," she said flatly. "You could have gotten safer jobs elsewhere, with better pay no doubt, and yet you decided to come. You're in it for the thrill."

They looked at each other.

"True," acknowledged Raymond, after a moment. "But at least we had some training."

"Well, we can't all be perfect." Marie glanced down at her box and realized she had already finished her food. Funny. She didn't recall tasting anything. Grimacing at that thought, she glanced expectantly at Jennifer. "What do we do with these?"

"Give them back to Bernard."

Marie stood. "Joy."

As she stalked away, Marie let her mind drift back to Earth. Now that she had started talking about the events leading up to the expedition, she couldn't stop thinking about them. When the rumors about SpiritStar working on interdimensional travel first surfaced, they had been dismissed as just that: rumors. But the rumors had persisted, and soon journalists started discussing the possibility in articles, DJs started talking about it on their radio shows...The rumors solidified into fact with an announcement from SpiritStar. That was when Marie's father started working for them—then the accident—and then, two years later, the second announcement...

Marie handed the carton to Bernard, who glared at her.

The second announcement had come only a little over a year ago: SpiritStar had succeeded in its quest for interdimensional travel. They had created a device called the MIT, which stood for, unimaginatively enough, the Machine for Interdimensional Travel. Not everyone was happy about their success. In fact, the first few days after SpiritStar's announcement had been some of the scariest Marie could remember, with protestors storming the capital and threatening SpiritStar employees. Bruno Campbell had to hire an entire contingent of soldiers to guard his estate.

But then the furor dimmed. The protestors started organizing themselves. There was less rioting and more legislation. It took ten months for the government to approve SpiritStar's exploration of the "Other Side," and that approval only came with several stipulations: That government agents would accompany the SpiritStar employees on the expedition, that someone picked by the government would head the expedition, and that the SpiritStar expedition members would have to follow certain rules given by the government.

Later another stipulation would be added: Marie.

Chapter Three:

Night came early, around what Cristaña informed Marie was five o'clock. As the sunlight faded on the horizon, the flowers curled back up into their sepals. Marie thought the process was both sad and elegant.

The expedition set up camp quickly. The white torch-lights that had guided them earlier were placed on pedestals interspersed through the trees, which allowed the team members enough light to pitch the tents. Cristaña and Havily did their best to teach Marie the ropes, and as much to her surprise as everyone else's, she didn't mess up too badly the first time around.

"Don't worry about it," Havily assured her. "You'll have it down quickly enough."

Marie wasn't sure she should be comforted by that idea; it implied a whole lot of evenings of pitching tents.

Dinner that night found Marie and the other Babies sitting in silence, slurping up a tasteless version of tomato basil soup. Marie was still hyper and excited, but everyone else was exhausted. Even the normally perky Jennifer looked a little glum.

Near the end of dinner, a cool voice called her name. "Marie Nettleson!"

The conversation in the tent lulled, then picked back up. Marie twisted around, her eyes landing on a tall, slender woman in her mid-thirties. The woman's entire countenance spoke of severity. She had pulled her gold hair back in a tight bun and had worn her lips down into thin lines. Marie could easily picture her in a business suit, ready to ruthlessly crush a competitor.

"That's Pamela Holbech," murmured Jennifer in a hushed voice. "If she's calling for you, you'd better go."

Marie shot Jennifer a startled look, but stood and approached the woman, studying her curiously. She could feel the eyes of several onlookers.

"Marie Nettleson," said Pamela sharply. "Come with me." She turned on her heel and stalked out of the tent, obviously expecting Marie to follow. Which she did.

Two men stood outside. One Marie recognized: Pamela's thoroughly unpleasant brother, Darius, who inspected her with cold blue eyes. The other was a man in his mid-forties. He had a mop of grey hair, a strand of which trailed over his forehead and fell carelessly into his dark brown eyes. He was slightly overweight and looked as though he hadn't shaved in days. He jittered with nervous energy.

"Marie Nettleson, I am Pamela Holbech, your section commander." Marie's eyes flicked briefly to Pamela. "This is my brother and second-in-command, Darius Holbech. And this is the expedition leader, Barnabas Morton."

"Yes," interrupted Barnabas quickly, shaking Marie's hand. "I've managed to meet everyone on the expedition at least once—everyone except you." He offered her a friendly smile, and Marie couldn't help but smile in return. "If you have any issues at all, please don't hesitate to tell me."

Beside Barnabas, Darius scowled.

"Now," said Barnabas, looping his arm around her shoulder. "Let's talk, shall we?"

"My dinner—" protested Marie.

He appeared surprised. "Have you not finished yet?" He shot Pamela a questioning look.

"Well, I have," Marie tried to correct him, "but—you see—I haven't had the chance to put away—"

"Ah! The food carton!" Barnabas waved his hand dismissively. "Pamela will put it away for you! It's no problem, dear."

Marie glanced back to see Pamela shooting her a look of pure poison before disappearing into the tent.

Barnabas pretended not to notice. "Now," he said, steering her away from the noise of the mess hall, "My instructions concerning you arrived only shortly before you did. Is it true you have not received any training?"

"Y-yes..."

Barnabas clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "Well, we'll have to remedy that. I will see if Pamela can arrange for someone to teach you the basics. Perhaps even Pamela herself can do it." Recalling Pamela's sour face, Marie doubted she would be thrilled about that.

"And am I also correct in assuming you have been asked to keep a record of the expedition's activities?"

"Yes." That was her only duty, and she didn't want to mess it up. She had brought a journal explicitly for the purpose of detailing the events of the day. Her fingers already itched to write the first entry.

"Well, my dear, if you have any questions regarding the terrain or the activities of the expedition members, don't hesitate to talk to me." He regarded her carefully, the carefree expression on his face fading into something more serious. "I know about your agreement with SpiritStar and the government, Miss Nettleson, and I know what the American people expect of you. Your account of this expedition is the one that will be trusted and remembered. I don't want anything to be misinterpreted. Please come to me if you have an issue. Don't assume anything."

Marie eyed him carefully, at last nodding. "I will."

He smiled and let go of her arm. Marie studied him for a minute, thinking. She did have a job to do. "But," she added abruptly, "If I am to give an accurate account of this expedition, I would prefer not to be excluded from certain activities. As in, if we meet people, I don't want to be absent from all your meetings with their leaders. I want to be present for at least a few of them. After all, I am supposed to be"—her voice turned sardonic—"the people's ambassador."

She held her breath. She wasn't sure he would accept that. It was a rather high demand. She waited anxiously for a response. His eyes flickered with an emotion: respect? Annoyance? She wasn't sure.

At last he smiled and inclined his head. "As you wish. And I think, Miss Nettleson, that despite your age, you may prove to be an asset to this expedition."

Marie smiled as he walked away from her, her heart inexplicably soaring. Perhaps she wasn't as far down the social ladder as Jennifer thought.

She strolled back to the mess hall, her eyes on the shadowed canopy above. Her thoughts turned to her new nickname. Citizen—they called her that because that was exactly what the American public had demanded: a citizen. She supposed it was a misnomer—there were other normal American citizens on the expedition—but it wrapped up the sentiments of the public nicely.

When SpiritStar and the government had started putting together the expedition's team members, a few of the anti-Other Side protestors had been quick to point out that every team member was either employed by SpiritStar or the government. It was cause for immediate outcry. The expedition's team members, the ambassadors of America, would not accurately represent the American people! SpiritStar was sending a bunch of nerds and "machine-gun-toting maniacs" to the Other Side! How could two such specialized groups represent such a diverse people?

It wasn't a very logical—or even a very accurate—argument, but it had stirred up the public like no other. There was no one normal on the expedition, no run-of-the-mill American. Marie hadn't complained about it. She didn't exactly want her next-door neighbor negotiating a trade contract with an otherworldly power. It wasn't a normal expedition; its members shouldn't be normal people. And besides, the expedition wasn't even strictly 'American.' True, the American government was funding a large portion of it, but SpiritStar was funding it as well, and SpiritStar had grown to be an international company. Half of its expedition members hailed from overseas. Furthermore, several foreign governments had chipped in to fund the team, with a few even sending their own specialists to join the group. The expedition was more international than American.

But Marie's arguments were voiced by very few. Instead, the insistence that a nonbiased, normal American take part of the expedition grew until the protests started causing civil unrest. The public had gotten the idea that whatever was on the Other Side, SpiritStar employees and government agents could not be trusted to report it. When two weeks before the expedition was supposed to leave, protestors carrying signs claiming "One of Us Goes or No One Goes" made their way to the capital, Congress had to do something. So later that day, the Speaker of the House promised the public an ordinary citizen would be added to the expedition, much to SpiritStar's dismay.

And there was only one person in the entire United States of America whose addition would not delay the expedition: Marie.

Thinking about it, she figured she probably could have demanded and received a lot more money than five million dollars.

The days soon began to pass in a predictable pattern. Every morning the wake-up horn sounded before sunrise, and Marie crawled out of bed. She quickly became a pro at taking down the tent, and each day team 12 got a little faster at packing up their things, so much so that after a week they could be dressed and have everything put away in five minutes. This improvement allowed Marie to actually sit down and eat her breakfast with the Babies instead of gulping it on the go. After breakfast, Marie had only a few minutes before the expedition started off, always before sunrise. She never quite got used to seeing the sunrise, and Mabel always looked amused at the awed expression that appeared on her face during every Morning Bloom. At night Marie usually found the time and energy to scribble a few notes into her journal, but some days she was just too exhausted or had some other matter to take care of, such as taking a shower.

Hygiene proved to be an interesting problem. Marie learned from Cristaña that she had to register for showers, which took place in weird vertical rollers. Five minutes for each shower; take any longer and the water shut off, which Marie unfortunately found out the first time she took one. She had soap gunk stuck in her hair the entire day. Washing clothes took place as a team. No one person had enough clothes for a load, so every couple days the entire team compiled their clothing and put it through a washer and dryer, which had been built into rollers as well. Teeth-brushing took place in another type of roller, and the lines for the strange sinks could get unbearably long: half an hour waits, sometimes. Using the bathroom...unfortunately, there wasn't a roller for that. The latrines were so disgusting that after using them for the first time, Marie swore that once she returned to Earth, she would never again go near a place without indoor plumbing. Everyone complained about the latrines, but SpiritStar employees complained the most. Marie often overheard Ranjana Singh bemoaning the disgusting state of the toilet paper trash cans.

During meals and later in the evenings, Marie spent much of her time with the Babies. Jennifer proved to be a loyal, if excitable, friend, and as she was no more of a 'military' person than Marie, she turned out to be a good person to complain to. Dustin stayed quiet most of the time, but when he did speak his dry sense of humor inflected every word. Marie ended up snorting with laughter into her food carton half the meals. Raymond remained quiet as well, but he didn't have the sense of humor Dustin had; most of the words issuing from his mouth came in the form of complaints, and Marie tried to avoid him outside of meals.

But there was one person Marie tried to avoid even more: Joseph. She felt bad about it. Joseph was a nice boy. He was sweet and brilliant and patient and extremely talented... at making her uncomfortable. Much to Marie's dismay, he had a very obvious crush on her. He tried flirting with her at every meal, and Marie always replied awkwardly, hoping he would get the message, but he never did. He even brought her bouquets of the flowers he and Mabel had recently discovered, which Marie couldn't force herself to refuse. Every time he did something nice for her, she felt guilty.

"Oh, thanks, Joseph," said Marie weakly. She had entered the tent to find that Joseph had already grabbed a food carton for her.

He smiled brightly. He reminded her of a puppy wagging its tail.

Beside her, Jennifer smirked before saying loudly, "That's so sweet of you, Joseph. You're such a nice guy. Don't you think so, Marie?" Marie shot her a furious look. Jennifer thought the entire situation was funny and did her best to make it as awkward as possible—as if it wasn't already awkward enough.

The terrain didn't change much as the days went by. The trees continued to tower over them, bursting into bloom as the sun rose and fading as the sun fell. Marie's continual delight with the flora endeared her to Mabel, who took to telling her the properties of the plants she and her team had recently discovered and warning her away from the poisonous ones, something she certainly didn't do for everyone. Indeed, Marie found her watching sadistically as Jaime Hart, whom she greatly disliked, pranced perilously close to a poisonous fern-like plant.

"She can be nasty," Joseph assured her one night over dinner. "And she's a very strict taskmaster. Trust me, I know. She's my boss."

The trying trio, as Mabel called Jaime, Hamako, and Bryce, kept mostly to themselves, always muttering about some theoretical aspect of the communication device. Both Marie and Mabel disliked them. Marie had tried to strike up a conversation with Bryce once, and Bryce had looked at her like she was some alien bug that had been taught to talk. The only other person in the team she ever saw them talk to willingly was Valeria, which Marie supposed was to be expected: Valeria's job description meant she occasionally had to work with the communication device. Valeria, for her part, was too busy running ahead or behind to deal with a roller to talk much with the rest of team 12, but from what Marie could tell, she didn't seem as stuck up as Jaime, Hamako, and Bryce.

Havily did little but complain about 'that Holbech witch,' so Marie had yet to hear what she actually did on the expedition. If Havily's complaints were any indication, Marie guessed her job required her to see a lot of Pamela. Almost the opposite of Havily in personality was Tiffany, who wasn't very talkative, but was extremely kind and upbeat. Every night, if anyone had sore muscles—which was usually everybody—Tiffany would give them a massage. Ranjana was the only one she never offered a massage to, but that could have had something to do with Ranjana's tendency to glare daggers at anyone who looked at her the wrong way. Ranjana was never excited to see Marie, and her short temper ensured Marie didn't waste too much time trying to talk to her. Out of everyone, Marie talked to Cristaña the most, simply because Cristaña seemed to be the most normal member of the team—and the one with the most information. Cristaña didn't seem to mind her constant barrage of questions, but Marie suspected Pamela had ordered her to be friendly toward Marie. Marie needed 'training' after all, and if Marie's gut instinct about Pamela was correct, Cristaña's willingness to answer her questions was the only form of training she was going to get.

But most of the time, everyone was too tired to talk. After the first two or three days, the thrill of being in a new world faded. As the landscape became increasingly repetitive, Marie increasingly felt the exhaustion the day's march inflicted.

"Does anyone even know where we're headed?" Marie groaned one day as she sat down for another tasteless lunch. "I mean, did we just pick a direction and go?"

Dustin leaned back against a tree root. "They've developed some system to make sure we go in a consistent direction. Something to do with the sun. But other than that, not really. The only thing we know is we're not going in circles."

"What a comfort," Marie said dryly. How stupid.

Joseph sat down next to her, looking exhausted. He had huge bags under his eyes and the slightly glazed expression of someone who hadn't slept well the previous night. His eyes fell to his food carton.

"Are you okay?" Marie asked cautiously.

"I'm fine," he mumbled. "Mabel kept me up late last night running tests on a new plant Darius found. Damn Darius. Couldn't he have waited until morning to show it to Mabel?"

Marie clucked her tongue sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He fell silent for a minute, his eyes on the ground. A blush stole across his face, and he raised his eyes uncertainly. Marie tensed. "Marie, I—"

"Marie!" squealed Jennifer, plopping down next to her. "Guess what?"

Marie had never been so happy to see Jennifer. Throwing Joseph an apologetic glance, she turned, "What?"

Jennifer grinned. "Barnabas thinks it might rain today!"

Marie blinked. Well, that certainly wasn't what she would have expected Jennifer to be so chipper about. She looked up. Sure enough, the light seemed a little dimmer than normal, as if clouds obscured the sun.

"Ew," said Dustin, his eyes on Jennifer, "So tonight at dinner you're going to smell of wet dog?"

Jennifer's eyes narrowed. "Be careful, soldier. Be very careful."

Dustin smirked.

An hour later, clouds broiled overhead. Day turned to dusk within seconds. The flowers shrunk all around, and the wind picked up. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The first drops came—big, fat ones that splashed Marie in the eye. At first they were intermittent, but then they came in a steady downpour, till the air turned white with water.

"Stay here!" Cristaña shouted, running off to Roller 12. Beside Marie, the rest of the team members had crouched down in identical positions on their knees on the ground, their hands covering their faces.

Cristaña came running back and in one swift motion opened an umbrella large enough to cover four people.

"Stay!" she ordered before rushing to set up two more umbrellas. When at last she was done, she returned to Marie, panting.

"Why the panic?" Marie asked, bemused.

Cristaña ran a shaky hand through her sopping wet hair. "Basic protocol. Odds are this is just a downpour of regular rain, but they have to test it make sure."

Marie glanced around. Everyone was soaked. "If it's poisonous, it's a little too late to prevent contamination."

Cristaña shrugged. "It's a different world. You can't be too careful."

Marie stared at one of the rivulets running down the side of a tree root and frowned. She relished this experience. She enjoyed the expedition. She felt like Lewis and Clark, exploring the unknown. She saw beauty and majesty in her surroundings. She didn't see danger. She realized, however, that everyone else did. Danger in the plants. Danger in the rain. Danger even in the dirt.

The previous week, Hollis Paddock, an equipment specialist, had tripped and scraped his knee—just a small thing, no bigger than a paper-cut—and two days later he still wore a bandage over it. "To prevent an infection from alien microbes," he had told Marie when she had inquired. "We don't know what's in the soil."

Staring out into the rain, this overwhelming paranoia suddenly seemed incredibly absurd. Glancing quickly at Cristaña, Marie stuck her hands out into the shower and brought a few drops to her lips. The rain tasted cool and clean. It was the best-tasting water she'd ever had.

After that first day, it rained almost every day for two weeks. Once it was determined by the hydrologists that the rain was, indeed, safe, Barnabas pushed them on as usual, and such days were decidedly unpleasant. The red dirt that normally packed the ground turned into sticky mud, and slogging through it took a ridiculously long time. The rollers had a difficult time dealing with it, and Valeria consequently became increasingly frazzled. Tiffany had to give her a massage at least three times a day.

For reasons unbeknownst to Marie, during their rain-slogs, as Ranjana called them, Barnabas decided he needed to spend more time with Marie, so he made a conscious effort to fall back at least once a day and speak with her. They discussed everything from the rate at which the team consumed its supplies to what could be done with the land they had already discovered.

"This place is amazing," he told her quietly. "Unbelievable, really. There's so much land here—so many resources—so much stuff Earth could use. If there are no humans in this world, SpiritStar is set. There is enough here for it to make trillions—easily. The government, too," he admitted.

Marie arched an eyebrow. "And if there are people?"

Barnabas shrugged, his eyes wandering around. He didn't seem too concerned. "It becomes a little more complicated. Still, if we can come up with a favorable arrangement, SpiritStar is still set. This was an expensive project for SpiritStar—you really have no idea how many billions were invested in it—but if it pays off, the percent return will be astronomical. Bruno Campbell will become the richest man in the world, no problem."

Barnabas gazed up at the trees arching above them. "And regardless of how the finances work out, this mission is a great triumph for science. SpiritStar will go down in history." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "As will I, and as will you—regardless of what happens here."

Chapter Four:

The forest canopy obscured the light of the two moons, and for that Cristaña was grateful. As she stepped out of the tent, her eyes darting about, she noticed with relief that the camp was quiet and still, no doubt due to the strenuous pace Darius had set that day.

Bless that man, thought Cristaña. It was an unusual thought for her.

Still, she was cautious as she tiptoed her way through the camp. Every yawn and snore sent her heart hammering in her ribcage.

As she passed Pamela's tent, Cristaña slowed, placing each foot carefully in front of the other, careful not to so much as crunch a leaf. If Pamela awoke, it would all be over.

But she quickly moved past the tent, and soon she was at the edge of camp, and then she was in the forest, wandering away.

She didn't feel afraid, although normally she would have. But the expedition had scared away the local wildlife. Only the insects and the dragon-birds remained.

The dragon-birds...

A memory flashed across her mind, of the first time they had encountered the dragon-birds. Mabel had been the first person to see one. She had jogged off a little ways from the expedition to use the bathroom, and a few seconds later she had screamed and rushed back to the line, flapping her arms wildly. Following her back, above her by about twenty feet, was one of what everyone had come to call the dragon-birds, though they more closely resembled pterodactyls. About the size of vultures, and with dark red and blue stripes along their wings, they were devilishly fast and fearless, following the expedition with apparent curiosity but moving much too quickly for anyone to capture, though not for lack of trying. One day the expedition had come across a large group of them in a small clearing, and what had transpired had been four fruitless hours of trying to pin the flighty birds down. It had been a ridiculous spectacle. Marie had stood on the sidelines watching it, giggling hysterically.

Marie...

Cristaña felt like cold water had washed over her the minute she thought of Marie. The brief amusement she had felt at the recollection vanished, and her stomach felt cold and sick in her gut. Poor Marie. If only the girl had never come. So much better it would have been for her to just stay with her grandmother, go to college, and work through life's toils like everyone else!

Cristaña felt a swell of pity and a twinge of guilt, but then she crushed it.

She couldn't think that way. She had a job to do.

After a month of constant travel, Marie started to despair of ever finding intelligent life. True, they were forced to travel at a painfully slow pace, but they had covered so many miles that Marie thought the chances of them running across any version of humanity were becoming increasingly slim. It came as a surprise, therefore, to be proven wrong.

The horn for halt came around mid-morning. Marie glanced at Cristaña, who looked baffled. Within a few minutes the instructions made it down the line for Marie to go to the head of the procession. She did so, trying to ignore the unwavering stares, and at last she saw Barnabas.

He looked up when he heard her approach. His expression was strange, like a mixture of suppressed triumph and excitement. "Record this," he said, gesturing to the ground before him.

Marie stared at the ground blankly, then up at him. She arched an eyebrow. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

Barnabas looked exasperated. He turned to Darius.

"It's a hunting path," Darius explained coolly. "As in, people have used this path before to hunt."

"How do you know animals didn't make it?" asked Marie, her eyes sweeping the supposed path again. It looked just like the rest of the forest to her. How did they even know it was a path at all?

"Because of that." Barnabas pointed, and Marie craned her head.

He was pointing to a footprint—small, and definitely human. It was so small Marie doubted anyone on the expedition could make it, except for perhaps Mabel. It had to be a child's footprint. Marie stared at it dumbly. A footprint...A footprint! Humanity! Her mind spun.

She turned away, dazed. People...at last! Did this mean their marching would finally end? Marie felt giddy.

Trying not to betray the excitement she felt, she asked, slowly and carefully, so as to prevent her voice from trembling, "How old is it?"

"A few days."

Marie closed her eyes. A few days away from here was a human child, one not from Earth. And perhaps, not too much further... a settlement. People. A whole new civilization. Finally.

If the days had been painfully slow before, after that they were excruciating. To Marie, it felt like at times the expedition crawled to a stop. Everyone was on high alert. All team members were expected to be on the lookout for anything unusual. Strange sounds, smells—all had to be reported to Barnabas and investigated before the expedition could move.

In between investigating the rotten smells emanating from various kitchens, Barnabas spent much of his time rushing up and down the expedition line, issuing various instructions that often contradicted each other:

"Pamela, make sure Guard Troop 6 stays in the back. That's very important!"

"Darius, Guard Troop 6 must stay in the front no matter what!"

When he wasn't issuing orders, he was deep in consultation with his advisors, who lectured him on all the possible ways the "others" might present themselves and what he should do in each scenario.

All of this Marie watched in bemusement. It's not like he can possibly prepare for all possibilities. We have no idea what we're up against. Another thought would occur to her almost immediately afterward: And shouldn't he have already received this training anyway?

As for Marie herself, she spent her days in a state of constant nervousness. Her thoughts buzzed through her head every which way; she was full of so many questions she could barely make sense of them. What were these people like? Why hadn't they run across them yet? What had they been doing so deep in the woods? Why had they only found the child's footprint? Every time the horn for halt sounded, her heart leapt to her throat. Is this it? Have we met people? With each rest, each stop for the night, each false alarm, Marie only grew tenser, until she thought she would make herself sick with anticipation.

Marie wasn't sure how she expected the group to first run across humans, but she knew she never would have predicted the manner in which they did.

After days of ignoring her, on a warm, sunny afternoon, Barnabas finally remembered Marie's existence. During the fifth halt of the day, word traveled down the line that Barnabas wanted Marie to join him at the front. She went, and he explained to her the activities of the past few days, going over what had occurred in all his consultations, his plans for greeting the others, etcetera. She was listening intently, her eyes trained on his face, when he froze. He stared at something over her shoulder, his face ashen.

Marie turned.

Standing about twenty feet away from them, directly in their path, was a man. A young man, tall—maybe six feet. Black hair coiled down to wide shoulders. Beneath dark eyebrows, dark eyes stared at them, the expression in them both curious and cautious. He was dressed in long black robes, underneath which rippled a layer of muscles. Marie's heart fluttered.

Barnabas cleared his throat and stepped forward. The man's eyes immediately fixed on him.

"Um, hello," said Barnabas, twisting his hands together.

The man didn't move, only watched Barnabas carefully.

Barnabas turned. "Darius, find Simon! Languages are his territory."

Barnabas turned back to the man, who raised an eyebrow. "I am Barnabas," he said slowly and loudly, motioning to himself. "I lead this group. We are a peaceful expedition."

He glanced back again. "Pamela, have the soldiers lower their machine guns!"

He returned his attention to the stranger. "If you could, perhaps," he said slowly, "Take me to your leader."

Marie watched him with amusement. From the way the man's eyes slid blankly over Barnabas's face while Barnabas was talking, she was sure he had no idea what Barnabas was saying. At the same time, she figured it was probably Barnabas's tone that mattered. And right then his tone screamed of nervousness.

The man must have sensed it, for his eyes finally flickered with an emotion: amusement. His lips curled into a slightly sardonic smile, and he stepped forward, his arms spread apart. Barnabas appeared startled, but he seemed to understand the man was trying to show he meant no harm. He stopped only a few feet away from Barnabas, and at last he put his hands to his chest.

"Rheidan." He motioned to himself again. "Rheidan."

Barnabas smiled shakily. "Barnabas."

"Barnabas," the man murmured, and he tilted his head slightly, searching Barnabas's face. At last he must have found something he liked, for he stepped back, smiling. He turned his face to the forest. "Kar-pah-tín!"

At first nothing happened, and the expedition members, Marie included, stared around in anticipatory silence as an eerie stillness fell on the forest. Then men started appearing, soldiers, dressed like gladiators in ancient Rome. They had appeared out of nowhere, almost as if they had been a part of the forest itself. They held bows and arrows but did not notch them, and instead looked at the group with mischievous grins on their faces.

Barnabas stared at them in astonishment, and Marie couldn't help but do the same. Beside her Pamela looked thunderstruck, as if she could not possibly comprehend how so many men had snuck up on them undetected. At seeing the look on her face, Marie couldn't help it: she laughed, and seeing her laugh, the man named Rheidan winked at her.

The fact that no one could do more than introduce themselves greatly hindered communication. Rheidan and his soldiers, who seemed to number somewhere in the forties or fifties, assembled near the head of the column and did their best to communicate using hand-motions. Simon Ramsden, the language guru, buzzed around taking notes of everything the strangers said, but Rheidan kept on shooting him annoyed looks, enough that Barnabas finally murmured for him to back off.

As for Marie...she just stood to the side, watching the proceedings. Once again, she felt completely out of place. She wanted to be there, yet at the same time, she had nothing to do. While Pamela and Darius had leapt into action, issuing instructions to everyone that breathed, Marie had just stood there, for the most part ignored by her fellows. Pamela had briefly hissed at Marie to "stay there!" before bounding off, but Darius hadn't even deigned to glance at her as he ran about.

Marie felt a familiar prickle on the back of her neck: someone was watching her. She peered around. Rheidan studied her carefully. At meeting her gaze, a small smile curled the corner of his mouth. Startled, Marie glanced away, her eyes diving to the ground. A flush worked its way up her cheeks. He had a nice smile. She glanced up again. Rheidan had returned his attention to Barnabas, but something in his stance told Marie he was amused.

That irritated her. She huffed, returning her attention to the other men, where she realized, to her consternation, that Rheidan was not the only one looking at her curiously. Several of the men, at least ten, shot periodic glances her way. Marie turned bright red. She wasn't sure she was receiving so much attention because she looked out of place, or because they hadn't seen a woman in weeks. Either way, the attention was discomforting. She tried to stick it out, but after another ten minutes, she had gone from uncomfortable to creeped out. Giving the men a long suspicious stare, she whirled around and returned to her place in line.

The group camped where they were for the night. Rheidan's men filtered through the camp, looking like curious, overgrown children, running their hands over the rollers, murmuring exclamations of "Java-Nor!" every time they saw something extraordinary. Down at the mess hall, the men peeked into the tent, peering over everyone's shoulders and into their food cartons. Raymond let one man taste his meal—some demented version of spaghetti—which made the man shudder and back away, much to Raymond's amusement and Bernard's irritation.

"I wonder what they eat at night," Dustin commented longingly.

Outside around the campfires the men watched avidly as a few of the more musically-inclined expedition members struck up various tunes. The myriad of songs, mixed with some booing, echoed discordantly in the night air. Marie stopped to watch one group—two men and one woman singing a horribly off-key version of Hotel California, with a gaggle of Rheidan's men watching them, apparently on the verge of laughter.

At last Marie meandered away from them, heading nowhere in particular. It was much too early to go to bed, and she was too excited to fall asleep anyway. Her thoughts were so confused and excited, and jumping around so erratically, that she didn't even know what she was feeling, whether she was anxious or thrilled or both. She had the sense that she was watching history unfold, and it overwhelmed her, sending tingles up her spine and down her arms and legs. To gather her senses, she forced herself to focus on the present. She couldn't allow herself to think of the implications of all that was happening, or she might not be able to function at all.

She forced herself instead to take note of her surroundings, and as she walked, she noticed for the first time the sheer number of guards marching through the camp, machine guns slung over their shoulders. A pair approached the campfire she had just left, slowing down as they examined Rheidan's men, then continuing on, their bodies tense. Marie frowned as she watched them. She supposed she should have expected Barnabas to heighten security tonight, but she wouldn't have expected him to be so obvious about it.

Barnabas...

Marie wheeled around and headed back through the aisle of tents, her shoes sliding on the wet patches of grass. A few people glanced at her as she strode past, but Marie had learned to ignore such looks. She kept her head down and her eyes straight ahead.

Three of Rheidan's men stood outside Barnabas's tent. Marie slowed as she approached, eyeing them. The two parties stared at each other for a moment. Marie smiled awkwardly and leaned against one of the poles supporting the tent. She could hear very little from inside, but Barnabas had told her the other day he would attempt to explain things through pictures if language proved to be a problem.

Marie bit her lip and glanced back at the warriors. They stared at her unabashedly, and Marie couldn't blame them for it. She had to be more interesting than the tent flap.

That didn't make it any less awkward. Or less scary. They were big, hulking men with bulging muscles, and they the scars to prove they'd fought in a few battles. Her heart thumped nervously

"So..." she said slowly, swallowing. One of them arched an eyebrow. She pointed to herself. "Marie."

The men smirked but said nothing. Marie flushed. What if a woman introducing herself was considered forward in this world? She didn't want to leave the wrong impression. She shifted uncomfortably. The awkward silence seemed to stretch on into the night, but it probably only lasted thirty or so minutes. Someone ruffled papers inside, and a hand shoved the tent flap aside. Marie turned expectantly, but the hand didn't belong to Barnabas.

Rheidan paused as he ducked out of the tent, then straightened slowly, his eyes on her. An inscrutable expression crossed his face. "Leitu non ig-kai?" he murmured.

Marie was abruptly aware of the stray strand of hair falling across her face, and she tucked it back behind her ear impatiently. She met his eyes, trying not to blush. "Barnabas?" She pointed to the tent.

He smiled in response, and Marie cautiously pulled back the tent flap. "Barnabas?"

She saw him crouched over a piece of parchment. His head shot up upon hearing his name, and he practically beamed. "Marie!" He bounded off the ground, striding toward her. "I was about to send someone to look for you! Figured you should hear about all this!"

"Yes, I did too."

Barnabas turned to Rheidan. "Marie," he introduced, pointing to Marie.

Rheidan inclined his head. "Marie," he repeated.

"And I'm sure you've heard, Marie, that this is Rheidan. He's obviously in charge of these men here. I have so much to tell you, so much!" He looped his arm around her shoulder, as he was prone to do, and after a quick bow to Rheidan, pulled her outside and down through the line of tents.

Marie wondered at his eagerness. Earlier today he had been ashen, and now he practically bubbled with excitement. He's probably relieved they didn't start shooting at us.

"Now, I am sure you have many questions, and I'll try to answer them to the best of my ability. Fire away." He glanced at her expectantly.

"Okay then," said Marie, blinking. He really was in a strange mood. "Um...what were you two doing in there?"

He answered promptly, as if reciting a definition, which Marie thought was strange, "I was attempting to explain who we are, where we come from, that sort of thing."

Marie arched an eyebrow. "And did you learn anything about them?"

He frowned. "Well, you must understand, communication is limited, especially since Rheidan doesn't seem to like Simon." He sighed. "Which is disappointing, seeing as Simon's the one trained to communicate with other people."

Marie arched the other eyebrow.

"So, to answer your question," he said, getting the hint, "Not really. All I understand is that they want us to follow them tomorrow and that Rheidan is their leader. That's it."

"Will we follow them?"

"As safely as possible."

They stopped. Marie considered him. For someone who had several hours to communicate with someone, Barnabas seemed to have learned very little. And he had said there was 'much' he wanted to tell her. But then again, maybe he considered what he had learned 'much.' There was a language barrier. Finally she nodded, deciding to trust him. He beamed and turned to head back to his tent.

"Barnabas!" she called after him.

He glanced back.

"Promise to keep me updated!"

He smiled. "You have my word, Miss Nettleson." He turned to leave again.

"And Barnabas!"

"Yes?"

She motioned around. "These soldiers stalking about the camp...you're not exactly sending a comforting message. You might as well stamp 'We-don't-trust-you' on all of our foreheads. It would probably be better if they were less obvious. Just a thought."

He nodded briefly before leaving. Marie headed back to tent 12, her mind swimming. People. They were making progress at last. But who were these people? How did they live? What were they like? What did they believe? She frowned. And why had they so easily welcomed the expedition? All of the sudden, Marie felt very tired.

She laid down in her bag, but even as tired as she was, it took her a long time to fall asleep. When she did, she dreamed restless dreams—dreams of towering trees, thundering horses, and screaming crowds.

Chapter Five:

They stayed camped the next day, but Marie didn't see much of the "others." Rheidan stayed cooped up with Barnabas all day, and his men milled at the edge of camp, observing the expedition's soldiers. Marie and the rest of the expedition members spent most of the day gossiping, since no one seemed to know what they were supposed to do, as Rheidan and his men didn't seem keen on interacting with anybody else. Most of the gossip centered around the soldiers, with speculation running rampant on where they were from. Everyone was insatiably curious, and the rumors that soon sprang up were impressively absurd. A particularly popular rumor claimed that Rheidan had attempted to buy Pamela Holbech, though since the man was incapable of communicating more than very basic ideas, Marie wasn't sure how anyone could believe it. She wrote it off as wishful thinking.

The next morning they headed off, Rheidan leading the way. He set a grueling pace. The group covered ground at least twice as fast as usual, and by lunch break Marie was soaked with sweat. When the horn blew for halt at the end of the day, Mabel slumped to the ground, groaning. She eyed Marie balefully. "I think I hate Rheidan."

Marie snorted with laughter. "Poor Mabel," she crooned. "Come on." She stuck out her hand. "The faster we put up the tent, the sooner we can shower and go to sleep."

It turned out, however, that Marie would not get the chance to go to sleep early that night. Barnabas summoned her to his tent shortly after dinner, and she went, hair drooping with water, to find him talking with Rheidan.

Barnabas smiled rather slyly when she entered. "Marie," he said a little too enthusiastically, standing up and striding forward, "I thought you'd like to join us. Flex your ambassadorial muscle, so to speak."

Marie gave him a horrified look. "Do me a favor? Never utter that phrase again."

Barnabas just smirked. "I've been trying to explain our world to Rheidan, and I thought your input might help. Besides, I thought you would like to learn more about this world."

Marie shot him a suspicious look, but Barnabas just smiled innocently. She turned back to Rheidan, who had watched their exchange with a puzzled expression on his face. He met her gaze and smiled. Her cheeks burned.

"I have no objection."

The following days were exhausting. Rheidan kept the expedition going at the same strenuous pace, and he kept Marie up late at night attempting to teach her his language, which wasn't going very well. The language's pronunciation was impossible, its grammar was bizarre, and Barnabas snickered every time she messed up—which was often.

"You should be learning this too," she hissed at him after the fifth night.

"But I am. I spend all day with him."

"I feel like such an idiot all the time!"

Barnabas glanced at Rheidan out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, I doubt he thinks you're an idiot. I'd say he's quite fascinated with you."

Marie narrowed her eyes. "Fascinated how?" she asked suspiciously. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

He smiled at her in a way that could only be described as grandfatherly. "Marie, you have some new vocabulary to learn."

"Ugh!"

To Marie, it felt like it took forever to get any grasp of Rheidan's language. It didn't help that Rheidan seemed to find it funny every time she messed up a word.

"Glen-du," he said slowly, pointing to one of the dragon-birds.

"Glen-dew," Marie repeated.

He shook his head, smiling. "Glen-du."

"Glen-dew." No. "GLEN-DEW!"

He threw back his head and laughed, and Marie had enough. She glared at him. "Jerk," she muttered, snapping around to stalk away. "Why don't you—aah!"

She tripped, falling face-first on the ground. Rheidan laughed even harder. She pushed herself off the ground and glowered. Just because he happened to be incredibly handsome didn't give him the right to laugh at her. He should try having to learn English! Fuming, she stalked away.

As they traveled, Marie noticed the terrain finally starting to change. The trees shrunk and grew further apart. The Morning Bloom became less obvious. The group started encountering flowers that bloomed at nighttime as well, beautiful things Rheidan told her were called Shashanas. Much to Marie's displeasure, Joseph started placing bouquets of them on her bedroll each night. While it was a sweet gesture, it made Marie uncomfortable. Joseph just didn't seem to notice she wasn't attracted to him, and with the arrival of Rheidan, he had only become more dogged in pursuing her. Marie found herself going out of her way to avoid him, even if it meant spending more time in language lessons.

"What—land—name?" she asked Rheidan one night. This question had been bugging her for some time.

He gave her a quizzical look. "Barnabas did not tell you?" Rheidan never attempted to dumb down his speech for Marie, so she often had to listen closely and guess a few words' meanings to understand what he was saying.

She shook her head.

Rheidan glanced at Barnabas surreptitiously. He lowered his voice. "This land is called Maretzia. It is ruled by His Excellency Emperor Sidriel the Clever, the Powerful, and the Magnificent. It was His Excellency who sent me here to intercept your group and bring it back to the capital."

Marie absorbed this. She glanced back at Barnabas. He was thumbing through a report. She turned back to Rheidan, frowning. "When—you—tell this?"

"As soon as I could—many days ago."

Marie lowered her eyes. Why had Barnabas kept silent? Sure, the man was busy, and he could have just forgotten, but it seemed like a big thing to forget. How much effort would it have taken him to say, 'By the way, the people in this world are somewhat more advanced than hunter-gatherers, and they've formed an empire ruled over by a man named Sidriel'?

"He has told you nothing?" Rheidan murmured, arching an eyebrow.

"No." Even though he had promised he would.

Rheidan glanced at Barnabas again, then leaned forward. "What do you wish to know?"

Marie met his gaze. "Everything."

Marie was silent as she strode back to her tent. So this land was called Maretzia. It stretched from the Western Sea across the hill country to the eastern plains. It was the largest empire in this world, and it was ruled by an emperor named Sidriel. He had ruled for many years and was much beloved by his people. He had 10 royal councilors known as the Circle of Ten, who next to him were the most important men in the empire. Below them in importance were the rest of the nobles, who were all members of Sidriel's Court. Marie tried to absorb it all.

But more importantly, she tried to absorb the fact that Barnabas had told her nothing.

Perhaps she was paranoid.—

Perhaps he had been busy.

Perhaps he had forgotten.

But perhaps he had just, for one reason or another, decided not to tell her. Marie's mind spun. What would that mean? Why would he even do it? What could he gain? It didn't make sense.

The tendril of unease in Marie's stomach grew. She didn't know. But she did know one thing: She was no longer certain she trusted Barnabas Morton.

They left the forest the next day. Marie heard excited shouting, and she snapped her head up to see a dazzle of brilliance up ahead. Sunlight streamed upon her so suddenly it was as if someone had doused her in a bucket of it. Marie felt a thrill of delight and closed her eyes, soaking in the warm rays. She hadn't realized how much she had missed pure sunlight.

The group pooled out of the forest, for the first time since the trip began breaking the line they automatically formed. Not far away Marie saw Jennifer squealing with excitement, and Marie felt a smile break across her own face. Mabel, of course, wasted no time, and Marie winced when she saw Mabel ordering Joseph and all the other botanists to start collecting grass samples.

"Marie."

She twisted around to see Rheidan smiling down at her. "Where are we?" she breathed, her eyes sparkling.

"We just left the Khalnihari Forest and are now in the Beaugati Plains." He tilted his head. "You do not see it now, but over the curve of that hill, only about a three hour journey away, is the village of Brijatti. The Brijatti villagers were the first to alert His Excellency to your presence."

"How?"

Rheidan turned his eyes to the plain. "Every few months a group of hunters from the village goes deep into the forest to hunt an animal called the Avaki. It was during this hunt that they came across your tracks. The hunt ended immediately. They sent a messenger to the palace saying an army of monsters had invaded." The corner of his mouth twitched.

Marie smiled. "Only if you consider Darius and Pamela monsters."

Rheidan snickered.

"Rheidan!"

Both Marie and Rheidan jumped.

Barnabas.

Rheidan scowled, but quickly straightened and assumed a neutral expression. "Yes, Barnabas?"

"Where are we?"

Marie smirked. Rheidan threw her an amused look and headed over to talk with Barnabas. As soon as he was out of sight, she twirled around, swinging her arms. The fact that Rheidan had come to her before he had gone to Barnabas shouldn't have been so satisfying, but it was. She gazed around happily for a moment, and her eyes fell on Cristaña, who was smirking.

"What?"

Cristaña snorted.

They reached Brijatti by nightfall, but signs of it appeared far earlier. The grass grew taller and taller till it was above their heads, and in this forest of grass, Rheidan somehow found a beaten dirt path, barely wide enough for the rollers. Within minutes the grassy plain turned into organized fields, and Marie felt a rush of excitement. Here was proof they were nearing civilization!

The plants arched above them, the stalks as tall as trees, the fruits they produced hanging far above their heads. To Marie they looked like monstrous corn stalks, except the corn was eggplant purple instead of yellow and round instead of cylindrical. Beside Marie, Mabel bounced with excitement. She looked like she was barely restraining herself from collecting samples.

Within an hour they started passing people on the road. A boy of about seven peeked out from behind a plant stalk, his eyes growing huge as the rollers steamed by. Marie smiled at him, but he went ashen, ducking back into the fields. Marie's smile slid off her face.

The village loomed out of nowhere within an hour, a simple conglomeration of mud and wood buildings. When they approached it, its inhabitants had already gathered around the edge of the road and were staring at them as they slowed to a stop. They stayed silent, staring at them with wide, frightened eyes. To the right Marie saw a young girl clutch her mother in terror. The sight distressed Marie, and she looked away when the mother glared at her. A few of the rollers whirled into the village, hissing menacingly, and several of the villagers shrank back and cried aloud.

"Meyan!" Rheidan's voice rose loudly over the cries of the villagers, and they calmed somewhat. They looked to him entreatingly. Silence fell.

Rheidan revolved on the spot, holding his hands apart and above his head, as if worshipping. "Leikla nanu avaa..." he started soothingly, but Marie tuned him out as soon as she realized he was speaking a dialect she didn't know. The only word Marie recognized in the entire speech was 'Sidriel,' and as soon as it was uttered, the villagers relaxed considerably, some even grinning.

Marie saw Pamela narrow her eyes.

When Rheidan at last finished speaking, he turned to Barnabas. "Pass this message to your people: Allow the villagers to take care of you tonight. They will feed you and offer as many as they can comfortable lodging."

The word passed along the line, and Rheidan made a sign with his hands. The villagers surged forward as one, greeting the group with smiles and hugs and jabbering away excitedly.

They left the village early the next morning, long before the sun rose. Marie had stayed in a house that night with Cristaña and Pamela. It was the first time she had slept in a solid building since leaving Earth, and she had almost forgotten the comfort and security such sturdiness provided. Their hosts were an elderly couple living on the outskirts of the village, and though Marie didn't understand a word they said, they managed to be gracious all the same. The elderly woman reminded Marie of her grandmother, so she went to bed feeling rather morose.

After the day in Brijatti, the rest of the days passed in a similar manner. The expedition traveled down well-worn roads, which day after day became increasingly crowded as Maretzians came from all over to watch them pass by, the news of their arrival having proliferated through the countryside. The towns they stayed in each night were crowded with visitors. In one such town, Rheidan procured a map in which he quickly outlined the route they were taking to the capital.

"We're in the northeastern part of the empire," he explained, tapping a spot on the map. "We'll head southwest to the capital city, Melei-Argalla. The plains will turn into hills as we approach it. We won't see any major rivers till we get to the capital, which rests on one of the tributaries of the Aegae-Mar—this river." His finger traced a long thick line cutting through the center of the map. "It's the most important river in Maretzia, and the trading city of Madalinda sits on its mouth—right here." He tapped another spot.

Marie studied the map carefully. "So how long will it take to get to the capital?"

Rheidan shrugged. "It depends on how quickly we go and how the weather treats us. A few weeks, with a group this size. Theoretically, if a rider could ride without stopping, he could be there in a week." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Emperor Sidriel actually has a system set up to take advantage of this fact. There are riders stationed all over the empire ready to take messages. They ride as hard as they can to the next station, where the message is passed on to another rider, who leaves immediately, allowing the first rider to recuperate. The emperor uses this system to pass orders to the military posts on the border."

Marie thought it was a good idea, as long as the message was written. If passed along orally, some part of it might get lost in translation. She opened her mouth to say so, but Barnabas called Rheidan over again. She sighed as he strode off, her eyes following him before falling on the backpack of the person in front of her.

Sometimes the expedition marched past nightfall, and on one such day, Marie asked Rheidan about the stars.

"They're so different from the ones we have at home," she told him. "The stars at home are neither so bright nor so big."

"Do you name them?" Rheidan asked. He stared at her intently.

Marie grinned. "Yes, but I was never able to really tell which star was which. We see shapes in the stars—we call them constellations—and we name them accordingly. Cancer, Capricorn, Aries, Gemini...We have legends associated with each constellation. The legends come from the Greeks, who were an ancient people in our world who thought the constellations were beings placed in the sky by the gods." She glanced at him curiously. "Do you see pictures in your stars?"

"Yes." He pointed up. "Right now, to the east, is Gariehor the Swordsmith, and next to him is the Lady of the Meadows. To the west"—He craned his head—"is Maliot, the Hunter, and Brisperiel, the Boy King. Later in the evening Joriere the Weaver will emerge."

Marie followed his hand, but she couldn't see the shapes he was talking about. Seeing her confused expression, he grinned. "You will learn eventually."

She shook her head. "I doubt it. All the stars look the same to me." She glanced up at the sky again. "And your moons? Do they have names as well?"

"Of course. The northern one is Inattia, and the southern one is her lover, Karadian."

"Do they have a story?"

"Yes."

Marie smiled at him. "Then you must tell it to me. You must tell me the stories of all your stars."

He arched an eyebrow. "Only if you tell me those Greek legends you mentioned."

Her eyes grew wide with alarm. "Oh no," she started, shaking her head vigorously. "I really don't know them that well..."

But he prodded and teased her so much she eventually started telling him the story of Hercules and the crab Cancer, who was sent by Hera to stop the hero.

After that evening, the nights passed in a predictable manner, with Marie and Rheidan swapping stories. When Marie could no longer tell him any stories of the stars, she started on other stories—popular Greek myths, classic fairytales, even a few ghost stories. Rheidan regaled her with the Maretzian equivalents. When Rheidan told Marie the legend of Faallia and the One Hundred Lies, the story of Eliada the Beautiful, and the tale of The Kingdom Beneath the Hill, time passed far too quickly. In fact, Marie enjoyed their conversations so much she started to spend most of the daytime looking forward to nighttime.

"It's strange," murmured Dustin one day as they stopped for a meal. Marie glanced up at him, only half-paying attention. She had yet to decide which story she wanted to tell Rheidan that night. As it stood, she was torn between King Arthur and Robin Hood. Dustin glanced at the edge of the line, where a gaggle of young Maretzian boys stood ogling at them, and elaborated, "I would have thought the people would be so much more terrified of us, but practically every town throws a party as we pass through."

"It's this Sidriel," said Raymond, stabbing his lasagna with his fork. "His name is like a spell around here. You hear what they call him? Emperor Sidriel the Clever, the Powerful, and the Magnificent. I'd like to meet this guy. He's got everyone under his thumb."

Jennifer glanced at Marie, her expression curious. "What does Rheidan say about him?"

"What do you mean?" Marie asked, a little too quickly.

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Come on, Marie. You know what I mean. What does Rheidan say about the emperor?"

Marie fingered a blade of grass. The emperor didn't exactly come up much in their conversations. "Not much, to be honest. When he does mention Sidriel, he's respectful like everyone else. But I've never actually asked him about the emperor. And besides," Marie added thoughtfully, "I doubt that even if I did ask him anything he would reveal anything new. With the hype surrounding this guy, I'd be willing to bet it's illegal to say anything negative about him."

Marie didn't get the chance to test that theory. As the expedition traveled into areas with denser populations, Rheidan's presence was constantly called for. In fact, Marie only exchanged one or two quick words with him in the following days, and she found she missed their conversations horribly. But Rheidan wasn't the only one who left her alone. Barnabas suddenly didn't seem to have time for her at all; it was as if he sensed her sudden distrust toward him and decided to waste no more time catering to her. She didn't see him once.

But Marie soon found out Barnabas had other worries on his mind. While marching one day, she walked a little slower than usual and ended up close enough to the trying trio to overhear one of their hushed conversations.

"I'm telling you, it has to be a glitch in the computer program," insisted Hamako. "The problems don't make any sense otherwise!"

"It's not a glitch!" hissed Bryce. "I designed the computer program myself! It's practically fail-proof. Something else is wrong with it!"

"Then what?" demanded Jaime. "What else could be causing the problems?" She lowered her voice, and Marie had to strain her ears to hear her. "Right now it's not causing too much of an issue, but if the problem with the device gets worse, we might start having difficulties communicating with Earth. This problem could get very bad, very quickly."

"Let's not get overdramatic," interrupted Hamako. "We still have plenty of time to figure out the source of the problem and fix it. This will amount to nothing, I assure you."

Marie had heard enough. She quickened her pace till she was abreast of Cristaña, her heart pounding, her stomach twisting. Her thoughts flitted around too quickly to make sense, and she had to force herself to calm down and consider the problem. So. The communication device was malfunctioning. Okay. Malfunctioning how? Was it having trouble turning on, staying on, or transmitting messages? Marie's mind buzzed. Furthermore, why was Barnabas keeping this quiet? As she mulled it over, however, she understood. If the expedition members found out the device was having problems, they would react violently. For the protection of all, Barnabas had to keep this quiet. The machine was the key to returning home. If it broke, Marie could say goodbye to Earth.

When that realization hit her, Marie knew she should have been more upset—she should have been panicking—but right then, in this dazzling new world, with Rheidan's attention, home seemed very far away. The thought of returning to Earth was bizarre. Besides, it wasn't as though she had much waiting for her: Grandmother had so disapproved of her decision to come on the expedition that she had refused to talk to her once she had signed the contract, and Grandmother was the only family Marie had. Her eyes darkened a little at the thought, and that pang of hurt and betrayal she was sure would never go away swelled up again inside her.

Then she shook her head. It was no use dwelling on such things. She couldn't change the past. She could only press on forward.

A day later Rheidan finally found the time to approach Marie. "Tonight we will be staying somewhere special," he informed her.

"Oh?" said Marie. Her Maretzian had improved considerably in the past few days. "And where would that be?"

Rheidan smiled. "The manor house of Lord Daenlyn of Maretzia, one of His Excellency's most trusted advisors. Tonight, for the first time in months, you will rest in luxury."

And that was the most exciting thing Marie had heard since they had crossed into the plains.

Chapter Six:

She saw the house on the horizon long before anyone else, though that was because she was looking for it. It appeared first as a small clump, a grey and white speckled mound in the middle of the plains. It grew as they approached it, and when everyone else noticed it, it was a cause for celebration. Beside Marie, Cristaña's expression was nothing short of thrilled, and even Mabel let out a moan of, "Oh, I hope this means we're going to get comfortable!"

Even before she could see it clearly, Marie could appreciate just how huge the structure must be. When Rheidan sent a runner ahead to inform Lord Daenlyn of their arrival, the man had shrunk to pinprick size by the time he reached the manor's walls. As the group approached the place, Marie could make out more details.

The manor house was a really a fortress, surrounded as it was by a tall and thick stone wall. The gate to the house was a feat of engineering in and of itself: thick and sturdy and towering above the group. Looking at it, Marie thought a two story house could easily fit through it. The entire structure was designed to be impenetrable, and in that purpose, its designer had succeeded.

Inside the wall was a small courtyard. To the right someone had erected a makeshift pen for a herd of horses, from which emanated a pleasant, grassy odor. Marie's eyebrows shot up in surprise when Rheidan approached the pen and a horse came forward immediately. Rheidan procured a handful of grain and fed it, crooning and stroking it along the ridge of its nose.

Marie inched closer, examined the creatures more carefully, and realized they couldn't be horses—or at the very least, not like any breed she had seen. They were too tall and too slender. Their bodies lacked the sturdiness she was accustomed to in horses; they looked delicate, as if they could be snapped in half. Their coats shimmered in the sunlight, adding to the impression.

Rheidan's creature whinnied happily as Rheidan rubbed it. The whinny was a light and trilling sound, definitely not a normal horse noise. Nearby a few other creatures had approached the fence, whinnying and craning their heads, searching for their masters.

"Rheidan Deiämoniquen!" boomed a voice. Marie and half the company jumped.

A man was striding down a set of wide stone steps. His robe stretched tightly across his large midsection, and his chin drooped threateningly over his chest. A thick layer of black hair plastered his forehead, and a ruddy flush covered his cheeks. His eyes were a glittering blue, and when they fell on Rheidan, his face broke into a smile.

Rheidan laughed when he saw the man, and, as much to Marie's surprise as everyone else's, he bounded up the steps and embraced the arrival. "Gava chora nyoin..."

Marie was as confused as everyone else, but as Rheidan and the man continued talking, her attention finally slid. Her eyes wondered to the building behind them. The only way she could describe it would be to say it looked like an Italian villa made of white stone, but one as large as a palace and with windows overflowing with carnelian flowers. It was dazzling.

Barnabas must have given an order, because the sound of people moving wrenched Marie out of her daze, and she turned and glanced at Havily. "What happened?"

"We're—"

"Nettleson!"

Marie flinched. Pamela.

"Nettleson!" Marie stood still as Pamela ploughed her way toward her.

"Yes?"

Pamela's cold eyes swept over her. "Nettleson," she said reluctantly, "you will be staying in the manor house with Barnabas, Darius, and Hannah Ockley." She pursed her lips. "Stay here until someone fetches you."

Marie opened her mouth, but Pamela shoved past her, already issuing instructions to cowering SpiritStar employees.

Marie blinked and turned to Cristaña. "What was that about?"

Cristaña opened her mouth, but Pamela's screeching voice carried over the crowd: "Cristaña, I need you over here! Now!"

Offering Marie an apologetic look, Cristaña loped away. Marie just stood there dumbly, her arms hanging limply at her side. Why am I staying in the manor? She frowned. What is Barnabas thinking?

She didn't stand there long. Within a few minutes, a blindfolded boy in a simple tunic approached her and hefted her bag off the ground. He held out his hand for her to grab, and eyeing him curiously, Marie took it, allowing him to lead her to the entrance of the villa.

"Ah, Marie!" exclaimed Barnabas jovially. His tone was so welcoming that Marie was at first stunned, then amused. Ignore her for days, and then pretend to best of friends? She narrowed her eyes. What did he want?

Whatever Barnabas was thinking, he gave no indication of it. Instead he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and steered her to the steps of the villa. Marie craned her head around to see the blind boy lugging off her bag. She felt a flicker of unease. Her bag was fairly heavy. She hoped it wasn't too much for him.

"Marie!" boomed Barnabas, and Marie's attention turned back to him. "Marie, this is Lord Daenlyn. Lord Daenlyn," he switched to Maretzian, "May I present Miss Marie Nettleson?"

Lord Daenlyn smiled genially and bobbed his head. "It is my pleasure, Miss Nettleson. Please enjoy the hospitality of my house. One of my mleinon will show you to your room, and we will meet again at dinner this evening."

Marie blinked. What the heck was a mleinon? Her question was answered when a blindfolded young girl approached her and offered Marie her hand. Marie clasped it. The girl's hand felt cool and dry beneath her grasp. The girl tugged her toward the house, and Marie stumbled after her. She tried not to gawk when she saw the magnificent entry hall, with its stone columns and gilded windows. From the entryway they passed a dozen more rooms, each of incredible luxury and splendor.

"So...uh..." Marie racked her brain, trying to dredge up her Maretzian vocabulary. "When is dinner?"

The girl didn't answer, and Marie repeated the question. When the girl remained silent, Marie gave up. She probably spoke a different dialect. At last they entered a small bedroom, and Marie's eyes automatically fell to the bed.

A bed. She groaned with longing, her eyes devouring it for several minutes before she tore them away to glance at the rest of the room.

The room was luxurious, no doubt. A carpet with an intricate design covered the floor. It was so thick Marie's feet sunk into it; she could practically feel its softness through her boots. In the corner stood a red dresser with an elaborate carving on its side, and across from it was a small chaise with embroidered pillows. On the far wall hung a tapestry depicting a flock of dragon-birds. But her eyes inevitably flicked back to the bed. The bed, an assortment of thick, inviting blankets, looked so wonderful Marie wanted to fall into it immediately. To sleep in a real bed again! Marie felt a rush of excitement. She stumbled forward to touch it, then stopped herself, examining her hands.

Never before had she realized quite how dirty she was. Sure, she had taken showers since arriving, but given the time limit and her thick mane of hair, she was never extremely thorough. Plus she had been marching all day today, and it was hotter than normal, so she was drenched in sweat...

In short, Marie felt disgusting. She backed away from the bed, unwilling to touch and contaminate it.

As if sensing the reason behind her hesitation, the blind girl grabbed her hand and dragged her into a connecting room, where two other blind girls waited. Marie ogled at her surroundings. She had stepped into a luxurious bathroom. What looked like a hot tub had been built into the floor, and beside it someone had set a gold pedestal with different-colored soaps. Marie could smell them from across the room; their flowery scents made her head spin.

Someone tugged at Marie's boot, and she looked down to see one of the blind girls unlacing it.

"Oh," said Marie. Her face turned red. "That's okay, sweetie. I can take care of it. Really, I can wash myself..."

Marie ran a hand through her wet hair, marveling at how clean it felt. Really, the girls had done a superb job, especially considering they were blind. Marie's cheeks reddened. The girls being blind, however, had not made the bath any less awkward. Marie was simply not used to people being near her when she was naked. She had been raised by her grandmother! Modesty was a virtue in Grandmother's household.

Marie's eyes flicked to the mirror. She was wearing a white dress that fell down to her ankles in waves. A long blue cloth embroidered with gold thread wrapped around her shoulders and draped down her back like a cape. Dangling from Marie's ears were blue and gold earrings so heavy her ears already hurt. The outfit was a gift from Lord Daenlyn. Exactly how Lord Daenlyn had acquired her measurements for the dress, Marie was afraid to find out.

Nevertheless, she acknowledged, it was a beautiful gift. And...if she was honest with herself...she looked good in it. The white complemented her tanned skin, and the blue cape mirrored her eyes. Even her long brown hair looked nice. One of the girls had pulled it up into a bun, but a few tendrils had escaped, somehow making her look both elegant and carefree. And she was clean. And she smelled nice. In short, Marie felt like a woman for the first time in months.

Someone knocked on the door, and Marie opened it to see Barnabas, who was wearing a long green robe similar to what Rheidan normally wore. He didn't look anything like Rheidan, of course, but the robe somehow suited him. In it, he reminded Marie of the paintings she had seen of court magistrates. When he saw Marie, his eyes glittered. "Come along, my dear. We're all waiting for you."

Marie took his arm, her eyes tight, smile fake. Darius lingered behind Barnabas, dressed in a similar dark brown robe. Next to him was Hannah, a section leader, dressed in a pale pink dress similar to Marie's.

As they made their way to dinner, Marie felt her stomach twist. This was their first encounter with Maretzian nobility—their first true diplomatic test. She glanced at the others, and they didn't seem nearly as nervous as Marie felt. In fact, Darius and Hannah appeared excited, despite the absence of one of their cohorts. Speaking of which...

"Where is Pamela?"

Barnabas glanced at her. "She's with the rest of the group. Lord Daenlyn's palace isn't large enough to fit the entire expedition, so most of us are camping outside. Someone has to be in charge."

Ooh. Ouch. No wonder Pamela had been so sour earlier. She had to stay in a tent while Marie stayed in a palace. Marie tried to hide her smile. That thought shouldn't have been so satisfying.

At last they reached a large set of double doors, outside which Rheidan and a few of his men waited. Rheidan's eyes glinted as he looked at her. Marie blushed.

"Ah!" Lord Daenlyn strode into the room, his arms spread wide. "Welcome, Friends, Strangers! Come!—Enjoy my table! My cooks have been busy all day!" He turned to Barnabas. "I look forward to introducing you to Maretzian cuisine."

Barnabas inclined his head. "We look forward to trying it."

Dinner consisted of four courses, all of which were completely alien to Marie. The first was a strange, congealed broth with a zesty twist to it; Marie liked it, but across from her Hannah had a difficult time swallowing. Marie tried not to laugh while watching Hannah trying not to gag. The second course was a strange dark meat set on skewers. These were eaten by hand, and Marie had to be careful not to get the glaze on her fingers. She thought it was delicious: tangy and so tender it practically melted in Marie's mouth. The third course consisted of chunks of bread dipped in spicy sauces; they were so scrumptious Marie could have eaten them for the entire meal. The final course was a fruity and leafy assortment that vaguely resembled a salad, but tasted sweeter.

While the food was fantastic, the conversation was not. Barnabas and Lord Daenlyn tried to strike up conversation several times, but their conversations inevitably fell flat after a few minutes. They knew too little about each other's culture to converse easily, and both were too much of politicians to admit such a weakness. On the other side of the table, Darius engaged Rheidan in small talk about the animals outside.

"They're called arattia," Rheidan informed him. "Only members of noble households and soldiers of the imperial guard are allowed to have them."

"And what category do you fall under?"

Rheidan smiled ferally. "Both."

Next to Darius sat Hannah, who looked incredibly bored. A few of Rheidan's soldiers had attempted to engage her in conversation, but Hannah wasn't a brilliant conversationalist, nor was she fluent in Maretzian, so the dialogue only lasted a few minutes.

Marie was a bit luckier when it came to conversation. As she was seated further down the table than both Darius and Barnabas, she had no obligation to talk with Lord Daenlyn or, disappointingly, Rheidan. Instead she sat next to a horde of Rheidan's soldiers, and Marie, who had never talked much with them before, found herself in the middle of a very intriguing debate.

"Bet he's been defeated by now," asserted an older man with a graying beard.

"Not a chance," protested a younger man, about Rheidan's age. "He was the best. Undefeated 20 rounds in a row. He won't go down easily."

"Two more months of success? Impossible," scoffed the man. "He'd have to have won some 40 matches to pull it off. He's dead."

"He won't be dead," interjected a third man, a redhead with blue eyes. "The crowd adores him. They'd demand to let him live."

"Men," interrupted a fourth person. He leaned forward. "We've been gone too long to make any judgment call on the matter. Anything about the arena could have changed. For all we know, it has a new champion, someone better than Rishata."

The redhead snorted. "I highly doubt it. Did you see him fight? I have yet to see anyone more impressive than him in the sands. I'm not sure if anyone could beat him in a fight, arena or no."

"I don't know," said the older man thoughtfully. His eyes slid down the table. "I'd be willing to bet Rheidan could beat him."

The second man rolled his eyes. "Well, obviously. Rheidan was the best swordsman in the Academy. But other than Rheidan," he said exasperatedly, "I don't think there's a single person in all of Maretzia that could defeat Rishata in a fight!"

"The emperor," murmured the redhead.

The man rolled his eyes again. "Well, again—obviously. The emperor is the emperor. He doesn't count. Now you're just arguing for the sake of arguing."

"Well, if you—"

Marie leaned forward. "What is the arena?" she asked quietly. Her heart had begun to race. Her palms felt sweaty. What they were talking about sounded eerily familiar, but surely not...

The men turned to her. A stunned look crossed the older man's face. "Why," he exclaimed in surprise, "The arena is the combat arena! We have arenas in every major Maretzian city, but the best, biggest and most splendid is in the capital. I'm sure you'll see it."

Marie felt as though her heart had skipped a beat.

Misinterpreting the horrified look on her face, he elaborated, "Combat arenas are where the artatrushi fight, usually to the death. It's a great sport! I'm sure you'll be able to see a match or two while you're in the capital."

Bile rose in her throat. The world tilted around her. "People watch other people kill each other?"

"It doesn't always end in death," the redhead told her, watching her guardedly. He seemed to sense something was amiss. "Sometimes the crowd chooses to let the defeated live."

"And the artatrushi," said Marie slowly, her voice trembling, "They're just okay with fighting to the death? Putting their life in the hands of the crowd?"

"I'm sure they would prefer another job," snorted one man. "But they're mleinon, aren't they? If their master tells them to fight in the arena, they have to fight."

And Marie suddenly understood what the word mleinon meant: slave.

Chapter Seven:

She should have expected it. That was the first thing Marie realized. She should have been prepared for such cruelty. Hadn't history taught her anything? Didn't she remember Rome? She, who adored history, should have known better. When had men ever been kind to each other? Slavery was a very common institution across history.

But she was surprised.

And terrified.

It was like the fantasy world she had been living in had abruptly begun to crumble. Marie had never felt so stupid or naïve. What had she been thinking—that she would just go on some grand adventure and everything would be fun and fantastical, just like in a child's fantasy book?

Maretzia wasn't a fantasy world. It was a world like Earth, only less developed. It had the same problems Earth had. It had crime. It had cruelty. It had war and oppression. For the first time on the expedition, Marie just wanted to go home.

The rest of dinner passed in misery for Marie. She felt like her heart had dropped down to her stomach. When at last dinner ended, and the after-dinner conversation ended, and they were all ready to wander back to their rooms, Rheidan approached Marie. His eyes were bright. He looked happy and relaxed.

"May I escort you?"

Marie looked at him, and panic welled up within her. Her heart thudded painfully. Oh no—what if Rheidan owned slaves? What if he went to the arena? What if he didn't see anything wrong with that? How could she ever see him in the same light? She didn't know what to do! Her lips trembled. Eventually she smiled weakly and said yes.

He was excited. He spent several minutes jabbering away about how he had visited Lord Daenlyn's manor as a child; apparently Lord Daenlyn and his father were good friends. Marie only listened with half an ear, and eventually Rheidan noticed that something was wrong. He stopped and faced her.

"Marie, what is it?" He looked concerned. "Are you feeling sick?"

Marie shook her head. "No." Standing side by side, her eyes were level with his collarbone, and she stared at it, observing how the skin covering it flexed as he moved his shoulder. "I'm not sick."

"Then what is wrong?"

Marie raised her eyes. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She didn't want to know, but she had to ask. She couldn't not ask. "Do you own slaves, Rheidan? Mleinon?"

He gave her a strange look. "Yes," he said, sounding insulted. Marie's stomach plummeted to her toes. "Every noble household owns at least a few mleinon. Why?"

Her face twisted. "And do you go to the death fights?" Her voice cracked.

Rheidan looked confused. "Yes. Occasionally." He shrugged. "Most men do. Why do you ask?"

Marie blinked away tears, fixing her eyes on a spot past his shoulder. "Why?" Her voice wobbled.

"Why what?" Rheidan stared at her in bewilderment.

"Why—why do you go to the games?" Her voice rose, steadying. "What is so entertaining about seeing people kill each other? I don't understand! Why would you find that amusing? How could you—why would you—" She choked on tears. "It's wrong!"

Rheidan stared at her as if she had gone mad. She kept on ranting.

"It's inhumane!—watching and betting on a fight to the death! How could you be so casual about it? How could death be entertainment? Someone has to die—give up their hopes, dreams, family—just so you can be entertained? It's—"

"We don't put just anybody in the arena!" protested Rheidan angrily.

"Oh, that's right," sneered Marie. "You make slaves fight, don't you? Well, that's okay then. They're less than human, aren't they?"

Rheidan's face grew cold. Marie opened her mouth to continue, but his hand shot out to grab her shoulder. She fell quiet.

"Our slaves," he hissed, "are either criminals or conquered peoples." He narrowed his eyes. "You obviously come from a people that have no slaves." He released her shoulder and stepped back. "You will understand, in time."

Marie glowered at him. "And the games?" she practically spat. "What is your excuse for them?"

His expression twisted, amusement briefly flickering over his features. But when he stared her straight in the eye, his expression was hard. "I go to the games, Marie, because there is something thrilling about watching combat. About predicting who is the better warrior and seeing it played out in the arena. About imagining what you would do if faced with such an opponent, and then determining whether the person fighting him performed better than you would have. And perhaps most importantly, Marie, I go to the games because the amphitheatre is a place to gather. It is a place where my countrymen come together to talk with each other, bet with each other, and be with each other. It is a place where we can take our minds off our troubles."—His voice lowered to a whisper—"Inside the arena, there is only one basic battle, one that all of us will face at one point—the battle against death. The arena is simple, primordial. It is an escape from the complicated outside world." He ran a hand through a strand of her hair, his expression turning wistful. "If only the rest of our battles could be as basic and as simple as our battle against death."

He dropped his hand, and his gaze hardened again. "The games are an important part of Maretzian culture, Marie. You will be hard pressed to find anyone who does not go to one occasionally. Even the emperor attends them."

That night, despite the comfort of the bed, Marie had difficulty falling asleep. She curled up, her arms wrapped around a large pillow and her eyes fixed on the corner of her room. The large silver mirror hanging near the door concealed the hidden entrance to the slaves' tunnels; it was from that passageway that Marie's three helpers had emerged to help her undress. Marie had tried to talk to them, to ask them about their lives—where they had come from, why they were slaves—but they hadn't answered.

Marie rolled onto her back. To live life as a slave...She shuddered. She couldn't think of a worse fate.

Pamela Holbech was not in a good mood. She stormed into tent 14, glowering at the women unfortunate enough to be on her team. Seeing the expression on her face, they scampered outside, leaving Pamela alone to stew.

Pamela was not a woman to mess with. By the age of twelve she had a black belt in karate, and by fourteen she was a perfect shot with a rifle. Her brother, Darius, had once told her she was one of the most intimidating women he had ever met, and that was a point of pride for her, for Pamela enjoyed intimidation. She enjoyed being in control. After she had graduated from college, several prominent companies had tried to recruit her, but she had decided to work for SpiritStar—not because it offered the most money, but because it offered the best position, the one with the most power.

But that didn't mean it bothered her when someone ordered her to do something, as long as it was something she wanted to do, and for most of the expedition, that hadn't been a problem. She didn't mind doing what Barnabas said because she probably would have done it anyway. But Barnabas seemed to have a different idea about what should be done about Marie, and that chafed Pamela to no end. Put up the girl's food carton? Not a huge chore, but one a section leader shouldn't be relegated to. Give her some basic training? Fine. She acknowledged Marie might start to suspect something if she didn't receive any sort of instruction. But have her stay as a guest in Lord Daenlyn's palace while other, more qualified team members got stuck in the tents? Outrageous.

And insulting.

Pamela glared at the tent flap. Allowing Marie to stay in the palace had made her want to cringe. For the first time, her dislike for the girl—for the sheer inconvenience she represented—morphed into something much nastier. She cursed the day Marie had been added to the expedition.

The land became more populated as the expedition traveled on, the towns growing progressively larger. The group started to see different and more exciting types of people. In Gardeen, a large town of blue stone buildings, Marie saw people of Reldin stock for the first time. Giants of seven and eight feet tall, they had shaggy blond hair, brown eyes, and black eyebrows. Marie later found out they were renowned metalworkers, and that their home in eastern Maretzia was known as the Land of the Smiths.

But Reldin was just one of many Maretzian ethnicities. There were the Merivians, the dark-skinned people of the Aeshin Valley, the Hajinnis, the redheaded people of the west, the Vairinock, the runners of the central plains...All of this she learned second-handedly. Ever since leaving Lord Daenlyn's manner almost two weeks ago, Marie hadn't talked to Rheidan. And Barnabas, as if sensing the sudden rift between the two, had stopped including Marie in what was quickly becoming known as the 'inner circle.' Consequently, Marie spent her nights in sleeping bags in tents instead of in comfort inside.

She didn't mind. She still felt betrayed. She knew it was irrational—it wasn't as though Rheidan had deliberately tried to hide anything from her! But still...it was hard for her to accept that he owned slaves and attended what were basically gladiator games. It was wrong. And yet...he wasn't a bad person. She didn't think so, anyways. But really, how much did she know about him? Not much, apparently. She just knew the little details: that whenever he smiled, the right side of his mouth rose a little higher than the left side; that whenever she dared to challenge him, his eyes flickered with surprised delight; that when he spoke to her, his voice lowered a few decibels; that he always managed to make her blush at least once in a conversation; that he enjoyed listening to fairytales. But did she know anything else about him? He was obviously a high-ranking officer in the emperor's army. He came from the noble family of Deiämoniquen. That was it.

Marie always had to shake her head when she let her thoughts wonder to Rheidan. She couldn't let herself become attached to him. She did not come to Maretzia for romance. Romance, in fact, was a bad idea. She would be leaving Maretzia in eight months, never to return. At least, that was the plan...but she had once more overheard Hamako grumbling about problems with the communication device and was no longer certain returning to Earth was a sure thing.

"Marie, smile!"

Marie's eyes shot up, only to be blinded by a bright flash. She inwardly groaned. Raymond had recently adopted the annoying habit of snapping pictures of her at every opportunity. He claimed it was for his job, but Marie suspected an ulterior motive: She had seen him give a picture of her to Joseph, who had now begun blushing and stuttering every time the Babies ate together, much to Marie's consternation.

"Why do you do that?"

Marie froze. She cursed her heart for leaping inside her.

Her gaze traveled slowly to her side, and sure enough, Rheidan stood there, one hand holding the reins of his arattia in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. He stared at Raymond quizzically.

Raymond turned bright red. "U-uh..." he stuttered. His Maretzian was infamously poor. Marie decided to have pity on him.

"He's a Documenter," she explained, avoiding looking Rheidan directly in the eyes. Why did he have to come when she was so confused about him? "The contraption he's holding is called a camera. It makes an image of whatever it's shot at. In other words, he can use it to create a visual record of the trip." A blush rose in her cheeks.

Rheidan leaned forward, suddenly interested. "May I see some of these images?"

"Um...I suppose so," muttered Raymond, looking flustered. He fumbled with the clasp of the bag he had slung around his shoulder and pulled out a sheath of developed photos. He flipped through them before handing a few to Rheidan.

Rheidan stared at them. His finger traced a figure in one photo. "This is me greeting Lord Daenlyn," he said slowly. "I was unaware you had made this."

Raymond flushed. "Well, yes. Sometimes the camera doesn't flash."

"Hmm." Rheidan handed the photo back. He gave Raymond a hard look. "I would prefer it if you no longer made images of me."

Raymond looked confused. "But—I—well, uh..."

"Raymond," Marie murmured in English, "Do as he asks." She glanced at Rheidan. "He won't take any more pictures of you," she promised.

Raymond shot Marie a rather resentful look, opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and stumped off.

Marie and Rheidan stood in silence for a few minutes. Marie felt color rush to her cheeks. Why was he here? What did he want? What should she say? Her thoughts whirled round and round, and at last she blurted out, "I'm sorry!" Rheidan looked startled. "I didn't mean to judge you." Both of them were quiet for a moment. Her heart raced. It was true, she thought. She hadn't meant to judge him. But that didn't mean she was okay with the whole slave-gladiator thing.

Rheidan shot her a sharp look. "Do not mention it."

Marie wondered at his wording. Was that the Maretzian way of saying 'you are forgiven' or was that Rheidan's way of saying 'don't mention a subject that's going to tick me off?'

She grimaced. Life would be so much simpler if she could just be attracted to Joseph.

She could feel how tense Rheidan was despite her apology. He held his shoulders stiffly; his back was ramrod straight. At last he muttered, "We will reach the capital in three days." When he saw her staring at him curiously, he exhaled heavily, and his tone gentled. "In the capital, you will see many things you do not like. But remember there are also some very good things about the city."

Marie gave him an uncertain look. He smiled a little at it; Marie watched as his lips curled the way she liked. "And just so you know," he added hurriedly, "the only mleinon my family owns are laewins. No artatrushi or anything like that. We don't involve ourselves in the business of the arena."

Now Marie was just confused. "What are laewins?"

He eyed her warily, and he definitely sounded hesitant as he explained, "Laewins are domestic slaves. You no doubt had some wait on you in Lord Daenlyn's manor. Remember? They would have been blindfolded."

Her mind flicked back to the girls who had bathed her. "I remember them," she said shortly, "Not a very talkative bunch."

Rheidan gave her an incredulous look, then burst into laughter. Marie stared at him, confused. Rheidan kept on laughing. She racked her brain. What had she said that was so funny?

At last Rheidan calmed down, but he sounded amused as he explained, "They didn't talk to you because they can't. Almost all laewins are blind deaf-mutes. It's a matter of security in noble houses. We learned long ago the danger of our own slaves. Having slaves that cannot eavesdrop, whisper secrets, or read personal writings is essential to the security of most noble families."

Marie was horrified. "B-but," she stuttered, "How do they get around? How do they work?"

Rheidan stared out into the passing fields. "Each laewin is raised and trained in one household. They know that household perfectly by the time they are old enough to work—how many steps it takes to get from one door to the next, where the furniture is in a room, and so forth. Each laewin is assigned a specific duty, and they generally keep that duty their entire life. They can read lips if you want to give them specific instructions, but more often, if you have a basic instruction, like 'bring me a glass of water,' you can make a shape on the palm of their hand and they'll do as instructed. I suppose," he added fairly, "It would seem strange to those not accustomed to it, but it works. Trust me. I was practically raised by laewins."

It was the first time Rheidan had ever mentioned his childhood, and it made Marie stare at him intently.

Uncomfortable with her stare, he added gruffly, "You should get used to the idea. You will have laewins serving you in the royal palace."

The plains bubbled into hills the next evening. Trees dotted the landscape here and there, elegant slender things with silver leaves and magenta blossoms, with dragon-birds the size of sparrows nesting in their branches. Travelers and caravans clogged the roads, but most of them quickly moved aside to let the expedition pass. When they didn't, Rheidan sent one of his riders ahead to talk to the leader of the group, and they were suddenly much more compliant.

Travel became slower and harder, not only because of the other travelers, but because of the steep curves and turns in the roads. The rollers had a particularly tough time navigating one especially steep curve; they had to unfurl contraptions Valeria called bracers to help them down. By the end of that day, Marie wished she had a bracer of her own. She tripped and slid down that part of the road enough times to turn her body into one big bruise.

The day they arrived in Melei-Argalla, they topped a particularly large hill and looked down to see a glistening ribbon of silver.

"The Aegae-Mar," murmured Rheidan. "The lifeblood of Maretzia. This is just one of its tributaries—a particularly large one, though. It flows right along the outer wall of the capital." Rheidan pointed to a spot along the horizon. "Do you see it?"

Marie followed the line of his finger, and her eyes landed on something white and gleaming in the morning sun.

Rheidan placed his hand on her shoulder and said proudly, "That is Melei-Argalla, the capital of Maretzia, the City of Stone, home of the Imperial Army and its Academy and the House of Emperor Sidriel the Clever, the Powerful, and the Magnificent."

Marie smiled up at him. "Is that home?"

Rheidan smiled. "That's home." He grabbed her hand. "Come."

Marie allowed him to lead her to the front of the procession, ignoring the knowing looks Mabel and Jennifer sent her. Happiness bloomed inside her, excitement making every nerve vibrate. After weeks of traveling, they were here! After months of travel, really—because whether they had known it or not, they had always been traveling to Melei-Argalla.

Part II

Chapter Eight:

The outer wall of Melei-Argalla rose a hundred feet in the air, a towering construction of white stone that gleamed like marble in the sunlight. Passing through it was like passing through a tunnel; the wall itself was so thick the top of it could have comfortably fit an eight lane highway.

"Damn," muttered Darius, staring up at it, obviously impressed, "Can you imagine what type of force you would have to have to bring this thing down?"

Rheidan glanced at Darius and arched an eyebrow.

Marie ignored them, craning her head around to glance at the group following them. It stunned her how much their group had shrunk. Before entering the city, Barnabas had ordered most of the expedition members to stay outside it, so as not to alarm its residents. He had allowed only twenty of them to enter. Marie thought the new group looked dangerously tiny. Even with machine guns, if the crowd turned against them, they'd all be dead. Her stomach lurched as she twisted back around. Up ahead of them, the circle of sunlight grew brighter. She could dimly hear the roar of people, the stomping of animals, the clacking of wooden wheels on stone...With each step she took, the sounds grew louder.

Rheidan stepped out of the tunnel—she heard a great roar—and sunlight blinded Marie.

She gasped.

They had entered a wide street, white columned buildings towering on either side of it, each at least five or six stories tall, each a fortress of stone. Marie stared at them in awe. Stalls with brightly colored canopies nestled at the base of the buildings, and people dressed in long robes rushed to and fro between them, haggling with the vendors. Marie had never seen such a strange collection of wares. One stall, lorded over by a vendor reminiscent of Bernard, overflowed with strange little wooden boxes with spinning tops. Another held statuettes made of different colored stones, while its neighbor offered cloths made of a luminescent, colorful material. Nearby to her left, Marie saw a pudgy woman arguing with an older vendor about a handful of purple of leaves. She waved them angrily in the air, and a sharp, spicy scent wafted over. Standing out in front of the stalls, young boys and girls shouted announcements—"Laekins here! Fine fish from Jairus ni Ocken!"—occasionally motioning to one stall or another. They fell silent when they saw the expedition, their eyes wide.

The group's presence had a dimming effect on the noise. As it was noticed, conversations stopped abruptly. Eyes were drawn to it. The crowd lurched forward, as if to approach, but Rheidan held up his hands, and it fell back. For a few seconds, as the denizens of Melei-Argalla stared at them in shock, the noise level dropped to almost silence. Marie blushed. After a few agonizing moments, talk resumed, hushed whispers rising to a dull roar.

Hundreds of eyes followed them as they made their way down the street. Marie tried not to do anything to show her discomfort, but she wasn't sure she succeeded. Her eyes darted around, but met nothing but intense stares and gawking faces. At last she focused her attention on the back of Rheidan's head, gluing her eyes to his mane of thick black hair.

She tried to stay like that—focused on Rheidan—and for the most part she succeeded, but as the group rounded a corner and fell beneath a huge shadow, her curiosity flared. She glanced up and almost didn't believe her eyes.

Ahead of them loomed an impossibly large building. It towered hundreds of feet into the air, a monster made of white stone. Its walls were curved, bulging forward toward the group before fading fast into the background. It was so large it was difficult to tell whether or not it was a perfect circle. The group could only see a small portion of it. Its height, though, was easier to determine. It was tall enough to be divided into seven distinct levels, with each level characterized by a series of decorative arches, each at least 20 feet tall. As the group stepped closer, Marie realized reliefs of horrifying beasts decorated each arch. One such relief depicted a large, snarling lion-like creature with six scaly legs; Marie saw it and shuddered.

From inside the building she heard animals roaring and growling and the echoing cheers of the crowd. To her left she saw Barnabas gaping, unable to tear his eyes away from it. She could practically see the clogs churning in his brain as he worked out what he was hearing. He suddenly went ashen. Marie herself felt sick.

They veered around it. It seemed as though it took them an impossibly long time to do so. She felt like an ant in comparison to the building and tried to guess how many people it could hold. Tens of thousands, at least. Maybe even a hundred thousand.

Marie closed her eyes and shook her head, stunned and awed. Despite the amphitheatre's grotesque use, it was still impressive. It would have been an immense project on Earth, but the Maretzians had constructed it with only the most basic technology. How had they done it? How many years had it taken?

But Marie hadn't seen it all yet. As the group rounded the corner and found themselves on the opposite side of the amphitheatre, they stopped. Marie stared, her eyes wide in disbelief, her breath caught in her throat. Beside her, Darius and Pamela gaped.

Sidriel's palace rose before them on a low hill, not as tall as the amphitheatre, but far wider, a glittering expanse of blue and white stone. Behind a pair of dark iron gates loomed the central portion of the palace, where a set of wide sweeping steps led up to a large door of blue stone. Low, white wings ringed with capitals branched off from the central portion, windows that shone silver in the sunlight peeking between every other column. In person or in pictures, Marie had never seen anything like it.

"They don't make places like that on Earth," murmured Barnabas, awed.

Marie just kept staring. She was fairly confident the entire Washington Mall could fit inside the palace. The place could have been a city unto itself. She should have thought it monstrous, obnoxious...but it wasn't. It was elegant, a masterpiece of architecture.

They approached the gates, and Rheidan turned to face them. He smiled. "Welcome, Friends, to the Court of His Excellency, Emperor Sidriel the Clever, the Powerful, and the Magnificent. May your time here be blessed."

Marie sat on the steps to Sidriel's throne, her arms wrapped around her knees. She watched as Barnabas argued with a man with silver hair, his cheeks flushed. Next to them stood Rheidan, arms crossed, stony-faced. Marie felt her stomach flip nervously.

Things had gone wrong almost as soon as they entered the palace. Perhaps because she was intimidated by the palace's grandeur, or perhaps because she was just stupid, but Hannah had felt the urge to blabber away about the magnificence of skyscrapers and other Earthly constructions, much to Barnabas's consternation and Rheidan's irritation. Then a couple of cat-lizard hybrids had started hissing furiously at Pamela, which had resulted in Pamela glowering at everyone who dared look at her. And then Barnabas, of course, had to trip on the stairs, which caused a gaggle of passing noblewomen to burst into giggles and put Barnabas in an even worse mood.

And Sidriel was gone.

Marie glanced behind her, up at the large stone seat that had been left empty. It was a beautiful throne. Its stone gleamed in the sunlight shining in through the large windows behind it. Someone had carved strange, curving symbols into the throne's back, and they made the seat look even more imposing than it already was.

The angry voices rose sharply, and Marie's attention returned to Barnabas.

Sidriel was not here. This they had been told by the silver-haired man, Lord Parvenin, the head of the Circle of Ten. Sidriel had left the palace to take care of a disturbance in the east, but he had left behind instructions regarding the expedition for his Councilors. The group was, of course, to be warmly welcomed.

But perhaps because he had had tripped and embarrassed himself, or perhaps because he had traveled for months, or perhaps because he was just a crappy leader, but Barnabas hadn't taken the news well.

He had swelled with anger, his face purpling, and demanded in a less-than-polite tone the exact location of the emperor. Parvenin's face had hardened, and it had all gone downhill from there. The two had been arguing for 10 minutes now. Pamela and Darius had tried to intercede several times, but to no avail.

As for Marie, she was furious.

She narrowed her eyes at Barnabas. What was he thinking—making a scene their first day in the palace? Was he insane? He was embarrassing the entire expedition, and by extension, all of Earth! He was being so obnoxious, so arrogant, so absurd, Marie wouldn't have believed it had she not seen it herself. She was stunned, flabbergasted, and humiliated on his behalf. She wouldn't have blamed the Maretzians for kicking them out—she was surprised worse hadn't happened.

The door to the throne room opened, and Marie's eyes flicked to it, her stomach clenching. Was it guards coming to arrest them for their impudence? No. A man with dark, oily hair rushed into the room, stopped at Parvenin's side, and whispered something in his ear. Some of the anger drained from Parvenin's face, replaced by resignation. He nodded shortly.

Turning to Barnabas, he held up his hands for silence, and Barnabas eventually quieted. "My Friend," he said in dismay, "What are we doing? You are here to make peace between our peoples! We should not be arguing!"

Barnabas slowly nodded. He looked like he was trying to rein in his anger, but he was panting heavily. "You are right, of course."

They tried to smile at each other, but both expressions ended up looking pained.

Barnabas craned his head around and scanned the assembled crowd. Everyone in the hall was staring at him. He cleared his throat, and everyone looked away, gathering their things, shuffling awkwardly, and muttering with each other. Marie guessed that was her cue to stand. It would be her luck that perching on the steps to Sidriel's throne was a crime of some sort, and she didn't want someone to suddenly notice her doing it.

Parvenin whispered something to Rheidan, who nodded and headed toward the door. Marie followed his progression with her eyes, her heart fluttering nervously. Where was he going? Was she going to see him again? She opened her mouth to call out—

He stopped abruptly and revolved on the spot. His eyes met hers, and he smiled. Marie's mouth snapped shut. He weaved his way back through the crowd, and Marie stood still as he approached, her heart pounding.

He stopped two feet from her.

"Will I see you again?" Her voice came out squeakily, and she cursed herself for it.

He noticed and smirked. "Yes," he assured her, his eyes glittering, "You'll see me quite often. I'll even be joining you for dinner tonight." His gaze turned thoughtful, and he inclined his head. "My Lady."

He left. Marie stared after him with wide eyes. My Lady?

"Please," said Councilor Parvenin loudly, and Marie slowly returned her attention to him. "We have prepared rooms for you. Come with me." He turned on his heel and marched out the doors, expecting them to follow. Marie saw Barnabas glance darkly at Darius before the group shuffled after him.

Marie would never remember how to get to their rooms. They passed through a maze of corridors, all sumptuously decorated. Marie's mind spun from just taking them in. After ten minutes of constant walking, they arrived in a section of hallway slightly more luxurious than the rest of the building. They slowed to a stop in front of a wide, gilded door, which Parvenin swung open to reveal a set of spacious suites, with thick carpets and plush furniture, nicer even than the rooms they had stayed in at Lord Daenlyn's manor. Blue stone columns supported the roof of the room, and gilded reliefs of vines and flowers spiraled up them and into the arched ceiling. In the corner a beautiful silver mirror with dark stones around its frame made the space seem even larger than it was. Marie soaked it in, revolving on this spot. She had never seen such luxury in all her life. Grandmother hadn't changed a thing in their house since the 1960s, so Marie had grown up with things that were old, outdated, and prone to breaking. The only place she saw luxury even remotely similar to this was in magazines, and even that couldn't compare.

"I believe," said Parvenin, turning to face them and pausing briefly to savor their awestruck expressions. Marie forced herself to tear her gaze from her surroundings. She stared at him expectantly. "That there are more than enough bedrooms in this part of the wing for each member of your party. Each room has a laewin assigned to it for your personal convenience. Hannon!"

He peered around, and a short, portly man appeared out of nowhere. "Aha!" exclaimed Parvenin. "May I introduce Hannon? He is in charge of this wing of the palace. If you have any domestic issues, please tell him. He will take care of everything for you."

"Thank you," said Barnabas quickly, his eyes flickering over the room before landing on Parvenin's face. "Really, Lord Councilor, your hospitality is greatly appreciated and unexpected."

"Nonsense," said Parvenin. "We hope to be friends, no? Allies, as it were? And is this not how you treat your allies?"

"Well, I suppose..."

"You are welcome in Sidriel's House, Visitor. But let us talk about these things later. I am sure your party wishes to settle in. No doubt you have bags you need to bring up to the palace. Please, explore your rooms. Clean up if you desire. Tonight at sundown there will be a feast in honor of your arrival. Hannon will escort you there. Then we can talk about whatever you wish." Before Barnabas could say another word, Parvenin had swept out of the room, Hannon trailing after him.

Barnabas, Darius, and Pamela stared at each other, their expressions dismayed. Marie smirked. She knew what they were thinking. They did not like the idea of staying in Sidriel's House long-term. Short visits, fine, but Marie knew they would much prefer to spend most of their time surrounded by their bodyguards. But it was too late. The emperor had offered his hospitality, and it would be rude to refuse it.

"Well," sighed Barnabas, slinging his bag off his back. "Let's settle in, then. I suppose everyone can go and find a bedroom they'd prefer. Frank, Gilbert, Calvin—if you would head back to camp to retrieve our belongings. I suppose it's time to unpack the long-term rollers."

That caught Marie's attention. Her head snapped up, a pleased smile spreading across her features. No more living out of a backpack!

After the three men had left, Barnabas cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front of him. "All right, everybody—I suppose we'll be staying here. Go and pick out your rooms."

What followed would amuse Marie even several days later. The group scattered, barreling down the hallways, opening doors, peeking inside them, then slamming them again. They acted like little kids searching for their room in a new house.

Marie didn't rush. She highly doubted she would be upset with whatever room she ended up with. All of the rooms in Sidriel's House were opulent. What was the point of fighting over one in particular?

She roamed the hallways, ignoring the people shoving past her. She opened one door and poked her head in. Hannah shot her a vicious glare from the bed. Marie rolled her eyes and closed the door. And so it went for several rooms. Marie was glared at, shouted at, and even cursed at. When Marie—somewhat warily—finally peeked into an empty room, she sighed in relief. This was it: her room. She dropped her backpack to the floor and collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the red sheets. All of the sudden, she was exhausted. Her limbs felt as though they were made of lead. She studied the canopy above her sleepily.

That's interesting, she thought drowsily. Keeping her eyes open required great effort. They decorate the insides of canopies here—

Someone opened the door, saw her lying on the bed, and cursed loudly before slamming it shut. Marie managed to form a satisfied smile. If she didn't ever have to get out of bed again, she'd be perfectly happy.

She rolled over, closing her eyes and inhaling a sweet scent, something very similar to a mixture of lavender and vanilla. Despite her exhaustion, however, she couldn't fall asleep. Instead of peacefully shutting down, her mind began churning, restless thoughts flicking through it.

Where was Sidriel? Off in the east? What kind of ruler leaves his palace when he knows such strange visitors are coming? It didn't match up with what she had heard of him. He was supposed to be clever, but leaving seemed rather stupid. Shouldn't he have at least waited to meet them before going, just to make sure they weren't a threat?

But maybe, she thought, Rheidan sent him information about us.

And he just blindly believed Rheidan?

Marie rolled over. She had to be missing a piece of the puzzle. Something wasn't right. Why hadn't Barnabas—?

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Goosebumps surfaced on her arms.

She was not alone.

She shot up in her bed, her head swiveling around, her heart racing. Her eyes darted frantically around the room and fell on a young man standing in the corner.

He was dressed in long amber pants with a matching amber tunic. He had tied a crimson sash around his waist, which matched the one covering his eyes. He was a laewin in a laewin uniform. Her panic faded. She slipped off the bed and approached him uncertainly. She couldn't see much of his face, only the pale skin of his jaw and forehead, the color the result of a lifetime indoors. His brown hair had been plaited, and the plait fell to his waist.

"Um," she started, then realized he couldn't hear her and grabbed his hand. He immediately opened his palm, and Marie remembered what Rheidan had said about laewins responding to hand signals. She didn't know any, so she brought his hand up to her face. His fingers found her lips, and he waited for her to say something. "If you can understand what I'm saying," she said in halting Maretzian, "Please nod."

He inclined his head. Marie's heart fluttered. "Um, well," she started, "I really don't like the idea of slavery, so I don't really want to treat you like a slave—but—but—I understand you have a job to do, so..." she floundered. Now that she was no longer reclining in bed, she wanted a bath. She really wanted a bath. And even though she didn't particularly like the idea of ordering a slave around, she did need someone to help her. She didn't know how bathtubs worked here. "I would like to take a bath. And perhaps, while I am bathing, if you could prevent someone from taking my room?" A thought occurred to her, and she turned bright red. "You don't need to help me bathe, though! I can do that myself. Just draw the bath."

She stepped back. He inclined his head, then turned and disappeared into a door Marie hadn't even noticed.

"Thank you!" she called after him.

It took a moment for her to realize that of course, he wouldn't have heard her.

Chapter Nine:

Five hours later, Marie found herself eating some of the most delicious food she had ever had in her life, better even than that served at Lord Daenlyn's estate. The group ate at a long, low table and sat on cushions lying on the ground. Marie had changed into the dress Lord Daenlyn had given her, and on the whole she felt rather excited and exotic. It helped that Rheidan was not only at the feast, but because of the peculiar, hierarchical seating arrangements, sitting beside her. Further down the table, Barnabas, Darius, and Pamela sat talking with Councilor Parvenin. Barnabas and Parvenin seemed to have forgotten their earlier disagreement: Parvenin was chuckling, and Barnabas had the same charming smile on his face he had worn when he first met Marie.

Marie turned her attention back to her food, a little disgusted. Barnabas irritated her. It wasn't that she thought he was a particularly bad person...just a manipulative one, picking up and abandoning people whenever it suited his purpose. Including her. Which was what was so irritating. Honestly, she probably wouldn't be so upset about it otherwise.

Beside her, Rheidan leaned forward. "So what do you think of your rooms?"

Marie smiled up at him. "They're lovely. Very beautiful. An unexpected gift."

Rheidan's eyes glittered. "I'm glad you like them. His Excellency is known for his hospitality."

Marie wasn't sure she believed him. What kind of host didn't stay to welcome his guests? Not wishing to say something rude, though, she fished for another topic. "Do you live in the palace?" She picked up a red vegetable shaped like a green bean.

He looked pleased at the question. "Yes. I have a room here. But when I am off duty, I generally visit my family's home. They live here in the city."

Marie took a bite out the red vegetable, grimaced at its lemony flavor, and swallowed quickly. "What is your family like?"

He shrugged, his lips tightening and his eyes hardening. Marie immediately regretted asking the question. "Like any noble family, I suppose," he finally said, "My father is a Lord Councilor, but he is not here tonight." He lowered his voice. "He is old, and his health is failing him. When he dies my elder brother, Garshaun, will take his title. Garshaun is my only full sibling, but I have four younger half-siblings. My sister, Terrah, is sixteen. Then there is Juliel; he is twelve. And there is also a set of twins: Kraiden and Porsin. They are eight. You might meet them one day."

"Whoa," said Marie, stunned. She hadn't pictured Rheidan as someone from a large family. She had pegged him as an only child. She looked him over again. Somehow him having siblings made him seem like a slightly different person. More real. "You have such a large family," she finally said. "I can't even imagine having that many siblings!"

Rheidan looked surprised. He stared at her curiously. "What is your family like?"

Marie immediately lowered her eyes. Her cheeks reddened. What could she tell him? "I'm..." she started haltingly, "I'm an only child. I don't have any brothers or sisters. My mother—she died when I was two. She had a disease known as AIDS, which she had contracted before even marrying my father. But my father, even though he knew she was dying, was never quite right after her death. When I was four, he..." Marie tapered off. How could she tell him her dad went to prison? How would that go over here? What would Rheidan think of her? She frowned at the plate in front of her. When her dad had gone to prison, life had changed in more than one way. Not only had she lost her dad, but she had lost her friends as well. People avoided her like the plague. She had no longer been Marie, but simply "Ezekiel's child." She couldn't let that happen again. "Well, he was taken away from me. I was raised by my grandmother. "

Rheidan and Marie looked at each other, and both seemed to understand at the same time neither of them was comfortable talking about their families and neither had told the full truth.

Marie broke the stare, her eyes falling to the plate in front of her. She scooted all the red green bean things to its edge. "So will I get to meet your family?"

Rheidan looked down at her. "I am sure you will," he murmured. "But when depends on what your responsibilities will be while staying here. So," he said, a smile on his face, "What will your responsibilities be?"

Marie shrugged. She wondered the same thing. She had no doubt Barnabas would find some use for her, even if it was simply smiling prettily at someone.

"Barnabas has yet to decide."

"Hmm." Rheidan glanced down the table. "Well, if you have spare time, then I will try to take you to see them sometime in the upcoming weeks. What is the name of your chamberlain?"

Marie blinked. What the heck was a chamberlain?

Seeing her confused look, he elaborated, looking amused, "The man in charge of your domestic concerns."

Oh. She blushed. "Hannon."

"Then when I can take you to see my family, I will make sure to leave a message with Hannon if I cannot find you myself."

"Well, then it's a date," Marie said automatically. Then she blushed horribly. Why had she said that?

But there were advantages to being in another world. Rheidan looked at her oddly, and she realized the significance of that saying did not translate through in Maretzian. Small favors.

Marie felt warm, comfortable, and relaxed for the first time in a long time. She sighed happily, then frowned. Why did her neck tingle...and now her cheek...her forehead? It was as if someone was drawing a line up the side of her face. Something warm and wet slid over her eyelids, and Marie's eyes blinked open.

The laewin stood above her, a wet cloth in his right hand. "Is it morning?" she asked groggily, sitting up. Her head pounded, and her limbs felt heavy. The laewin took a few steps back, bowing to her.

"Ugh..." The last vestiges of sleep cleared from her mind. She glanced around. Sunlight streamed in through the window. "What time is it?" she muttered. When the laewin just stood there, she sighed. She kept on forgetting he couldn't hear her and that even if he could, he couldn't understand English.

She slipped out of bed. Her eyes slid across the room and landed on a dress that had most certainly not been there the night before, a beautiful orange gown like the one from Lord Daenlyn's manor. Just looking at it, she could tell it would fit her perfectly. Her mind spun. How on Earth...? She shook her head. Rheidan had said Emperor Sidriel's hospitality was legendary. With the sheer luxury of his House, Marie wouldn't be surprised if Sidriel jus had piles of clothes lying around.

Marie turned to the laewin and blinked when she realized he was no longer there. She stood still for a minute, stunned and disturbed he could move so quietly, then tiptoed to her new dress, marveling at it. She lifted it up and saw a pair of slippers beneath it. She slid one onto her foot—a perfect fit. Of course. It was as if the laewin had measured her in her sleep. As soon as the thought her crossed her mind, she knew instinctively it was true. Which was disturbing.

A panel in the wall slid open, and Marie jumped, whirling around. The laewin entered again, bearing a tray of food. He set it down on a small table and backed into the corner, standing there with his arms clasped in front of him.

Marie glanced at him, fingering a bowl of fruit, before sitting down at the table. "You know," she said conversationally, "I need to come up with a name for you. Something other than 'laewin.' I doubt you can tell me your name in a way I'll understand, so I'll just come up with one myself. Something to refer to you by." She pondered it for a moment. At last she nodded. "I've got it! You remind me of a boy from my high school. He was incredibly quiet...you know, the brooding type. He had long dark hair, too. His name was Max. So I'll call you that, okay?"

Of course he said nothing.

Marie decided there was something incredibly nice about being able to talk to someone and not having to worry about their opinion. She spent her entire breakfast blabbering away in English about absolutely nothing and enjoying every minute of it.

She didn't know it at the time, but that morning was an indication of how she would pass most of her days in Melei-Argalla—in luxury. The first day in the palace started with a tour, conducted by Hannon, which was long and confusing enough for Marie to determine she would never know her way around the whole complex. She decided to be satisfied with knowing the paths to the important places, such as the main entrance.

Dinner that night was not as sumptuous as the first feast, but it was delicious nonetheless. She spent the evening in her room, writing on some parchment Max brought her. As she wrote down her thoughts for the day, she realized that her evenings might be a little quieter than she was used to. Cristaña, Jennifer, Mabel, and everyone else she talked to were in the camp outside the city.

She set down the scroll to reread what she had written. Thinking it over, she decided life wouldn't be too bad once the rest of her things arrived. Barnabas had told her her belongings would be brought to the palace in a day or so. Marie had packed plenty of books to keep her entertained. But until then...

She recalled the library, which Hannon had shown them earlier. It had been magnificent, as large as a football field, filled with shelves upon shelves of scrolls. What a pity it was all written in another language. She froze at the thought. She could speak Maretzian, but she couldn't read or write it. Perhaps that would be useful to learn. Maybe Barnabas could arrange for someone to teach her! If someone taught her how to read Maretzian, she could learn Maretzian history and culture on her own. Barnabas couldn't deny it would be important to learn, and who better to do so than her? Everyone else staying in the palace had some important duty requiring their full-time attention—everyone but Marie. She decided to approach Barnabas about it the next day.

Barnabas gave permission. That very afternoon Marie found herself meeting up in the library with a black-haired man named Master Karash, who looked down his nose at her as soon as she entered, heaved a great sigh, and proceeded to give her a copy of the Maretzian alphabet. The alphabet was huge—76 different letters—and each letter looked the same. Marie shuddered when she saw it.

After that, Marie met up with Master Karash every day, and the days took on a predictable pattern. Max woke her up every morning and served her breakfast, and every morning she had a new dress waiting for, each as beautiful as the first. She spent some mornings practicing her Maretzian, but she passed most of them exploring the palace.

After about a week she found the way to the gardens, and once she did, she tried to go there at least once a day. Like everything else in Sidriel's House, the gardens were both beautiful and exotic. Marie thought about Mabel every time she went. Mabel would have gone crazy in the gardens. As would the zoologists.

Dragon-birds of all sizes nested in the gardens, flying about like glittering jewels. These birds seemed somewhat domesticated, and would allow Marie a little closer to them before fleeing. They were strange creatures, the dragon-birds, thought Marie. Beautiful and mysterious and from the looks in their eyes, keenly intelligent. "They are Sidriel's favorite animals," Rheidan explained to her one day. "They are even featured in his personal crest."

But there was more to the gardens than just the dragon-birds. Blue-barked trees lined the major walkways, and the sweet scent of their vanilla flowers never failed to intoxicate Marie. Silver fish with patches of flashing blue scales swam in shoals in the gardens' fountains, and glittering green insects collected nectar from the fiery red flowers of the hanging trellises. Yellow birds the size of grasshoppers nested in spindly, white-barked trees. If Marie was lucky, the birds would come to her, balancing precariously on her fingers, entreating her for food.

But not only were the gardens beautiful, but they were ever-changing. Different flowers bloomed at different hours. At sunrise the gardens looked completely different from the way they did at midday. Rheidan once took Marie to the gardens after dinner, and Marie almost didn't recognize them.

After her visit to the gardens came lunch, which was generally a quick affair taken in the suite, often with Hannah or Barnabas. Marie tried to avoid eating with Darius or Pamela, who more blatantly disliked her, but sometimes it couldn't be helped, and those lunches Marie ate much faster than usual.

The afternoons with Master Karash were long and toilsome, but Karash, though generally grumpy, was a good enough teacher, and Marie started catching on to the alphabet faster than she had anticipated she would. After a week of firm instruction she could read very simple sentences, much to her delight, and though Karash lamented her penmanship was ghastly, she thought she was improving.

Dinners passed with a different rotation of companions each night, with the exception of Councilor Parvenin, who was present at all of them, and Rheidan, who came about every other night. Whether or not Rheidan sat near Marie depended on the importance of their dinner guests, but wherever he sat, he tried to say at least a few words to her before she returned to her room.

The dinners with Rheidan present were always the most enjoyable ones. Marie and Rheidan quickly resumed their habit of telling each other their favorite fairytales. Sometimes, however, they would wander entirely off topic and never get the chance to finish a story, which Rheidan always used as an excuse to seek out Marie later.

She had been living in the palace for two weeks before Barnabas finally allowed her to sit in on one of his meetings with Councilor Parvenin, but the subject matter consisted of trade contracts concerning, of all things, writing utensils. Marie hadn't even known people needed contracts for such things. But what she did know, or at least guess, was that Barnabas was trying to bore her so she wouldn't want to attend another one. She refused to give him that satisfaction. When he asked, somewhat sardonically, two days later if she wished to attend another meeting, she told him yes just to spite him. The surprised look that crossed his face was almost worth the three hours of torment she had to endure the next morning, listening as Barnabas and Parvenin argued over taxes.

If after dinner she wasn't too tired, she would curl up on her bed with a cup of fernigh, a hot chocolate like drink, and read one of the many books she had brought, which had arrived as promised. When packing for the trip, she had packed a few sheer pleasure books—such as the Harry Potter series—but mostly she had brought classics, like Pride and Prejudice and One Hundred Years of Solitude. When Dunstan Richards, the man who had recruited her, had asked her why she was doing it, she had given two reasons.

"If I'm going to be an ambassador," she had explained, dumping another book into her suitcase, "then I ought to have at least a basic knowledge of respected Earth literature. Plus," she added in a low voice, "If I don't have anything else to read, I may actually be able to force myself to read them."

"I see," Richards had said, gingerly picking up a tattered copy of Boccaccio's Decameron and eyeing it as though it was an interesting but vaguely disgusting bug. "Well... have fun with that."

Now Marie was regretting her choice. She knew intellectually she was enriching herself as she struggled through Hobbes' Leviathan, but that didn't stop her from wishing she had some childhood classic like Ella Enchanted on hand.

When she couldn't force herself to read, she found herself chattering away in English to Max, content he couldn't understand a word she said. She prattled away about everything: her frustrations with Barnabas, Darius, and Pamela, her concerns about her grandmother, her worries about the mission and what she would do once she got home. She told him her of her concerns about slavery, her disgust with the death fights; she confessed her desire to leave the palace, explained how bored she was inside. It was like having a diary, except she couldn't go back and read what she had written. That was fine with her. There were some incidents she didn't want to relive.

Being foreign meant getting into a lot of embarrassing and awkward situations. One day, as Marie watched some of the palace guards do a strange routine, she had remarked blandly that they reminded her of baseball players running around a baseball diamond.

A nearby guard had looked at her and demanded, "What is baseball?"

"Uh..." she floundered. "It's a game. A ball is thrown and men try to hit it with a big stick. If they succeed, they run around in the shape of a square." Even to Marie, the explanation had sounded dumb.

The man had swelled with indignation. "This is not a game!" he snarled. "It is an important training exercise that has been performed in Maretzia for hundreds of years!"

Marie shrank back, holding up her hands. "I meant no disrespect! I just..."

But the man continued to glower at her, and she knew it was a lost cause. She scurried away.

An equally awkward incident occurred two days later. Marie had been in the gardens chit-chatting with a woman of Sidriel's court when a harried nanny rushed by, chasing a screaming toddler.

The courtier had sniffed in disapproval. "What an insolent child."

She stared at Marie expectantly, obviously waiting for her to agree.

Marie felt obligated to say something. "Um, well...the nanny does need to put her foot down..."

The woman gave her a thoroughly puzzled look. She turned back to the nanny. "But her foot is down. Oh. Well now it's not. Now it is. Now it's not...no offense, My Lady, but I'm not sure if it makes any difference..."

Marie explained the meaning of the phrase, but the incident must have reminded the woman who she was talking to. She gave Marie a hostile and disdainful look before finding an excuse to flounce away.

Other embarrassing incidents happened that had nothing to do with a lack of knowledge of Maretzian culture and everything to do with Marie's stupidity. As Marie returned to the suite from a long, hard lesson with Master Karash one evening, she saw a laewin she thought was Max in the hallway. She stopped him in order to ask him what he was doing before she realized her mistake.

It wasn't that bad of a mistake, she comforted herself as the laewin walked away, He does look like Max. In fact, now that she thought of it, all of the laewins in the suite looked alike. All were tall and young and male, with long, plaited brown hair and pale skin. Nevertheless, Marie was much more careful from then on to look carefully at a laewin before approaching him.

Overshadowing all her days was Emperor Sidriel's absence. The entire palace buzzed with the subject. The courtiers never seemed to tire of talking about it. According to everyone, it seemed, Sidriel's presence could make everything better. Sidriel could find a solution to Lord Zorin's dispute with Lord Gauritat. Sidriel could quiet the protests of the Silversmiths' Guild. Sidriel could rein in 'that horrid Master Vumatten' of the Academy. If there was a problem, Sidriel could fix it.

Thoughts of Sidriel soon consumed Marie. Who was he? From the way his people talked about him, he seemed too perfect to be human. Sidriel was an enigma, a figure shadowed in mystery and power. No one did anything but praise him, yet Marie had not heard a single mention of how he had earned such praise. To Marie, the blind devotion to Sidriel was both frightening and awe-inspiring. What type of personality must this Sidriel have in order to so affect his people? Sidriel the Clever, the Powerful, and the Magnificent...

Marie spent hours dwelling on the mystery of Maretzia's missing emperor, but at the end of it all, she would only have more questions and no answers.

Chapter Ten:

After a month in the palace, Marie began to go stir crazy. It wasn't that her days were uninteresting—au contraire, most days were fascinating, if embarrassing—but that they took place in the same locations. Marie wanted out of the palace—desperately.

It would be Rheidan who offered her that escape. She was packing up her writing utensils to go to her lesson with Master Karash when Hannon poked his head into her room.

"Milady Marie, Master Rheidan is waiting for you at the door."

"Oh!" Marie froze. Her cheeks flushed. "Thank you, Hannon. I will be there shortly." When he closed the door, Marie tied shut her satchel, started to leave, then hesitated. She hurried back to her mirror and glanced at herself. She fiddled with her hair a moment before turning away.

Her heart did a flip-flop in her chest as she rushed to the entrance of the suite. What did Rheidan want? She had a lesson to go to today!

She stepped outside. Rheidan lounged against the wall, but straightened immediately when he saw her. He had changed from his normal black garb into a dark blue robe. She thought it looked nice on him. "Rheidan, hi!" she said breathlessly. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled. "Well, I had promised you that you would get to meet my family."

Marie's face fell. "Oh, Rheidan, I would love to, but I have a lesson with Master Karash today—"

He shook his head, his smile widening. "Not anymore. I talked with Karash. He's willing to let you skip a day."

Really? That didn't sound like Karash. Marie narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

Rheidan laughed at her expression. "I promise you honestly have the day off."

"Hmm."

Marie's eyes fell to the ground. She mulled it over for a moment. "Are you sure you want me to meet your family?" Her eyes flicked up to his.

"Of course." He extended his hand.

Marie glanced back toward the suite. Barnabas wouldn't like it. Neither would Pamela or Darius...All the more reason to go. She turned back to Rheidan and took his hand. "I'd be delighted to meet your family."

After a month of relative silence, the city seemed unnaturally loud. The shouts of passersby, the braying of animals, and the cheers emanating from the amphitheatre vibrated in Marie's ear. The chariot jostled, clattering loudly, and Marie leaned a little closer to Rheidan, her grip on his arm tightening.

"A flower for the lady?" a boy bearing pink flowers shouted. Rheidan glanced questioningly at Marie, but she shook her head.

They passed by the boy and into a busy market area, where merchants immediately besieged them. Rheidan refused all offers with a shake of his head. He stayed stony-faced until they had left the market area and entered a quieter part of town, one where large stone walls flanked both sides of the street.

"This area of town," he explained, "is called Varia Hoilla. Almost every Lord Councilor lives here." He urged the horses through an ornate gate, and the chariot entered a lovely garden. Not far away stood a villa made of white stone. Marie's eyes flicked over it. It wasn't as magnificent as the palace—obviously—or even Lord Daenlyn's manor, but it looked very welcoming nonetheless. Rheidan turned to face her and offered her his hand as she stepped out of the chariot. "Welcome to the Deiämoniquen Household."

A laewin rushed up to take care of the chariot, and Rheidan escorted Marie into the house, where they were immediately ambushed.

"Rheidan! Rheidan!"

Rheidan whirled around. Two redheaded bombs exploded out of an adjoining room, slamming into Rheidan, who laughed, embracing them as they hugged his knees. He glanced up at Marie, his eyes glittering. "Marie, meet Kraiden and Porsin. Despite their entrance, I assure you they are completely harmless."

One of the boys backpedaled away from Rheidan, glaring. "Hey! I am not harmless!"

The other boy glanced at him and sneered, "Yes, you are." He paused, and an offended look crossed his face. "But I'm not!"

They glared at each other for a minute, and then threw themselves at each other in the same way they had thrown themselves at Rheidan. They rolled on the floor, each scrambling to best the other. Marie had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Beside her, Rheidan just shook his head, a pained expression on his face. "This is why my father doesn't often invite the other Lord Councilors over."

Marie grinned. "Don't worry about it. We were all that age once, were we not?" Her eyes fell to the twins again. One boy was tearing at the other's hair. The smile faded from her face, replaced by a concerned look. "They're not actually going to actually hurt each other, are they?"

"No," said Rheidan, grabbing her hand and tugging her down the hallway. "They're best friends. They just have the urge to beat each other up every once in a while."

Marie wasn't reassured, and she opened her mouth to say something, but another female voice beat her to it.

"Kraiden! Porsin! Stop immediately!" A girl with long red hair appeared so suddenly that Marie blinked and stepped back, startled. The girl swept down the hallway toward them, her dress swooshing against the floor. "Rheidan, you shouldn't indulge them!" she scolded, shooting him a glare as she brushed past them.

Marie turned to watch her lean down and pluck one boy off the other. "Will you stop?" she exclaimed in exasperation. "This is not how young noblemen are supposed to behave!"

The two boys mumbled something unintelligible, and the girl shooed them away. She turned around, and her eyes landed on Rheidan. She scowled. Her gaze fell on Marie, however, and a bright smile lit her face. Her whole demeanor changed.

"You must be Lady Marie!" she gushed excitedly, striding forward. She curtsied a few steps away and laughed delightedly when Marie attempted to do the same. "Oh, don't worry about it! You'll learn in time! Come with me, come with me!" Much to Marie's dismay, she looped her arm around Marie's and glanced at Rheidan. "Father is in the library with Juliel. He wishes to speak with you. I'll take care of Lady Marie!"

Rheidan glanced questioningly at Marie, who smiled somewhat nervously to let him know it was okay. As he left, the girl turned to face her. "I'm Terrah, by the way, Rheidan's half-sister. He has told us so much about you!" She steered Marie down a hallway and into a sitting room, where a laewin had set down a platter of cakes. "Please—sit!" She fell into a low chair in a wave of rustles, and Marie did the same, eyeing her. Terrah reminded Marie so much of Jennifer that Marie had a difficult time accepting her relation to Rheidan.

"Well," started Terrah, pouring a thick amber liquid into a small cup, "I am sure you are tired of people asking you about the land you come from, so I won't delve into that too much. Rheidan has already told us much of what you and Lord Barnabas have told him, but I'm not quite sure if I believe any of it." She looked at Marie plainly, the implication quite clear that if Marie was willing to talk about Earth, Terrah would only be too happy to hear about it.

Marie inwardly groaned. She had been asked to explain Earth quite often. Then again, she was far-sighted enough to see that her life might be easier if Rheidan's little sister liked her. "Well, I might be able to clarify a few things..."

Terrah beamed at her.

Marie spent the rest of the day at the Deiämoniquen household. Lord Deiämoniquen, Juliel, and Rheidan came down to join Marie and Terrah sometime later. Marie could see immediately what Rheidan had been referring to when he said his father was in ill health. The Lord Councilor's skin hung in bags from his cheeks, and his eyes were filmy with the first stages of blindness. His tongue, however, proved to be as sharp as ever, and poor Terrah was on the receiving end of it more than once that afternoon. Toward Marie, however, he was reserved and polite, and she had a feeling he was treading cautiously around her. She understood...It wasn't exactly as though Rheidan had brought home a nice, Maretzian lady.

As for Juliel...he looked like Rheidan in miniature, down to the smile, Rheidan's best feature. In a few years, she thought, he'll have girls giggling all over him. She glanced at Rheidan out of the corner of her eye and, predictably, blushed. The only member of the family not present was Rheidan's older brother, Garshaun, who was out of town on business. Terrah breathlessly assured Marie she would get a chance to meet him once he returned.

Most of the afternoon Marie chatted with Rheidan's family in the sitting room. She spent one or two hours satisfying the family's curiosity about Earth, and as always, Marie found herself bumbling over explanations.

"So..." Terrah said disbelievingly, "You prevent a disease by giving people the disease?" She exchanged a worried look with her father, as if to say, what sort of lunatic did my brother bring home?

"It's not quite like that," Marie said, exasperated. She pondered the problem a moment. What type of comparison would they relate to? At last she said, "You know how if you eat something sweet, and keep on eating it, it will eventually make you sick? Whereas, if ingested in small portions, it won't really do much?"

They nodded.

"Well, vaccines work on the same principle. In very small amounts, and I mean incredibly small—teeny, minuscule—the disease won't really hurt you. It's only when you're given a significant dose of it that you get sick. So we use vaccines to give us a tiny amount of the disease. Our bodies learn how to fight the disease from that small injection, and then if we actually get the disease in significant amounts, our bodies remember how to beat it."

Silence followed her explanation. Terrah looked downright incredulous while Lord Deiämoniquen considered her thoughtfully. At last Terrah laughed, "I don't know whether to think that's insane or ingenuous!"

Other things about Earth Marie honestly couldn't explain. Cars?

"I don't know how they run," she admitted. "Something to do with combustion and pistons...er, well, something like that." She shook her head ruefully. "You'd have to ask one of our engineers."

Planes?

"Huge, metal contraptions that hold hundreds of people and zoom through the air..."

Submarines?

"They're these metal bubbles beneath the sea that people can live in..."

And forget trying to explain concepts like microwaves:

"You put your food in this box, and the box heats it up."

"Is the box hot?" asked Rheidan.

She grimaced. "Well, not exactly..."

Or credit cards:

"They're about a finger-long and half a finger-short, and you slide them against this machine and it acts like money..."

Terrah's dumbfounded expression was enough to make her give up.

The sky turned purple-red against the western horizon, and the Deiämoniquens invited Marie to join them for dinner. Rheidan sent a runner to the palace to inform Barnabas of Marie's whereabouts, and within an hour, Marie found herself eating by candlelight in the gardens. There Marie turned the tables, and a good portion of dinner passed with Terrah happily explaining different aspects of Maretzian life.

"...and if boys cannot afford a private tutor, they go to a public learning house twice a week until they are eight so they can learn how to read and write."

"What about girls?" Marie asked pointedly. "Do they go too?"

Terrah peeked up uncertainly at her father, and he nodded. "Well," she said hesitantly, "Girls don't go to public learning houses. Generally those who can afford it are taught by private tutors, but those who cannot do not learn. They will only learn how to read if someone in their family teaches them—which does happen, occasionally."

Terrah glanced at her father again and added on, "Most girls in wealthier families are taught enough to be respectable ladies of the household, which means they have to be knowledgeable about certain subjects. We often get much of the education the men get."

Terrah hesitated, then leaned forward and lowered her voice, "Rheidan told me you are being taught to read Maretzian by Master Karash. Is that true?"

Marie opened her mouth, but Lord Deiämoniquen beat her to it, smirking.

"Yes, it's true."

Terrah straightened abruptly. She smirked. "You obviously don't know how lucky—or unlucky, I suppose—you are." Her eyes glittered with mirth. "Master Karash is one of the most respected teachers in Melei-Argalla, but he completely disapproves of female education. You're the first female student he's ever had."

This didn't surprise Marie. "That explains the look he gave me on my first day of lessons."

She immediately wished she hadn't said it, but instead of looking affronted, Rheidan's father snorted with laughter.

"I would pay to see that man teach you! Misogynistic brute!"

Rheidan snickered and explained quietly to Marie, "Father has always disliked Master Karash."

Marie had gathered that.

As dinner wound down, Kraiden and Porsin started yawning widely, so much so that the dinner party eventually transferred to a comfortable sitting room, where the twins started badgering their father for someone named 'Bello.'

"Bello, Father! I want Bello now!" Kraiden—or was it Porsin?—tugged his father's robe.

"Yes," exclaimed the other. "Bello!"

"All right, all right!" exclaimed Lord Deiämoniquen at last, holding up his hands in surrender. "I will summon Bello. But I think tonight you will have to settle for a historical story." His eyes flicked to Marie.

"Aw, but Father—"

"No buts," said Lord Deiämoniquen sternly. "I insist."

The twins scowled, but eventually nodded.

"Bello is a family servant," murmured Terrah by way of explanation, upon seeing Marie's confused expression. "Not a laewin. He tells the boys a story every night before they go to bed." She gave Marie a significant look. "I think tonight we will get to listen as well."

Beside her, Rheidan leaned back. "Bello is a good storyteller." He smiled contentedly. Marie suspected she had just found the origin of his extensive knowledge of Maretzian lore.

Terrah leaned close to Marie and murmured in a low voice, "Rheidan was just like those two when he was little, begging for Bello."

Marie had the sudden mental image of Rheidan tugging at his father's robes, begging for a story. She burst into a fit of giggles. Rheidan eyed her suspiciously.

Within minutes, a tall, elderly man with a shock of white hair entered the room, smiling magnanimously down at the boys. His eyes flickered briefly to Marie, the expression on his face curious, but the boys' excited cries of "Bello!" brought his attention back to them shortly.

Bello sat down, staring each boy in the eye in turn. "Well, sons, what story do you want to hear tonight? Babelo the Brave? The Weeping Witch? The Red Eye and the House of 1000 Faces?"

The two looked at each other. The one on the right crinkled his nose. "You have to tell a historical story," he informed Bello glumly.

The other boy bit his lip. Silence fell as each considered the possibilities, their brows furrowing. Bello clasped his hand together and waited patiently.

Lord Deiämoniquen leaned forward. "What about the story of Herodina and Eliathus?"

"Ugh," groaned one of the twins. "Love story—boring!"

"No love story!"

Terrah considered Marie for a moment, then turned to Bello. "Then what about the Ascension of Emperor Sidriel?"

Marie straightened.

The twins turned to stare at Terrah, then glanced at each other questioningly. At last they nodded. "Okay."

Bello leaned back. "Ah," he said, "The story of our esteemed Emperor Sidriel." He looked at Lord Deiämoniquen for permission, which he gave with a slight nod, took a sip from a glass of water, and began:

"The title of Maretzian emperor passes from firstborn to firstborn, as you well know, but Sidriel was not the eldest child of his father. In fact, he was the youngest, the eighth son his father had. His father had married twice. His seven eldest sons were born of his first wife, and after that wife died, he went into mourning for several years. It wasn't until he was already very old that he fell for a young lady in court. He married her, and a year later she died giving birth to Sidriel.

"Sidriel didn't look much like his older brothers, and he didn't act like them either. Where his brothers were loud and rash, always warmongering, Sidriel was calm and patient, quick on his feet and even quicker in his mind. His father favored him, so much so that his older brothers grew jealous. One can't blame them: who would like to be compared to Sidriel? But such comparison was inevitable. It is very easy to imagine how frustrated grown men must have been to be overshadowed by a four year old, and finally, when Sidriel was only six, one of his brothers attempted to kill him.

"The old emperor did not take it well. He was furious with his murderous son, and as a punishment, had him thrown in jail, where he died within a few years. To protect Sidriel, the emperor had him sent away from the palace and surrounded by guards at all times.

"But young Sidriel disliked being confined, so he escaped his guards repeatedly and scampered about the countryside, meeting people from various towns, learning their trades, even encountering some lords and ladies. Everyone was so impressed with him that news of his escapades reached his father even from afar, and his father's love for him grew.

"The brothers could take it no more, so at last one of them journeyed into the countryside, determined to get rid of Sidriel himself. He found the house Sidriel was staying at and crept inside in the dead of night. The son was a skilled fighter, one of the best warriors in the country. His skill was legendary. Sidriel was doomed.

"No one heard from or of Sidriel for weeks, and in the palace his brothers rejoiced. Then one day a package arrived for them—a trunk. They opened it, and inside they found the body of the prince sent to kill Sidriel. Sidriel was eight.

"The princes were furious. They didn't understand what had happened. In their rage, they sent another down to kill him, and a few weeks later the same thing occurred. The body of the second prince arrived, locked in a trunk. The next time, two princes went down to kill Sidriel, and within two weeks two trunks were delivered to the two remaining princes.

"The oldest prince, who had been instructed in the ways of the court, gave up the game, at least for a while. He knew his father was dying. It would only be a few more months before he had the throne, and then he could send an entire army after Sidriel, if he so wanted.

"The other prince was not as wise, an all brawn no brain type of prince, so he stampeded off with the best of his guards, and of course, within a couple of weeks, the expected trunks arrived.

"The oldest prince's gamble, however, paid off. Within five months his father was dead, and he was emperor. He turned his attention to Sidriel, and in his fury he sent a band of soldiers after him—150 trained warriors, men who had seen countless battles and had the scars to prove it. On a beautiful cloudless day, they left Melei-Argalla with the intent to kill the young prince, and the whole city watched as they passed over the crest of the hill and out of sight. And that was the last time anyone ever saw them. No one knows what happened to them, and to this day Sidriel has never told anyone.

"A month passed, and the new emperor grew uneasy. Where were his soldiers? When would they bring him the body of his hated brother? His thoughts flew to the trunks that had borne the bodies of his brothers, and fear settled in his heart. He increased his personal guard. He had a warrior in every hallway. He sent agents into the city to search for Sidriel. Every boy between the age of 7 and 12 was rounded up and thrown into prison. Sidriel's most noticeable features were his eyes and hair, so every blond-haired, blue-eyed boy was killed. Boys"—Bello's voice deepened menacingly—"Boys your age were thrown into the arena!"

Kraiden and Porsin shrank back.

"But"—Bello's tone lightened—"Sidriel was nowhere to be found. The new emperor's madness knew no bounds, and his thirst for Sidriel's blood extended to the whole of Maretzia, and soon boys were being snatched up left and right. Chaos reigned in some areas. The people hated their new emperor. How could he do such a thing to his own people? Kidnap their sons? Slaughter them?

"Then one day, as the denizens of Melei-Argalla woke up to go about their daily activities, they noticed an interesting addition to the palace gates: the body of the emperor. Sidriel had come. Even to this day, so many years later, the details of what transpired that night are unclear. But what is clear, is that from that day onward, Sidriel has ruled Maretzia. That very morning, in the amphitheatre, the guards who had hunted him down swore fealty to him, with the citizens of the city watching. Sidriel was ten."

Bello concluded his story and leaned back, smiling. The boys cheered.

Chapter Eleven:

The days following Marie's visit to the Deiämoniquen Household were some of the happiest she spent in Maretzia. Though his duties often called him away, Rheidan visited her whenever he could. When Rheidan wasn't there, however, Terrah was. Terrah had started to accompany Rheidan to the palace, and eventually she came on her own. Marie and Terrah whiled away the mornings in the gardens, in the library, or in Marie's bedroom, Marie showing Terrah some of the books she'd been reading and Terrah explaining to her the Maretzian equivalents.

"We have the story of Herodina and Eliathus," Terrah said, her fingers trailing over the cover of Mallory's Le Morte D'Arthur. "My father mentioned it while you were over. Great love story. Tragic ending. Poor Herodina." She sighed, looking wistful. "I think her story is even worse than this Guinevere's, though. Her husband wasn't nearly as great as your Arthur."

"Well, that's what makes the story so tragic," Marie pointed out. "The fact that Arthur was so great."

"Hmm. Maybe."

Max entered the room, bearing a tray of food, and Terrah bounded off the bed. "Ah, good. Lunch! Let's eat—I didn't have much breakfast."

Marie's afternoon lessons with Master Karash started to feel less tedious, especially as her Maretzian improved. Soon she had mastered the alphabet, and Karash assigned her texts to read, most of which were historical or philosophical in nature, but one or two that were simply for leisure. Marie enjoyed reading all of them.

The fact that she could read the scrolls in the library endeared her to Barnabas and the Holbech siblings, and her evenings after dinners were soon spent explaining Maretzian literature to them. Those sessions were the lows of her days, especially when trying to explain complicated texts.

For instance, by the time Marie had finished explaining the Magnevroir, a philosophical treatise on the power of the nobility, Darius looked ready to spontaneously combust. He had turned dark purple, and a vein on his forehead throbbed ominously.

"That doesn't make any sense!" he spluttered. "Their reasoning is...ridiculous!"

"No, it's not," said Marie in exasperation. "In Maretzian culture, it makes perfect sense!"

"But—!"

"Darius!" Barnabas glared. Darius' mouth snapped shut. Barnabas turned to Marie. "Please, explain."

Marie clasped her hands in front of her. "Well," she said slowly, trying to order her thoughts, "Maretzian culture and politics are obviously very different from Earth's. In democracies, power is supposed to come from the people. In monarchies, the power of kings stemmed from God. Or in other, less centralized societies, power came from the nobility. In Maretzia, however, power stems from the emperor. No one is viewed as giving him this power—not the people, not the nobles, not the gods. No one questions how the emperor attains power. All simply know and accept that he has it."

Barnabas looked thoughtful. Darius looked disbelieving. Marie felt a surge of desperation. How could she explain this so they would understand? Her mind flicked to all the scrolls she had read and all her conversations with Master Karash.

"Power is like..." she started haltingly. She tried to think of an apt description. "Power is like a trait here, not an idea."

Darius arched an eyebrow.

She tried again. "On Earth, power is an intangible thing—like freedom. Here power is seen as a trait some people just naturally have, like blue eyes or blond hair. Some people have it. Some people don't. The emperor has the 'power gene.' Everyone else does not. Whatever power the nobles have, they only have it because the emperor allows them to have it."

"Like a god."

"No, not like a god. The people know the emperor is not a god. But he is considered a very special and unusual person."

Barnabas and Darius shot each other disbelieving looks, and Marie gave up.

Other concepts were less complicated.

"Names hold great importance in Maretzian culture," Marie told Barnabas one night. "And the Maretzians have two important books concerning names—the Book of Glory and the Book of Shame. The names in both books may be uttered, but may never again be bestowed. The name 'Sidriel,' for example, is in the Book of Glory. No one else in Maretzia may take that name. The name of the previous emperor, Tizar, is in the Book of Shame. No one would want that name."

Darius arched an eyebrow. "Emperors can make it into the Book of Shame?"

Marie smirked. "If Sidriel puts them there."

Ever since Marie's trip to the Deiamoniquen Household, Master Karash had become much more lenient about when she had to show up for lessons. Some days she didn't even have to show up at all. On such days, he would send her a letter that would, for example, inform her that if she could successfully read the letter, she wouldn't have to come to lessons that day. On those days she went into the city. Normally Rheidan accompanied her, but when he had some duty to attend to, Marie cajoled Hannon into taking her. She never went alone. She didn't trust herself not to get lost, mugged, or somehow taken advantage of.

She didn't technically have any money of her own to spend, since neither she nor anyone else on the expedition had a job, but Hannon had told her to purchase anything she wanted and have the vendor charge it to Sidriel. Marie always felt uncomfortable doing so. She didn't like feeling indebted to the emperor. She bought goods sparingly and only when she couldn't help herself—a beautiful pendant here, a decorated dagger there... They were probably still expensive purchases, but she tried not to go over the top, as she knew Hannah did. But she didn't always have to pay. Sometimes vendors would just give her some of their wares when they found out who she was, at least the ones who could afford to do so. A baker in the main market gave her a free sweet roll every time he saw her, and they were so good that Marie rather wished he could have been in charge of the expedition's food instead of Bernard.

But Marie had an ulterior motive for going into the city. With her interest piqued by Bello's story, Marie had begun to ask everyone she could about Emperor Sidriel.

"Oh, he's wonderful," the hat-maker assured her. "The greatest emperor Maretzia has ever had. His fame brings Maretzia glory even in the far reaches of the world."

"Because of His Excellency," said the fish vendor, "Maretzia has never been so well-off. Or so safe."

"Seven years ago," gabbled the cloak seller, "Some pirates decided to raid the Southern Coast. His Excellency destroyed them."

"Don't you mean His Excellency's soldiers?"

"No. His Excellency himself. Now, dear, I have a beautiful cloak that will match your eyes perfectly..."

But clouding Marie's days was the looming shadow of the amphitheatre, whose walls she could see from a few places in the garden and whose tales she heard all around. When Marie entered the city and heard the shouts emanating from the place—was there always a match going on?—she couldn't help but shudder. To enjoy herself in the market she had to block out the sound. How could she contemplate a pair of earrings when not far away, men were dying as other men watched?

"You will get used to the sound," Hannon assured her one day, after a particularly loud cheer diverted her attention from a selection of flowers. "You will not even notice it unless you choose to."

But do I want to be so apathetic? Marie wondered, her eyes flickering to the amphitheatre's pristine walls. The owner of the flower stall gazed at her expectantly, waiting for her to make a selection.

"Becoming an artatrushi is not the worst fate a slave could have," Hannon told Marie gently. "Better to fight and die in glory than live in ignominy and misery." His face darkened, and he muttered, as if to himself, "Some masters are brutal."

Marie turned to consider him. His tone was strange, as if he was thinking of someone in particular.

"What are you talking about?"

Hannon sighed, aggravated. "Oh, I shouldn't be telling you this, but the Council of Ten is concerned about a merchant named Riljin Marsus. He works his slaves without mercy. They labor in some of the worst locations in Maretzia. But that wouldn't be so troublesome if he allowed them more rest. You've never seen such emaciated, pitiful slaves as the ones that work for Marsus. The Council fears he could incite a slave rebellion."

Marie considered him, but said nothing. Instead she selected a small bouquet of blue flowers and allowed him to take her back to the palace.

The rest of the week found Marie in the grip of an incredibly bad mood, and it didn't improve when she overheard Barnabas snarling at someone about the communication device, which apparently was acting up again. With her still stewing about Maretzian slavery, the last thing she needed to hear about was the possibility of not returning home.

But such depression was only the beginning. Two events in the following weeks would bring Marie's mood down from bad to worse.

The moment Barnabas slammed shut the door to their suite, Marie knew something was wrong. She couldn't remember Barnabas ever slamming the door. Glancing quickly at Max, who stood in the corner, she set down her copy of Moby Dick and tiptoed out of the room. She could hear Barnabas snapping at Darius from all the way down the hallway.

"...As if none of it matters! Do you know how difficult it was to arrange that?" Something crashed. "Don't give me that look! Do you realize how hard we've had to work to come this far?"

Darius mumbled something Marie couldn't hear, and she took a few steps closer.

"...it's not the end of the world, Barnabas. We'll recover..." His voice lowered even more.

Barnabas screamed. "Don't you think I know that? Now they're suspicious of us! It will take—!"

A door a few feet down the hall slammed open abruptly, and Barnabas stopped short from inside the adjoining room. Marie glanced around to see Hannah, dressed in a long pink nightgown, glaring at her from the middle of her doorframe. "What are you doing?" she snapped. "Go back to your room!"

Marie felt as though she had been slapped. It was the final straw. "Excuse me?" Her eyes narrowed. "Why would I go back to my room? I have every right to be walking down this hallway!"

Hannah's eyes hardened. "I said go back to your room!" she hissed. "This is not America, sweetheart. There are rules that must be followed and leaders that must be obeyed. Any orders we issue are issued for your safety."

Marie laughed. "Do you think I was born yesterday? Buzz off."

Hannah gaped. Marie threw her a nasty look and continued down the hallway.

"Pamela will hear about this!" Hannah called after her.

"Pamela can deal!"

Marie reached the door to the main sitting area, held up her fist to knock, and it swung open in front of her.

"Ah," said Barnabas uncomfortably. "Marie." He looked like he had just finished running a marathon. His hair was in disarray, and his face was red. He didn't look pleased to see her. "How was your day?"

"Probably better than yours," she said blandly.

Barnabas scratched his head awkwardly. "Yes...well, negotiations didn't go so well today. We had a disagreement over immigration. We'll come to a compromise, I'm sure..." He made a face. "I sometimes wish the emperor was here to conduct negotiations instead. Anyone would be better than Parvenin."

"What a pity."

"Yes, yes," he said distractedly, "I think we'll have to do something to regain good relations. I've been told opposing parties sometimes go on 'outings' together to put them on good terms again. I'll have to think of something..."

As it turned out, Barnabas didn't need to think of something. Parvenin arranged an outing himself. The next day, during negotiations, he presented Barnabas with twenty passes to a death match.

Marie felt sick just looking at hers.

"We're seriously going?" she squeaked after dinner that evening. "We're actually going to go and watch people kill other people?" She was horrified. Her stomach churned at the very thought.

"We're going," he said firmly. Seeing her face, his tone gentled. "It's not ideal, but we have to go if we don't want to offend them."

Marie had no problem offending them. "But," she protested, "The death matches are cruel!" She glanced down at her ticket again and felt another wave of nausea.

"It doesn't matter, Marie." He met her gaze evenly. "Sometimes you have to do uncomfortable things for the sake of peace."

"Oh?" said Marie, arching an eyebrow. She felt anger rising within her, a burning sensation that started in her stomach and spread to all her limbs. "So if I don't go to this game, then all of our negotiations will just fall apart and everything will be for naught?" Her voice was laden with sarcasm.

Barnabas narrowed his eyes. "Perhaps," he said coldly. "But it's not as if your presence or absence will make any difference to the game's outcome. Someone will die, whether you go or not, so be useful and go."

She gritted her teeth. "I—can't—go!"

"Yes, you will. As your leader, I am commanding you to. I will harbor no disobedience from you or anyone else on this matter. You're going to go if I have to drag you to the arena myself."

Marie glowered at him. Inwardly, however, she felt the stirrings of panic. Could she actually go to the games, watch people kill each other? Hear the crowd cheer as a death blow was delivered? She couldn't watch someone die like that. She didn't know how to. But how could she explain her feelings to Barnabas? How could she describe how the amphitheatre haunted her? How every time she heard the cries emanating from it, her stomach twisted? How every time she tried to ignore the amphitheatre, some part of her faded away? She wasn't just afraid of seeing someone die. She was afraid of losing herself in the process. She was afraid of becoming part of the crowd.

She stared down at her ticket. Her heart raced. "Please, Barnabas," she whispered, desperate tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "Don't make me do this."

"Sorry," said Barnabas blandly, his eyes already on his notes for the next day. "You're going, and that's final."

Marie avoided Barnabas the next few days. She was so angry with him she wasn't sure she would be able to see him without shouting, or worse, bursting into tears. She felt nauseated every time she thought of the games, bile rising in her throat.

"The games aren't all bad," Terrah told her. "Okay, sometimes some of the artatrushi get rather vicious. But you can always turn your face away."

"You've been to one?" Marie asked, aghast.

"Once," Terrah murmured. Her eyes fell to the ticket in her hands. "About a year ago. I don't care for them." She shrugged. "Women normally don't go anyway." She fingered the ticket and glanced at Marie out of the corner of her eye. "No wonder these tickets were bought so far in advance. These are prime seats. Quite impressive. Normally the games don't sell out, and you can get decent seats up until a day beforehand, but for the really good seats, you have to book three or so weeks in advance." She tapped the ticket. "Like Parvenin obviously did."

Marie grunted, unmoved.

Terrah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please cheer up. The world's not perfect, and you can't let every little wrong depress you!"

Rheidan was slightly more sympathetic. Well, sympathetic probably wasn't the right word, since he went to the games himself, but he understood her concerns. He had seen her distress when she had first learned of the games, so he knew better than to tell her to 'cheer up.' He listened in silence as she stressed about it, and for that Marie was grateful.

But there were times when Marie was just in such a foul mood that she didn't want to talk to anyone, so she wondered off on her own, exploring more of the palace. It was on one of these mini-explorations that Marie came across a part of the palace she had never seen before: the slaves' quarters.

They were nestled in the basement of the palace, room after tiny room. Each room held rows of hammocks, and the hammocks hung on top of each other like bunk beds; three managed to fit in the space between the floor and ceiling. Marie stared at them for a minute, trying to figure out how the person sleeping in the top hammock got into it, and concluded the only way to manage it was by stepping into the bottom hammock, then into the middle hammock, and so on. She grimaced. It was a far cry from her bedroom.

She had imagined the slave quarters being a bit grimier than they actually were, but they were actually very clean, which was impressive, considering how many people lived in the space. Nevertheless, it was definitely the worst area of the palace she had seen. She tried to imagine Max down here, faithfully carrying her tray to her room each morning, and her heart ached a little.

The slaves, though they couldn't see or hear her, must have sensed someone else among them, for several of them turned confusedly on the spot as she passed by. She tried to be more careful as she tiptoed down the hallway, but it wasn't long before she was detected. A large woman wearing the laewin uniform but without a blindfold stared at her as she made her way down the hallway, then bowed abruptly. The woman stared at her questioningly and held out her hand for instructions. Marie shook her head, smiled kindly, and swept past her.

She meandered down the hallways, with no clear idea of where she was going, till at last she stumbled upon the largest kitchen she had ever seen. Four or five normal houses could have easily fit inside it. It had rows and rows of tables on which laewins were busy slicing and chopping and mixing and measuring. On its far wall, teams of laewins attended a slew of fires, over which hung frothing pots and sizzling pans.

All the laewins inside were without blindfolds, and they stared at Marie curiously as she walked in, but offered nothing. Marie stood to the side, watching the proceedings and inhaling the spicy scents. The kitchen was incredibly loud, with pots and pans banging against each other and fires crackling and sauces sizzling and pots steaming, but there was no conversation: no laughter, no grumbling, no ordered instructions. The silence of the workers was both disorienting and creepy.

Marie's gaze wondered to the side of the room, and she blinked in surprise. A long line of slave children sat on a long wooden bench, devouring rejected food. Or, more specifically, Marie decided on closer inspection, leftover food. As she watched, an older man bearing a tray with a half-eaten cake on it appeared from a side door and handed the cake to one of the children sitting there, who downed it eagerly. Marie thought of the food she had shoveled into her mouth that morning and felt like a glutton.

She backed out of the slave quarters. She had seen enough.

Chapter Twelve:

At dinner that night, Marie ate only the bare essentials. She glanced around the dinner table as if with new eyes; she hadn't realized how piggish some of her companions were. Was Barnabas gaining weight? Marie was fairly sure Pamela had added a few pounds. She stared down at her own midriff. She hadn't noticed herself gaining weight, but then again she had shed a few pounds on the journey to Melei-Argalla. Maybe her weight had just returned to normal.

"I have absolutely no idea what they're thinking!" exclaimed Parvenin angrily. He glowered at the table. "It's idiocy, plain and simple."

Marie glanced at him in surprise. She had never heard such vehement words issue forth from Parvenin's mouth.

Next to Parvenin, a man with a white beard nodded in agreement. "In all the years His Excellency has ruled, no Maretzian has thought to challenge him. It's stupid. Unheard of. And annoying, certainly, since it takes the emperor away from the capital and his usual concerns."

Another man took a quick sip of his glass of wine before setting it down. "I've wondered if there's something mentally wrong with Gaidus Herpanteon, but then how does that explain how he's gotten so many people to follow him?"

He looked truly puzzled, which disturbed Marie. Not for the first time, she wondered what kind of emperor could have brainwashed his people so much they couldn't even comprehend the idea of rebellion. What was he—a saint? Marie frowned.

"What are they protesting?" she asked.

Every eye turned to her.

She ignored the stares and addressed Parvenin. "You know—they must have some rallying cry, some cause they're fighting for. People don't rebel just for the sheer sake of rebelling."

"Yes..." Parvenin said. A disgusted look crossed his face. "They have a cause: They don't like His Excellency's rule. More specifically, they think the trading city of Madalinda should be independent of the empire." He gritted his teeth. "Which is absolutely ridiculous. Madalinda has been part of Maretzia for over five hundred years. In fact, it was the Madalindans who first requested to be a part of the empire. They wanted the protection it offered."

"And the emperor is reluctant to let go of Madalinda?" asked Barnabas curiously.

"Of course," said Parvenin coolly. "It is an important trading center. But furthermore, most Madalindans are reluctant to go. It is much safer for them to have His Excellency's protection than to have to protect themselves, especially with Beiärly pirates lurking in the nearby seas."

"I am sure the emperor will have the rebellion squashed quickly and the traitors sent to the arena where they belong," the bearded man assured Barnabas. A rumble of agreement rose from the table.

Barnabas raised an eyebrow. "And when did the emperor leave to attend to this rebellion?"

Marie winced. Parvenin and the bearded man exchanged dark looks. That wasn't exactly subtle of Barnabas. What a nice way of asking, 'and just how long has he been fighting this rebellion?'

"Not long before your party arrived, Master Barnabas," said the bearded man finally, turning to face the table. "Only a few days before, actually. The emperor was reluctant to go—he knew you were coming—but he had received urgent news and decided he had no choice but to leave. The road to Madalinda is long and hard, a month's journey if going quickly."

Barnabas opened his mouth, but Parvenin smiled tightly. "He will be back soon enough, I daresay." His tone was stiff but firm. It was quite clear this particular conversation was over.

Marie stared down into her plate. For someone who supposedly took down an emperor when he was ten years old, Sidriel sure was taking his sweet time stamping out a simple rebellion. Her eyes wandered to Parvenin. He had the look on his face of someone who was barely restraining himself from saying something stupid. She frowned, her mind spinning.

The next day, in order to take her mind off everything, Marie went with Hannon and Terrah to the market.

"These are called arbadi scarves," Terrah told her, picking up a particularly luxurious example made of finely spun cloth. She unfolded it to show Marie. "They're sheer and worn by brides at weddings."

"They're beautiful," said Marie honestly. She fingered the one Terrah was holding. It was deep scarlet, with a light gold embroidery that outlined a herd of prancing arattias. It felt like liquid cloth.

"Yes," said Terrah in satisfaction. "They are. I've already picked out mine."

It took a moment for the significance of that statement to sink in. Then Marie's eyes bugged out of her head. "You're getting married?" she squeaked.

Terrah laughed. "Oh, not anytime soon!" She swished back and forth for a second, her eyes sparkling. Then she burst out: "Oh, all right, within the next two years. Father thinks he has found a suitable husband for me, and if he comes to an agreement with that boy's father, then I could be married to him soon." She stared down at the arbadi scarves, blushing. "He's in the Academy," she explained, "and he won't graduate for another year. We would get married after that."

"Oh, well," Marie fumbled. "Congratulations." Terrah was getting married? Terrah didn't seem mature enough for marriage. Terrah talked about boys the same way preteen girls talked about their crushes.

Terrah giggled. "Yeah, well, thanks." She blushed. "It's a little young to have marriage prospects. Girls normally don't make arrangements till your age, but, well, you know..."

She abruptly handed the scarf she had been holding back to the startled vendor. "You know what? I'll show you my scarf. It's in a store not far from here. Hannon!" She craned her head around. "Oh, there he is. Hannon!"

Marie spied him haggling with a baker for a loaf of bread. Terrah turned to her in exasperation. "Wait here! I'll go talk to him."

She bustled off, and Marie let her gaze slide around the marketplace. Not too far away, a juggler entertained a small group of children. He made a funny face, and the children shrieked with laughter. Beyond him, a tall skinny man twanged a song on an instrument reminiscent of a guitar; a gaggle of female Maretzians had stopped to listen to him and were giggling hysterically.

Terrah's face materialized in front of her, and Marie instinctively stepped back.

"Come on!" Terrah exclaimed, grabbing her arm. "Hannon will wait here for us!" Before Marie could protest, she had dragged her through the marketplace and down a side street. "It's a tiny store, but it's the best."

Marie grimaced as Terrah turned right and into a dirty alleyway. She cringed away from its dank walls. "Terrah?" she asked uncertainly, looking around. "Couldn't we have taken a main street?" She was suddenly all too aware of the expensive clothes they wore. This had stupid idea written all over it.

"Don't worry, Marie!" exclaimed Terrah, exasperated. "It's not much further." She tugged insistently on Marie's hand and led her through a maze of alleyways and back streets. With each step they took, Marie became more and more lost. In ten minutes they had managed to meander into a section of Melei-Argalla that looked like it could comfortably be home to Jack the Ripper. The buildings were disgusting. Dirt and slime created a carpet in the streets, and up to the right, Marie saw a patch of brown on the wall that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

"Terrah." Marie retracted her hand and crossed her arms. Terrah turned, impatient. "You said it wasn't far. Isn't it about time to acknowledge we're lost?" Even as she said it, she felt her heart sink a little. Behind Terrah, a woman in rags eyed them contemplatively.

Terrah suddenly looked uncertain. She wrung her hands. Marie wanted to wring her neck.

"I'm sorry!" she suddenly wailed. "I really thought I knew the way." She bit her lip, staring around anxiously. "Normally I'm always accompanied by someone..." Her eyes fell on a dirty man curled up around an empty bottle, not ten feet away. "Generally someone big and strong and carrying a huge sword."

"Well," Marie snapped, anger flaring inside her, "As nice as one of those would be, we don't have one right now."

"What should we do?" Terrah asked desperately.

Marie gaped at her. "You're asking me? You know this city better than I do!"

"Not this part!" protested Terrah. "I certainly don't have a reason to waltz into this neighborhood, now do I?"

"Wish you did," Marie growled. "Then we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Well, I—"

"Enough!" Marie raised her hands. "We can't just stay here! We have to find some way out of here, so let's just pick an alley and go!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

They glared at each other.

An hour later they had somehow managed to wander into an area of town even seedier than the part they had just left. Marie felt that flicker of fear she had been trying to avoid. Hannon would definitely be looking for them now. He had probably sent soldiers after them. But what if no one found them? She and Terrah clutched each other, their eyes wary as they surveyed their surroundings.

Marie was furious with herself. This had been dumb to begin with. Why had she ever agreed to it? She cursed.

"Let's try this alley," Terrah murmured. "It looks slightly nicer."

It wasn't. The alley they chose narrowed to about shoulder length. In fact, Marie had to scrunch up her shoulders to prevent the grimy walls from brushing her dress. A rat-like creature scurried in front of them, and Terrah shrieked, backing into Marie.

"Ow! Geesh," she muttered, reverting to English, "It's just a rat. Not a tiger."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing." Maretzian. "Just that—"

She stared. It had been inevitable some lowlifes would find them, but it had taken so long she had started to hope they would escape from this unscathed. Obviously not. The men appeared out of nowhere, surrounding them in seconds. Three with swords blocked the wider side of the alley, and two similarly-armed men blocked the other. They were covered in muck, and they smelled rancid.

Marie and Terrah shrank against each other.

Marie's heart leapt inside her chest. "What do you want?" she demanded, keeping her eyes fixed on the specimen nearest her, a wiry man with dirty, curly blond hair and a scraggly beard.

The man's eyes flicked over her, and she shot him a withering look. He could take any valuable she had on her, but she would scream at the top of her lungs if he tried to take anything else. He leered. Marie shrank back even more, her expression defiant. Terrah clutched her hand; both of their palms were sweaty.

The men lunged forward, and Marie tensed, ready to put up a fight, ready to—what was that?

Marie froze, and so did the men. Beside Marie, Terrah had squeezed closed her eyes, tilted back her head, and was screaming at the top of her lungs. Marie gaped. She had never heard such a high-pitched, screeching sound in her life. She hadn't even known it was possible to scream that loudly. She was sure everyone within a mile could hear it.

Apparently the men felt the same way. The wiry one shot Terrah a horrified look before scampering off. The other men hesitated, then did the same. As a particularly large one barreled past Marie, he slammed her into the rough brick wall. Marie winced, pain shooting down her arm and collarbone. Terrah kept on screeching.

Marie pushed herself off the wall. She squinted at her arm and grimaced. The sleeve of her dress had torn, and through it Marie could see a mess of blood and grime on her shoulder. Ick. Terrah's screams reached an annoyingly high sound level. Marie's head started to pound. Her ears throbbed. Cringing, she tapped Terrah on the shoulder.

Terrah opened her eyes, her screams fading. Her eyes darted around the alley. She looked bewildered.

"They're gone," said Marie bluntly. "That dreadful sound you just made scared them away."

Terrah and Marie stared at each other. Marie's lips twitched. Her eyes crinkled. She fought to keep a straight face. At last she managed, her voice strangled, "Heaven help your husband if he ever ticks you off."

And she howled with laughter.

The silence was the worst part: the steady silence with which Barnabas regarded her, his eyes flicking from her mussed hair to her dirty shoulder. Marie stared back at him, her stance defensive.

The silence stretched on, and at last Pamela stood. "We should get that wound cleaned up," she said quickly. She swept up to Marie and scrutinized her with cold eyes. "Whatever happened...is it going to endanger our relationship with the Maretzians?"

"No." Marie's voice was hoarse.

"Then I don't really want to know what happened. Come with me." She left the room, and after sending Barnabas and Darius sharp looks, Marie followed her.

As Pamela washed off Marie's arm, Marie's thoughts wondered back to that afternoon. Members of the Imperial Patrol had arrived within minutes. Marie had still been doubled over with laughter, so they had turned to Terrah for instruction. Marie continued to laugh, tears pouring down her face, as the guards led them back to the palace. It hadn't been until Terrah had slapped her that Marie had escaped her bout of hysteria.

Thinking about it, Marie blushed. She didn't know what had come over her—just that she had needed to laugh. Desperately.

"Ow!" Marie scowled at Pamela, who narrowed her eyes.

"You will bleed for a few days," Pamela informed her, grabbing a swath of bandages and wrapping them around Marie's arm. "The cut is deep and will heal slowly." She considered Marie. "As your section leader, I am commanding you to spend the rest of the day in your room. Have your laewin bring you dinner. Furthermore"—she tightened the bandage, and Marie winced—"I do not want you to leave the palace again unless properly escorted. I don't know what type of mess you got yourself into, but I don't want it repeated."

She stared Marie straight in the eye, her lips thin. Marie glowered, furious this was an order she would have to obey.

Pamela leaned forward. "Don't mess anything up, Nettleson."

She tied the final knot on the bandage and stepped back.

Marie turned. "What happened to Hannon?"

Pamela gazed at her evenly. "He informed us of your disappearance, and then Lord Parvenin summoned him."

"Is he going to be punished?" Guilt gnawed at her at the very thought.

"I have no idea," said Pamela coolly. "You should have considered that possibility before you ran off. And he should have considered the same thing before he let you." Her eyes glittered venomously. "To your room, Nettleson."

Marie moved to go past her, but stopped abruptly, swiveling around. Her eyes bored into Pamela's.

"You hate me, don't you?"

Pamela's face twitched. "Yes."

Something close to satisfaction rose in Marie. "Why?"

Pamela jerked her head. "To your room, Nettleson."

Marie studied her, her eyes hard. At last she smirked. "Of course, O Powerful Leader."

As Marie slammed shut the door behind her, Pamela's lips curled back into a snarl.

Chapter Thirteen:

Three cups of fernigh and a dinner of dessert put Marie in a ridiculously good mood, and oddly enough, the fact that Pamela hated her only made Marie happier. It meant she no longer had to feel bad about disliking the woman. Marie ate dinner in her nightgown, lazed around in bed, and propped her feet up on the table while eating. It was like having a sleepover, except without any other girls or a movie. If being allowed to skip formal dinner was a punishment, Marie was going to get into trouble more often. She was in such a good mood she didn't even let the pain in her shoulder bother her.

Marie sighed contentedly as she rose out of bed. She approached Max and brought his fingers to her lips. "Thank you for bringing me dinner. It was delicious. You are dismissed for the evening. Good night!"

Max bowed and backed out of the room. Marie flopped back onto her bed. She raised her feet in the air and wiggled her toes, scrutinizing them. She didn't think they looked too bad, especially considering they hadn't undergone a pedicure for a few months.

She rolled onto her side, but she was too awake to go to sleep. Her mind still buzzed from the day's activities. Every time she remembered that man's face when he heard Terrah's scream, she had to bury her face in her pillow as she burst into a fit of giggles.

Someone knocked on her door. "Marie!"

Marie's laughter faded. She shot up, her pulse leaping.

"Marie! It's me—Terrah!"

Marie's eyes bugged. She stumbled out of bed, crossed the room, and opened the door in one stride. "How did you get...in?"

Behind Terrah, Rheidan smirked at her. "Laewin know how to get into rooms even when the doors are locked. Trick all noble children learn as soon as they can walk."

Marie peered down the hall. "Come inside! Come inside!" she hissed, waving them in. "Pamela will murder me if she finds out you two are here!"

She locked the door behind them and stared at them, barely caring that she was wearing her nightgown. In front of Rheidan. She gulped. "What are you doing here?" She didn't know whether to be pleased or upset. Her heart raced inside her chest.

Terrah rolled her eyes. "When Rheidan found out what happened today, he was..."

"Furious," supplied Rheidan.

"Furious."

His eyes glittered. "Because it was incredibly stupid—"

"Rheidan, shush." Terrah glared at him. "I agreed to bring you here to talk with Marie, not lecture her." She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, and you've done as asked," Rheidan pointed out. He gave her a significant look. When she arched an eyebrow, he amended, "So you can go now."

"Hmm," sniffed Terrah. "Well, I suppose my work is done. I'll go to the library and wait for you there." She turned to leave, then turned back. She wagged her finger at him. "Don't do anything inappropriate!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she smiled brightly before dancing out the door.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Marie shifted nervously. She glanced down at the ground, then back up at Rheidan, who gave her the smile she liked so much. Her heart did a little flip-flop.

"I had just wanted to see you were still in one piece," Rheidan told her. His eyes swept over her, glittering, and Marie mock-glared at him. He smirked. "It appears you are."

"And this couldn't wait till morning?" She was ridiculously happy he thought it couldn't. Her heart flip-flopped again. She had never been alone with Rheidan before. Every inch of her skin felt hyperaware.

"No, it couldn't." His face turned serious, and he grimaced. "Tomorrow I will be leaving at the crack of dawn with my regiment. Training exercise. It will last a week, so you won't see me around the palace. I'm sorry. I only received word a few hours ago."

Marie deflated a little.

Rheidan's hand cupped her cheek. It burned where it touched her. He smiled fondly and stepped closer. Marie's heart fluttered. When he leaned down, Marie's heart raced even faster. She opened her mouth to say something, but all she managed to blurt out was, "Nothing inappropriate, Rheidan!"

Rheidan threw back his head and laughed. "Nothing too inappropriate, I promise."

He kissed her. Marie's toes curled.

"Marie? What was that?"

The two broke apart guiltily. Marie groaned. Pamela's timing was impeccable, as always. The woman existed to make her miserable.

"You have to go," Marie hissed, shoving Rheidan away.

"Already?"

"You laughed, remember? You drew her here!" He turned to the door, but Marie tugged him away from it. "No, not that one! She's out there! Use the laewin corridors." She shoved him to Max's door, and he disappeared through it.

Pamela poked her head into the room. She narrowed her eyes when she saw it was empty. "What are you doing?"

Marie gave her a weird look. "Going to bed." Duh.

Pamela appeared suspicious, but closed the door.

Marie slumped down on her bed. A flush settled over her cheeks. She wouldn't sleep a wink tonight. Damn Rheidan.

The day of the death match dawned cool and misty. Max woke her up as usual, but Marie laid in bed for several minutes before forcing herself out of it. "You know what, Max?" she said, sliding out from beneath the covers, her feet brushing the thick carpet. "I really hate the idea of combat fights. In fact, I really dislike slavery in general."

She fingered the green-gold dress he had lain out for. "I wonder how long you've been a slave. Have you ever known anything different?" She sighed. As always, he didn't answer, just stood there in silence.

She ate her breakfast quickly, a steaming bowl of something resembling mashed potatoes, and was surprised to see a small cup of fernigh. But the drink didn't have the usual calming effect. Instead, the influx of sugar left her jittery and hyperaware. When she finally met up with Barnabas, Darius, and Pamela in the common room, her stomach was churning and her hands felt clammy.

She must have looked ill, because Barnabas gave her a dark look. "Try not to be sick, Marie."

Marie shot him the most poisonous look she could muster.

They took a series of chariots to the stadium. They made a thundering, clattering, self-important herd in the street. People jumped out of their way as they passed. They rounded the amphitheatre, coming to a stop next to a huge, elaborate entrance on the long side of the oval.

Marie clambered out of the chariot she had shared with a large, potbellied man and peered around. Droves of people were already entering the amphitheatre through various gates along its side. She could hear the dim roar of hundreds of people chatting. The games hadn't started yet, but they would soon.

"Come along!" Barnabas commanded harshly, and Marie stumbled after him.

A stern man with a wicked-looking knife on his belt took her ticket and inspected it before allowing her to pass. Marie's gaze was immediately drawn upward. The ceiling stretched impossibly high above them, several stories tall at least. The far wall of the antechamber angled outwards and met up with the wall she had just passed through. Marie felt incredibly small. In front of her, men ran around carrying steaming glasses of wine and fernigh for anyone willing to pay. Darius bought a glass of wine, but Marie's stomach lurched just at the sight of the drinks.

They barreled through a small tunnel, emerging near the bottom of the amphitheatre. The misty cool air felt good against Marie's skin. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was anywhere but here. She opened her eyes again. The stadium was impossibly huge...so many people were already there, a vibrating sea of different colored robes.

"Come along, Marie!" Barnabas sounded annoyed.

Marie blinked and followed him. Up ahead towered a large tent set in the middle of the long part of the oval and at the base of the seats. The seats weren't level with the sand arena, but a couple of feet up—far enough up to have a good, unobstructed view of the fight.

Of course they sat in the tent. Parvenin had bought them the best seats in the stadium. Every chair in it filled up, except for the one in the center. That chair was a throne, large and grandiose. Symbols Marie didn't recognize had been etched into it. It looked ancient.

"It is Sidriel's Seat," explained Parvenin unnecessarily. "It stays empty for most matches, but the consequence of sitting in it is your participation in a match."

Mare shuddered and found her seat. The other chairs inside the tent were elaborate wooden things with golden framing. Nothing but the best for Sidriel's guests.

Three seats ahead of Marie, Barnabas and Pamela leaned close together and discussed the architecture of the amphitheatre. Darius was absorbed in a conversation with one of Parvenin's associates, and Parvenin stood gossiping with someone dressed in elaborate robes. As she watched, the man left and found a seat not too far away, but Parvenin had only just sat down when he leapt to his feet again, greeting another person.

"What do you think of Morian's chances?"

"Oh, I'm sure he'll beat Jaifer and Inagio in the first rounds, but I have a feeling Emathian will defeat him if they end up fighting in the final round..."

They could have been talking about football, the way they chatted with each other. A few rows behind them a group of men haggled with a man in uniform—"Placing bets," Parvenin explained to Darius. To Marie's left and back, a husband and wife sat whispering into each other's ears. The woman giggled loudly and turned, motioning for a wine bearer to bring them a cup of wine.

Marie turned her back to them, her eyes falling to the sands of the arena. From what she could tell, it had six gated entrances. Each was wide enough for two chariots side by side.

She didn't know how much time passed. Barnabas continued chatting with the people sitting around him; every once in a while he would jump up to greet someone in the same manner as Parvenin. Out of nowhere he produced a bunch of programs. He handed one of them to Marie, but she crumpled it up without glancing at it.

At last the crowd settled. Marie's heart twisted. She swallowed, and her eyes fell on a figure dressed in green robes standing on a mini-podium not far away.

"Welcome to the Varisian Amphitheatre," boomed the man. Marie was stunned at how well he managed to project his voice. The acoustics were incredible. The shuffling of the audience died down. The whispers faded away. "As a Brother under Sidriel, I greet you."

The man revolved slowly on the spot, scanning the audience. The silence was audible. "Today we are pleased to offer you a special array of events, the highlight of which will be a combat tournament"—the crowd cheered—"featuring impressive fighters such as Morian, Emathian, Jeldilorn, and Haspara!" The crowd's cheering grew more enthusiastic. Marie's ears ached.

"But first, to whet your appetite, a series of executions and a dramatic recreation of the Battle of Marcasis!" The crowd cheered, and the man smiled, satisfied, before turning and disappearing into one of the entrance tunnels.

Marie turned away, determined not watch, but the sudden thunderous shouts of derision forced her eyes to the arena. Ten guards with spears poked and prodded a group of men in rags, herding them to the center of the sands, where they cowered against each other. Marie sat close enough to see the expressions on their faces; they looked ready to faint from terror. The crowd screamed and hissed at them, words Marie had never heard before but figured were profanities.

The guards left the arena. One of the men tried to run after them, but a guard turned around and knocked him to the ground with his spear. The crowd laughed. The man rose unsteadily to his feet, his head swiveling around.

Chains rattled, and the crowd suddenly rose to its feet, roaring. Two gates on the opposite side of the arena burst open, and in ran the strangest and most terrifying collection of animals Marie had ever seen: cats the size of horses, strange looking bear-creatures with clipped wings, overgrown lizards with two tails and eight legs. They started fighting each other before they even reached the prisoners.

Marie closed her eyes. She heard the snarling and hissing and yipping of the animals. She heard the crowd roar. She heard the prisoners scream. She heard the screams end. A tear slid down her cheek.

She kept her eyes closed the entire morning. She heard the man announce the battle recreation, heard the screams and roars and the clattering of chariots and the clashing of steel on steel. Later she heard the man announcing the combat fights, heard the crowd go from breathless to roaring. Nearby she heard a seat fall over, and she knew someone had jumped up to see something. Darius talked. Pamela cheered. Barnabas laughed. And Marie sat in darkness, wondering when the world had gone mad.

They left the games early in the afternoon. Hannah dragged her up from her seat, and Marie allowed her to lead her out, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. She tried not to look at the arena, but she couldn't help but catch a couple of glimpses. Blood soaked the sands; she could smell it in the air, could practically taste it on her tongue. A few feet away Darius stood chewing a pastry, and Marie wondered how he could do it without vomiting. Marie's stomach churned.

She made it out of the amphitheatre as if in a daze. She walked mechanically to her chariot and grabbed its railing with weak hands. Her eyes had dried out from all her tears. Her heart had sunk to somewhere near her toes. She dared one glance back, as the chariot thundered away. She saw the outline of the amphitheatre. She heard the echoing memory of the crowd screaming as a man was torn in half.

She turned her head slowly to the street in front of her.

Hate welled up in her: hate for the combat games, hate for their spectators, and hate for Sidriel, who allowed them to happen.

Chapter Fourteen:

"Cristaña's been arrested."

"What?"

Hannah nodded grimly, her eyes tight.

Marie scrambled out of bed. "What—why—I mean, how?" The world spun in front of her. Cristaña arrested? It was like hearing Parvenin criticize Sidriel! "There has to be some sort of mistake!" Seeing Hannah's serious expression, a hint of desperation entered her voice. "No, really—there has to be a mistake." Arrested? Cristaña? Impossible. Her heart raced.

Hannah shook her head. "She was caught red-handed, tampering with the communication device."

"What?"

Cristaña?

"She's being brought to the palace as we speak." Hannah turned to leave, but Marie ran after her.

"Why would she do that?" Panic welled up inside her.

"We don't know yet."

"But it doesn't make any sense! She wouldn't be able to go home either!"

"We don't know that for sure."

"But how could she go home?" Marie pressed, following Hannah into the common room. "She'd need the communication device!"

"We don't know. She obviously had a plan."

Marie whirled on Barnabas. "This doesn't make any sense!"

But Barnabas wasn't listening. He strode forward, grabbed her by her shoulders, and shook her. "Did you know anything about this?" His voice vibrated with anger. "Anything at all?"

"Let me go!" Marie jerked away. She glared at him, outraged and insulted. "I knew nothing!" she hissed. "Don't you think that if I did, I'd tell you? I want to leave this hellhole, thank you very much! If I never have to hear the roar of that amphitheatre again I'd die happy!" She was practically spitting. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing! I have given you no reason to distrust me!"

Barnabas glowered at her. "You were on her team—"

"As were eight other girls!" spat Marie. "And if I could remind you, I was assigned to that team! I didn't choose it!"

"You spend a lot of time around Cristaña—"

"She was my team leader, and she was nice to me, unlike a lot of other people on this expedition!" Marie shot Darius and Pamela furious looks.

Barnabas slowly calmed. He backed away. His dark eyes fixed on her. "Well, unfortunately, you may not get back to Earth. None of us may. At least not anytime soon."

"What?"

"I have everyone who can work on the communication device working on it, but we're not exactly sure what she's done."

Marie stared at him disbelievingly. "The device—"

"The device may die, yes. It's intertwined with a computer, into which Cristaña has programmed some sort of virus. It could go the same way a laptop goes."

"But..." Marie's mind spun. She felt dizzy. "But going home..."

No. Cristaña wouldn't do this.

"If the device dies," Barnabas told her harshly, "Then the people back home will have nothing to anchor the MIT to. You should know this, Marie. They won't be able to find us! They won't know where to create a gate! If the communication device stops working, the MIT won't have a location to 'connect to.'"

"And we'll be stuck here," Marie supplied dully. Why would Cristaña do this?

"For a very long time, at least. The MIT can still transport people to Maretzia, but it will not necessarily be to this location. It could be to any location. They could send another team, but that team could appear on the other side of the world."

Marie sank into a chair. Her limbs trembled. She could get stuck here. Stuck. For years. What about her grandmother? What about college? Her friends? Her future? How could she live here, in this society? Waiting tables no longer seemed so bad.

Barnabas leaned down next to her. "Marie, if Cristaña said anything to you—anything at all—that at any point in time seemed puzzling or strange, if anything comes to mind—some odd behavior—talking to someone she had no reason to talk to—please tell us."

Marie shook her head listlessly. "She seemed perfectly normal." Her voice cracked. Stuck. Why had she ever allowed herself to get close to Terrah, to Rheidan? Now more than ever she realized how much she missed Earth. "I can't think of anything strange at all."

She turned to gaze at Barnabas imploringly. "I mean, are you sure she—?"

"I'm sure."

"Why?"

"There were many powerful people back on Earth who wished to see this expedition fail," said Pamela coldly. "She could be working for one of them."

"And risk getting stuck here?" That was the part Marie couldn't understand. It was a suicide mission.

"Like I said," interrupted Hannah, "She may have found another way out of here. If she was working for another company, she may have her own communication device, one she's hidden somewhere. It's possible someone stole the patent for the MIT and the device, built replicates..."

Marie shook her head. It was too far-fetched. It didn't make any sense.

Darius, Pamela, and Barnabas started arguing with each other, theorizing how Cristaña could have done it. Marie's head swam. Cristaña had always been so nice. Why would she do something like this? Marie thought of the first time she had met Cristaña, when Cristaña had taken her under her wing, protecting her from mean jabs and showing her how to pitch and take down a tent...Cristaña had been like a friendly aunt, the mother figure of the expedition. Marie felt betrayed.

"May I talk to her?"

Barnabas, Darius, and Pamela fell silent. They turned to look at her.

Marie tried again. The words sounded distant even as she said them. "May I talk to her, when they bring her here?"

Barnabas frowned. Darius arched an eyebrow.

"No."

Marie turned to Pamela. "Why not?"

"Because—"

"Pamela." Barnabas shot her a warning glance, then twisted around to consider Marie. "Perhaps you can." Pamela opened her mouth to protest. "But later. After we have finished interrogating her and are satisfied she has told us everything."

It was the best she would get. Marie nodded.

Marie couldn't stop the panic that bubbled up in her at the thought of never seeing home again, of never again celebrating Christmas, going to the park with friends, or curling up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate to watch reruns of the Brady Bunch. But she couldn't do anything. She was terrible with computers. She wouldn't even know where to begin to help.

She bit her lip as she paced across her room. But she had to do something! She had tagged along the entire trip. The most useful thing she had done was learn how to read Maretzian, and that certainly wasn't going help fix the machine.

"I can't believe this, Max!" She tugged at her hair. "What am I going to do? If the communication device breaks, then none of us are going home! No one will be able to find us! And"—this was the truly horrible thought—"if we can't communicate with home, we have nothing to offer the Maretzians—nothing more than the knowledge we carried with us. And that's only going to keep us on good relations for so long. Barnabas is promising goods we won't be able to provide!"

She turned too fast and bumped into Max, who caught and steadied her. "Thank you," she muttered, but of course he said nothing.

"I have to get out of here," she decided abruptly. "I have to leave the palace, the city. I miss being surrounded by my people. I miss the expedition." She slumped onto her bed. "I want to get away from everything. I want to see Jennifer and Dustin and Raymond and even Joseph."

She needed to collect herself. She needed to distance herself from the trials of Maretzian life. She was tired of explaining Earth to everyone, tired of always checking herself to make sure she did nothing to upset someone. She—just—needed—out.

So the next morning she marched down to the common room and informed Barnabas she was leaving.

"What?"

"I am going to camp. I need a break."

Barnabas stood slowly. "No."

Marie arched an eyebrow. "And why not? You don't need me."

"People will ask questions—"

Marie laughed hollowly. "B.S. I doubt Parvenin even realizes I exist. He sure as heck won't notice if I'm gone for a few days."

"But if you—"

"Barnabas." Marie threw him an exasperated glance. "There is no logical reason for me to stay here. You know that. Let me go. Just let me relax, okay? Let me take a break."

"Marie, this is a military expedition, and soldiers do not take—"

"Yeah, well I'm not a soldier," Marie cut in. "Nor am I employed by SpiritStar." She gave him an annoyed look. "I'm the 'Citizen,' remember? That's why I'm on this trip. Look, Barnabas, I wasn't trained for this. Your precious SpiritStar rocketed me into this world without so much as giving me CPR training. You think anyone expects me to put up with as much as everyone else?"

A flash of inspiration. "The only expectation for me on this trip is to record what goes on. Well, I know enough about palace life to write a book about it, but I haven't even seen our camp. So let me go. I have a job to do."

Barnabas sighed. "Fine," he eventually said. Marie felt a rush of excitement. "But wait for me. I've been meaning to go down there to check on something for a while now. I'll take you. I just need to finish this report first. Go pack whatever you need to pack."

"MARIE!" squealed Jennifer, bounding up and hugging her. The smell of lavender perfume clogged Marie's nose. Jennifer stepped back, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "Look at you! That fancy Maretzian dress! Love the burnt umber look. Goes so well with your skin tone."

Marie smiled warmly. It was so good to hear Jennifer prattle away, even if she wasn't sure what she had just said. "Thanks."

Jennifer looped her arm around Marie's. "You have sooo much to tell me. Starting with Rheidan. Has he kissed you yet?"

"Um..."

"He has? You have to tell me all about it!"

Marie laughed. "The full details. Promise."

"Excellent..."

Marie had never felt so relaxed in her entire time in Maretzia. Jennifer led her back to tent 12, where her sleeping bag awaited her.

"The entire camp is abuzz about Cristaña," Jennifer informed her happily. "No one understands why she did it. All of tent 12 was interrogated about it, as was basically every person Cristaña ever talked to." She rolled her eyes.

"What about the communication device?" Marie asked, dumping her backpack onto her bedroll.

"The what?" Jennifer's face scrunched up.

"The communication device," said Marie slowly, tensing. Surely Barnabas had told them...?

"Oh, the CD!" exclaimed Jennifer. "That's we call it here. CD. Kind of like MIT. Communication device is a mouthful, no?"

"Right." Marie murmured, relaxing. Then she smiled. This was what staying in the palace had done to her! She was seeing conspiracies, lies, and deception everywhere. CD...She shook her head.

"Well, anyway, the CD will be fine. Barnabas has got every friggin' genius in this camp working on it. I'm sure they'll have it straightened out in no time." She smiled brightly.

Marie stared at her for a few minutes. Then she smiled and wrapped her arm around Jennifer's shoulder. "You know what, Jennifer? You have to catch me up on everything!"

Jennifer rolled her eyes to the heavens. "I thought you'd never ask, sweetie."

Jennifer updated her on the latest gossip as they strolled through the camp, prattling away about what Person A did to Person B, but Marie only listened with half an ear. She had never been to the camp before and was surprised at how settled it felt. In addition to the tents and circles of campfires she was used to there were a few more permanent-looking buildings. All the rollers had been emptied, and they lay stacked against each other at the edge of the camp.

They wandered to the camp's north side, where Marie saw, to her utter surprise, a section of shorn grass that had been marked up to look like a football field. She faced Jennifer, the expression on her face incredulous. "Is that what I think it is?"

Jennifer smirked. "It is. And there's a game that supposed to start in"—She checked her watch—"five minutes. Want to watch some football?"

Marie was thrilled. "Of course! But who's playing?"

Jennifer led them to the 50 yard line, and the two sat on a small knoll of grass. "It's Army versus SpiritStar." She lowered her voice. "Again."

"Oh. Who won last time?"

Jennifer grinned. "Army. But Army beats everybody."

Marie tilted her head. "That's not really surprising. Is it like a team of Dustins?"

"Yes. And Dustin is on the team."

"So are we cheering for Army?"

"No way. Everyone hates Army. It's so irritating to see them win all the time."

Marie giggled.

The sidelines filled with spectators within a few minutes. Both Army and SpiritStar showed up at the same time, and Marie couldn't help but feel sorry for SpiritStar. SpiritStar had some tall, heavy people on their team, but Army was just intimidating: six-foot tall commandos with bronze, rippling muscles and feral grins. Dustin was the smallest member of the team.

Marie turned to Jennifer. "Ouch."

Jennifer nodded vigorously. "That about sums it up."

The game was over in ten minutes. Army scored three touchdowns on their first three drives, and the SpiritStar players could only get about two feet before some giant clobbered them. SpiritStar hung in for the entire game, taking the beatings as they came, but the score at the end of the fourth quarter wasn't pretty: 89-0. When the players finally left the field—Army bouncing, SpiritStar crawling—Marie glanced at Jennifer.

"That was just mean."

"It was, wasn't it?" Jennifer didn't seem in the least bit perturbed. In fact, she sounded rather satisfied. She leapt to her feet, pulling Marie up along with her. "Dustin! Woohoo! Look who's back!"

"Marie!" Dustin pulled her up into a bear hug, and Marie gasped.

"Ew! Dustin!" Jennifer crinkled her nose.

Dustin dropped Marie. "What?"

"You're all sweaty and gross! And you just got your ickiness all over Marie!"

Dustin glanced down at himself. He blushed. "Oh. Sorry, Marie."

Marie smiled brightly at him. "It's okay! I'll see you at dinner. Shower up."

"Yeah..."

As they walked away, Jennifer grumbled. "You'll need to shower up too now. Really, that boy can be so inconsiderate sometimes..."

Marie glanced at her slyly. "You like him, don't you?"

Jennifer turned bright red. "Like him?" she spluttered. "I don't like him! Annoying, pea-brained..."

Chapter Fifteen:

Dinner that night proved to be a lighthearted affair. Joseph practically ran into the room when he saw her. "Marie!" he exclaimed, hugging her and blushing. "So good to have you back!"

Raymond made do with greeting her with a curt nod, for which Marie was grateful. The hugs hurt her shoulder.

It was when she retrieved her food carton from the ever-glowering Bernard that Marie remembered the downfall to returning to camp: meals. She poked at the white mush in her carton gloomily. It looked completely unappetizing. Her mind drifted back to the meals Max brought her, and her stomach clenched.

"Not what you're used to, huh?" asked Dustin, eyeing her.

Marie smiled ruefully. "Not anymore." She set it down after taking only a few bites. Really, how had she ever managed to eat that stuff?

"We get a few fresh fruits and vegetables," Raymond told her.

"But," interjected Joseph, "Bernard is in charge of distributing them. And you know him: one big bowl of generosity. We only get them occasionally—whenever he's in a good mood."

Marie's eyes fell on Bernard. "What puts him in a good mood?" What a very strange thought.

Jennifer smirked knowingly. "Hannah."

"What—ugh." She shuddered. Jennifer cackled.

Marie did her best to explain what she did in the city while they ate. She told Joseph about the gardens and Jennifer about court fashion and the dresses that appeared every morning. Dustin asked her about the Maretzian military, but Marie couldn't answer much.

"All I really know is that their officers are trained in a school called the Academy," she confessed. "I know it's somewhere in the palace—but Dustin, the palace is just so huge—I honestly haven't seen it." Her thoughts flicked to Rheidan. "And I know that active officers stay in the palace sometimes. And that they go on training excursions periodically." She frowned. "I don't think most of their military is here, to be honest. I imagine a significant portion of their army is in Madalinda, fighting this rebellion."

"And what's the deal with this rebellion?" asked Raymond. He poked at something in his carton. "No one has told us much about it. Only that the fight against it has required the emperor's presence."

Marie shrugged. "Some people in Madalinda want independence. Headed by a guy named Gaidus Herpanteon. Emperor is expected to crush it. That's all I know."

They fell silent. Marie's eyes roved over them. They didn't look any different from when Marie had last seen them. Had it only been two months? It felt like two years.

"What do you guys do during the day?"

"Other than play football?" Dustin arched an eyebrow. "We have drills to stay in shape. Target practice, the like—but away from the Maretzian soldiers. Barnabas doesn't want to give the Maretzians any ideas—you know, about guns, etcetera. We've also been forced to learn a lot more hand to hand combat."

Beside Dustin, Jennifer shrugged. "I just do what I've always done. Make sure the dogs stay alive. And breed them." At Marie's look of surprise, she shrugged again. "Yeah, we brought a few breeders. Just in case we thought we might need them. I think Barnabas is thinking of trading the pups."

Next to Jennifer, Joseph scowled. "You have no idea what that might do to the local ecosystem. Unleashing dogs—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jennifer held up her hand. "You've told me. And I'll tell you again: not my problem. Not my decision. Barnabas's decision. If you and your little group of scientists feel so strongly about it, have Mabel talk to Barnabas about it."

Joseph harrumphed and turned to Marie. "I've been working with Mabel and the other botanists, collecting plants and whatnot. You know...the job we've always been doing. Except here we can set up a more permanent lab and run some more elaborate tests. Hence Mabel is working all of us harder than ever."

"And I've continued to take pictures," interrupted Raymond.

"Yeah," added Jennifer eagerly. "He actually gets to go into the city and the surrounding countryside. He's so lucky." She lowered her voice. "Very few people are allowed far out of camp. Barnabas doesn't want to overwhelm the local population."

"It is a good idea," said Marie. "A few of us...we're a curiosity, people to be intrigued by. A lot of us...we're trouble."

"But people pass our camp every day," Jennifer protested. "They know how many of us there are."

Marie frowned, thinking about it. "Not really," she disagreed. "The people that pass you are merchants, more often than not. Or soldiers. And they bring back rumors of your numbers, whispers in the streets. But in reality, most people don't know how many of us there are. Only a very small percentage of the denizens of Melei-Argalla leave its walls." She paused. "You really have no idea quite how large the city is." Her mind flashed back to the incident with Terrah. They had roamed through a maze of streets. "The city just...stretches on...and on. I would be willing to bet two million people live in Melei-Argalla."

They stared at her skeptically.

Marie shrugged. "Just saying. It's pretty big. Pretty populated. This camp is an anthill in comparison."

When Barnabas left for the city that evening, Marie abruptly realized how stressed his presence made her. Without Barnabas, Darius, or Pamela breathing down her neck, Marie felt free. The constant wariness towards her companions that had hounded her in the city disappeared now that she was outside its walls. Marie felt its absence as if a weight had vanished from her body. She ran around like a child, prattling away to anyone who would talk to her, telling jokes and singing songs around the campfires. She attended another football game, teamed up with Jennifer in a game of chess against Hamako and Bryce—they were beaten soundly, but she was too happy to care—and even helped Mabel negotiate with Bernard for a few samples of his fruit and vegetables. She was fairly sure her presence hindered rather than helped Mabel, but Bernard ended up relinquishing the necessary plants anyway. When Mabel called Bernard "that good-for-nothing, miserable lowlife," Marie thought she couldn't be happier.

The one low spot in her blissful vacation was Joseph. She supposed she should have expected it, considering how he had acted on the journey to Melei-Argalla, but she had honestly forgotten about his crush on her. And with Rheidan not around competing for her attention, he seemed determined to pursue her.

"Well, it's not exactly like he has very many options," Mabel told her bluntly.

Marie arched an eyebrow. "Are you telling me the only reason he's attracted to me is because I'm the best option he's got?" She didn't know whether to be amused or insulted.

Mabel set a blue bush into a pot and scooped up a shovelful of dirt. "Well, you have to be honest: That's part of the reason. As far as people his age are concerned, it's either you or Jennifer." She shook her head. "And can you imagine him with a girl like Jennifer?"

No. But more importantly, Marie couldn't imagine Jennifer with a boy like Joseph.

Mabel poured the dirt into the pot and patted it down. "But he is honestly attracted to you, Marie. I knew him before, back on Earth. I was the one who recruited him." She glanced at Marie out of the corner of her eye. "Mind like that—he was exactly what we needed. To be honest, he's the best man I have working for me."

"I don't doubt he's a hard worker—" started Marie.

"Oh, I know. I'm not reprimanding you. You're just saying he's not your type. Am I right?"

Marie nodded unhappily. "I wish he was, though." She twirled the orange flower he had given her earlier, a beautiful, slender thing that smelled like apples. "He's very considerate. Very nice. You don't see the flower type very often." She smiled fondly. "He'll make a great husband for one lucky girl one day." She sighed. "That girl's just not me."

Her thoughts flickered to Rheidan, with his dark eyes and heart-stopping smile. She couldn't imagine Rheidan going out and picking flowers for her, at least not without Terrah prodding him.

Mabel nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "Well, I don't know what to tell you. Just be honest with him, I suppose." She waved her hand over herself. "When you spend half your time covered in mud, you don't end up with much romantic experience, so don't blame me if I give you bad advice." She hesitated. "Just be gentle with him."

Marie resolved to tell him her feelings, but the next time she saw Joseph, the words died in her throat. He presented her with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, some of the prettiest she had ever seen. She could tell just by looking at it that he had spent a long time putting it together. And he was so proud when he handed it to her. She just couldn't say it.

As he bounced away, his eyes alight, she felt her heart sink. She leaned up against the pole of one tent and brought the bouquet up to her nose. The various scents melded together perfectly. She sighed unhappily, dropping the bouquet to her side. She didn't need this.

To her delight, but not necessarily to her surprise, one of the items Jennifer had packed in her long-term roller was a manicure/pedicure kit, so that night Marie and Jennifer sat in the corner of tent 12 and painted their nails. It was a like a sleepover, but one with Ranjana sitting in the corner and scowling at them.

"So, purple or pink or"—Jennifer plucked a few more vials out the bag—"French?"

Marie studied her nails. "French. It goes with everything."

"French it is. Give me your right hand."

As Jennifer filed down Marie's nail, she asked, "So do Maretzian woman not do anything for their hands?"

Marie shrugged, then winced as her shoulder stung. "I don't know." She had never noticed Terrah flashing fancy nails, and though Terrah was the only noblewoman Marie ever saw frequently, she somehow doubted there was a Maretzian equivalent to a manicure.

"Pity," said Jennifer, squinting. "That's one of the things we're going to have to introduce to this world."

Marie arched an eyebrow. "Not sure how well that will go over."

"I imagine the same way make-up will," said Jennifer breezily.

Marie looked at her like she was crazy. "Make-up? Are you serious? That's so—so—" not going to happen here. "I don't think make-up will catch on."

Jennifer shrugged. "SpiritStar will try it, I'm sure. I imagine most every product you can imagine will be tried here. Even jeans and shorts and whatnot."

Marie tried to imagine it, but couldn't. It was ludicrous. Terrah in jeans? She wouldn't be Terrah. Her eyes flicked down to her hands again. She felt stunned, as if someone had just hit her over the head. She had been so focused on learning about Maretzia, she had never actually thought about what would happen to it now that Earth had contacted it. How much would change because of the expedition?

As soon as she thought about it, though, she knew. She knew it with a clarity and certainty that was startling, and the realization hit her like a lightning bolt. Her time in the palace and among the Maretzian people had given her a greater grasp of Maretzian culture than anyone else on the expedition, and she knew that no matter what Barnabas did up in that palace, no matter how great his contracts turned out to be, blood would be shed. Earth and Maretzia were just too different. The Maretzians would resent Earth traders trying to sell them jeans and T-shirts and make-up and ideas. Probably the only thing they'd accept would be guns, which they would then use to fight each other and people like Barnabas.

And Earth...Marie had thought about it before, but not too much. Would the people of Earth really want to have a trading relationship with a people whose society was entrenched in slavery? Maretzia was brutal. If it had been on Earth, its leaders would have been arrested for human rights abuses by now. The entire society was like a slap in the face to modern philosophy on human liberty. SpiritStar would never make the fortune it had set out to make because people would boycott their products.

The realization stunned her, even though seeing it now she realized it should have been obvious all along. She suddenly wondered what she was even doing in Maretzia. Why was SpiritStar still here? Didn't anyone else realize they should have never come to Maretzia? So much blood would be lost and so many families would be destroyed if contact between Earth and Maretzia continued. Marie's eyes fell. She hated Maretzian society. She hated slavery. She hated death games. She hated everything that was wrong with this world. But when everything fell apart, who would suffer? People like Sidriel and Lord Parvenin, yes. But Rheidan and Terrah, too. Even the victims of Maretzian society would suffer when it fell.

"You know," Jennifer's voice brought her out of her gloomy thoughts, "I really hate it when you go silent like that. It means you're thinking about something, and I've learned it's generally about something boring and depressing." She set down the nail polish. "You're done, by the way. Let your nails dry."

Marie examined them. Jennifer could have done nails professionally. "They're beautiful."

"Thanks." She sounded pleased. "Now mine?"

Marie arched an eyebrow. "All right. But don't expect similar results."

Jennifer shrugged. "I can patch them up if you mutilate them too much."

Marie grinned despite herself. "It may come to that. Purple, pink, or French?"

"Pink. I would hate to see you try to do French."

Marie picked up the nail file and grabbed Jennifer's left hand. Her thoughts flickered to Barnabas and then the mysterious Sidriel. Was he really as clever as everyone said he was? If so, why had he left, and what would he do when he figured out what was going to happen to his empire? Marie had once read of a king named Afonso I. He had ruled the Kingdom of the Kongo when the Portuguese had started trading with it. The Portuguese had traded guns for slaves, and his people had gone mad with their lust for guns. Kongo society had fallen apart, and Afonso had watched, knowing what was happening but being powerless to stop it. In the span of his lifetime, his nation had gone from prosperous to decaying. Marie wondered if the same thing would happen to Emperor Sidriel.

Marie paused in the process of painting Jennifer's thumbnail. She raised her head, her eyes turning to the flap of the tent. Did she hear shouting? She turned questioningly to Jennifer.

Jennifer looked as puzzled as Marie felt. She slowly rose to her feet, careful to hold her nails aloft. Near the flap of the tent, Ranjana set down her book and opened the flap, craning her neck to peer outside. Marie set down the nail polish.

A worried frown crossed Ranjana's face. She unfolded herself and stood, shooting Jennifer a significant look before disappearing outside. Marie's pulse leapt. Something was wrong.

Without waiting for Jennifer, Marie stood and strode out of the tent.

She saw the crowd as if in a dream. The sun had just set; the stars and two moons shone dimly against a red and purple sky. She could feel the chilly grass beneath her feet. A stinging wind picked up, ruffling her hair around her face. Her fingers felt sticky with nail polish. All of these insignificant details she registered clearly as she stared at the crowd that had gathered. The crowd that was shouting. The crowd that was booing and hissing. The faces that were crying.

Because she knew. She knew. She knew as soon as she saw the crowd. She knew as she stumbled forward to join it. She knew before she heard the angry words pouring out of everyone's mouths. She knew before she saw Hamako, Bryce, and Jaime scampering away, looking terrified. She knew.

The CD was dead. Gone. Broken. Kaput. Cristaña had succeeded. There would be no returning to Earth.

Marie stepped a few feet away from the crowd. She saw Raymond, and he looked like a stranger. His face had contorted in anger. His eyes had narrowed. His jaw was tight, as though he was gritting his teeth. The man cursing next to him had turned purple with rage. She heard a smack, and she knew a punch had been thrown.

It acted like a signal: Before Marie's eyes, the angry crowd transformed into an angry mob.

"This is not what I signed up for!"

"You promised us the problem would be fixed!"

The shouting became a roar of anger, and for one fleeting moment Marie thought she was back in the amphitheatre. The crowd surged forward. Men elbowed each other in the face and tumbled over each other. Teeth flew. Bones broke. Someone screamed. Marie backpedaled, her eyes wide.

"Don't—no—stop—!"

The tent closest to the mob shivered, and then the cloth was tearing, the tent was collapsing. Someone shouted, "You idiots! Don't you know what—!" The voice gasped.

Marie turned and ran back to tent 12. Her heart raced inside her. The sounds behind her faded, and all she could hear was her own rapid breathing, the blood pounding in her head, the soft whisper of her bare feet against the grass. A shadow loomed ahead of her, and Marie ducked out of the way, running past it.

"Marie!"

Jennifer had emerged from the tent. She looked bizarre: alarmed and off-balanced, yet carefully holding her glistening nails in front of her. Marie grabbed her arm and yanked her forward.

"Wait—what?—Marie!"

The silence disappeared. Behind her, Marie could hear the roar of the crowd, the angry feet stamping, the screams of fury and terror, and the tearing down of tents. "Come on! It's not safe here! We need to leave!"

Jennifer dragged her feet. "Marie!" she huffed. "Marie, what's going on?"

"The—CD," Marie shouted over her shoulder, "is—broken!"

"What?" Jennifer yanked her arm out of Marie's grasp.

Marie whirled around. Jennifer's eyes were wide and round and horrified. "Let's go! Everyone's going nuts! There's no telling what's going to happen tonight!"

"But—but," Jennifer spluttered. "They were going to fix it!"

"Well, they didn't," said Marie grimly. "And we should leave!"

But Jennifer backed away. Her chest heaved. Her eyes dilated. She shook her head in denial. "No! No! No!"

"Jennifer—" started Marie helplessly.

"No!" Jennifer glared at Marie. "It is not broken. That is impossible! I have too much to lose back at home just because some lunatic decided to get ticked at SpiritStar!"

Marie's temper flared. "Like I don't have something to go home to?" she screamed. "I have 5 million dollars waiting for me!"

Jennifer gaped at her for a moment. And then she cackled. And cackled. And cackled. Tears poured down her face. She looked mad. "Five—five million dollars?" she gasped.

Marie slowly backed away from her.

"And you—you—you really think you're going to get it?" She dropped to her knees, clutching her side, howling with laughter.

Marie stared at her. "I signed a contract." The words sounded distant and small.

Jennifer laughed. Marie turned and ran.

She didn't go far, just to the edge of the football field. It was far enough away from the raging mob for Marie to feel safe. She didn't want to wander too far. The gates to the city were closed, and besides, she was in her PJs. So she sat, crossing her legs and propping her chin up with her arms.

She suddenly felt amazingly calm.

It was like being at the amphitheatre again. If she closed her eyes and blocked out the sounds, she could pretend nothing bad was happening.

Pretending is not going to get me anywhere, she told herself sternly. This isn't a fairytale.

She watched as the expedition's forces fell into chaos. The screams came louder and the shouts more furious. Something wooshed, and orange flames crackled to her right. The acrid scent of smoke filled the air.

Something big and wet plopped on her forehead. Marie tilted her head backward, slowly tearing her eyes from the scene in front of her to the sky above her. Where had the clouds come from? She recalled a starry sky.

The heavens poured down on her. Big, fat raindrops soaked her skin, chilling her. The water came down in straight sheets. Her hair plastered against her forehead. Her thin T-shirt glued to her skin. She sat in a pile of mud.

Marie's heart labored in her chest. With the rain came her tears, pouring down her cheeks in little rivulets indiscernible from the rain. She could taste their saltiness on her lips. Here at last, far away from the angry throng, far away from camp, all by herself, could she finally cry for all she had lost. She cried for her friends, who would be worried sick. She cried for the college that had promised to hold a spot for her. She cried for lazy days on the lake and buying lemonade from four year olds with smiles. She cried for everything she may not see again.

A shadow stumbled across the field. It was so dark from the cloud-cover Marie didn't see it at first. She tensed, slowly rising to her feet, prepared to bolt. The shadow wavered for a moment upon seeing her, then stumbled forward some more. It laughed madly and came closer. The odor of alcohol was so strong Marie caught a whiff of it even through the rain.

"H-hey!" The man giggled, and as he stepped forward, Marie recognized him. He was Hollis Paddock.

"Hollis," she said warily, inching backwards.

Hollis squinted at her. His eyes were bloodshot. "You look fam-il-yor," he slurred.

"It's me," she said shortly. "Marie."

He peered at her again, then cackled. "So you are!" He held a bottle of wine to his lips and chugged it.

Marie's eyes slid over him distastefully. He looked like he had just wrestled with a giant and lost. His face was one big bruise, and his shirt was torn and fragmented. Someone had ripped a large hole in his shorts, and a bloody bandage covered his right knee.

A bandage over his right knee...

Something stirred in Marie's mind. Something slid into place. A memory. She stared at his knee.

"Hollis," she said slowly. "Hollis. Didn't you already hurt your knee? Early in the trip. It was just a few days into it..." she trailed off. She remembered they had been worried about bacteria. Her fingers crept to her shoulder. She could feel the wet bandage beneath her shirt.

Hollis giggled. "Sure did! And it's still bleeding, ain't it?" He threw the bottle down to the ground, and it splintered into a million glittering pieces. "Damn world. Can't even heal right."

Marie stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

Hollis turned his bloodshot eyes to her. "Don't you know?" His voice rose loudly. "Don't you know how weak we are here? Didn't you get a transfusion, girl?"

Marie shook her head and took a step back. She felt it again—that nauseating feeling of horror and betrayal she had felt when she had first learned Barnabas had lied to her. She didn't know what he was talking about, but she knew it couldn't be good. "No, I didn't get a blood transfusion," she whispered. "What were they for?"

"Why," Hollis twisted his body exaggeratedly and leered at her, "For the blood loss of course. You won't feel the weakness yet. They gave us the blood transfusion two days before you came here as a precaution, but said it'd be a few more weeks before we felt anything." He giggled. "You see, in this world, our bodies have a hard time working right..." His voice quieted amazingly quickly, and Marie couldn't understand what was saying. Then it rose again, abruptly loud. "....see, our blood doesn't replenish itself as quickly as it ought to...almost unnoticeable, I should say. But it's a bad enough problem that you'll...well...die if you don't get a transfusion." He hiccupped. "And, well, if you're injured—"

Someone screamed extremely loudly, and Hollis's head swiveled around. "Ooh, what is going on there? Someone's having a good time!" He guffawed.

Marie stepped forward, grabbed his chin, and jerked him around to face her. "Hollis," she said sharply. "What about injuries? What were you saying?"

Her heart raced inside her. Her palms were sweaty. She could feel the blood throbbing in the veins in her forehead.

Hollis blinked stupidly at her, and at last he slurred. "Injuries...injuries...well, injuries don't heal here." He tilted his head. "Most, anyway." He giggled and pointed at his bandaged leg. "See that?" he asked proudly. "That's going to kill me. I'm going die because of it. I'm eventually going to bleed dry if they don't keep giving me damn blood transfusions." He stumbled out of her grasp. "Damn world. Damn world. Damn world..."

He fell on his back.

Marie felt something twist in her stomach. "What about me?" Her voice cracked. "Why wasn't I told about this? Why didn't I get a transfusion?"

She came to stand over him, and he stared up at her in surprise. "Well, you're not supposed to survive, are you?" He seemed befuddled. Marie felt something cold wash over her. "You're too much of a liability, aren't you? You know too much about this world, don't you? You were never supposed to live this long—were supposed to mysteriously vanish if Barnabas didn't think you'd cooperate—and then that damn Rheidan took a fancy to you..."

Marie stumbled away. Shock, horror, betrayal, fear—all warred for control. They wanted to kill her. Kill her. Why? Why? Why? For a minute she felt like throwing up. Her face twisted, and she stared down at Hollis in revulsion. She brought up her foot and slammed it into his face. Blood splattered from his nose, coating her foot. He howled. She stepped away.

"Bleed to death from that," she hissed venomously.

She left him flailing on the ground. She ran. She didn't know in which direction she ran. She didn't even know how far. Long stalks of grass whipped about her ankles, her calves...She slipped and fell in a stream of mud and then leapt to her feet again, running still.

She stopped when she could run no longer, crouching over. Her lungs burned. Her limbs trembled. Sweat and rain soaked her body. But she did not cry. She could not cry. She had cried so much in this place. She had cried and cried and cried and not done anything about the things that made her cry. Well, no more. She was done with crying. Fierce anger burned inside her, and she straightened, her eyes flashing.

There were people on this mission—she didn't know who, and she didn't know why—who wanted her dead. And then there were others, who had known about it and not warned her. She faced those facts grimly and angrily. She recalled Jennifer's laughing face, and she suddenly knew the reason for that laughter. Jennifer knew. It was possible the entire damn expedition knew. Fury made her limbs tremble.

She paced back and forth, her expression thunderous. They had planned on killing her. They had been afraid of her for some reason. There was something they thought she could do that could hurt them, and they feared it enough to kill her. So she was going to find out what they were afraid of, and she was going to destroy them with it.

Part III

Chapter Sixteen:

The camp was in shambles. At least half the tents had been torn down; a few more smoldered from the fires. Marie walked past the remains of the mess hall, absorbing the damage. Much of the angry screaming had died down, although Marie could still hear a few people shouting at each other from the other side of the camp. The area she was going through had mostly emptied. The few people remaining were drunk. A few feet away a man Marie recognized as one of Mabel's botanists lay slouched against a roller. When Marie walked by, he started and tried to move, then winced and slumped back down.

Marie rounded a corner. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air, and she crinkled her nose as she observed the damage. Tent 12 was gone; all that was left of it was a pile of ashes and one lonely pole. Marie grimaced. There went most of her clothes.

But she hadn't come back for her clothes. She had come back for somebody else's clothes.

And blood.

She just hoped the nurse's tent still stood and still had a couple bags of blood left. If it didn't...she would just have to resign herself to dying even sooner than expected.

She slinked forward and peeked down another aisle. This one was more abandoned than the other, but most of its tents still stood, including the nurse's tent halfway down it. She quickly ducked inside, straightened, and almost groaned in dismay. Tiffany stood inside, sorting out medicine vials. She looked up when Marie entered.

"Marie!" she exclaimed, striding forward. "What are you doing here?" Her eyes assessed Marie, and finding no obvious damage, she gazed at Marie questioningly.

Think quickly.

Marie smiled wryly at her. "Just going around and observing the damage. You know—my job. People were going crazy earlier." Her eyes roved over the tent. The stacks of refrigerators and strange machines seemed untouched. "It looks like this place escaped the craze, though. Everything still intact and in place?"

Tiffany smiled wearily and returned her attention back to the vials. "Yes, thank goodness. I'm just preparing for when people sober up and stumble in."

"Good, good." Marie leaned over and grabbed a microscope sitting on a nearby table, its cord wrapped around its neck. She weighed it in her hand. Pretty heavy. "That's so good to hear."

"Yeah." Tiffany straightened and started to turn. "With all that—"

Crack! Tiffany collapsed. A few vials splintered beneath her. Marie dumped the microscope on the table, leaned over, and checked Tiffany's pulse. Still alive. Good. She didn't want to start a murderous rampage. Yet.

She sidestepped the table and made her way to the line of refrigerators. The first couple she opened were filled with strange looking bottles and jugs full of liquids she didn't recognize. The second to last refrigerator held a few packets of blood, and Marie took a couple out, flipping through them. She was O+.

A+, A+, A-, B+, AB-, A-...O+. Marie grabbed the bag and ruffled through nearby drawers, searching for anything that could help, but she didn't know what she was looking for. She didn't know how to do a blood transfusion. Science had never been her best subject, and medical things grossed her out. All she knew was that she would have to transfuse the blood intravenously, and that meant finding something to stick into her vein. Somehow.

She found something that looked like it could work, then hesitated. How much blood did she need? Her eyes darted to the prone form of Tiffany, and she briefly regretted knocking her out. But then again, she probably couldn't have trusted anything Tiffany said.

She scanned the room, looking for something—anything—that could help her. A sheet of papers on a nearby desk drew her attention, and she tore through them. Most of pages looked like gobbledygook, and she threw them away in frustration. How am I going to do this?

She searched the rest of the tent, ruffling through hundreds of papers, until at last she found a promising sheet. It had the record of another man's blood transfusion, and Marie took what information she could from it.

Several curses, pokes, and painful prods later, Marie had it done. At least, she thought she did. There was a good chance she had messed it up horribly. She would find out soon enough. She had already risked a lot by staying in camp as long as she had. She couldn't linger. She had to go.

She crept out of the tent. The shouts had finally faded away. She wondered if Barnabas had come back to the camp already, if he had heard about this fiasco. She hoped so. She hoped he was tearing his hair out.

She found one of the soldiers' tents, picked up a spare uniform someone had left, and scampered out of camp. No one bothered her. She didn't even think anyone saw her. In fact, the entire camp was so ghostlike that Marie had to wonder where everyone had run off to.

Nothing but open plain stretched between the camp and the city wall, so Marie thanked her lucky stars it was dark outside as she stripped and redressed in the soldier's uniform. She grabbed a ribbon and pulled her hair back into a bun, as best as she could in the dark. She imagined in broad daylight she would never pass for a soldier, but she just needed to pass in torchlight.

Thirty minutes later she stood before the gates of Melei-Argalla.

"Come back later! The gates open at sunrise!"

"I must deliver an urgent message to Lord Barnabas! I am from the Visitors' camp!"

She heard the soldiers muttering to each other. The balls of flame above the gate moved. Marie followed the movement with her eyes. Something directly in front of her clicked and grinded. A face appeared in a square of light. A grizzly-looking man was squinting at her through the peephole in the main gate.

"You say you're from the outsiders' camp?" the man growled, his beady black eyes narrowed at her.

She nodded jerkily. "I have an urgent message to deliver to Lord Barnabas! He must hear it immediately! It cannot wait until morning!"

The man snorted. "How many more urgent messages can you people send in one night?" He disappeared from view, and Marie's heart leapt to her throat. She heard him muttering something on the other side of the door. The door creaked, groaned, and swung open about a foot. Marie slid through the crack, nodded tersely to the guard, and ran into the dark streets of Melei-Argalla.

The city felt deceptively calm and quiet as she raced through it. She heard the light tinkling of dripping water and the roar of drunken laughter, but that laughter felt far away, as if on the other side of the city...

The clouds broke, and one of the moons shone through the gap, bathing the city in a swath of silver. Up ahead a fountain's water glistened as it tumbled silently into its pool. Large puddles of water collected in the stone streets, and the puddles reflected the night sky above them. Marie's heart ached when she saw the city; it was so beautiful. She would miss it when she died.

She shook her head. Now is not the time to think about that. She pressed on, racing toward the royal palace. As she neared it, she attempted to make her run more disciplined-looking—the way she had seen Dustin run.

At last she stopped at the gates and paused for a minute to rein in her gasping.

"I have an urgent message to deliver to Lord Barnabas!"

"Again?" The soldier appeared disgruntled. He arched an eyebrow at his fellow, and Marie opened her mouth to explain...but the soldier just shrugged. "Fine, hurry up!" Relief swept through her. She ran inside. The guard closed the gate behind her and muttered, "How many messengers does that make tonight? Nine?"

Marie grinned as she jogged up the front steps of the palace. She hoped Barnabas was in a rage right now, preferably screaming profanities at Darius and Pamela. She could picture the scene in her mind...Barnabas storming back and forth...Darius and Pamela cringing against the wall...Darius occasionally plucking up the courage to say something like, "Barnabas, we will recover..." and then Barnabas screaming at him again...She wanted that scene to be real. She wanted it so badly.

As soon as Marie made it safely inside the palace and out of the guards' sight, she stopped, peering around. Her heart pounded insider her. She had no idea if this was going to work. She was surprised she had gotten this far. She swallowed her fear, and instead of following the stone staircase up to the suite, Marie turned on her heel and headed downstairs through a line of corridors, till at last she found herself facing the doorway to the slave quarters.

She knew as soon as she passed through it that something must be wrong. Hardly any of the slaves were asleep. They scampered back and forth, looking stressed even through their blindfolds. And they were louder than she remembered. From the kitchen she heard pots and pans banging, doors slamming, and slaves grunting as they knocked into each other. As Marie rushed down the hallway, she had to duck out of the way several times as slaves hurtled past her, carrying a wide assortment of items whose functions Marie couldn't guess. One such item, something that looked like three crosses strung together, was so large it took three large slaves to carry at it.

Marie's felt a flicker of unease. There were so many slaves clambering everywhere...what if she couldn't find Max?

She climbed down a set of stairs and entered the kitchen. One of the cooks looked up at her entrance and narrowed her eyes. She stuck out her hand, awaiting instruction, the expression on her face hard.

Marie felt a twinge of unease. She didn't recall the slaves being so unwelcoming before, but she didn't have time to ponder the reason for the change. She weaved her way through the kitchen toward the woman, grabbed her outstretched hand, and put it to her lips.

"I need to find a specific laewin," she said quickly. "I call him Max, but I don't know what everyone else calls him. He is a young man assigned to the Earth-Visitors. He has long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and he's pale." Inwardly, she despaired. That description could fit every laewin assigned to the expedition. "He is assigned to me, Marie Nettleson. Or more specifically, my bedroom, which has a red, canopied bed..." She felt a wave of desperation. Why didn't she know more about Max? "He wouldn't have had to work the past few days, because I haven't been in the palace..." She bit her lip, trying to think of something else that could describe the laewin she was looking for.

But the woman tilted her head, looking thoughtful. Then her eyes widened, and she nodded earnestly.

Relief flooded Marie. She knew Max!

The woman turned, grabbed a laewin passing by, and tapped a series of instructions on his hand. He bowed deeply and dashed off.

The cook smiled briefly at Marie before resuming beating a bowl of what looked like cake batter.

Marie stood and waited. And waited. The minutes seemed to stretch by like hours, and Marie started shifting her weight anxiously from foot to foot. She glanced out a small window nervously. Dawn was still four or so hours away. She had time, but not much.

She jittered with nervous energy. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and every sense felt hyperaware. Her heart pounded in her chest, and blood rushed to her ears.

They probably had to wake up Max, she decided. That's why it's taking so long.

She felt a brief pang for taking Max from his sleep—he probably didn't get much to begin with—but it couldn't be helped. She didn't really trust anyone anymore, even the slaves, but Max hadn't been proven traitorous, and he would know what she needed to know.

At long last she saw Max appear in a horde of laewins. All of the seeing laewins stiffened as he weaved his way through the kitchen, their eyes following him nervously.

Max stopped about five feet away from her and bowed. Marie leapt forward and grabbed his hand. His fingers found her lips.

"Max, I need you to do something for me." A butterfly fluttered through her stomach, and Marie briefly wondered if what she was doing was very smart. Probably not. In fact, it was probably one of the stupidest things she had ever done. "The Earth-Visitors are holding a prisoner. She would be locked away in a room in their suites somewhere. They've probably ordered laewins not to bring her anything, and they've probably blocked the laewins' entrances into the room. Perhaps they even ordered a bunch of laewins to take valuables out of the room. This woman they're holding—I need to talk to her. It's urgent. Can you take me to her? Please nod if you can."

Max stood still for a long time, but at last he nodded.

Marie felt a wave of relief. "Good," she exhaled. "Can you bring me to her now?"

Another nod.

"Then let's go."

Max held out his arm, and Marie grabbed hold of it. She allowed him to drag her through the halls, her heart pounding, her head whirring. This was such a bad idea—returning to the rooms of the people who were trying to kill her—but if anyone knew what Barnabas was up to and be willing to tell, it was Cristaña.

It's not like I'm going to live that long anyway, Marie reminded herself. She would eventually die here, if what Hollis had said was true. And even if she didn't die from blood loss—if she somehow managed to keep on stealing blood from the expedition—she still had a death sentence hanging over her head. Barnabas would find a way to kill her when she didn't die as expected. She couldn't protect herself forever.

Except...

Her thoughts wondered. Perhaps tonight had changed things. Perhaps now that the CD was broken and the group was stuck, Barnabas would reevaluate their situation. He might need her. She could read and write Maretzian. He might revoke her death sentence.

Marie shook her head angrily. Did she really want to stay around and help someone who would kill her once she outlived her usefulness? No. Something was wrong here, and she was going to find out what it was.

Chapter Seventeen:

Max's grip on her hand was firm as he led her through a maze of passageways. The hallways winded back and forth, up and down, curving around till Marie was hopelessly lost. The corridors, at first crowded with laewins, soon emptied, and all Marie could hear were her own panting breaths and the slapping of feet against stone. Max dragged her up a small staircase, and the passageway plunged into darkness. Marie gasped, grabbing Max's arm.

"I can't tell where we're going!" she cried.

Max twisted around, wrapped his arms around hers, and guided her up the remaining stone steps and into the winding corridor. Marie's heart raced inside her as Max dragged her left then right then left, right, right, left...If Max left her, she would be hopelessly lost. The thought made her heart race.

Marie heard the faint tinkling of water, and her hand brushed against wet stone. Where were they? Something scaly brushed her ankle, and Marie shrieked and shrunk against Max.

"What was that?"

Max pulled her forward. She could hear something scratching the walls, and her grip on Max's hand tightened so much she was sure it would leave a bruise. At last the scratching sound faded, only to be replaced by another, much more frightening sound.

"Really, Darius, I think we should proceed anyway. Ferguson has always been incompetent—"

"Exactly, Pamela, which is why we shouldn't rush into anything..."

Marie shrunk against Max, her heart thundering inside her. Her throat closed up in fear. Why were Darius and Pamela using the laewin corridors? It sounded like they were right next to them!

Max tugged her, but Marie stood frozen, too frightened to move. He tugged more insistently, and Marie let out a surprised squeak.

Pamela and Darius didn't seem to notice.

"I'm telling you, we should send someone down there to see what he's up to..." Their voices faded, and Marie heard a door slam shut.

"What?" Marie murmured in confusion. She suddenly twisted out of Max's grasp and touched the wall of the corridor. The wall between the corridor and the suite was not made of stone. It felt grainy, like some sort of plaster, which would explain why Pamela and Darius had sounded like they were right next to Marie. "Extraordinary," she breathed. Marie's mind spun. They had spying on them! Spying on them!

Max's hand found her arm, and he pulled her forward. She allowed him to lead her, little snippets of conversation obscuring the sound of their footfalls.

"Barnabas is getting ready to head down there now..."

"What a wreck. How are we supposed to explain this to..."

"I don't care what you think, Dr. Pepper is superior to Coke any day of the week..."

At last Max stopped and let go of her. He tinkered with something in front of him, and light flooded the tunnel. Marie squinted, peering over her shoulder, her heart pounding. He led her into a sitting room. It looked like a room that had once been abandoned but was now in use. Dust covered much of the furniture, but a large section of thick carpet between the hallway door and the bedroom door had recently been disturbed.

Marie turned to Max, but he had already crossed the room and stood in front of the bedroom door, his hand on the handle. Marie approached him and stared up at his face, her heart twisting. She wished the blindfold didn't cover his eyes. She figured that, even blind, she would have gotten some sense of whether or not to trust him from staring into his eyes. At last she swallowed and leaned close to the door. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. She felt like her heart might explode out of her chest.

She heard someone pacing inside.

She looked up. Max had pressed his lips into thin lines. She reached for his hand, brought his fingers to her lips, and whispered, "Thank you for everything. Please wait for me in my room."

Max inclined his head, turned on his heel, and disappeared into the passageway from which they had come. She hesitated a few minutes, her heart pounding, before opening the door and entering.

Cristaña was chained to the bed. Specifically, she was chained to the bedpost by her right wrist, which afforded her only a small area in which to walk. She looked up when Marie entered. Her face showed her surprise.

Marie's face probably showed more. Cristaña looked terrible. Her skin hung in bags off her face. Her normally neat hair was dirty and mussed. Her clothes were torn and covered in blood, and little lacerations crisscrossed her entire body. She held herself stiffly, as though it hurt to move her chest.

Marie's hands flew over her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh, Cristaña," she breathed. "What did they do to you?"

"What are you doing here?" demanded Cristaña. She struggled to stand straight.

Marie felt like she was going to be sick. "I..." A particularly large gash mutilated Cristaña's left thigh. She felt bile rise in her throat.

"What are you doing here?"

Marie forced her eyes to Cristaña's face. Her voice was shaky. "I need to know why Barnabas Morton wants to kill me."

Dead silence fell. Cristaña stared at her.

Marie licked her lips. Her heart was pounding inside of her. "He is trying to kill me. I know it. Don't deny it."

Cristaña slowly turned away from her. She stared blankly at the rest of the room. Marie felt like she waited for a response for forever. Her fists clenched and unclenched in anticipation. At last Cristaña said, in a dead voice, "Barnabas Morton is trying to kill you because you are not a part of the plan."

"What plan?" Marie demanded immediately.

Cristaña snorted. "SpiritStar's grand plan, of course. What—you think SpiritStar didn't have a specific plan for this trip?" Seeing Marie's expression, she explained condescendingly, "This little venture is costing SpiritStar billions of dollars. Every detail of it was attended to. Long before they received official authorization, they had this thing planned. Every single person on this trip was selected from all possible candidates based on personality, skill level, and ambition...Even the so-called government agents and military personnel were approved or bought-off by SpiritStar. Together, the people on this expedition make a machine. Each person is a different piece of the machine, and they all work together to make the machine as efficient as possible."

"And," said Marie, frustration lacing her voice, "SpiritStar just decides to write me off because I'm not a part of their little machine?" She snorted. "Please come up with a better reason."

There had to be a better reason.

Cristaña gazed at her coolly. "I wasn't finished, Marie. Use your brain. Think about how this expedition has gone. What is wrong with what I just said?"

Marie gave her an irritated look. "What do you mean, what's wrong with it?"

A disdainful expression crossed Cristaña's face. Her upper lip curled back. "The expedition is good at everything—exploring, studying, observing—but one thing: diplomacy. Surely you have noticed that Barnabas is a poor diplomat, as are the others on this expedition?"

Marie suddenly had a very bad feeling. "What are you saying?"

Cristaña laughed hollowly. "Despite what anyone told you or the citizens of Earth, this expedition wasn't designed for diplomacy. It has never been about diplomacy."

Marie's heart leapt to her throat. Her voice fell to a whisper. "Then what is it about?"

Cristaña raised her eyes to meet Marie's. "It's about taking over Maretzia. What else?"

The world tilted beneath Marie. "What do you mean?" Her voice trembled. She couldn't have possibly heard what she had thought she had just heard. Because that was impossible. Absurd. Stupid.

Cristaña shook her head. "There is so much you don't know, Marie—"

"Then tell me!" Her voice was strangled.

"I will." Cristaña sat down on the bed and gazed at Marie levelly. "I will."

Marie waited. Her heart beat erratically inside her. This was it. She was going to learn the truth.

"You have been deceived, Marie—you and all of mankind. This expedition is not SpiritStar's first foray into this world."

It took a moment for those words to sink in. Then Marie's eyes bugged out of her head "What?"

"You heard me," Cristaña snapped. "How do you think SpiritStar even knew they had succeeded in traveling to an alternate dimension? They sent someone here, of course! Jason Astro—he was the first person to travel Across. He came back three days later—told stories of a great civilization, of a land of wonders ruled by a clever emperor. Bruno Campbell, SpiritStar's CEO, was thrilled. Here was the opportunity he had been waiting for. SpiritStar would be the only company capable of trading with this dreamland. Campbell started imagining ways of selling the idea to the public. Oh, the riches SpiritStar would make!"

Cristaña laughed bitterly. "And oh, the expression on his face when he received later, more detailed reports of Maretzia—for it was as great and as rich as Jason had described, but it was terrible as well. Slavery, gladiator games...SpiritStar couldn't make a profit off of such a civilization!"

Cristaña's eyes burned. Marie trembled. "But SpiritStar had gone too far. It had invested too much, made too much of a gamble. If interdimensional travel couldn't turn profitable, then they were ruined, and Campbell wasn't about to let that happen. The man is a mad genius. If Maretzia couldn't be profitable as it was, then he would find a way to change it so it would be profitable. So he came up with this plan."

"Which is?" Marie asked desperately. Her palms were sweating. She couldn't believe her ears.

Cristaña sounded vicious. "He plans on destroying Maretzia in every way possible—socially, economically, and militarily. First part of the plan? Sending out a man named Mark Wiles. Here he is known as Riljin Marsus, a merchant. He sells little Earth trinkets—nothing important or useful, only fascinating. The Maretzians love his products. He has become incredibly important in the time he's spent here. In a year or so, he'll probably be one of the most influential men in Maretzia."

Marie stared at Cristaña in shock. That name rang a bell. Wasn't Riljin Marsus...? "The slaves!" she burst out. Her eyes widened. "The Council of Ten was worried about Riljin Marsus because he's cruel to his slaves!"

"Yes," said Cristaña in satisfaction. "He is. Terribly. That was the second reason he was sent here. Campbell hoped he could incite a slave rebellion...just another thing to distract this emperor." A smirk twisted her face. "Campbell is a genius. Marsus serves several functions. Not only does he incite the slaves and make the Maretzians dependant on Earth goods, but he makes a profit while he's at it, and that profit is in turn used to fund the rebellion in Madalinda."

Marie gaped. "The rebellion in..." Her mind spun. The world tilted beneath her feet. She stumbled backwards.

"Yes," hissed Cristaña, her eyes alight with a fiery glow. "Don't you see the genius of Campbell's plan? He's using something that's destabilizing the empire to further destabilize the empire. Gaidus Herpanteon? His real name is Andrew Ferguson. He's a mobster SpiritStar sprang from prison."

"But..."

"Why create a rebellion?" Cristaña anticipated. "That's easy. To distract this clever emperor, of course. And, if at all possible, to draw him to Madalinda. With the emperor in Madalinda, Melei-Argalla is easy pickings for an expedition like this, and the emperor is easy pickings for Ferguson. We were supposed to strike as soon as we reached the city, but for some reason Barnabas never received the go-ahead from Ferguson. We've been waiting all this time for word."

Marie felt dizzy. The room started to spin. Her heart raced, and bile rose in her throat. A veil had just been lifted from her eyes.

"But I still don't understand," she managed. "Why kill me? And why does SpiritStar think that everyone's going to be okay with us taking over?"

Cristaña rolled her eyes. "Oh, Marie—you are so naïve. Do you think anyone back on Earth will honestly be upset if SpiritStar conquers Maretzia? All SpiritStar has to do is come up with a clever marketing campaign—say, showing pictures of starving laewin children, or detailing what goes on in artatrushi fights—and people will accept it. You may be accustomed to the brutality of Maretzia, but no one else is. No one on Earth will like it. What exactly do you think the people of Earth will do anyway, once they find out? Ignore it? I don't think so! The people back home will be happy SpiritStar took over Maretzia! If SpiritStar doesn't topple the Maretzian Empire, you know the people back home will try to find a way to do it!"

"But what about me? Why kill me?"

Cristaña snorted. "You don't think SpiritStar will actually wait until the empire is stabilized to start selling its goods, do you? No, they'll start selling immediately. People don't have to find out about slavery now. SpiritStar can control the communication flow for a while, keep people in the dark. They can probably keep things under wrap for months, if not years, and in that time make a huge profit. You stand in the way of that. Unlike everyone else on this expedition, you're returning home soon. You need only to utter a few words and billions in profit will go down the drain. Don't think your life's worth billions to SpiritStar, Marie. You were as good as dead the minute you signed the contract."

Marie stared at her. Her heart had leapt up to her throat. At last she managed, "Then why didn't SpiritStar just kill me as soon as I came Across?"

Cristaña sneered. "Don't think some people didn't want to. But Barnabas thought you might be useful. Thought he might be able to convince you to keep quiet. He catered to you, tried to get you to like him, admire him. It went well. You warm up to people slowly, Marie, but Barnabas thought he was getting to you, and when we ran into Rheidan and his crew, he was confident enough to introduce you to Rheidan. He had seen the look Rheidan had given you when he first saw you and thought he could use Rheidan's attraction to you to his advantage. Turned out to be his biggest mistake. Because Rheidan did like you, and when not long after you met Rheidan, you started distancing yourself from Barnabas, and Barnabas realized he would never convince you to join us...it was too late. He couldn't kill you. Rheidan would notice if you suddenly went missing. You would have to be killed slowly."

Marie felt nauseated. Shock made her stomach heave.

Cristaña continued, "We all knew it, too. Word filtered down to everyone about it. You would have to be killed. We all understood it, accepted it in some way—even Jennifer, Dustin, Raymond, and yes, Joseph. Poor boy. Liked you. Got it into his head that if he could make you fall in love with him, he could convince you to keep quiet. An academic genius, but a social idiot."

Marie stared with wide eyes around the room. Her thoughts and emotions warred inside her head, so many different, confusing feelings welling up inside her, and at last she spluttered, "This is insane! How could SpiritStar do this?" Her thoughts flicked to Rheidan, Terrah, and Lord Deiämoniquen. Their lives would be destroyed if SpiritStar took over Maretzia. Her heart ached. "So many people will die!"

Cristaña's expression was sardonic. "And yet so many people will live, so many people will be free, and so many people will be rich."

Chapter Eighteen:

The world had gone mad. It was the only explanation that made sense. How could SpiritStar do something like this? And the government: They just stood back and accepted it? Barnabas, Mabel, Joseph—all these amazingly smart people, people whose IQ stunned Marie—they saw nothing wrong with it? Just okay, go with the plan, we're going to topple an empire and make some money? Of all the arrogance, of all the short-sightedness—and—and! Marie was so furious she couldn't see straight. Just what made everyone think they had the right to come in and destroy Maretzian society? What would happen to Rheidan, to Terrah, and all the innocent people who lived in Maretzia?

Sure, Maretzia had a lot of problems. Marie hated slavery, and the death fights disgusted her, but who was she to judge? Earth had its own problems. Granted, none of them were as systemized as Maretzia's, but they existed nonetheless. Besides, Earth had once been very similar to Maretzia. Rome, anybody?

Marie ran her hands through her hair. SpiritStar had to be desperate. She whirled on Cristaña. "The other people SpiritStar sent here—do they have a CD?" Hope flared briefly. She might still be able to find a way home.

But Cristaña shook her head. "No. That was another reason to send us over here. To provide a CD for everyone trapped here. And now it's gone." Her mouth twisted in satisfaction.

"Then why—?"

"I won't tell you," Cristaña interrupted coldly. "My reasons are my own."

"You think I would tell Barnabas?" exclaimed Marie incredulously. "After all he's done?"

"Not willingly, no. But he could make you. You are not accustomed to pain, Marie."

The implication sent a sick feeling through Marie's gut.

"You're going to die," she said hollowly. "Aren't you?"

Cristaña inclined her head. "As are you. Eventually."

Marie met her eyes. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then Marie turned away. "I have to think," she muttered. "I have to decide what to do."

What she could do, she didn't know. But she had to do something.

Her hand found the door handle, and she stared back at Cristaña, swinging it open. She stepped outside and slowly broke her gaze, her head turning, her eyes falling to the empty sitting room in front of her.

Except the sitting room wasn't empty.

She froze. Her heart leapt into her throat.

Not five feet away, Pamela smiled at her. "Hello, Marie. I'm so glad I finally get to kill you."

Of course Marie struggled. Of course she tried to scream. But Pamela sprung two armed soldiers on her, so it wasn't a fair fight. Marie found herself gagged and bundled up like a very unhappy present.

"Blu-gah-da-nah!" She glared at Pamela.

Pamela smiled mockingly, but said nothing.

Marie thrashed and squirmed as the men carried her down the hallway. She managed to kick one man in the chest, and he grunted and glared at her. She snarled, glaring back.

They carried her to her room, where Pamela quickly had her chained with her arms behind her against the bedpost. Marie didn't give them an easy time about it: The two men left with more bruises than they had coming in. But no matter how many bruises she gave them, it was a losing fight, and they all knew it. The men left chortling, and Marie glowered at them as they went.

Pamela smirked and leaned down. "Well, my dear," she said, "I'll give you credit where it's due. You actually figured it out...or at least, you figured out enough to go to Cristaña. I didn't even think you'd get that far. I admit I am disappointed—I had really wanted to know what your face looked like when you figured out we were trying to kill you."

Marie narrowed her eyes. What was this woman—a psychopath from a bad action movie?

Yeah. Kind of.

Pamela's smirk widened, and she tugged the gag out of Marie's mouth. "Now—"

A wad of spit landed on her cheek. Pamela closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, wiping away the spit. Her eyes burned when she opened them again. "Listen, sweetie, and listen well."

Marie sucked in her breath and opened her mouth.

Pamela's eyes narrowed. "Don't even think of screaming. There's no one that will hear you that will help you."

Marie closed her mouth and glared. Then she burst out, "What you're doing is insane! Do you honestly think you can take over Maretzia? That everyone back home is going to be okay with this?"

Pamela snorted. "A bunch of soldiers with bows and arrows fighting against tanks and machine guns? We'll have the country in a week. Now—"

"And what gives you the right do that?" Marie hissed furiously. "You're so arrogant, not even thinking—!"

Smack! Marie's cheek burned. She fumed and glared at Pamela.

"Shut up! I didn't un-gag you to listen this! What did Cristaña tell you about the CD?"

Marie was defiant. "Other than it's the only one you SpiritStar people have on this whole damn world? Nothing. Genius move, by the way."

Pamela stood abruptly. "I don't believe you."

"I can't change that. But that's all she told me."

"We are going to kill you."

"I know."

"I am going to watch."

"I figured. Psycho."

They glared at each other.

Pamela's lip curled. "Tonight I will take you into the city. I have friends there. They will kill you and dump your body in some nice, abandoned place where no one will ever find it. How quickly they kill you is up to you. Keep that in mind."

"Oh, why bother hiding the crime?" Marie asked sarcastically, her temper flaring. She was so furious her limbs trembled. "Why not just string my body up on the palace gates?"

Pamela arched an eyebrow. "As much as I'd love to, we can't risk someone coming up with proof you're actually dead. You need to be 'missing'—neither dead nor alive—for SpiritStar to be able to avoid paying your grandmother any money, as stated in the will you made."

Marie's lip curled back. Utter disdain filled her. SpiritStar was set to make billions, and it was getting picky about five million dollars?

Pamela smirked, leaned down, grabbed the gag again, and shoved it into Marie's mouth. She turned to leave, but froze abruptly.

"What is he doing here?"

Marie's head whipped around, and she would have laughed out loud if she hadn't been gagged.

Max stood in the corner of the room, his hands clasped patiently in front of him, awaiting instructions. Marie felt a flicker of hope. If she could just somehow signal Max...

Pamela ran an anxious hand through her hair. Her face suddenly looked a lot less smug. Then she relaxed and chuckled. She turned to Marie and explained, "Oh, I am always so afraid the laewins are spies." She patted Marie's head. "But not to worry. Everything I said was in English, was it not?"

Pamela turned and approached Max. She brought his hand up to her lips and ordered him in Maretzian, "You are dismissed. Leave immediately. Marie will not need your services today."

Max inclined his head in deference and slipped out of the room, and with him went Marie's last flicker of hope.

Pamela turned back to Marie. "Have a good day, sweetheart. It will be your last."

Marie's heart had never beaten so hard. She had known, intellectually, that she was going to die soon, but she hadn't yet reconciled herself to that fact. She wasn't ready to die. What would it feel like? Would it be like going asleep? She shuddered. The world would go on without her. People would live and grow and die, live and grow and die, and it would be like she had never even existed. Marie had never felt so terrified. Her heart hammered in her chest. She longed to see a friendly face.

Then she shook her head. She couldn't give up. Not now. If she gave up now, she'd have no chance of surviving the night.

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, and Marie strained against the chains holding her. Her arms ached. Her shoulder burned. She twisted her hands, trying to make them as small as possible, but the cuffs holding her were too tight. At last she slumped back against the bedpost, trying to think. Her wrists ached, and she had a feeling she had rubbed them raw in a few places.

So I can't get out of the chains. Don't give up yet. Think. What else can I do? Her eyes darted across the room and fell on her dresser, not four feet away from where she stood. Lying on top of it was the dagger she had bought in the marketplace.

Marie tugged on her chains. They had a little leeway. She could scoot away from the bed by about half a foot. It would be enough. She slid as far as she could to the ground and stretched her feet all the way across the floor till they pressed against the dresser and she formed a right triangle with the floor and bed. She slid one foot up the side of the dresser; her back and leg burned from the effort.

Her boot clanked against the mirror sitting next to the dagger, and she froze, her eyes darting towards the door, her hips killing her. When no one came in, she smiled grimly and slid her boot further, till it rested against the dagger.

Now the tricky part. Carefully, her leg straining, her back burning, her arms torturing her, she slid her boot back. The dagger scraped against the dresser, but the boot dragged it forward, and it fell to the floor. She retracted her feet immediately, gasping. Her legs felt like limp noodles.

She stood gingerly and climbed awkwardly onto the bed. She needed her shoes off for this.

After a few minutes of awkward scrambling and twisting her body into positions she hadn't known it was capable of being in, Marie succeeded in taking off her combat boots. After another few minutes of awkward maneuvering she managed to grab the knife between her toes and slide it toward her. Using the same positions she had used to get her boots off, she succeeded in getting the blade in her hands, and after a few more minutes she had it tucked beneath her belt. Then she had to go through the process of putting her shoes on again.

The entire time she was attempting to hide the blade, she was terrified someone would walk in on her, but she didn't heard so much as a whisper. She doubted she had guards. Barnabas probably had everyone outside of the city restoring order to the camp. It didn't matter. She couldn't get loose of her handcuffs, so there would be no escape attempt. Her eyes slid over to the panel Max always popped out of, and she snorted. Not that she would actually use the door in an escape attempt.

The day passed agonizingly slowly. After a few hours, terror was replaced by utter boredom, and Marie amused herself by reciting poems she knew, making lists of her favorite books, movies, places to eat...She ranked the other members of expedition on an evil scale: 0 was newborn baby innocent and 10 was Disney villain evil. Barnabas had a 10 just on principal, Pamela a 9.5, and Darius a 9. She gave Jennifer a 10 as well, just because it was pretty darn slimy of a girl to pretend to be someone's friend and then stab her in the back.

But no matter what she did, Marie refused to think about what would happen that night. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry, and so she didn't. And she didn't think about what she might miss about life, because she was determined not to die. Not tonight. Her eyes turned steely.

As the hours passed, Marie grew hungry. It felt like her stomach was eating itself. No one came in to give her a meal, but she hadn't expected them to. That didn't prevent hunger from gnawing at her. By mid-afternoon it was all she could think about. Numbness settled over her limbs. She hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours.

The light in her room started to fade. Marie felt a flicker of panic, but she squashed it. The room fell into a state of semi-darkness.

But Pamela didn't come. Marie didn't know how long she stayed there, the room cast in shadows. Her shoulder throbbed. Her wrists burned. Her head pounded from lack of sleep and food.

The moons had shone for several hours when the door handle finally clicked. Marie's eyes shot up. Her pulse leapt. The door opened. Pamela entered. She had a dark rag in her hand. Marie tried to back away, but Pamela grabbed her head and covered her nose with the rag.

Marie felt the rough brush of damp cloth—smelled something sweet—and everything faded into blackness.

Chapter Nineteen:

She awoke to a lurch. Where am I? she thought dazedly. She tried to move, but rope burned the skin of her wrists. She tried to orient herself. Her arms, she noticed, were tied beneath her legs, and her chin was pressed against her knees. Whatever she was in lurched again, and her head banged against something wooden. She twisted around as much as she could, and her feet slammed against something.

She was in a trunk.

Marie cursed. The trunk lurched again, and her head once more banged against its side, hard enough to send stars spinning across her vision. Something clattered beneath her, and Marie suddenly understood: The trunk was in a chariot.

The chariot hit a bump in the road, and Marie hit her head again. Stars twinkled in front of her. Her shoulder burned from where it had slammed into the bottom of the trunk.

I am going to be one big bruise whenever I get out of this. Marie winced as the chariot jerked again.

They clattered on. Marie felt like a Christmas present rattling around in a box shaken by an eight-year-old. She almost wished Pamela had given her a stronger dose of chloroform. The chariot lurched again, and Marie's back slammed into the bottom of the trunk. She could clearly feel the blade there, digging into her skin. At least she still had it, she comforted herself. Apparently no one had searched her while she was unconscious.

After what felt like a torturously long time, the chariot slowed and finally stopped. She heard someone mutter something to themselves—a male voice, speaking in English—but Marie couldn't pick up many words. Whoever he was, he lifted the trunk abruptly in the air, and Marie suppressed a squeal of surprise.

The trunk swayed alarmingly before someone slammed it down. Pain shot up Marie's back to her shoulder.

"Heavy little thing, isn't she?" grunted the man, and Marie felt a flash of indignation. She wasn't that heavy! It had to be the trunk.

"She's about to be a dead little thing," muttered Pamela.

Something scraped the surface of the trunk, and the lid fell away abruptly. Marie squinted against the sudden influx of light.

Pamela's face appeared in her line of vision. "Ah, you're awake." She sounded surprised.

Marie licked her lips. Someone had removed her gag. "Thank your damn chariot."

The man standing beside Pamela chuckled, but he quieted when Pamela shot him a vicious glare.

Pamela ran her eyes over Marie, taking in her condition, before disappearing from Marie's line of sight. "Someone get her out of there."

A beefy man with ruddy cheeks leaned over and grabbed Marie by the shoulder. She squeaked in pain as he hauled her out. Marie thought about kicking him in his ugly face, but realized she would drop the five feet to the floor if she did so. He dumped her on a table, and she glared at him.

Pamela stepped in front of her. "You are going to tell us everything you know," she informed Marie coldly.

Marie smiled mockingly. Pamela wanted her to talk? Fine. She'd talk. She wouldn't shut up. "Okay. Everything I know. You got it. I know you're a miserable, ugly spindly woman who wouldn't get a date if her—"

Smack!

Pamela glowered. "Don't be difficult. These men are here to hurt you."

Marie's eyes inadvertently flicked to the men. They looked like they belonged on the Army football team. Her stomach flip-flopped just from looking at them. But she hid her fear. She refused to let Pamela see her afraid. She faced the woman in front of her and arched an eyebrow. "Oh? So you're not going to hurt me yourself? I would have thought a witch like you would have enjoyed that."

Pamela leaned down till they were eye to eye. She smiled sweetly. "Maybe later."

Marie sneered at her.

Pamela straightened abruptly. "Cut her loose, take her to the back room, and tie her up."

The back room was small and square, with a large wooden table set in the center. A narrow ledge laden with wicked-looking blades, screws, and elaborate knotted ropes lined the near wall. Marie felt nauseated when she saw it.

Seeing her expression, Pamela smirked. "Thinking of talking?"

"No," said Marie stubbornly. "Because I don't know anything. Cristaña told me nothing." Because she knew you'd catch me. Because she knew you'd torture me.

Pamela's eyes tightened. "We'll see about that."

One of the men grabbed Marie's arms, and the other picked up her feet, carrying her to the table. Marie felt adrenaline and fear rushing through her. Every sense felt hyperaware. Think, Marie! She needed a distraction. Something to allow her to break free.

So she did the oldest, dumbest, and lamest distraction in the book, and maybe it was because it was so lame that it worked.

"Hey—what's that?"

The hold on her hands loosened, and Marie jerked her right arm free, her hand diving to the lining of her belt.

"What the—?" started the man, reaching for her.

But Marie's fingers had already curled around the handle of the knife, and she pulled it out of its sheath as she pulled it out of her belt. She twisted, kicking the man holding her feet in the jaw and burying the dagger in the chest of the man holding her arm.

He screamed and let go. Marie tugged the knife out of him as she fell to the ground, kicking the second man again and scrambling out of his grasp.

Pamela reached for her, but Marie leapt out of the way, scrambled out of the room—"CATCH HER!"—through the empty building, and into an abandoned alleyway.

Left or right? Left or right?

Footsteps pounded behind her. Marie wheeled to the left. She ran. Her heart raced. Her lungs burned. Behind her, Pamela and the man burst out of the building.

"That way!" Pamela screeched.

"But what about Jack—"

"GO!"

Footsteps thundered behind her. Marie ducked right into another alley, her heart pounding.

BANG!

The bricks on the alley wall splintered.

BANG!

Something made of glass shattered.

BANG!

A bullet whizzed past Marie's ear.

"You guys are crazy!" she shouted.

BANG!

That bullet brushed the skirt of her dress. Marie's heart skipped a beat.

BANG!

Marie screamed and stumbled. Her injured shoulder was on fire! She slid across the dirt ground, trying to maintain her balance, but she fell. The man laughed. Marie tried scrambling to her feet, but the man was behind her already. She twisted around. Her heart beat frantically. She saw the barrel of his gun, saw his sneering face behind it—He pulled the trigger—She closed her eyes—

Click.

She stared at him. He stared at the gun. He pulled the trigger again.

Click.

Marie scrambled backwards. He snarled and tossed away the gun, barreling towards her like an angry bull, his eyes bulging with rage. Marie backed up against the wall, and one meaty hand shot out to grab her shoulder.

Pain blinded her, and Marie screamed. He squeezed, and she screamed again.

"Damn it, Jenson, keep her quiet!"

Pamela raced up beside him and stared over his shoulder, panting, at Marie.

Marie writhed, kicking and flailing against the man, but his meaty hand grabbed her around her throat. His grip tightened. She gasped. Black spots dotted her vision. Her fingernails scraped his arm. Her lungs burned. Her vision went completely black—

He howled and let go. Air rushed into her lungs. She gasped, her hands flying to her throat. She glanced up, confused. What had...?

The man stood frozen, gaping at the blood pouring in rivers down his chest. Marie's eyes traced the trail of blood from his navel up to his throat, from which protruded a long, steel-tipped arrow.

Pamela screamed. Arrows flew.

The boy arrived at the camp shortly after nightfall.

One of the Earth-soldiers stopped him in his tracks. "What are you doing here, boy?" His Maretzian was halting and heavily accented.

The boy motioned to the small wagon he had been pulling. "I have vegetables to deliver to Lord Bernard."

The guard stroked his beard. "Don't you normally deliver vegetables in the morning?"

"Yes, sir." The boy nodded earnestly. "But Lord Bernard said that because of the incident yesterday, he is out of vegetables and needs new ones."

The soldier thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Go on ahead then."

The boy dragged his cart past the guard, but not before the guard snatched up a red Guida fruit, guffawing. The boy glared at him indignantly, but said nothing.

As he neared camp, several of the Earth-visitors emerged from their patched tents, staring at his goods hungrily as he passed by. A young man made to approach him, but a man in a soldier's uniform cleared his throat loudly, and the other desisted.

The boy came to a large campfire and stopped next to it.

"Can I help you, boy?" The man who asked was older, in his early fifties, and losing hair.

"Yes," said the boy. His fingers crept to a pouch attached to his belt. "The layout of the camp has changed. Could you tell me where I might find Lord Bernard?" He pulled a few dark green leaves from the pouch.

"Oh, yes, of course. Bernard can be found—hey, what are you doing?"

But the boy had already tossed the leaves into the fire. Immediately, large clouds of smoke billowed up and out. Within a few seconds they had engulfed the entire camp.

The balding man coughed once before falling to the ground.

Lord Parvenin smiled across the table at Barnabas. "So where is Lady Pamela?" he asked innocently. "I see she is not here tonight. Most unusual for her."

Barnabas shifted uncomfortably. "She was not feeling well this evening, so she is taking the night off."

Parvenin's smile tightened. "I see. Well," he looked down the table and raised his glass, "I propose a toast to Lady Pamela's good health."

Everyone raised their glasses; they clinked together charmingly.

Barnabas took a large gulp of wine. Heaven only knew he needed wine tonight.

A minute later, as he attempted to spear a slice of chicken, the world before him swam confusingly. He stared a minute. His head throbbed. Numbness settled in his limbs. He stared at Parvenin. He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue felt thick and heavy.

Parvenin set down his untouched glass of wine. "Emperor Sidriel sends his regards, Lord Barnabas."

Black spots dotted Barnabas's vision, and he knew no more.

Chapter Twenty:

Barnabas awoke to the clanking of metal against stone. He tried opening his eyes, but his eyelids felt heavy. His head throbbed. He shifted, and his muscles screamed from the effort. Against his back, something rough and jagged scraped his skin even through his shirt.

Where am I? Panic shot through him, and Barnabas's eyes fluttered open.

The world appeared in gray smudges. Barnabas squinted, blinking. It felt as though he had a layer of film over his eyes. After a few seconds, though, the world focused. The gray blob in the upper fringes of his vision faded into dull, smoky stone. A torch cast weak, wavering light on Darius's face.

The man sat across from Barnabas. Dressed in ragged clothing and with purple bags beneath his eyes, he was barely recognizable. He seemed to have aged overnight. Barnabas's heart twisted in fear. What had happened?

Barnabas licked his lips and swallowed. His voice was hoarse. "Where are we?"

Darius tilted his head. "Look around you," he said bitterly.

Barnabas did so, and his heart stuttered, then raced. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and fear made his head spin. He and Darius sat knee to knee, pressed so tightly against each other that Barnabas could feel pressure building up along the line of his calf. To both his right and left, lines of prisoners sat together in similar positions, squished so close together that not an inch of floor showed. Most of the prisoners were quiet. The few sounds in the room were hacking coughs, occasional, vicious muttering, and the clanking of dangling metal chains against stone. The air felt hot and humid, and it stank with the stench of body odor, urine, and feces.

Barnabas gagged. Other than Darius, he recognized only a few faces from the expedition. Hannah sat a few people down the line, looking queasy. The two men on either side of her were two of the few people talking. They made a crude joke, and she shrank back. A few of the prisoners glanced at them, their mouths tight, but after a few seconds of staring, returned their attention to the wall. Barnabas opened his mouth to speak to one of them, but Darius shook his head quickly, and he restrained himself.

Instead, noticing who was missing, he asked, "Where is Pamela?"

Darius shook his head again. His mouth formed a grim line. "She was supposed to be back late in the evening. Who knows what happened to her?"

The two fell silent, regarding each other. Barnabas's thoughts whirred. What had happened? His blood rushed through his veins. Why had it happened? What had changed? What was going to happen to them? Where were they—? His stomach lurched. No. They couldn't possibly be... No. They wouldn't dare. Parvenin wouldn't risk it. But what was that Parvenin had said before? Something about the emperor...Barnabas couldn't remember.

A warm light lit their faces, and as one the prisoners turned. A guard stood at the entrance gate, holding a torch aloft.

"It's time."

Some of the prisoners shuddered. A few even moaned in horror. The guard scowled at them, sliding open the gate. Everyone rose to their feet unsteadily. They followed the guard single-file down a series of hallways. Other guards with arrows trained on them followed their progression with hard eyes. When they saw Barnabas, their lips curled back into sneers. Barnabas shuddered as he stumbled on.

Within minutes he started to hear something through the stone: a dim roaring sound that grew louder as the group rose to higher ground. He shot Darius a horrified look. Both knew where they were.

The torchlight faded in the brilliance of sunlight, and Barnabas squinted against the opening looming ahead. His stomach lurched.

The roar of the crowd grew louder; his ears throbbed. The guards shuttled them up the tunnel, urging them to move faster, to run more quickly, to go, go, go! They poured out into the sands of the arena, and the crowd above them screamed in delight. Several of the prisoners cried out, frightened, and the guards prodded them forward. Barnabas hung back, and a guard poked him with a spear. Pain shot down his left arm. Barnabas gritted his teeth and staggered forward.

The guards herded them to the center of the arena, and Barnabas stared around him, his heart pounding. The amphitheatre was filled to the brim. The crowd spread to even the furthest seats, and the staircases between the different sections were clogged. The audience was standing, staring down at them and jeering. Barnabas's eyes fell on the emperor's tent, and he froze—not because of the person sitting in the emperor's seat, for it was empty—but because of the person in the seat next to it.

The girl was dressed in dark violet. Her long brown hair pooled around her shoulders in cascades, shining and elegant. She stood when she caught his gaze, approaching the rail and leaning over to stare at him. In the sunlight, she glowed with life.

Marie should be dead.

He narrowed his eyes at her, and a sense of injustice flared up in him. She had something to do with this! She had to! His blood boiled. Marie met his gaze for a long time. It was neither hostility nor satisfaction he saw there, but pity, which only incensed him further. He snarled.

The crowd's roar suddenly increased in volume, chanting something. It was unbearably loud. Barnabas cringed. His ears burned.

Marie's eyes flicked away, falling on something behind him. Barnabas turned.

"Sidriel! Sidriel! Sidriel!"

A man was approaching, striding quickly over the sands of the arena. The guards poked and prodded the prisoners into kneeling positions, ringing them.

"SIDRIEL! SIDRIEL! SIDRIEL!"

The man glided across the sands, moving with a purpose and confidence few men ever possessed. He slowly came to a stop, his eyes roving over the gaggle of trembling prisoners. It seemed to Barnabas he stilled the same way a predator stilled before striking. Barnabas forced his eyes to the man's face, and he looked upon the countenance of Sidriel the Clever, the Powerful, and the Magnificent for the first and last time.

He was young. It was the first thing Barnabas noticed in his daze. He exuded a sense of health and youthful vigor. His hair hung in white, silky waves to his waist, shining ethereally in the sunlight. His eyes, a stunning bright blue, were the only indications of age; they glowed with a sense of power and purpose the young did not acquire easily. If Barnabas had ever believed in angels, he would have imagined they would look something like the Emperor of Maretzia.

Sidriel's eyes found Barnabas, and he approached him quietly. Cool, long fingers grabbed Barnabas's chin and jerked his head upward. Barnabas stared into those cool blue eyes, and he felt himself tremble. There was something too powerful about that gaze. He tried to open his mouth, wanted to say something, ask questions, but it was as if his brain could no longer connect to the rest of his body. Sidriel, his face full of contempt, let go of him. Barnabas fell to the ground, gasping.

Sidriel turned around, and his gaze wondered over the rapturous crowd. He raised his arms for silence.

Silence fell immediately.

"My People." His voice, both alluring and commanding, was also impossibly loud. It must have reached even the far corners of the amphitheatre. Sidriel revolved slowly on the spot as he addressed the crowd. "I believe an apology and an explanation are in order." The crowd muttered in confusion. Wide eyes stared at the emperor.

"I am sure," he said, "some of you have started to question me. You started to think I abandoned you, leaving the capital on the eve of the arrival of such strange Visitors." Attention shifted. A few eyes fell to the prisoners before returning to Sidriel.

"And as I took an inordinately long time to crush the rebellion in Madalinda, I am sure some of you started to wonder if I was not as strong as you believed me to be."

He scanned the audience, and some people in the crowd shook their heads vehemently. A few cries of "Never, My Lord!" permeated the amphitheatre. Sidriel smiled.

"And I apologize, for I have deceived you. My People, I tell you the truth: I have been in Melei-Argalla since the Visitors first arrived."

Shocked whispers swept across the stadium. Barnabas felt something twist horribly in his stomach.

Sidriel continued, "Indeed, I have rarely left the palace. You see, My People, I desired to know more about these strange Visitors, to learn their true intentions. I could not gain such information as the Emperor of Maretzia. Deception was necessary. For the past two months, I have walked the halls of their suites, listened in on their conversations, and heard their private confessions."

The crowd quieted for a moment, absorbing this. Then it roared its approval.

"And now," Sidriel continued loudly, his voice clear and audible even above the roars, "such deception has borne fruit. I have discovered the true purpose behind their visit, and it was not the peaceful one they promised."

The crowd grew louder, angry hisses filling the stadium.

"My dear People, these arrogant Visitors planned to destroy Maretzia. They wished to conquer this land. In the east one of their agents assumed the name of Gaidus Herpanteon"—the crowd's roar was deafening, yet somehow Sidriel's voice rose clearly above it—"who incited a rebellion against me. His head was delivered to me this morning."

The crowd cheered.

"Furthermore, they have stirred up resentment among the slaves in the hope of destabilizing the empire. One of their agents, the merchant known as Riljin Marsus, will be executed in this arena tomorrow."

The crowd roared again, and Sidriel held up his hands. Silence fell. "But today, My People, I bring you the blood of those who lied to Us, who lied to you, who walked the halls of my palace with murder on their minds. Among those prisoners to be executed today are the leaders of the Visitors. Their names, which will be recorded in the Books of Shame, are Barnabas and Darius. Their lives, their blood, belong to you."

The crowd cheered, and Sidriel's eyes found Barnabas again. He gave him one long, hard, cold look before sweeping away.

Up in the emperor's tent, Marie backed away from the railing and sank into her golden chair, her heart pounding. Her fingers caressed the armrests as her eyes surveyed the arena in front of her. Sidriel had left the sands, as had most of the guards. Barnabas and Darius huddled against each other, and all of the rage Marie had felt against them faded into something akin to pity.

She lowered her eyes, and her thoughts turned to Sidriel and all she had learned about him. She should be feeling it again, that stomach-churning sense of betrayal. But though her pulse raced, she couldn't bring herself to feel betrayed. Nervous? Yes. Embarassed? Incredibly. Betrayed? No, not really. If it was a betrayal, it was one she could understand.

The noblemen around her rose to their feet, clapping, and Marie slowly raised her eyes.

Max glided toward them, smiling at his cheering audience. The man to Marie's right bowed low. "Welcome back, My Lord. Your presence is most welcome."'

"Thank you, Lord Garbashin." Max inclined his head. "It is good to be myself again."

"Welcome back, My Lord. Welcome back."

"Thank you, thank you," murmured Max.

Marie hesitantly rose to her feet, and Max stopped in front of her. She met his gaze.

"So...you were Sidriel all along?"

Max's lips curved into a smile. "Yes."

Marie flushed inadvertently. She had confessed everything to Max. She had told Max things she had never told anyone. Personal things. She gazed at him questioningly, opening her mouth.

Max—no, Sidriel—placed his hand on her shoulder. "We will talk of this later."

She nodded jerkily. Her mouth snapped shut. Sidriel stepped past her and sat in his chair. He raised his left hand, and the gates rattled. The crowd cheered. Marie heard the roaring and snarling and hissing of animals. She heard the men scream in terror.

She didn't close her eyes this time, but she didn't look at the arena either. She focused her gaze on Sidriel's handsome face. It stayed impassive as the men screamed and as the screams ended. She swallowed.

At the end of it, Sidriel turned and faced her. "Let's talk then, shall we?"

Chapter Twenty-One:

She rode with Sidriel in his chariot back to the palace, the people cheering and throwing flowers. They acted like he was a returning conqueror. She supposed in a way he was.

When they entered the palace gates, both lord and laewin ran to greet the emperor. Marie watched him in awe. He commanded his people easily and with such confidence. Everyone clung to his every word. It was an amazing display of power.

"Lord Jeirin, please inform Lord Trinian of my return. He should come to Melei-Argalla to meet with me."

"Yes, My Lord. Right away."

"Undeliel, have Master Aurney report to the Academy to meet with Master Illeiön."

"Of course, My Lord. It will be done immediately."

Another man approached. And so it went for several minutes, servants and lords appearing to quiver before the emperor.

At last Sidriel turned to Marie. "My lady?" He offered his arm.

Marie took it, smiling weakly. She could feel the bands of muscle beneath his long purple robe.

Sidriel led her into the palace, but even inside they couldn't escape the throngs of worshippers. Courtiers, advisors, and servants rushed to them from all over, greeting and praising Sidriel. Marie for her part remained largely unnoticed. The only people to acknowledge her presence were the young ladies of the court, who shot her looks of utter loathing. Marie was too anxious about her fate to pay them any attention. She didn't kid herself: she was completely at the emperor's mercy.

They entered a part of the palace that Marie, despite her wanderings, had never seen before. It was so opulent Marie didn't even know how to describe it. It made the Visitors' suite look like a rundown hostel. As they strode through it, the number of followers slowly decreased.

"Where are we?" Marie breathed, awed, gazing around with wide eyes.

Sidriel's eyes flicked to her. "My wing of the palace. Few are allowed here."

Of course. Who else could such luxury be for? They passed below a crystal and silver chandelier, and the last of the admirers slipped away, leaving Marie and Sidriel alone.

Marie's heart fluttered. Her eyes flickered up to the emperor's face repeatedly. He remained impassive, leading her in silence through twisting corridors and up elaborate staircases, empty except for sharp-eyed guards, who bowed deeply as he passed. What did he plan to do with her? Marie wondered. Why had he kept her alive?

At last Sidriel slowed, and Marie stumbled, already used to his quick, gliding pace. She tore her eyes away from his face and to the scene in front of her.

They had stopped in front of a smaller door, an intricately carved thing with strange green framing. The door had no handle, and when Marie saw this, she stared at Sidriel quizzically. He ignored her and fiddled with something on the doorframe. The door swung open.

Sidriel swept into the room, but Marie hovered outside, biting her lip. What did Sidriel have in mind for her? He stomach twisted. What did he want? Surely he had come up with some use for her; someone as clever as him always found a use for everything. But just what was that use? What if she didn't like it? Her stomach lurched again. She hated being so completely at another's mercy.

Sidriel reappeared in the doorway. "Come, Marie. We have much to discuss."

He slipped inside again, and Marie lowered her eyes. He had said they were going to discuss things, hadn't he? People usually didn't discuss things with people they planned on killing or enslaving, did they? Her stomach settled a bit. At least she knew those two were unlikely options.

Still she hesitated, reluctant to follow Sidriel. At last, however, her curiosity overrode her fear, and with one nervous glance down the hallway, she stepped inside.

The room was long and low. The far wall opened into the gardens, and the scent of the late afternoon blossoms filled the air. The room was furnished to seat a large number of guests. Low, luxurious sofas were arranged in clumps, and a clump in the center of the room drew Marie's attention. On a small dais, two scarlet daybeds sat opposite each other, a small table between them. It was beside these daybeds that Sidriel waited for her.

"Please, Marie. Sit." He motioned to one of them.

Marie sat stiffly, nervously, folding her hands onto her lap, her thoughts whirring, her heart racing.

What does he want?

Sidriel sat across from her. His eyes did not leave her face. "Please relax, Marie. I mean you no harm. You will not meet the fate of your fellows."

Marie swallowed. So many questions burned on her tongue, but she was too nervous to ask most of them. Barnabas's deceit she had suspected; Max's she had not. Naming Max Sidriel turned him into a stranger. At last she managed, "And what is the fate of my fellows? The ones at the camp?"

Sidriel smiled coolly. "They are being dealt with, but I warn you I will not be merciful. Many will be executed. Others will become slaves. Some will fight in the arena." Marie's thoughts flickered to Dustin. She felt a twinge of pity, but not much. He had betrayed her as well.

"How did you capture them all?"

Sidriel's eyes flicked over her face thoughtfully. "There is a plant in this world whose leaves have unique properties. Those leaves, when burned, produce a sleep-inducing smoke. I sent someone to your camp to burn them."

Marie blinked. "And...what happened to that person?"

Sidriel considered her, tilting his head to the side. "He is fine. I sent in agents with face coverings to retrieve your fellows; he was retrieved as well."

Marie's eyes fell to her lap. Her stomach twisted. Her hands knotted the cloth of her dress. She would rather talk about anything but this, but she had to know. "When you were my laewin," she started haltingly, "you heard everything. Everything I thought." Her cheeks burned. She had never felt so vulnerable. "You know more about me than anyone else."

"Yes," said Sidriel thoughtfully. "Probably so."

Marie hated the indifference with which he said it. He had been privy to all her thoughts, fears, and frustrations, and all he said was "Yes. Probably so?" Her eyes snapped upwards and narrowed.

He arched an eyebrow. "Do not be angry with me, Marie. The reason you are still alive right now is because I know you so well. Since I was your laewin, I knew you knew nothing of the plans against me."

Marie's eyes darted away. Her anger transformed back into embarrassment. She was sure her face would never return to its normal shade. Sidriel the Clever had spent hours listening to her mindlessly prattle away about subjects like Rheidan, clothes, and Rheidan...She had never felt so stupid. "Didn't you ever get bored?" she blurted out. "I mean, listening—I—" She fell silent. Her blush had probably traveled from her face to the rest of her limbs. She could barely look at Sidriel.

Sidriel tilted his head. "No," he said thoughtfully. "I was never bored. You provided information about your world I probably would have never have thought to ask, information about social customs and commodities. You mentioned these things called movies and malls several times." He smiled slightly. "But furthermore, you were an interesting person to listen to, Marie Nettleson, not only because of the information you provided but because of the way you view the world. I see from your expression that you must think your concerns inane, but they are not. You think in a way that is very different from the way most Maretzian women—or men, for that matter—think. You were fascinating to listen to."

Marie eyed him uncertainly, unsure how to take that. She thought he meant it as a compliment.

"Were you upset when you found out it was me you'd be serving, instead of someone like Barnabas?"

"At first," Sidriel conceded. "But I found it was not difficult to listen in on Barnabas's conversations anyway, and you provided a greater insight into your world than Barnabas would have. I believe it turned out for the best."

Marie thought about it. She acknowledged she was probably more interesting than, say, Hannah. She had enough self-pride to recognize that. Still...

"How did you find out about everything?"

Sidriel considered her. "By eavesdropping I put together most of the plan. Did you notice that all the laewins in your suite looked similar? I am sure you did. You actually pay attention to slaves. I engineered that so I could occasionally change places with other laewins and listen in on the others' conversations. None of your party paid much attention to us, so they never noticed the difference." He smiled wryly. "But you, of course, would notice if I was not there to serve you, so I always had to respond to your call, which I had not expected. I had to train other spies so I could be kept up to date.

"But you also ended up helping me, Marie, when you returned to sneak into the suite. I stood outside Cristaña's room long enough to have my suspicions confirmed. Even had you not been taken into the city, I would have acted last night."

Marie stared at him for a moment. Then something clicked. "You understood what Pamela was telling me when she tied me up in the room. That's how Rheidan knew to follow and rescue me."

"Yes."

"You can speak English."

"Yes."

"That's why you spied yourself. Because you knew our language and your normal spies did not."

"Yes."

Marie's mind buzzed from the revelations. "But...how did you learn English?"

Sidriel smiled. "SpiritStar has been sending people into Maretzia for years, Marie. Almost all of them are loyal to the company, but there was one person who was sent here that was not, and he was more than happy to help me." He leaned forward and pressed a lever on the table between them. A small bell chimed.

Sidriel leaned back. "I am curious," he admitted, "as to how you will react to this."

Marie eyed him warily. React to what? How many more ways could she be deceived?

"What do you mean?"

The door to the room swung open. Marie craned her head around.

She thought her heart had stopped beating.

The man who had entered was tall, haggard-looking, and dressed in long robes that fit loosely around his frame. His salt-and-pepper hair hung limply around his ears, and his pallid skin stretched tightly across hollow cheeks and a skinny, protruding nose. Honey-colored eyes found Marie's.

Tears welled. She rose unsteadily. "Dad," she choked.

"Marie," her dad breathed.

"Dad!"

She flew across the room and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly he could crack her ribs. She buried her face into his shoulder. Though it had been years since she had last seen him, his scent was still familiar.

The two broke apart, and they stared at each other. Her father's eyes drank in her features. The delight on his face made him seem ten years younger than he was.

"Dad," she murmured disbelievingly, running a trembling hand along the side of his face. How could he be here?

"Marie," he said happily. "I'm so glad you're alive."

"I'm so glad you're alive! SpiritStar told me you were dead!"

"Ah, yes." Her father rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, SpiritStar thought I was, but instead I was SpiritStar's first successful transfer to this world. They didn't know it at the time." He grinned. "I landed here, in this very palace. Sidriel had me taught Maretzian, introduced to the culture here, and provided with a comfortable living space. In return I told him what he wanted to know about Earth."

Marie both cried and laughed. She clung to her father, her emotions confused and chaotic, completely overwhelming. She peeked over her father's shoulder at Sidriel. He had watched the whole exchange thoughtfully. "My father taught you English?"

"Yes."

"And that's another reason you spared me. Because of my father."

"Yes."

Marie looked back and forth between the two of them. She suddenly felt giddy. Her father was alive! "So what now?"

"What now, indeed?" murmured Sidriel thoughtfull. He stood and approached them. He looked between father and daughter carefully. "SpiritStar," he said, "will not give up this world so easily. The promise of fortune is too great a temptation. It has been set back, and its leaders will be angry. They will recognize me as a threat now, I think."

"But you have a plan?" asked Marie's father sardonically.

Sidriel smiled coolly. "I always have a plan."

Marie looked at him. "Do you have a plan for me?"

"Of course."

Marie rested her arms against the balcony rail and stared down at the gardens below her. "After my mom died, my dad was devastated." She swallowed thickly. "He and my mom had been inseparable, best friends when they were growing up. He started drinking. He would come home drunk almost every evening...or morning. One night—well, early morning—he was leaving a bar in this contraption called a car—remember when I told you about those? They're like chariots, but bigger and more dangerous—and he crashed it. The car skidded off the street and slammed into this guy walking his dog. The man's name was Erik Haff. The dog survived, but Erik died."

Marie peeked up. Rheidan listened to her intently, his dark eyes fixed on her face. Her gaze fell back to the gardens.

"Back home, that's a crime called manslaughter. He went to jail for it. He spent most of my childhood in jail. Grandmother raised me. She took me to visit him four times a year—on Christmas, Easter, the Fourth of July, and October 12th, his birthday, which are all special days back on Earth. He said those were his four favorite days." Marie smiled sadly. "Then a few years ago, he was released from jail. He was home a month, looking for jobs. But parolees have a hard time getting well-paying jobs. Then SpiritStar came along. They offered him a job. The pay was good. He couldn't refuse it, no matter how dangerous it was. I think he was thinking of me. When he went off...he sent seventy percent of his paycheck back to me and my grandmother. This lasted a year. Then he died, or so SpiritStar told us. In reality, I suppose, he had just been transported over here."

She turned. Her eyes met Rheidan's. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," she said. "It's not something I'm comfortable talking about."

Rheidan nodded. "I understand." His hand cupped her face. He smiled sadly. "Families can be sensitive subjects." He swallowed, his throat working. "Mine..."

Marie's hand covered the hand on her cheek. "You don't have to tell me, Rheidan. If you're not comfortable with the idea of it yet, that's fine."

"I..." Rheidan closed his eyes and nodded. "Thank you." He opened his eyes again, glanced at the sunset, and sighed ruefully. "I have not been completely honest with you, Marie."

Marie stomach twisted. Again? From Rheidan? She felt a sudden sinking feeling. What if he didn't actually like her?

Seeing her expression, he smiled, amusement flashing across his features. "I have not deceive you the way others have, I assure you. The only thing I kept from you is that I was sent to you knowing who you were and where you came from."

Marie nodded. She had guessed that.

"And that I can speak English."

Marie stared at him, stunned. Then she narrowed her eyes. "You can speak English?" Her voice had a dangerous lilt to it.

He winced. "Yes," he answered—in English. Seeing her murderous expression, he added quickly, "I would have told you, except it would have messed up everything, all of the emperor's plans. The emperor forbade it."

That, too, Marie could understand. It didn't make her happy—in fact, she was resisting the urge to punch him—but she could understand. Jaw clenched, she nodded, her eyes at the level of his collarbone. She strained her memory. Had she said anything in English in front of him she hadn't wanted him to understand? She couldn't remember. Perhaps. She blushed.

Seeing her expression, Rheidan sighed. He leaned down and kissed her. She kissed him back rather reluctantly, which made him smile. He ran his hand through her hair, and he gazed at her fondly. "I'll go and let you stew about this. Terrah told me I'd best give you some time alone." She nodded jerkily. Terrah was correct. He kissed her once on the forehead and backed away, leaving the room.

After he had gone, Marie slumped against the wall, her gaze wandering around her room. This one was just as beautiful as the last one, and she had another laewin, a young girl—"Her name," Sidriel had told her pointedly "is Alatea"— who was, Marie quickly determined, truly blind, deaf, and mute. Marie had shouted and clapped and muttered a great variety of things intended to make her react, but the girl hadn't budged. Marie suspected Sidriel wasn't the type of person to pull the same trick twice, but still, she didn't think she'd start blabbering away to this girl. Not in Maretzian, not in English, not even in pig Latin.

Marie's eyes roved around and landed on a large wooden door in the corner, the door that led to her father's room. She still couldn't believe he was alive. She shook her head incredulously as she stepped out onto her balcony. He was alive.

She froze.

He was alive. After several years here!

Her heart raced. Her hand flew to her shoulder. She slid off her sleeve and tugged at the bandage with trembling fingers.

It wasn't possible. There was no way.

But as the bandage slid of her shoulder, the cool night air tickled her, and her fingers slid across smooth skin. There wasn't even a scratch. She had healed. She gazed around disbelievingly, bracing herself against the balcony rail.

She had healed. How?

Her mind buzzed. A memory surfaced from earlier that day...Sidriel clapping her on the shoulder, right where her wound had been, and telling her they'd talk later...

Her finger ran over the smooth skin. It wasn't possible.

And yet...

###

Hi, all! I hope you enjoyed Across! It's the first book I've published, and I intend for there to be a sequel. If I am lucky, I will convince someone who is more tech-savvy than I to create a website for me. Until then, you may friend me on my Facebook page, which is accessible via my account at Smashwords.
