As for the red book, she had not seen it in her surroundings. Supposing it wasn’t disintegrating at the bottom of the lake, she could go back looking for it later. If she was going to be scolded anyway, she preferred it happened in dry clothes and a full stomach. At least she wouldn’t get an infection or stumble again when her thin legs couldn’t hold her any longer. It was obvious that there was no gardener or guard close enough to save her from herself.

***

“Just what I needed…” Bridget mumbled brokenly due to the cold. Elisa Bandier and her companion were still hanging out where she had last seen them. She hid behind a tree before they could see her, mulled over her options, and bordered the square so that they would not notice her appearance. There was no one more scathing than Elisa when it came to criticising dresses, even if she wore a nondescript pair of tight jeans and a jacket made from synthetic material. When she neared another of the entrances to the guest tower, she realized her mistake: that door would lead her through one of the most public areas in it. She had no other choice but to creep towards a service door and go down to the basement, to the Hall, where she kept an extra change of clothes, and could clean up a little. Unfortunately, she didn’t keep extra boots there to replace the soaked ones; at the most, she would be able to rinse them, and avoid leaving a muddy trail.

Once she was changed, she began heading for the dining room, finally.

Before she opened the door, a man’s yells stopped her. She could not be seen leaving that place. Whoever saw her would think she had walked through a wall. She peeked through a small vent, and saw the back of a man with dark hair and spotted wings that shook when he spoke, blocking from sight whoever was the target of his fury.

“Is being expelled not enough, Terriuce?” he barked, waving his arms. Even his feathers were ruffled in anger. “Do I also have to hear complaints about you on your first day here?”

Expelled. I would not like to be in his place. Sighing, Bridget leaned on the door and waited for the scolding to end.

“I don’t want to see you in the palace, except for eating and sleeping,” she heard him say.

“That’s all I do,” complained a rough young voice.

“It’s not what I was told.”

“Oh, you’re talking about that idiot human and his stupid jokes…”

“I’m not interested! Hold your damn tongue or at least avoid people. Goddess! You don’t know who you could be talking to, and dragging my name into it, no less! I said out, no interactions! Remember you are not on vacation, I brought you with me because it wasn’t possible to enroll you in another university mid-term.”

“You could have left me at home.”

“So that you can take the VeL and the driver, and drink more of my collection’s bottles? Not in a million years, young man.”

“I was trying to see…!”

“Don’t you interrupt me! I’m warning you, if you don’t regret your actions or behave like a Blasterier, I will lock you up in Startos and it will be over: you can forget about her forever.”

“But father…”

“That is final.”

When the voices suddenly stopped, and she heard footsteps, Bridget looked through the vent again. The father had left; the scolded boy… was the same boy that had laughed at Bridget half an hour before.

“Fine! Leave! Don’t listen, and threaten me with the military academy, that solves everything, father!” the young man spat. He kicked the wall and slid to the floor, resting his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. He sank into a painful, melancholic silence.

Damn it! Terriuce Blasterier, or whatever your name is, why can’t you whine somewhere else? I can’t leave while you’re here.

Bridget took off her boots and sat down to wait. It didn’t look like the boy would move anytime soon. Every now and then he hit the wall with his head in frustration, uttering inaudible curses. She even heard him sob once.

What is wrong with you, don’t you feel a hole in your stomach? It’s time for dinner. Get lost already, I’m starving.

Even if it sped up her punishment for losing the book, Bridget wished William would sweep down and get rid of the boy with an excuse. She’d call him, she told herself, while fingering her pocket. She couldn’t find it. Her ProCom must be at the bottom of the lake.

Pluck me!

She calmed herself down and went to the observation room to look for something to communicate with. Nothing. Not even a surveillance camera to sign at. The place and what happened in it was too much of a secret to be worth the risk. That was why it was located so remotely, with so little traffic that, apparently, it was ideal for scolding, yelling and threatening without being exposed to criticism and the court’s gossip.

She went back to the door and leaned on the metallic surface. So long as she didn’t open it, the soundproof walls would hide her presence.

Well, perhaps it was time for her mentor to use his gift for knowing about everything she did, even when no one was looking. Ever since the attempt on her life in her crib, her parents had installed a set of intelligent nano cameras around her person. It consisted of a dozen carbon based microscopic artifacts floating about her, except for the one implanted in her optic nerve, that worked as a virtual anchor for the other eleven. These sent their recordings to a receiver shaped like a shell that William kept in a silver chain around his neck.

Theoretically, the old man was not supposed to look at the recordings -Christian never had-; they were there in case of an emergency, like a kidnapping. If within a reasonable time frame she didn’t turn up, and Bertaliz didn’t confirm she had arrived in her room at the expected hour, she trusted her mentor to take the initiative and go looking for her. She wanted to believe the old man served a purpose beyond being her academic tormentor: taking care of her.

However, a shudder ran through her at the thought of the elder’s possible intrusive scrutiny. That would certainly be an assault against her privacy.

Every passing moment she felt weaker and sicker. She didn’t know when she fell asleep, curled up on the floor.

Potenkiah, the deathgiverKde žijí příběhy. Začni objevovat