The car shudders through the capital city. Connor and I are cramped as we sit in the back of the sleek, black vehicle. I shift uncomfortably in my new uniform and straighten the dark grey tunic. I gulp and clear my throat, the black tie feeling tight around my neck. For a second, I feel as though I can't breathe.
Connor gives me a small, reassuring shrug. I turn to face him. My eyes immediately fall on the little silver pin in the centre of his peaked cap. The metal skull with its sharp teeth and the two crossed swords behind it makes me shiver.
I still find it hard to process that we are officially agents of RISAA. Connor takes off his hat, noticing me staring at it. He spins it around and runs his finger over the little pin.
"It's strange, isn't it?" he says. I nod my head and adjust my own grey and black cap. It feels oddly heavy on my head.
"Realm Intelligence and Security Agency of Athaine," Connor mutters to himself, still poking at the pin. He chuckles. "This makes us look so mysterious."
"Really?" I ask and take the cap from him to put it back on his head.
"Yep," he replies, grinning proudly. "Everyone who sees us today whilst we wear this pin will automatically know we are active duty agents. They won't know what we do, but they will know we are considered extremely skilled and dangerous. They will know that we are the best of the best. It isn't often people are bestowed this badge, you know."
That's because most people with this badge are probably dead. I shudder and push the thought out of my mind and shrug at Connor's statement.
"If you say so," I tell him.
He laughs. "Take notice of the way people look at us. I bet you many of them will be terrified."
I roll my eyes. "Sure," I reply sarcastically.
"At least be proud of this," he says and pokes my upper arm where the flag of Athain sits. I look down at the dark green flag with its white cross surrounded by thin golden threads and the golden lion head in the middle. "It is an honour representing our country," Connor continues, smiling. I can't help but smile too and I nod my head.
"Yeah, it does feel good," I admit, feeling a strange sense of warm pride knowing that I am finally out in the big world representing and protecting my country. Connor nudges me again and I roll my eyes, laughing.
We stop as we spot the Parliamentary Building. Connor and I both gulp and go silent as we approach. Its huge, red brick walls loom over us as we reach the large gates. It is guarded by soldiers wearing their green uniforms and black berets. They are armed with a gun called the FS22. It is a submachine gun that can fire up to 800 forty-five calibre rounds per minute. I know all the guards protecting the parliament building will have been trained by the academy. This means that in their hands, those weapons will kill whomever they deem a threat.
The driver comes to a stop and shows the guards an identity card. We too show him our own identity cards, which had been made during our time on exercise. On the IDs are the pictures we took on graduation day. The photographs are of good quality. They have come out surprisingly clear, even if they are devoid of any colour but for different shades of greys. On the brownish paper, are our names, which have been typed out in the usual typewriter font in black ink. Apart from our names, the only other words are AGENT OF RISAA in caps. There are also three red stars at the bottom of the page, showing the mark we graduated from the Academy with.
Upon seeing our cards, the guard gulps and quickly hands them back before waving us through.
"See," Connor says as we leave the checkpoint.
"I think he was shocked seeing the two of us covered in bruises," I tell him, laughing. I had finally seen my own reflection this morning. I have a very large black eye, the bruising a brownish, greenish yellow colour. My lip is still swollen and split and there is another big bruise on my right cheek. Those are only the ones that are visible. My body still aches every time I move it.
"It just makes us look even scarier," Connor chuckles.
"If you say so," I say and smile, glad he is here to help ease my nerves.
We pull up at the grand entrance of Parliament and the nerves return in full force, making my heart thunder in my chest. Connor goes quiet too as we both stare at the entrance. The large black door has me gulping and I lick my dry lip.
Connor and I move to get out of the vehicle.
"They need to figure out how to make the back bigger," Connor says after he bumps his head. I try to smile, but my nerves won't even let me do that.
Inside, a guard of some sort is waiting for us.
"Agents of RISAA?" he asks.
"Yes," I reply, and Connor and I hold out our IDs. He looks over them briefly and then gestures for us to follow him.
We walk in silence. I have been in the parliament building only once before and I forgot how beautiful it is. The halls are long, with stone arches on the ceilings. The walls are made from large wooden panels and the floors are dark glossy wood. Paintings in golden frames hang on the walls and little lights sit in golden candelabras.
The walk is long and quiet. We wind through the building, up staircases, and through grand halls. Eventually, we come to a stop in front of a large green door. The guard opens it, and we walk into an office. A woman sits behind a desk, typing away at the typewriter, not looking up at us as we walk in.
"Are you the two pm appointment?" she asks, finally looking at us when she has finished her sentence.
"Yes," I reply. She nods her head and stands. She gestures for us to take a seat in one of the many leather chairs. The guard leaves and Connor and I share a nervous look as the woman walks to a pair of double doors. She knocks and enters upon hearing a response. I can't quite hear what she is saying to the person beyond.
Connor and I sit in silence. I play with my hands which rest in my lap and look around at the red walls awkwardly. When the woman comes back in from the other room, her eyes fall on mine. My heart leaps into my throat and my limbs tingle from nerves.
"She is ready for you," the woman says. Connor and I stand and the receptionist looks between us.
"Just the girl," she says and smiles politely. I gulp and give Connor a wide-eyed look.
"Quickly, please," she urges. Connor gives me a reassuring smile and I turn toward the doors. Letting out a small breath, I square my shoulders.
Come on Rowan. After everything I have been through recently, meeting the Prime Minister is hardly as scary.
I knock on the doors and lick my dry lips once more.
"Come in," a female voice says. I push the door open and walk inside.
The Prime Minister doesn't look at me as I enter. Instead, she scrolls through a file, her lips pulled into a tight line. I come to a stop in front of the large, mahogany desk and stand to attention. She doesn't make an effort to acknowledge me. She just keeps reading over the paperwork before her. I look away from her and at the great wall of leatherbound books behind her. Then, my eyes fall on red walls which are covered with various maps and paintings.
I quickly look back at the desk, not wanting to be caught staring. The room is thick with heavy, tense silence. I can hear my own racing heart mixed with the sound of the ticking grandfather clock. It takes all my effort to keep my expression neutral and not bite my nails or my lip.
My eyes remain focused on her as I try not to look around like some sort of lost child. On her desk, I spot a plaque. It is gold and printed onto it are the words Prime Minister. Beneath them, in a slightly smaller font is the name Lucille Zhao. My eyes fall back on her again. She has warm, smooth, tanned skin. Her hair is silky and black. At the front, it is secured into two tight and perfect victory rolls. The rest is pulled into a neat, updo which sits at the bottom of her head and falls slightly down the back of her neck. She wears a dark blue blazer with square, padded shoulders. On the collar, is a sparkling diamond broach. Beneath the blazer is a frilly, white blouse.
As if sensing me staring at her, she looks up. Her dark brown eyes find mine. I try not to shiver. Her lips, which have been painted the fashionable red colour that most women sport, pull into a calm and confident smile.
"You must be Rowan," she says.
"Yes, ma'am," I reply.
"At ease," she tells me, and I relax my posture. Her eyes sweep over me, inspecting me intensely. In turn, I look back at her. Around her eyes and lips, her skin is slightly wrinkled. Her face is narrow, her jaw sharp. Though she is in her forties, she looks to be early thirties.
"Rowan Elliot," she says slowly and shakes her head. "These scores are impressive."
"Thank you, ma'am," I reply.
"You have had an interesting upbringing, haven't you?" she asks and from the way she speaks, I know she is choosing her words very precisely.
"You could say that," I answer, not wanting to go into much detail.
"Well," she begins, a smirk forming on her lips, "not every student's mother challenges the academy and wins." Not sure what to say, I don't reply. "I've certainly never heard of a parent making demands to the academy and Mr Day and being successful," she continues, talking about how my mother managed to barter getting me for two months in the winter in the summer instead of the two weeks.
"I learned a lot from my mother," I reply calmly.
"Yes, your mother," she says and opens another file. "Catherine Elliot, the owner of Elliot and Co. A metal works company, right?"
"Yes, Ma'am," I reply. The prime minister chuckles and shakes her head.
"What about her other business, agent?" she asks.
"Other business, ma'am?" I ask, keeping my voice even.
The Prime Minister chuckles and shakes her head. "You are a smooth talker," she tells me. I keep my expression neutral. Ironically, keeping my emotions from being read is one of the lessons that mother taught me.
"If I didn't know otherwise, I would actually believe you. I'm impressed," she says. "But do not lie to me again, Rowan." Her voice takes on a lower, darker tone as she says that. I suppress a shudder. In my chest, my heart continues to thump and race. Luckily, she can't see or hear that.
"I know exactly what your mother is," she says and starts looking through the file. "Matriarch of the Redbirds. Tell me, what are The Redbirds?"
"They are a gang, ma'am," I tell her.
"A gang?" she asks and nods her head slowly, both of us knowing she already knew that. When she smiles, I feel bitter anger rising in my veins. I know she is trying to get some sort of rise out of me. She is taunting me. But I will not rise to it.
"Drug dealing, gun smuggling, gambling, blackmail, and bribery. I assume she uses the metalwork company as a front for all of this?" she asks. I keep my mouth shut. In no way am I about to tell on my family. "Your mother must be a very hard-working woman, having to run multiple industries whilst also having to reign in such unpredictable, violent, nasty brothers," she says and pauses to flick through more pages. She lets out a scoffed laugh and shakes her head as she reads. "The report is really quite something, you know?" she says to me. "If I wanted, I could go to war with your family and win. I'd have them all locked up for life and your murdering uncles would get the noose." She looks up, her eyes piercing into mine. She examines my face thoroughly. I keep it void of anything. Any expression I pull, she could use a weapon. She will get nothing from me. Plus, her threats mean nothing. Mother is not a woman to be underestimated and she wouldn't go down without one hell of a fight.
"So, in those months you spent with mummy dear, what skills did you learn that the academy couldn't teach you?" she asks. "What did gang life teach you?"
I can't tell if she is curious, disbelieving, or angry. Anger would make sense. It must damage the pride somewhat when a girl who spent long periods away from the most prestigious Academy in the country to spend time with a criminal mother gets some of the highest grades ever achieved. I almost want to smile smugly myself.
"Have you ever killed anyone, Rowan?" she asks, looking directly into my eyes.
"The academy taught us how to kill but did not go so far as to have us carry out the act," I tell her, technically not lying. She smirks and shakes her head.
"I'm not talking about your academy education, you know that. Come on, little bird. Whilst you were in the company of your violent, short-tempered uncles, did you ever take a life? Did you ever join your uncle Reggie in beating the shit out of whatever poor soul said the wrong thing? Did you join your uncle Harry in carrying out targeted assassinations of old rival gang members? Tell me, Rowan, did your wonderful, one-of-a-kind mother that Mr Day raves about, teach you how to actually take a life?"
I swear I hear jealousy in her voice.
"My mother taught me a lot of things," I simply say.
"Apparently so." She sighs and closes the folder. "Mr Day seems to think that this will make you an excellent agent."
"That is kind of him," I reply. She stands and walks toward me. She is taller than me, and when she comes to a stop, she looks down at me. She reaches out and gently presses her fingers against my bruises. Somehow, I manage not to flinch at her icy touch or the pain that ripples through my face.
"Hmm," she says, then lowers her hand. "You are a strange case," she finally says, "and, as much as I hate to admit it, I think Mr Day may be right about you." She turns and walks back to the desk, taking a seat. "He thinks I should send you straight onto the main operation we have planned for you, and I am inclined to agree."
Again, I keep my expression void of any emotion despite a spike of fear shooting through my veins that makes my limbs shake. "In a few moments, I shall call in Mr Hale and tell you both where you shall be posted. First, however, I am going to give you an order. Do not tell Mr Hale of your work. Whether it be spying, assassinating, or sabotaging."
I frown. "But he is my guardian, ma'am," I say.
"Connor Hale is from a good and honourable family. He doesn't need to be involved with the unethical, shady side of our world. Just tell him what he needs to know so he can look after you, especially when it comes to your dream walks and that is it. Any information about targets and intel is to be shared between you and your handler only. Also, the less sensitive information is shared, the less likely it is to fall into enemy hands. His not knowing both gives him plausible deniability and keeps the information more secure. Especially if he is captured. Do you understand?"
"Yes Ma'am," I reply.
She nods her head. "Good," she says, "now, go and get your guardian."
I turn and go to the door. Upon opening it, Connor immediately looks up. I gesture for him to enter the room. Quickly, he stands and walks over. I open the door wider and let him in.
We both come to a stop in front of the desk and wait for the Prime Minister to speak. Her eyes inspect us closely, leaving the room in tense silence. My heart hammers in my chest. This is it. I am getting my first mission. I can't decide if I feel terrified or excited. Whatever emotion it is, it makes my stomach churn so much that I almost want to vomit.
"The Fourth Realm," she says, "are you aware of the political climate between our realm and theirs?" she asks.
Conner clears his throat and answers. "A little, Ma'am," he replies. "We were taught that they are the most technologically advanced of all the realms. A consequence of that, however, is that they have near destroyed their realm and are quickly running out of vital resources."
The Prime minister nods her head. "You are correct, for the most part, Mr Hale," she says. I frown a little at how she addresses him. Her tone is respectful. She also doesn't use his first name as she did mine. I push those thoughts away for now. It isn't important. "Now, what I am about to say is highly classified. Do you both understand? To talk about what has been discussed in this office today with anyone who is not authorised will be considered treason and you will be punished."
"We understand, ma'am," I say. She nods her head.
"You shall get a more in-depth briefing during your next phase of training," she begins, "but for now, I shall give you the simple version. The Fourth Realm is mounting its forces. They are planning an invasion and their target is our realm."
She pauses, letting it sink in. Beside me, Conner stiffens, and his brows rise in surprise. I can't keep my eyes from widening. The Prime Minster nods her head, her expression grim.
"We are on the brink of war," she explains. "The Fourth Realm needs more land. It needs more resources and ours is the closest match to theirs."
"What has stopped them from invading already, especially if their technology is far more powerful and advanced than ours?" I ask.
"The portals," the Prime Minster replies. "Going through the portals destroys any electrical components that they may be carrying. It is our main advantage. They rely heavily on their technology, all of which are run with various forms of electricity. It is in much of their weaponry, navigation systems, their vehicles, and their medical equipment just to name a few. This is a great relief and it is what is saving us from being annihilated. The Fourth Realm has heavily invested in weaponry and intel already gathered suggests that they have created bombs of mass and instant destruction. These bombs could wipe out a whole city in only a second."
I feel the colour drain from my face and my head goes light at just the thought of having that much power in the hands of an enemy. The Prime minister nods her head, agreeing with my and Connor's horrified expressions.
"However, just because they don't have their main advantage here, does not mean they aren't a genuine threat that needs dealing with. Which is why, Miss Elliot, I am sending you into the Fourth Realm."
I nod my head and clench my jaw. I should feel scared, terrified. If I was spying somewhere in this realm, even if it was another country, I would at least have an easy way out. In a whole other realm, however, there is very little chance to escape. But I do not feel fear. Instead, I feel a strange sense of determination. This Realm wants to invade ours because of their own stupidity and lack of planning. They don't get to just take and I will do everything I can to stop them.
"For the next month, the two of you will train intensively. By the time your training has ended, you will be able to blend in seamlessly with the Fourth Realm. You will speak their language, with their accent. You will know how to work their technology. You will know how to follow their fashion trends. You will know everything. Even down to the smallest detail. By the time you enter the Fourth Realm, it will be like you were born and raised there."
She looks between the two of us and smiles calmly. "You are both excellent soldiers. I have every bit of faith in you."
"Thank you, Ma'am," we both say at the same time and I can't help the small smile that plays on my lips.
"Now," she says, "the car outside will take you to the training barracks. You are to go immediately."
"Yes, Ma'am," we both say.
"Thank you both for meeting here today," she says, standing and gesturing to the door. "I wish you all the best."
We salute and then we are leaving the office. Connor and I walk in stunned, nervous silence back through the corridors. I don't know if I can process it completely. Is this really happening? Am I really venturing into another realm?
Connor must be having the same thoughts as me because when he looks down at me, the colour has drained from his face and there is a sheen of sweat on his forehead. We don't say anything. Instead, I reach out and give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
We are an excellent team, and we will succeed. Failure is not an option. I don't even allow myself to even think about the possibilities of what would happen if we were captured. I suspect it would make our previous exercise look like a blissful holiday. I shudder, my throat and mouth drying with fear at the thought of it.
No. I will not allow that to happen. I am an Elliot and I will do what Elliot's do best. Wreak havoc and get away with it.