I flowed over the window ledge, hanging by my fingers and dropping the last meter to the soft grass below. It squelched as I landed. Footprints. Couldn't be helped.

  A row of meter-high, bright green bushes with tiny white flowers ran along the slightly curved wall. They set off the wall's dark red bricks nicely. The white flowers probably symbolized unity, or harmony, or some other lofty goal. Free snacks for the poor, maybe.

  I crouched behind the bushes, two silver tea plates bulging out the side pockets on my drab brown Dromoni vest. The best things I could find to ward in our quarters. I was suddenly very happy that I'd gotten the vest. A jacket would have been better, but the Dromoni shirts didn't have pockets. Neither did their pants or hose. Maybe they had servants to carry things for them.

  The hall had a circumference of three kilometers. House Trevalon's quarters were a quarter of the way around, say eight hundred meters. I could do eight hundred meters crawling on my knees. Hopefully, that wouldn't be necessary.

  I conjured a thread of force and activated my first shadow ward, down-tuning it. Hiding in the shadows was all nice, but a shadow ward ate light. Sitting in it, I'd be sitting in pitch darkness, just as blind as someone looking in. Better to keep it at a low level, covering the middle of my body and enabling me to dive into my little ball of blackness if I needed to.

  The grass rustled as I moved, a soft wind smelling gently of wet hummus wafting past me. Probably scented in the ventilation system. Once again, I was reminded of how crudmunchingly good the Dromoni engineering was. If we could get but a tenth of what they were capable of, the Belithain would become a real home.

  A door lay in the wall to my right. Black, with no handle. I conjured a thread of force and felt around, encountering no wards. Likely an access for janitors or gardeners.

  Or security. I hunkered down, and jolted my way past holding my ankles, completely covered in my bubble of shadows. Nothing happened. Either I'd passed by undetected, or the door had no electronics. Straightening, my thighs burned. Once I left Dromond, I'd have to start exercising on a regular basis.

  For half an hour, I made my way forward, avoiding security, not finding any wards or magical defenses. Maybe the Dromoni didn't approve of them.

  Twice, I hunkered down as servants in red or gold passed nearby. Once a droid came close, brushing away invisible specs of dirt from the black, stone path. I held still, but it didn't notice me.

  I was about to congratulate myself on my skulking skills when I heard the breathing.

  There are different types of breaths. The sharp intake of surprise before fear hits you. The labored bubbling hiss of pneumonia. The wet sniff of a hunting dog.

  This was the breath of someone crying soundlessly.

  The bushes had given way to trees. Small, jagged red-and-dark-green leaves fluttered in the wind, occasionally slapping dryly against a branch or the ever-present white-bloomed lianas. To my right, yellow light spilled from an open door on an empty balcony at waist height. I pressed the leaves aside, creating an arm-deep tunnel in the foliage.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Draud's protégé sat on a small, brown, wooden bench in a tiny cave of greenery, her feet tucked in beneath the bench, her shoulders still, facing away. She looked deep in meditation, but her breathing betrayed her. That and the occasional soft splat of tears hitting the bench.

  Watching her was dumb. I should leave. I had no business here, nothing to gain. She'd report me to Draud who'd think up some crudmunching scheme to get me and Saradon executed. I should leave.

  Instead, I pressed forward, through the leaves, down-tuning my ward as I did so, leaving only a tiny blob of shadow at my waist, enough to keep the ward from diffusing.

  The rustle was slight, but enough to cause the woman to straighten, arranging her posture into more of a formal meditative stance. She didn't turn, didn't wipe away any tears, but her breathing became more even, and a lot more labored. Pushing away her feelings by strength of will. I could relate to that.

  We stood like that, each frozen, for several breaths. I thought about leaving, but decided against it. I'd drawn my wards, might as well imbue them.

  "Hi," I said.

  She turned, and her eyes were like pools of darkness in the dim light. Not so dim that I didn't see the blue-black bulge on her cheek.

  "You should get that cheek healed," I said.

  "I will not," she said with such focused rage that it would have rivaled Riina's at her worst. For a moment, she let it burn, showing me, then wiped it off her face like an actor donning a mask. "You shouldn't be here," she said. "It is a breach of the duel peace."

  "The seclusion," I said.

  "Yes."

  Above me, something rustled in the foliage, and I drew back slightly.

  "It's only a bloom-creeper," the woman said. I was getting annoyed at thinking of her as Draud's woman. She deserved better.

  "What's your name?" I said, and her impassive face flickered with surprise. She let me see her indecision, then wiped it away with a breath.

  "Maia," she said, finally. "What's yours?"

  "Jake," I said before managing to stop myself.

  Maia cut short a giggle that started to bubble out of her. It made her seem young, but I guessed she was only a few years younger than I.

  "Do you know that-" she began.

  "I know," I interrupted. "My commander found it very funny."

  "Your mistress?" Maia said.

  "Yes," I said. "Why are you crying?"

  "Why are you here?" she replied. Attacking, instead of replying. Beneath her soft exterior there lay a core of steel. I could play that game.

  "Why do you serve Draud?" I said.

  I expected her to stay silent, or attack with another question, but she breathed heavily, once, not quite a sigh.

  "I made a mistake," she said. "With my uncle's death, my house was falling, our standing destroyed. Draud was rising, his standing increasing like a flame. I thought that I could help our standing by tying myself to his. And I signed my life into service with the wrong master."

  "Does he treat you this way often?" I said, pushing a hand out of the foliage to point at her cheek.

  "Never before," she said. "I know my value. He would have used someone else if he'd had the time. Only the lower servants get beaten often."

  "What do you do for him?" I said, my gut cringing under a stab of jealousy I didn't know I had. To my surprise, she answered.

  "I'm a logistics engineer with dual degrees in trade law and supply chain management," she said.

  My reaction must have been evident, because she snorted like an angry marine.

  "You thought I was a bed warmer," she said. A statement, not a question.

  "Well," I said. "You see-"

  "Men," she said. A single word, yet so dismissive. In the darkness, I felt myself coloring like I'd never had even as a young boy.

  "That's an impressive resume," I said, not quite an apology, but not knowing what to say. Remembering Traz's lecture, I added: "Why don't you sign with another master?"

  "Who would offer?" Maia said. "Master Draud would take affront. A challenge to duel would be the least thing he could do."

  "Does he do it often?" I said. "Challenge people?"

  "Often enough," Maia said. "He has twelve lives on his tally, and a lot more wounds and forfeits."

  I drew breath to reply, but a soft voice called from the open balcony door, and Maia stood, moving away up the path and vanishing into the light without even a nod of goodbye.

  The leaves rustled softly as I pulled back and bypassed the balcony.

  Sometimes, the only thing you can do is leave.