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Chapter 4
Ana
Istep out of the long, luxury hover-craft and into the fading evening sun, staring at the presidential residence splayed before me and feeling all sorts of panicked emotions.
Panicked shock at what just happened. Panicked fear that I won’t be able to get myself out of it. Panicked panic because everything is slipping resolutely out of my control and I have no idea what this might mean for my future. What if the worst happens and I have to go through with this job after all? Where would that leave my studies, my prospects, my life?
I’m still reeling from everything that happened earlier this afternoon. One minute I’m innocently stalking the dictator of Zvezden, and the next I’m apparently working for him. Everything spiraled out of my control so quickly, so efficiently, that I can barely believe it. No amount of yelling at the movers who’d barged into my dorm room and started packing my belongings had been able to deter them from their task. No amount of pleading with my previous employers or confused, outraged arguments with the head of curriculum at MITL had made even a dentof impact to the impending nature of my new life situation. How is this even real life? How is this the sort of thing that actually happens to real people?
My Snap vibrates against my wrist for the seven hundredth time today, and with a feeling of building anxiety I rip it off and shove it into my backpack. I can’t deal with Elena on top of everything else right now.
It’s all a bit much for me, and while I’m having a quick, casual little existential crisis, the driver of the automated luxury carrier steps out and makes his way around the vehicle towards me. But he stops suddenly when his wrist device starts flashing and he touches his fingers to a pointed ear. I take that moment to stare at the absolutely massive house before me that may or may not become my prison, and try to come to terms with my day.
Huge, sweeping white stone archways elegantly grace the facade, with rounded glass domes over several tower-like structures and splashes of that same bright aqua blue of Tzelik’s eyes painted over columns and around arched windows and doors. Almost all decorative carvings in the white stone of the building have been overlaid with gleaming platinum tendrils, and the final result in the golden glow of the setting sun against the pale orange backdrop of the sky is just…breathtaking.
Or maybe it’s the panic that’s taking my breath away.
“Affirmative. I’ll escort her now.”
I blink as my guide taps the device on his wrist off and turns me away from the building, and the sound of my worn sneakers crunching over the white gravel path brings me back to reality.
“Where are you taking me?”
“The chef’s cooking was not up to the president’s standards tonight.”
“What?”
But I get no further response from my guide, and after a couple minutes of walking I’m taken into a garage that’s the size of an average apartment back home. We arrive just in time for me to catch a glimpse of a seemingly endlessunderground room filled with all sorts of gleaming, expensive cars, before a hovering metal platform rises up and clicks into place, blocking the view and sealing the floor. On top of the platform sits a standard black luxury carrier, exactly like the one I’ve just come out of, and the Zvezdi beside me opens the passenger door and gestures for me to enter.
Feeling more than a little out of place I shuffle forward, both hands clenched tightly around the one strap of my backpack slung over my shoulder.
“Miss Martin,” Tzelik says mildly, his eyes focused on his lap as he scrolls through a tablet. “Come, we are heading out for dinner.”
The space inside the carrier is large, and sitting opposite him is a fidgeting Asili and a plump, gray-skinned Zvezdi woman in a blue dress who I assume is the nanny.
“Right,” I croak, and step inside.
***
We arrive at a fancy restaurant, and Tzelik promptly kicks out every single customer.
All of them. Just like that.
With one word from him and the barest flick of his wrist, every guest stands up and legs it—couples dropping cutlery halfway through their meals, families ushering children quickly out the door, until the interior is empty of everyone but us and the staff.
Which is possibly a good thing because Asili is in the process of throwing the biggest temper tantrum I’ve ever seen in my life, kicking over chairs and running screaming around the tables while the gray woman tries to placidly talk reason into him.
At least that’s not my problem, I think in relief, feeling no envy whatsoever for the poor nanny as we wait for our ordered meal to arrive.
“Now, Miss Martin, let’s talk logistics,” Tzelik says at the table beside me, and I turn to face him, feeling so thrown for a loop that I wonder if I’ll even be able to form a coherent sentence.
“Uh, right,” I manage, twisting my hands over the canvas straps of my backpack, which is cradled between my feet under the table. “So, about that—”
“I’ll need you to start first thing tomorrow.” He’s still fiddling with his tablet, and with a couple taps of his fingers a tiny camera drone zips out of it, and a quiet dial-tone begins to play. “I’m on an extremely tight schedule, so you couldn’t have come at a better time for me. I could use some decent help.”
“Um, sir,” I try again, “I don’t think I can—”
“You can,” he says with simple confidence, finally laying the tablet down and turning those striking blue eyes to me. “I’ve read your file. Intelligent, responsible, certainly quite capable and clearly determined.”
