Out of all the Academies she'd attended, Saint Basil's was the largest by far; situated in a vast, forested area it was far from any major human cities—though she'd been told there were several Moroi and dhampir settlements that were accessible within a few hours drive. The Siberian Taiga offered more than enough isolated space for the institute to spread out and grow as time progressed—as a result, the grounds of the Russian Academy could easily hold all three of her former schools, and still have room to spare. Considering it was the first Academy founded, it made sense—for centuries, Saint Basil's had flourished without attracting attention, continually expanding its boundaries, becoming the epicenter for education in the Moroi world.
Her first week, she'd gotten lost several times trying to travel between the massive campuses; to her surprise, her instructors understood her tardiness—they'd even gone out of their way to mark down shortcuts on the map she'd been given during orientation. Not wanting to take advantage of their kindness, she'd made a point of familiarizing herself with the grounds during her free time—by her third week, she was as familiar with her surroundings as the students who'd been there for years.
The occupied portion of the Academy was divided into four massive sectors, each containing the facilities needed for the purpose it served. The center most quadrant held the administrative complex and the Guardian buildings, as well as the mammoth residence where Royal guests were housed for overnight and extended stays. The centralized location made the buildings easily accessible for the students of both the Upper and Lower campuses, which flanked it on either side, running from East to West, though the boarders between the individual quadrants were clearly defined by the large courtyards, statuaries and ornamental gardens that were prerequisites for all Moroi schools. The Lower campus contained all the buildings and dorms for the pre-school, primary and intermediate grades, while the Upper held the same things for secondary and Lyceum students. The remaining sector—the Tertiary campus—sat to the North, abutting and running the length of the other three; out of all the campuses, it was the only one that was existed solely for the use of dhampirs. In essence, it was a University, of sorts—the place where newly graduated Guardians who wanted to become instructors at Academies took an additional year of intensive training. It was also the only sector that held two gymnasiums—the larger was strictly for the Guardians to use, while the smaller of the two was available to a small selection of students who showed aptitude in one unique area.
Janine Hathaway happened to be one of those elite few. The only problem was, to get to the Tertiary campus, she had to cross the middle quadrant of the campus—which meant walking smack dab past the building Ibrahim Mazur had entered.
As she approached the enormous Guest Residence, she couldn't resist glancing up—automatically wondering which windows belonged to the room The Moroi man had been had been assigned. She'd only been inside once, a few weeks earlier, when Sofiya's father had come for a visit and the Prince had insisted his daughter bring her dhampir friends to a lavish dinner in his suite—the largest one in the wing that was reserved for the Badica clan. She'd silently marveled over the expensive furnishings and golden fixtures—and been completely terrified that she would somehow manage to soil the fine linens or break something during the course of the meal. Her nerves had been so great that her hands had started trembling whenever she reached for her glass—Prince Badica noticed, immediately asking what was wrong. She'd answered him truthfully, admitting her fear; he'd smiled in response, reaching out to knock his own wineglass off the table—it shattered to smithereens when it hit the marble floor, then he'd told her now that the worst had happened, she should relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.
It was the kindest thing any Royal had ever done for her.
Realizing that she was still staring up at the windows, she blushed, averting her eyes; if Mazur happened to glance out and see her staring, he might get the wrong idea. Irritated at herself for looking up in the first place, she hastened her steps to a jog, hoping he hadn't seen her. The Moroi would never believe that she had to pass the building to access the Tertiary campus—he'd probably assume she was lingering outside, hoping to catch his eye or even worse, wanting to apologize for socking him in the face.
Cutting across the large courtyard that served to separate the sectors, she bypassed the scenic footpath, opting instead to take the shortcut Savva had shown her. The dirt trail wasn't nearly as pretty as the precisely laid flagstones that were lined with flowering bushes and decorative plants—in fact, the surrounding forest had been hacked back, freeing the trail of low laying hazards for the Guardians that patrolled it. However, it was a straight shot, saving her from ten minutes of walking on the twisting, turning pathway—something that was far more important than a postcard perfect view.
The forest thinned out, bisecting at a tall wrought iron fence; she took the right fork, digging in her pocket for the laminated clearance pass the Academy's Head Guardian had presented her with the day she arrived on campus. Handing it to the dhampir that monitored the gate, she tapped her foot impatiently as he checked it against the roster—grunting her thanks when he handed it back, waving her through.
"The amount of time you put in, you must be nearly as good as Larisa Latynina by now, yes?" The gray haired Guardian said—chuckling when she shot him a blank look in return.
"Is that a student?"
"Good God no—she participated in the Olympics… won the Soviet Union nine gold medals."
"I'm nowhere as good as all that—sorry. Only reason I do it is to work on balance." She flashed him an apologetic smile as she passed. "Anyone else in there, or will I be havin' it to myself?"
"It's all yours—the primary students cleared out a half hour ago."
Pleased with his response, she nodded, continuing down the walkway—heading towards the area where the athletics facilities were located when the path forked again. She reached the larger of the two gymnasiums first—it was the one that was strictly reserved for Guardian use, three times as big as the other gyms on the Academy's grounds; it shared a track with a smaller gym that was perhaps a quarter of its size—earning it the nickname 'little gym' amongst the staff and the students. The smaller structure came into view—she hastened her steps, spurred on by the overwhelming urge to be inside, away from everyone.
The familiar smell of chalk dusk greeted her as she entered the dim interior—it brought a smile to her lips, reminding her of all the hours she'd put in with her Mentor at her last school. Bertie Petrov had been much more than an advisor—the woman had become a good friend; despite the fact she'd been ungrateful and often bordered on disrespect, the older dhampir had never given up, going above and beyond to help insure her Mentee would succeed.
Inevitably, as she entered the locker room to change her clothing, her mind began wandering, as it did every time she worked out in the little gymnasium; her memories drifted into the past, taking her back to the day her fate had been sealed—when Saint Basil's became her last hope. She'd been happy at Saint Adomnán's—the language was her own, although the accents were a wee bit different, and she'd slowly managed to accumulate a small group of friends… ones who'd encouraged her to focus on her studies and helped her to raise her grades. Her days of wild parties and sneaking out were over—she'd learned her lesson the hard way after being kicked out of Saint Benedict's—she was determined to do her best, avoiding all distractions and staying out of trouble. It was an easy enough task to accomplish, once she'd found the perfect outlet for all the pent up anger and frustration inside her—an outlet she'd never have even considered had it not been for Bertie.
"Janine… today I want you to try something different."
She sank down on the bench beside the woman to tighten the laces of her trainers. "Aye? What would that be?"
The older woman reached over, stilling her hands, "Don't—you won't need shoes today. I want to show you some basic gymnastics moves."
She scoffed at the idea. "Tumblin'? What's with you Russians and your love for acrobatics?"
Her Mentor's gray eyes were calm and steady—she wasn't put out in the slightest by the dismissive tone of her mentee's voice. "I can't speak for all Russians, but it's a beautiful sport—and it works all the same muscle groups that sparring does. You're small, Janine—there will be instances when knowing how to maneuver your way out of a fight in an unexpected way will save your life."
"Aye—I already know it. It's called running, Bertie."
"Please… I'm being serious. Your only shortcoming is your balance—that's why you have so much trouble finding your center after you parry a blow or throw a punch. A tiny fumble like that is all the advantage a Strigoi will need."
She frowned, playing with the laces of her shoes. It was true—she often found herself stumbling back when her feet should have been firmly planted in place. "Tumblin' will help with that?"
"I believe so. It will make it easier for you to find your center of gravity when you rebound." The older dhampir sighed, pulling her sandy blonde hair back into a low ponytail at the base of her neck. "There's something else you should know… I'm just not quite sure how to tell you."
"Just spittin' it out always works for me," she offered, tugging off her shoes and tossing them back in her bag.
"I've been offered a field position—working in the South of France. I'm… I'm going to accept it, Janine."
She froze. "You're leaving?"
"Try to understand… if I don't take it… I might not get another offer. My former charges mother is an important woman—she has connections and a grudge against me. Lady Ozera has done everything she can to ruin my career… I have to take this assignment to prove that the rumors she's spreading about my incompetence are wrong."
"They'll kick me out," she said softly, staring down at her feet. All of her hard work… all of the changes she's made in her life, trying to make up for the past—none of it would matter one bit. "The only reason they let me in is cause you were mentoring me, Bertie."
"I know… I already spoke with the Headmistress and she said as much—but I have a solution, Janine. My Uncle is the Head Guardian at Saint Basil's… he said he'd do whatever was needed to get your transfer there approved. He called me this afternoon to tell me the Headmaster is willing to take you on a probationary status. If you stay out of trouble for twelve weeks, they'll consider your record clean—you'll be able to continue like any other novice, without needing a Mentor."
"Saint Basil's? I don't speak a lick of Russian, let alone understand it!" Hot tears of frustration filled her eyes—she ducked her head down, trying to hide them away. "I'll flunk out in a fortnight—"
"They offer classes in English too—they have an entire department devoted to foreign language studies, as well as classes on diction. I swear Janine, you'll get a much better education there—better training than you could get at any other Academy, and I'm not just saying that to get you to agree. Saint Basil's consecutively turns out the best Guardians in the core—most of the Royal Guard are graduates. The training… it's intense—you'll work harder than you've ever worked in your life… but in the end, it will make you one of the best in the field."
Despite her misgivings, the thought of being good enough to one day be a member of the Royal Guard was intriguing—and if they truly wiped her record clean, her past actions wouldn't come back to haunt her in the future. Swiping at her cheeks, she glanced over at her Mentor, wondering if the offer was too good to be true. "Will they be makin' me tumble? Is that where you learned it?"
"No—though I did assist the gymnastics teacher there for extra credit a few times. It's a required course for younger students—whether or not they take it as an elective when they advance is up to them." For a moment, the woman stared off into space, a faint smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "I learned when I was a little girl. My father paid for me to attend classes at a human gymnasium in Saint Petersburg. I loved it… but I grew too tall to keep it up… and by then Papa's Moroi wife was pregnant—he lost interest in me once her twins were born."
There was a wistful longing in the woman's voice, but whether it was for the hobby she felt so strongly about or for the Moroi father who'd abandoned her, Janine couldn't say—all she knew was that she hated to hear such sadness in her friends voice. "Well… then I suppose we best be making use of the time we have—are you gonna show me what to do, or am I just supposed to figure it out on me own?"
Blinking rapidly, she pulled her thoughts back into the present, slamming her locker shut and heading out into the gym. Her warm up was quick, and perfunctory— a few toe touches and deep knee bends were enough, thanks to the trek she'd made across the campus. Approaching the mats, her lips compressed in a thin determined line—she launched herself forward, feet pounding against the padded material as she built up her momentum. Every movement was precise to the point of being mechanical—she certainly didn't care about achieving the fluid grace that professionals exhibited; she didn't have Bertie's passion for the sport, but she had something else—sheer determination to incorporate all the techniques and tricks available, turning herself into the best Guardian she could be. The flips and ariels kept her muscles long and loose, strengthening her core, and her rebounds were spot on perfect, with nary a stumble—proof that her Mentor had been right about the tumbling helping her achieve perfect balance.
"You look so graceful… I wish I could move like that."
The soft voice from the shadows was completely unexpected; she spun around, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall before searching for the girl who'd spoken. "Good God! Were you aimin' to startle me out of my skin, girl? I think I'll have to buy you a bell to wear around your neck, so I know when you're sneaking up on me."
Soft laughter met her statement as the voice's owner moved out of the shadows. "I didn't want to disturb you until you took a break… I was afraid I might make you hurt yourself."
"Lost track of time, I did… been standing there long?"
"Only a few minutes."
"Savva said he'd give me an hour and a half—you're a wee bit early." There was an unspoken question hiding in her words, hanging in the air between them. She wouldn't outright ask where the Guardian was—not when the look in her friend's eyes was almost frantic. It was a warning sign she'd come to recognize fairly easily over the past few weeks. Sofiya tried to be independent, but the truth of the matter was that her fragile emotional state made it almost impossible for her to function on her own.
"He's chatting with Guardian Nurivitch at the gate…I told him I needed a few minutes to talk to you alone… about female things."
Her eyebrows shot up quizzically—she wasn't one for girl talk. "What kind of—"
"It was a fib. I need your help with something… but he can't know about it." Sofiya Badica stopped a few feet away; her brow wrinkled, eyelids fluttering closed—a sure sign she was struggling, trying to control the disorder in her mind. "His birthday is in two weeks… I want to throw him a surprise party… but I'm not really sure how to go about it."
"Easy enough. Invite a few of the Guardians he's friendly with… play some music and have some drinks—"
"Not that kind of a party… a nice one. With a sit down dinner and… you know… an adult kind of thing."
"You're askin' the wrong person, darlin'—I don't know anything about that sort of party."
"You have to know more than I do—you've been out in the world… I haven't been anywhere but home and here. You've been all over… gone to three different schools—"
"Four." She made a face. "But the only kind of party I ever attended was with kids my own age, with music and booze and a few tidbits to snack on. Nothin' formal like what you're sayin'."
The Moroi girl began to pace, her face scrunching up as if she were about to cry. "I have to do this… he deserves it! He does so much for me, Janine… I have to show him how much he means to me!"
"Don't go gettin' yourself into a tizzy, darlin', we'll figure somethin' out," she said softly, slowly moving closer to her friend. One of the first things she'd learned about the girl was her propensity for lightning fast mood swings; her worry doubled as Sofiya's hand began to twitch—it was another sign the girl was mentally drifting. She had to calm her down—and fast. "I'll ask around—find out what we'll be needin'. Just leave it all to me, alright? I'll handle it for you… I promise."
"No… I'm being selfish, aren't I? I shouldn't have asked you… you're so busy. You need to study and—"
"Let me worry about that—you've been helpin' me with my Russian, I'd say it's a fair exchange for me to help you."
She was close enough to see the swirling confusion in her friends eyes still—a look of concern replacing it. "Janine… what happened to your face?"
Racking her brain for a lie, she tried to ignore the heat that flared up in her cheeks—the worst part of inheriting her Gran's coloring was the inability to hide away her embarrassment. "Ah, nothin' for you to worry about—trainin' accident. My sparrin' partner caught me off guard, punched me right in the mouth. Does it look horrible?"
"No… it just looks painful." Sofiya reached out, fingertip lightly brushing against the wound.
The gesture startled her—instead of the normal coolness she'd expect to feel, the Moroi's touch was extremely warm… so warm it felt feverish. "You're not sick, are you? Your skin is warm… maybe I best take you to the infirmary."
"I feel fine… physically, at least. Mentally… it's a bad day." Sofiya flashed a sweet smile, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "But thank you for your concern."
"It's not normal for you to be warm like that Sofiya—" She pressed her hand against the girl's pale cheek, her brow wrinkling with confusion—her skin was cool to the touch. "Huh… maybe I'm the one needin' to see the nurse—punch musta been harder than I thought."
"You're probably just overly warm from your workout," Sofiya offered softly, turning her head as the hinges on the door at the entrance let out a squeal of protest. "Savva… you did not tell me she received an injury in training."
"It must have slipped my mind—I was preoccupied with my own wounded pride at being bested." The Guardian stepped out of the shadows of the corridor, freezing in his tracks as his eyes flicked between the two girls. "Sofochka… you didn't!"
"Only a little… please don't be mad." Sofiya's voice trembled—she shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
Narrowing her eyes, she glanced between the two of them, wondering what she was missing. "Doin' what, exactly?"
"Overtiring herself—it is a very long walk from the upper campus, yes?" He frowned, moving to take her in his arms; immediately she sagged against him, closing her eyes. "I'm not mad, my love… just concerned."
"He's right about that… as much as I enjoy your comin' to watch me, maybe from now on you shouldn't try it, darlin'—I do some flips and the like for you on the lawn behind the dorms if you're wantin' to see them."
Savva's dark eyes flicked up, his brow creasing. "A call came across the radio while I was talking to Nurivitch—Guardian Petrov is looking for you, Janine. He wants to see you in his office immediately."
She tensed. "Did he say what it was he was wantin'?"
"No… but he didn't sound happy." His brows knit together, his frown deepening. "I think it might be about the… incident… with the Academy's guest."
"Shite." She sighed, trying to ignore the way her stomach clenched with nerves. "So much for him handlin' his own grievances. Shoulda known that was a load of—"
"What incident?" Sofiya tilted her head back, peering up at Savva.
"I told you about it, my love, remember? The man was giving her inappropriate looks… making rude comments."
"Oh… yes. " She bit her lip, looking pensive. "Should I call my father? Ask him to intercede?"
"No—Savva told me your Da is willin' to put in a bid for me. Best he not find out about this, I think—might make him change his mind."
"If you need me to come with you, I can, malen'kiy zaychik—"
"No… I can handle it." Her eyes darted to the Moroi girl, then back to the Guardian; her brows raised—a silent attempt to convey the fact his girlfriend needed him far more than she did. "Our girl could probably use a wee bit of rest before dinner—she seemed a mite upset a few minutes ago."
Without waiting for a response, she headed for the locker room, her fingernails digging into the meaty flesh of her palms as she tried to hide her emotions; she couldn't let them see how upset she was, lest they insist on trying to intervene on her behalf.
"We'll save you a seat and grab you a tray," Sofiya's soft voice called after her.
"Aye—I'll see you there," she called back over her shoulder, mentally tacking on the one thing she couldn't say—the one thing she feared the most.
Unless I get kicked out on my arse first.
