The Gender Game (23 page)

Although evening had fallen, we still had some time left before Lee arrived back home. Viggo strolled over to the wooden shelter, gripped its roof, and, with one fluid motion that caused every muscle in his back and arms to flex, he lifted himself onto it. He glanced down at me. "Wanna come up here? The view's pretty good."

Heck, yes.

I wasn't tall enough to reach the top of the roof, so Viggo offered a hand and helped me up. We sat down facing the wilderness, our legs dangling over the edge. The mountains glowed orange in the evening light, enhancing their raw beauty to something of fantasy.

I had gained a new appreciation for why Viggo wanted to live up here. The view alone was worth the absence of electricity.

"Thanks for that," I said to him, leaning back, my eyes ahead.

"Welcome."

A span of silence fell between us, but it was not uncomfortable.

I glanced over my shoulder, toward Viggo's second view. The city. My eyes traced the shape of the river, and that of the buildings extending around it; they melded together, forming one giant crescent around the palace. Then I asked a question that had been nagging me for a long time.

"What is the actual meaning of your crescent symbol?"

Viggo followed my gaze and joined me in eyeing the city. "It symbolizes strength and potential. Growth, like the waxing moon."

"Ah," I said softly. "That makes sense."

It was ironic that it was Patrus' crescent mark that Matrus authorities stamped on boys who failed the test, when Patrus was the last place they'd ever be allowed to go.

I turned my thoughts to the symbol on the Matrus flag—a curved grain of wheat. It was fairly self-explanatory. It signified growth and fertility, but it was intended more to be an ode to a society rooted in pragmatism, diligence, and most importantly, peace.

I sensed Viggo watching me as I gazed upon the city, but I didn't let on. I felt that strange flurry in my chest again.

He seemed to hesitate, then asked, "How did… you and Lee meet, Violet?"

I realized that this was the first time I'd heard Viggo use Lee’s first name.

"I thought he told you," I said, my jaw tightening.

"Yeah," he said. "He did mention it in passing, I guess… Never mind."

I let him fade into quiet. The less we discussed Lee and me, the better.

But since he'd posed a question about my relationship, it seemed only natural that I should turn a question on him that ran along the same lines. "Have you always been single?"

"No. I haven't. I… I was married. But things didn't work out."

I sensed the discomfort in his voice and immediately regretted asking the question. I didn't want to dredge all those painful memories up for him. Not on such a beautiful evening as this, when his mood appeared to be lighter than it had been since I'd met him.

"I'm sorry," I said and glanced away, hoping to make it clear that I didn't expect him to offer anything more on the subject.

My eyes traveled further over the city of Patrus to its vast surrounding suburbs. Then northward, where The Green began on Patrus' side of the river, extending like an infinite ocean of trees. Then to the river itself, whose hanging mist was tinged with the evening sun… And then beyond that, blurred by the fog, the faint outline of Matrus.

Sitting here with Viggo, it felt somewhat painful to stare in my homeland's direction for long. I'd had enough of the cityscape, anyway. I twisted back around and faced the wilderness. Viggo did the same.

Only a quarter of the sun was visible now above the peaks. Soon we would have to leave. I didn't want Lee getting tense with me again, under more suspicion that I was getting "carried away".

But we still had a few minutes left.

Enveloped by the peaceful atmosphere, on the cusp of light and darkness, a question bubbled up in me.

"You ever wonder if things will always be like this?"

"What do you mean?" Viggo asked, his voice husky.

"Just… how we find ourselves living."

Viggo's gaze lowered to his hands. There was a pause before he replied, "More often than I should probably admit."

Having both been victims of the law in our countries, I supposed we were more vulnerable to wondering. Grief did that to you. It made you wish for a life that wasn't yours. It made you dream.

But dreaming wasn’t encouraged in my world. Just like expressing views opposing that of our Queen wasn’t. Doing the latter publicly was an offense that led to serious consequences—jail time, or occasionally even banishment. Criticism of the Court was something that had to be done behind closed doors, with people whom you trusted wouldn’t rat you out. I suspected Patrus was similar in that respect, given Viggo's caginess to clarify certain comments he’d made about Patrus’ leadership.

My eyes fixed on a family of eagles swooping down upon a rocky cliffside, settling in for the night.

"Do you feel like you belong in Patrus?" I asked him in almost a whisper.

Viggo furrowed his brows. "I s'pose I don't really understand the question. I was born and raised here. I am a man."

I didn't really understand the question either. I’d been born and raised in Matrus. I was a woman. Matrus was where I belonged. Matrus was my home…

"I guess I just wonder what happens to someone who doesn't feel they belong on either side of the river.”

Viggo didn't have an answer to that one.

W
e didn't stay much longer
on the roof. Viggo pushed himself off, landing on the grass, and I was about to jump off after him when he reached up to help me. I hesitated, unsure of how this was going to work. Holding his hands at this angle would be silly.

"Hold my shoulders," he said.

His hands positioned on the roof on either side of my hips, he beckoned me closer with a gentle nod. I leaned down to grip his shoulders. As I slid into his arms, his hands engulfed my waist. Warmth flooded through me. My feet touching the ground, I was suddenly acutely aware of my erratic heartbeat. I withdrew my hands from Viggo’s shoulders and he let go of my waist, but we shared the same two feet of soil for a few seconds, his eyes reflecting the fading evening light.

Then I staggered backward. I looked toward the cabin, feeling lightheaded.
What's gotten into me? It's this mountain air or… something.

"Let's go," Viggo said. His voice came as a croak. He left me and strode toward the front of his home; I found my balance and followed him.

Mounting the motorcycle, neither of us spoke as we traveled back to Lee's house.

We arrived well on time. Lee had only just gotten in and he smiled on opening the door to me, before the two of us waved Viggo goodnight.

"Any change of schedule for him? No press release has been made yet involving a date." Lee asked as soon as we were inside.

"It'll be kind of a last-minute fight," I said, my throat feeling parched. "It's been fixed for Saturday."

"Hm. Okay," Lee said, stroking his chin. "That gives us four days before the banquet. I don't see why his schedule would change much immediately after the fight… Everything should still run as planned.”

* * *

T
he next few
days passed quickly. Almost too quickly. Except for Lee reporting a scare in the lab, where he'd witnessed a group of men huddled around the egg, evidently trying to coax it open, nothing very eventful happened. Lee assured me that they'd failed to open it, though for all we knew, they might be getting closer to figuring it out. It was a good thing the banquet would soon be upon us.

Lee continued to drop me off with Viggo in the mornings, and when he and I weren't in his office, roaming the city, or in some meeting, Viggo would be in the gym. I watched from the bench while Viggo worked out, sometimes by himself and sometimes with others. The two of us didn't go up to his cabin again.

I had no more 'special' jobs to accomplish for the mission. My next and final task would be on the night of the banquet. The night I was due to leave Patrus. Lee's own prep work was almost done, according to him. It was no wonder that he had been so busy. He not only had to keep up with the demands of his job in the lab, but, on top of that, fulfill his end of the deal for Matrus. He had a lot of weight on his shoulders. We both did. I regretted resenting him for not taking on as much danger as me—although my tasks might be more out in the open and carry more immediate risks, he was still working hard in the background.

I didn't ask Lee for details about his own work, though. I didn't want to know his business, and I was glad that he didn't offer the information.

I was also glad that he didn't make any more advances toward me, though I still felt an undercurrent of awkwardness around him.

I was relieved when Saturday came around. The day of Viggo's fight. It marked a milestone—only four days left to go.

Although Lee was at home, and in Viggo's eyes there was no reason for me to hang around with him, Lee suggested that going to his fight would be helpful. I'd seen Viggo regularly up until now, and I needed to keep the momentum going for the last few days.

The fight was due to take place at night, and since Viggo had a number of other things to do before then—PFL formalities, like final weigh-ins and such—he didn't come to pick me up until the evening. The fight was to be held in the same stadium as the Rosen-Cruz fight. I could only imagine how crowded it would be.

As I hopped on Viggo's motorbike and we headed down the mountains, Viggo confirmed that we should expect a lot of people; the tickets had sold out in record time, spurring the PFL to set up screens around the outer walls of the arena so that people could watch from the square and bordering streets. Although the PFL had agreed not to broadcast the fight on television or radio, broadcasting it to extra people outside the stadium was apparently something that they could get away with in the contract.

Something told me that I was feeling more nervous than Viggo for the fight as we rode around the building to a back entrance. He looked calm and collected as ever as we entered the building. His confidence was something that I admired—he wasn't cocky or arrogant, but pragmatic. He simply knew what he was capable of.

A man in a suit was there to greet us at the end of the entrance hallway. He introduced himself as Mr. Doherty, cofounder of the PFL. He shook hands with Viggo before leading us to a changing room—certainly a step up from Viggo's previous room. It was more than twice the size, everything more luxurious, from the front of the door engraved with his name in gold letters, to the soft, fluffy towels, to the air-conditioning, to the tray of refreshments waiting on a table. My eyes lingered on the padded, fingerless gloves hanging from a hook by the door.

Viggo nodded briefly in appreciation before Mr. Doherty left us alone.

I wandered about the room and approached the frosted window. I opened it just a little to gaze outside at the crowds already forming.

Viggo dumped his bag down and fished out his fighting shorts, also a step up from his previous fights. These were black with gold trim, sporting the bold letters "PFL".

Viggo headed to the ensuite bathroom to shower and change. When he emerged wearing the shorts, he removed the gloves from the hook and sat down next to me on the bench. I watched as he strapped them on. Finally some decent protection for his knuckles.

"Those look good," I commented.

He flexed his fingers in the gloves. "Yeah."

He stood up and began swinging air punches.

"PFL makes a huge fuss about everything," Viggo muttered as he continued to warm himself up. "There must have been over fifty journalists at the weigh-ins. My picture will be everywhere tomorrow." He scowled. "Then there's all the trash you're expected to talk about the opponent… Can't stand hype."

"Well, you don't have to play along," I said to him. "You can do whatever you want. You're Viggo Croft, remember?"

He scoffed.

"What happens after you win this fight?" I asked. I was confident that he would win. It seemed silly to use the word
if
.

"Then I suppose I will wait a week or so to see what the aftermath is like. If the buzz is somewhat bearable, I guess I'll sign up for a second fight. If it's intolerable, I won't."

Someone knocked on the door. Some guy in black PFL uniform, one of the event organizers.

"A gentleman from
The Sportster
would like to have a few words with you in the final lead up to the fight," he said. "Would you be willing to talk to him?"

Viggo's expression darkened. "Is that the same guy who brought Miriam up earlier?" he asked.

"Uh… yes."

"Then you can show him the exit."

The organizer looked disappointed, but didn't press. He backed out of the room.

Miriam
.

"Who's Miriam?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't mind the question.

Viggo turned his back on me, busying himself in his locker. "My late wife."

I regretted asking. We both went quiet.

Another interruption came barely five minutes later. As Viggo opened the door, it was another man in black PFL uniform, blond with a scratchy beard and holding a clipboard.

"Sir," he said, his eyes passing me as they swept around the room, "you need to come to meet Cruz now. The referee needs to have his final word with the two of you together."

"Okay." Viggo sighed. He glanced back at me, indicating that I follow, but as I headed with him to the door, the employee objected.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Croft," he said, "but if your female friend could wait here in your changing room…"

Viggo's jaw twitched in annoyance. Then he exhaled. "Okay. Violet, wait here. Don't go anywhere."

"I won't," I assured him.

He left the room with the man, shutting the door none too gently behind him.

I roamed around the room a second time, stooping to pick up a bottle of chilled water from the refreshment basket. Then I approached the window again and peered through the crack. We were on the ground floor, so I couldn't see the full extent of the crowd, but it had ballooned since the last time I'd looked out just a few minutes ago.

After finishing my water, I needed the bathroom. I locked myself inside, and realized I'd been sweating in spite of the air conditioning. It was the buzzing stadium, being surrounded by crowds of people, the atmosphere wrought with tension and excitement.

But the second I stepped out of the bathroom, a heavy fist flew at me from nowhere and caught me square in the face. I reeled, pain searing through my nose. Stars circled before my eyes. Before I could attempt to defend myself, a heavy weight was flung at me, knocking me from my feet and pinning me facedown against the floor. As I tried to yell, a hand clamped around my mouth, and then a second hand, lined with some kind of pungent-smelling tissue, folded around my nose.

My brain became foggy. I could no longer struggle. And then all went black.