I decide to dedicate the day to research. I haven't had a good pure-study day since finals had wrapped up and I missed really losing myself in the work little bit. Chasing after knowledge was not something I ever really expected to miss, but here I am, surrounded by books, a pad of paper full of notes balanced on my lap. I suppose finding out everything you knew about the world is wrong can make you crave the simple things.

The hours pass quickly, the sun through the library windows creeping across the floor and up the far wall. One upside to vampirism: With liberal application of Elder Farrow's plasma-spiked coffee, I don't need breaks. The sun is setting before I even look up, and only then because more people are coming into the library.

Seeking more solitude, I gather up the books and one last cup of coffee and retreat to the lab with a wave good bye to Elder Farrow.

The lab is one of the only places I feel really comfortable in the Draugur compound. Labs, whether in a university or a secret vampire enclave, all have a similar feeling. A calm, clean sensation which some people might mistake for sterile, but to me always feels like the universe patiently waiting to be discovered.

I have a couple of experiments running and I check on them before I settle in again with my books. I just started a new one from the stack Elder Farrow handed me and this one appears to be a more personal account, and thus a little more exciting. It's even, for once, written by 'the lady in dispute,' the formal term for the woman being fought over.

"It has oft been said that beauty is a curse," wrote the lady Bersa Helgedotter, aristocrat of the Draugur court. "Though the precise source of the quotation remains wisely anonymous, as to avoid the millions of plain and porridge-faced girls that would no doubt bash the witty twit's precious nose in."

I laugh out loud. I like her already.

"But if beauty is such a curse as to make Yeats pen anxious prayers that his daughter be pretty but not too pretty, then wealth must also be a bane from hell. For while my looks are nothing to speak of and have so far allowed me to elude the unwanted advances of the men of the court, my affluence has known no such subtlety.”

Ugh. No matter what century it is, unwanted advances are the norm.

“Alas, I've grown my bank account instead of my bosoms, how foolish of me. My economic successes have attracted an unfortunate amount of attention lately, which has drawn all manner of loathsome creatures to my door, like flies to horse shit, to beg for my favor and thus their cut of what is rightfully mine. In addition, the Elders and the higher court have begun to express their disapproval that a lady of such means should remain unmated. Whatever would I do without a man of authority to tell me where to spend my enormous wealth, manage my various incredibly successful enterprises, or otherwise live my own life as I have for the past several hundred years?”

I make a note to find out if Bersa is still alive so I can send her some flowers or something. I sympathize whole-heartedly with her dilemma.

“I swear they will soon assign a man to stand guard in the water closets lest a woman attempt to wipe her own ass. They think us capable of so little. And it is a more modern notion than they will ever admit. Half the women in the court, including myself, were alive not so long ago when the burden of any work done fell on the women. The planting, the weaving, the brewing, the hunting and care of the animals, the planning, the building and the digging. In the north we packed the young men off in boats to go trouble someone else for two seasons out of the year, we had so little use for them. But they would try to convince us that we have always been 'the fairer sex,' delicate and useless and surviving only through their benevolence. It is pig vomit, of the highest degree, and I am ashamed to see so many of my sisters falling for it."

"Preach," I mutter under my breath, turning the page.

"But so has the trouble of all women fallen on me. Three men have declared for me and called for the traditional contest to see which will win me. They have each of them approached me beforehand and been soundly rejected. But they either believe winning this ridiculous challenge will change my mind, or else they do not care. Tristan of Whitecliff I think genuinely believes I will come to care for him. He's a sad fool. A genuine romantic who might be half a true gentleman, were he not inescapably hampered by his all-consuming greed. He longs for true love, oh yes, but not until his material needs are seen to.”

Her blunt words make me smile. She was clearly a woman ahead of her time.

“Philippe De’ Ortiz has all Tristan's greed and none of his charm. He's a sycophantic weasel who would waste my fortune on opium and harlots the moment I took my eyes off him. And then there is Sir Rodger of the Copper Isles. He is the one I truly worry about. He did not so much attempt to woo me as inform me that I would soon belong to him. He intends to acquire me, as he would a new contract for his mines. He is ruthless, single-minded, and his ambition is a black hole from which nothing escapes. While Tristan and Philippe would take my money and spend their days in lazy comfort, Rodger would calmly turn it to greater and more disastrous ends, expanding his empire and crushing all who dare inconvenience him. Which will include me the moment I raise any objection. No, I intend to build my own empire, not become a brick in the foundation of someone else's. Tristan and Philippe are parasites, but better a parasite than a usurper. Yet I fear neither of them stands a chance against Rodger. I will have to ensure the result of this contest myself if I hope to survive."

Bersa was my kind of girl, that's for sure. I wonder if she's still around here somewhere close by. Close enough that I could talk to her about this ridiculous challenge? I'd gamble on probably. She doesn't seem like she’d die easy.

I read on, fascinated, as Bersa documented her careful machinations leading up to the challenge and during it. She first made it known through a discreet suggestion to someone she knew would spread it like wildfire, that Philippe stood no chance and that the real contest would be between Tristan and Rodger, and that she intended to favor Tristan. At the same time, with a few well-placed bribes, she made certain that a well-known rival of Philippe’s was in town and informed him that Philippe had been talking all manner of shite while the rival was away.

Rodger, predictably, took the first challenge, but Philippe caused a stir when he took the second challenge, which Bersa had carefully chosen to favor him. In the duel Tristan, believing Rodger was his only real competition, went for the kill and beheaded Rodger spectacularly, but exhausted himself and thus lost to Philippe, who Bersa had been training in secret. Then Philippe’s rival, incensed to see Philippe successful, murdered Philippe on the wedding day. Bersa, now happily widowed, retired single and content to enjoy her hard-earned wealth. Talk about making her own happily ever after.

Though Bersa is undoubtedly my new hero, I don't have the resources or political savvy to tackle this the way she did. I'm not ruthless enough either. I don't want Arsen or Niko ending up dead. And in the end, Bersa did still have to marry one of them, tying herself to their clan, which I don't want either. But this is the closest thing I've found to any woman managing to make it out of The Provokar somewhat independent.

Is there just no chance for me? Should I accept my fate and try to make the best of it?

A tap on the door distracts me from my reading and I look up. A vampire I don't recognize clears his throat and holds up a large box.

"Delivery," he says. "From Prince Nikolai."

I grimace, but stand up any way, taking the box and opening it on one of the counters. Inside is a lovely but deeply old-fashioned dress. I don't know enough about historical fashion to tell if it's baroque or regency or whatever but I know I've seen things like it in classical portraiture.

"It's for The Provokar! Prince Nikolai has requested you try it on," the delivery boy says cheerfully. "And accompany me back to his home where he can have a proper fitting done."

I look up from the box with a frown of disbelief.

"You’re joking right? I'm not wearing this," I say flatly, to the delivery boy's dismay. "How in the hell am I supposed to compete wearing something like this? It's got like six layers and probably needs a hoop skirt."

"It's traditional," the delivery boy insists. "Every lady in dispute-"

"Yeah but I'm not just the lady in dispute," I point out, annoyed. "I'm also a competitor. And also, fuck tradition!"

"But Prince Nikolai said-"

"Oh, right," I stop him, holding up a hand. "I forgot. Fuck Prince Nikolai, too. Goodbye." I shove the box at him, making him stumble back.

I return to my seat, picking up my book again, but the delivery boy is persistent.

"Please, miss," he insists. "Prince Nikolai acknowledged that you would probably... not be amenable to returning to him for a fitting. He requested that if you would not agree, then to at least try it on and report to me any alterations that need to be made."

"There don't need to be any alterations," I say without looking up from my book. "Because I'm not going to wear it. Ever. You can bring it back to him and tell him I said so."

"But miss!" The delivery boy is distraught, clutching the box like a child. "It's a gift!" He leans closer, speaking in a conspiratorial hiss. "He is trying to be nice!"

"He is failing," I say, giving the delivery boy a look that makes him quickly move out of my personal space. "I'll be wearing whatever I think gives me the best chance of victory. If Nikolai actually wants to give me a gift, he can withdraw from the contest and save me the trouble of wiping the floor with him."

"I will... inform him of your decision," the delivery boy concedes, looking like the idea is giving him hives. I don't envy him breaking the bad news to Niko. "But if you're going to reject a gift, you should at least do it in person."

Before the delivery boy can test my patience any further, someone else pushes through the lab door, not bothering to knock. I suppress a groan as I recognize Arsen's ex. Just who I didn’t want to see.

"Evening, Claudette," I say, trying not to sound as unenthusiastic as I feel. "Here to call me an idiot for trying to compete in The Provokar?"

"Oh, not at all," Claudette scoffs, leaning on the counter and inspecting her nails. "I think it's a fantastic idea. Please get yourself killed in a dim-witted attempt to avoid the inevitable."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say, trying not to roll my eyes as I put my book aside, giving up. "What can I help you with?" I glance away as my phone buzzes on the counter. A text from Jackson. I swipe it away, ignoring it for now.

"Actually, I'm here to help you," Claudette replies, turning to face me with a practiced toss of her hair.

"Pardon me, miss," the delivery boy interrupts. "If I could just finish my conversation with the lady-"

"Well aren't you cute," Claudette cuts him off, looking him up and down appraisingly. "Are you Baetal? What are you doing here little guy?"

The delivery boy takes being called a 'little guy' like he deals with it often enough to not acknowledge it.

"I'm making a delivery," he replies tersely. "On behalf of Prince Nikolai. A dress for Miss Sasha, for The Provokar."

"Ooh, let me see!" Claudette doesn't wait for permission before pulling the box out of his arms and unfolding the dress. She holds it up with coos of admiration, examining the fabric and embroidery with clear appreciation.

"Oh this is gorgeous!" she says. "Traditional but still fashionable. Who designed this?"

"Prince Nikolai's personal-" the delivery boy attempts to answer and Claudette waves him off.

"Don't tell me, I don't actually care." She turns to me, holding the dress up to herself. "Are you keeping this? Can I have it?"

I open my arms invitingly. "Be my guest." I hope you trip coming down the stairs while you’re wearing it. I smile at the thought.

Claudette squeals with delight, bouncing in place for a moment, before returning to admiring the beadwork.

"There," I say to the delivery boy. "Your package has been accepted, so there's no need for me to go anywhere. You can tell Nikolai that I loved it, and that it will look wonderful on Claudette."

"Thank you," Claudette says with a coquettish grin at the delivery boy.

"Hey," I say as the despondent delivery guy starts to turn away. "Tell him if he wants to get pissy about it, he can take it out on me during The Provokar. Don't let him blame you."

"Yes, miss," the delivery guy mutters, looking like he doubts it will be that easy. Claudette waits for him to shuffle out before she sets the dress down again. In the brief silence I realize one of my timers has been going off for a while.

"Now back to business," Claudette says, hopping up onto the counter. "I've got a deal for you."

"I'm listening," I reply, turning off my timer and checking on the centrifuge. "Damn it. You made me over cook my proteins."

"There are more important things to worry about than your dumb amoebas or whatever," Claudette says impatiently.

"Not really," I say. "I mean, I am working on a cure for the vampire version of the plague. That's pretty important."

"As important as your personal future and potentially your life?" Claudette counters. I grunt, the closest I'll come to conceding that she has a point. "I can give you some information that could make winning this a lot easier on you."

"What's that?" I ask, frowning, as I transfer the protein from the centrifuge onto a slide. I'm only half paying attention at this point. There's no way Claudette of all people is going to be genuinely helpful.

"I can tell you what Arsen is going to choose for the first contest."

I freeze, then carefully push my slides away, folding my hands in my lap and giving her my full attention. "I’m listening… What's the catch?"

"Nothing you didn't want to do already," Claudette says with a little shrug. "I tell you this and, if you win, you don't pick Arsen. You don't pick clan Draugur. I don't care if you go back to Prince Fancy-Pants or stay a free agent or join the circus. Whatever. You just don't stay here. Capisce?"

"Yeah, makes sense," I say. "Too bad I'm never going to agree to it. I may not want to be bound to Arsen forever but that doesn't mean I'm just going to drop him and the Draugur and never look back when I win."

"So, what, you're just going to string him along?" Claudette asks, her lip curling with disdain.

“No!” I say, too defensively to sound convincing. My cheeks heat in frustration. “I mean, that’s not what I’m trying to do. I want to be with him I just… I’m just not ready for that kind of commitment! Jesus, I just met the guy. And forever is a long time.”

Claudette gives me a strange look as I run my hands over my burning face, apparently caught off guard by my sudden vulnerability. I didn’t mean to blurt that out, but it’s too late now. Word vomit is clearly a sickness vampires aren’t immune to.

“This whole thing,” I confess, even as I tell myself I’m an idiot for confiding in Claudette of all people, “it’s just too fast. Being bitten, finding out vampires are real, the plague, the cure, this stupid fucking challenge- It’s too much! How am I supposed to know whether I really have something with him, or if it’s just the stressful situation or like, vampire blood or whatever?”

Claudette watches me as I push my hair back, trying to get my nerves under control. I’ve had too much coffee. I’m practically shaking. Or maybe it’s twitching.

“Listen,” Claudette says, without her usual catty tone. “You don’t want Arsen. Because Arsen doesn’t really want you. Not the way you want him to.”

I laugh a little at that, nerves making it too sharp, as I remember his mouth on me a few hours ago.

“I’m pretty sure he does.”

“No, listen,” Claudette insists. “He’s a user. He’s really good at it. He can be charming as fuck when he wants to be. He makes you feel like you’re the most important thing in the world. But once he’s got what he wants from you, or when something better comes along, he will drop you in a hot second. Exactly the same way he did to me.”

That does make me pause for a moment, but I shake it off.

“Arsen wouldn’t do that,” I insist. “He’s been nothing but kind to me.”

“Yeah, he was real kind to me too,” Claudette laughs mirthlessly. “Until you showed up. He was kind to the girl before me, too. His kindness only extends to the people he needs something from. Once he’s got what he wants or he decides he wants something else, that kindness goes away real fast. Girls love thinking the way he treats other people is a front to cover the soft side he only shows to them. That they’re the only ones who know his true self. If they had half a brain they’d realize who he is in ninety percent of situations is his true self. The personality he only puts on when the two of you are alone? That’s the act.”

I fidget with my microscope, trying to ignore the ring of truth in what she’s saying. She’s probably just trying to get inside my head. It’s not like she hasn’t had centuries to perfect her act.

“If he’s so awful,” I point out, deflecting, “then why are you so determined to get him back?”

Claudette laughs, a brief, harsh sound, and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’ve made my choices when it comes to Arsen. Besides, I know how to handle users. It’s healthy relationships I can’t deal with.”

Yeah, I could see that. She’s clearly got issues.

She gives me one of her trademark nasty smiles, but it’s touched with too much bitterness to quite reach her eyes. I’d almost feel bad for her, if I wasn’t still pretty sure she’s messing with me.

“I’m sorry. But Arsen has given me way more reason to trust him than you have.” Despite his flaws, and his rash decisions on my behalf, he’s done nothing to lose my trust. I don’t necessarily agree with all of his actions, but I understand why he did them. I see the logic in it. Claudette helping me out of the goodness of her heart? I can’t find any logic in that.

“You already have your doubts,” Claudette points out, looking a little desperate. “You said so yourself! If you were sure you had something real with him, you wouldn’t be risking your life to avoid being with him.”

I turn my back on her to avoid admitting she has a point, focusing on arranging my slides on the table, labeling each one.

“Listen,” Claudette says, leaning on the counter next to me. “You’ve got all the time in the world, right? So I won’t even ask you to give up on Arsen forever. Just, if you win, don’t choose him right away. Leave for a while, get some distance, and see if you don’t find something better. Isn’t that what you want anyway?”

She’s manipulating me. I know she is. Unfortunately she’s also right. I don’t want to give up on Arsen. Not even temporarily. But if I lose this fight I might be forced to anyway. I can’t afford to lose.

I turn her offer over in my mind, chewing my lip, and finally give up.

“Fine,” I say. “Tell me.”

“A foot race,” Claudette says at once.

“Really?” That catches me off guard. Arsen never struck me as a runner. Let alone particularly fast. “And you know this how?”

“Never mind that.” She waves me off. “He’s taking advantage of the fact that you and Niko are both Baetal,” Claudette explains. “He can use his Draugur powers to throw obstacles in your way that you won’t be able to turn back on him. If he decides to be particularly ruthless, it’s also an opportunity to take Niko out in the first round.”

I turn a little pale, realizing she’s right. “I thought they couldn’t kill each other until the third round.”

Claudette shrugs. “It’s happened before. It’s all about the semantics and the judge’s discretion of course.”

Oh sure, up to judge’s discretion, and I’m sure a gained IOU for ruling in Arsen’s favor. But what Arsen doesn’t know is I competed in track and field all through high school. This is a challenge I can definitely win.

“Thank you, Claudette,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it.

“Don’t mention it,” Claudette says casually, sliding off the counter. “Seriously. Don’t tell anyone I told you. I’ve got a reputation to maintain here.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Your secret is safe with me,” I promise her.

“You’d better get practicing,” Claudette says, scooping up the dress and heading for the door. “You’ve only got three days before The Provokar begins.” She waves a hand over her shoulder as she leaves in a dramatic flourish.

I contemplate that as I return to my microscope. I haven’t done any competitive running in a while. I definitely need to spend some time on the track, but not let Arsen know that I know his plan. And I’ve got to figure out my own challenge and make sure I’m prepared for it.

Finally I’ve got to prepare for the duel, which could not only determine the result of the whole challenge but was also the contest most likely to end up with someone dead.

I stare blankly at my microscope and realize I have one other thing on my plate. Finding the cure. I look at the slide on carefully, checking and double checking what I’m seeing. I’ve successfully isolated the protein in my blood that I think is responsible for curing the disease afflicting the vampires.

If I can reproduce that, I may be able to develop a vaccine or, if I’m lucky, a real cure.

Hopefully before anyone loses their head in these ridiculous games.