Paragon

by Rowan Rook

  Amaranth closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Shakaya stirred, the sounds of labored breath intruding on her slumber. She blinked until the room came into focus. A man slumped at the foot of her bed, shaking. Alarm pushed her to her palms. "Ama?"

  Amaranth didn't answer, watching the floor. His dilated pupils shivered in the whites of his eyes. He was staring at something—something that only he could see—and whatever that something was had become his world. She wasn't sure he'd heard her at all.

  Shakaya straightened and scanned the room. No sun slipped through the curtains. She must have slept until a forgotten hour of the night. Why wasn't Amaranth already in bed? The candlelight caught traces of salt on his cheeks and tied chains around her stomach.

  This wasn't normal. Amaranth didn't cry. At least, not in the presence of others. She was sure he had on those nights when he'd locked himself in the study alone—she knew because she'd done the same thing. They were alike that way. This wasn't normal.

  She reached out for his shoulder. He startled, whirling the instant her fingertips touched him with a panic that nearly made her jump.

  For a while, they were silent. The veins standing out on his neck and brow, the muscles twitching on his arm, exposed his heartbeat, pounding so fast and so heavy she swore she could hear it. His stare went right through her, but she waited, giving him a chance to calm.

  Amaranth's eyes shifted. "Shakaya," he mouthed, his lips opening and closing soundlessly.

  As her gaze adjusted to the dark, it caught the stains on his torn shirt. Dark, scarlet stains. Blood.

  "What happened?" she breathed, jolting up until the pain gnawing at her back forced her to stop. Cold dread dulled the burn of the swelling. What horrors had she slumbered through uselessly? Had the Lyrum returned? Had there been another assault?

  Amaranth opened his mouth to speak, but managed only a swallow. He pulled something from his pocket and held it out to her.

  Shakaya was confused at first. In her hands was a golden badge. A single star glistened in the center with accents of blue, silver, and green. The design was intricately crafted, but what was it? Something nagged at the dusty corners of her memory. It seemed familiar somehow, and yet...

  Then it hit her. Her eyes widened and her fingers tightened around the brooch. She'd seen sketches of the thing in old books. "This...!"

  "It's one of the Council's crests," Amaranth said through a scratchy throat. "I was foolish. I went to the mines to see if he was there. He was. I killed him."

  Shakaya's mouth hung open. "You killed a Councilor?"

  The chains around her stomach squeezed tighter.

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  "I was the one who pulled the trigger." Amaranth hung his head. "I..." He gulped, his body trembling along with his voice. "I murdered that man!"

  The bite of the gunshot. The empty expression on the dead man's face. The Butterfly woman's satisfied smile. It echoed in his head, replaying over and over, refusing to fade.

  A sensation had shot through him like electricity and stolen his breath the moment after he'd fired the gun. He'd wanted to flee, but the Butterflies hadn't let him go, the woman's grip still drawing blood from his skin. They'd restrained him until a younger Butterfly had healed his fractured ribs with Translation. They'd even tried to wipe as much blood as they could from his clothes before they'd finally released him. The woman had spoken then, but he hadn't registered her words. Instead, he'd run as fast as his shaking legs could carry him, right to the edge of Shakaya's bed. What a whimpering coward.

  Shakaya managed to sit up, her brow creased with pain. "The Butterflies, I presume." The disbelief in her eyes belied her flat voice, "You could've been killed."

  He swallowed, "I know."

  She pulled herself closer, as steady as ever. His muscles tensed when her hand returned to his shoulder. "But that's amazing, too."

  His head shook on a quivering neck. "But I killed him. I killed him!" He may have been manipulated, but he'd made the decision himself. "Murderer. I'm a murderer!" Heat burned the backs of his eyes. "I..."

  It hadn't been in self defense. It hadn't been for the sake of anyone else. It hadn't even been for research. He'd killed in cold blood for his own selfish gain. Murder, plain and simple. His skin crawled with repulsion. He wanted to rip it off, climb out of himself.

  Shakaya's free hand slid beneath his chin and raised it. Nausea gnawed at his stomach with memories of the Butterfly's touch, but the soldier's was different. Her rough fingers were tender on his skin.

  He blinked, forcing his damp eyes to find hers.

  A small smile curled her cheeks. "You killed a Lyrum. If that makes you a murderer, then I suppose I'm a serial killer."

  Her voice, light with jest, stabbed him with chills.

  It was true. What he'd done, the murder he'd just committed, the regret gutting him. That was her job. It was what she trained for everyday. It was, in her own words, what she lived for. She could not only kill without guilt or hesitation, but with a smile on her face.

  Sudden fear betrayed her kind touch. He knew what she did. He'd always known. Yet somehow, he'd never truly understood what that meant.

  Lyrum were usually unconscious in the labs—nothing but limp bodies. Inhibitors kept them from speaking and drugs stopped them from resisting. They were identified by numbers, not names. It was easy to forget what they were.

  The Butterfly's words burrowed through him: Cutting them open while they still drew breath. Filling them with needles and wires. Using them until they practically begged for death. Euthanizing them once they'd exhausted their value and storing their bodies in the freezer. Even if his own research focused on Translation, he was still a cog in the Academy's bloodsoaked machine.

  Was he...just like her?

  "Ama?" Shakaya frowned. "It's all right, now. You're safe." Her fingers brushed his cheeks and wiped away the water welling under his eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong."

  Had he been of sound mind, he might've noticed how unusual her behavior was, but the lingering shock rendered him delirious to anything but his own horror and sorrow.

  "But I—"

  Shakaya's lips pressed against his. They were sweet, her warm breath mixing with his and stealing away his words. Heat roused his veins and washed through his body. He tingled from the tips of his toes to the top of his skull.

  It lasted for only an instant. She pulled away and left him with wide eyes. A few moments passed before it sunk in.

  She'd kissed him. She'd. Kissed. Him.

  He panted to recover his breath, stammering.

  Shakaya licked her lips as they spread into a smile.

  Amaranth flushed, gooseflesh pulsing from red to white. And as he sat there in silence, her blue eyes watching his, he realized something else, too.

  She loved him. Hers wasn't the concerned gaze someone would give a best friend, it was something else entirely. Had it been her decision alone, she would've pushed their relationship into something other than what it was a long time ago—he'd silently recognized that, yet he'd never thought it truly meant anything. A fleeting fantasy, perhaps, or confusion caused by their mutual reliance. This wasn't any of those things. She actually loved him.

  Oh lord.

  What had he done? How could he have possibly let it get this far?

  A whole rush of emotion joined his fear: shock, guilt, sorrow...and hot excitement.

  He should've been horrified. He'd never meant for this to happen. This was the little girl who'd once been half his height. This was the friend with whom he'd shared so many years of his life. This was the woman who'd terrified him just moments earlier.

  But something shifted in his chest. His heaving breath dropped into an altogether different kind of rhythm, and he hated himself for it.

  Shakaya smiled wider, apparently satisfied with his reaction. Both of her hands gripped his shoulders. "Stay with me and I'll protect you—I won't let them force you t
o do anything you don't want to again." A tear dripped from her chin. "So don't cry, all right?"

  Amaranth only stared. Another emotion betrayed her usually stoic eyes—grief. Where had that come from? How could she tell him not to cry when her own cheeks were damp? She was still smiling, so why...?

  In the end, he simply nodded. He wanted to say something, anything, but couldn't.

  "Good." Her fingers slid from his shoulders to his hands. "But I'm proud of you, you know. The Academy and the capital have sought the Council for years. You're a hero."

  He didn't feel like a hero.

  Chapter Nine: Monsters, part I

  Amaranth stood across the table from Ransmae Rickard. He'd been offered the seat beside him, but was far too tense to sit. He shuffled his feet and fought to keep his nerves from showing.

  The Head Scientist looked at the device the boy had placed between them and connected the battery.

  Amaranth held his breath, praying the assignment worked as it needed to. He'd managed to make the odd thing function by following Rickard's instructions, but it wasn't without glitches. All he could do now was hope they wouldn't be displayed for the woman who'd been kind enough to have faith in him.

  The device turned on. The bulb flickered to life just as it was supposed to. Rickard tested the row of switches along the bottom, changing the light's color with each one she flipped. The final switch turned it off.

  It'd worked just fine. Amaranth let out a sigh of relief. It would've been horrible, and downright humiliating, to fail even after getting the walkthrough.

  Rickard grinned. "Better than what half of my students turned in."

  Amaranth smiled, but hung his head. "If it wasn't for the instructions, I don't think I would've finished it," he admitted.

  "What do you mean? I never assisted you in any way. I certainly never provided you with written instructions. Correct?" Rickard's narrowed eyes said more than her words.

  Amaranth straightened, understanding. "Yes, ma'am. You gave me nothing at all."

  "Smart boy," Rickard nodded.

  The incident evidently needed to stay between the two of them. Well...between them and the girl who'd delivered the walkthrough.

  Amaranth's eyes wandered to the corner of the room, where the girl named Shakaya sat in a chair with a book in her hands. Rickard had called him to her adjunct building alone for the deadline—the girl's presence likely indicated that she lived there.

  He studied her quiet shape. She'd returned to the study at some hour or another every day. It was always the same. She'd show up with a painted smile, ask if he wanted lunch, and maybe sneak in a few suggestions for the assignment. When he brushed her off—as politely as he could manage, although that became more difficult by the day—she'd walk away with an expression that could have been relief. Her intrusion had become a daily routine, albeit a very odd one.

  Shakaya was persistent, but it hardly seemed she wanted to talk with him. And now, sitting silently in the back of Rickard's office, she showed him no interest at all. He wasn't sure she'd looked up from that book once since he'd arrived. Had she even noticed him?

  "Well then." Rickard reached into one of her drawers and retrieved a hefty pile of paperwork...much of which seemed to have already been filled out. "You're in. Just sign these agreements, and tomorrow you can attend class with the rest of my students."

  Amaranth flushed with excitement.

  Rickard chuckled, "Congratulations, boy!"

  "Thank you." Amaranth nodded politely, writing his new signature. He'd spent hours practicing to get it just perfect, and seeing his chosen name in elaborate, professional script on Elvadain Academy's student contract made it feel like his for the first time. The new life he'd fantasized about for years was really about to start. Joy and fear danced about his head like butterflies, but he made certain to keep such childish feelings off his face. Instead, he folded his hands neatly in front of him. He was an adult, now, even if he'd grown into something and someone much different from the child he'd been. He could finally move on. He smiled at his professor. Not too solemnly and not too widely. Just right. "First semester science classes are in room 1E, aren't they?"

  Rickard smiled back at him. "That's right. Do you know where that is?"

  "Well..." Amaranth scratched the back of his head. He didn't, but he was sure he could find it before tomorrow morning.

  Rickard sighed, "That won't do at all." She looked over her shoulder. The girl's eyes jolted up. Perhaps she wasn't so dead to the world, after all. "Shakaya, why don't you show our new student around the school?"

  Shakaya opened her mouth to speak—most likely to argue that Amaranth had already rejected the same offer multiple times—but a sharp gaze from Rickard silenced her. She set down her book and pushed herself up. "All right."

  Amaranth quickly shook his head. "N-no. Thank you, but I'll be fine. I'd rather spend the night studying. I can find the classroom on my own."

  Rickard clasped his shoulder with a firm hand. "Now now, boy, there's no need to be shy. Shakaya can even take you inside the labs. Wouldn't you like that? There'll be plenty of time for studying later."

  Amaranth forced another smile. It was clear that he didn't have a choice on this one. Finally, he nodded. "I suppose so."

  Shakaya's fingers were already wrapped around the doorknob. "Let's go."

  Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ

  Amaranth waited by the entrance to the second floor's research hall with wide eyes, watching Shakaya place her palm inside a glass frame. A beep accompanied a flashing green light and the metallic door in front of them opened with a hiss.

  "This scanner checks your fingerprints. The school typically uses ID cards—since you're a student now, you'll get one too—but Rickard says we don't use them to open the labs because they're too easy to lose or steal." She stepped through the gate. "If you aren't registered in the system when you put your hand on the sensor, it won't let you in. An alarm will even go off if you're blacklisted."

  Amaranth gaped at the sterile white light beaming through the doorway.

  Shakaya held down a switch on the opposite side of the entrance. "This button here keeps it open so that scientists can let people in if they need to. Hurry up. I'm not going to hold it forever."

  Stealing himself, he followed after her. The door shut behind him with a second hiss. A melange of odors burned his nose. Metals, chemicals, and...was that blood? He shivered, his feet suddenly heavy under the unnatural brightness and the droning, mechanical hum.

  Shakaya had already led him through the first story of the building—this second floor hallway was their last stop. The tour had admittedly given him a better picture of the school, but she'd said very little. She'd stated the name and purpose of each room they reached and impatiently set off once more. It was a lot to take in so quickly.

  Shakaya pointed out the individual labs as they continued their march, saying that it was probably best they didn't go inside and disturb the work going on within. She never paused, even while she spoke. She clearly wasn't enjoying this.

  At first, Amaranth had thought she was perhaps just a bit shy, but this was more than that. Beneath her brisk, disinterested tone was downright hostility.

  "You...don't have to do all this." He bit his tongue, chewing on the words that came next before he said them, "Rickard is forcing you to talk to me, isn't she?"

  Shakaya froze. "W-what do you mean?"

  Bull's eye.

  "I'm not stupid!" He caught up to where she'd finally stopped. "It's obvious that you don't care for me much. It's all right. You can leave. I won't tell Rickard."

  The girl's tense fingers fiddled with the hem of her dress. "It's not...I mean...it isn't like that! Rickard just said that I should try making friends, so..."

  Amaranth sighed. If that was the case, then she wasn't doing a particularly good job of it. It hardly seemed she was trying at all. His voice softened, "Then you should try talking to someone else. I'm sorry. I'm not here for friends." />
  Shakaya turned to face him. Ice hardened her eyes. It melted quickly, but he shivered.

  "I-it's not personal," Amaranth tried, not sure why he was stammering. "I simply prefer to be alone."

  An awkward silence lingered between them, blue eyes glowering into brown.

  Shakaya's features hardened into a mask as cold as her gaze. "You have to be my friend." She spoke so quietly he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear, "It's important."

  "What?" ...What the Hell did she mean by that?

  Shakaya said nothing, her nails wrinkling her skirt. He couldn't tell if it was anger or anxiety that creased her brow. Perhaps it was a medley of both. She opened and closed her mouth, but in the end, she turned away. "I'm sure you'll agree to come have lunch with me one of these days."

  He only stood there, his legs not quite working.

  She...wasn't going to go away, was she? He didn't know why, but she was determined to claim his attention. What could he do? Should he talk to Rickard about the situation? Get her to suggest another potential friend?

  But Rickard was the one who'd gotten him into the school, and she'd done so by bending —or downright breaking—several rules in the process. Would it really be wise to ask her to keep the girl living in her office away? What if Rickard expected a favor in return for all she'd done?

  He didn't realize Shakaya had gone ahead without him until he heard her voice.

  "This is the specimen room." She waited in front of another doorway. This one was tall and steely, dimming the hall with its gray presence. "All the Lyrum the scientists use, and some animals and plants too, are kept inside." A spark of interest seemed to bring color to her cheeks. "I don't think anyone's working here right now, so we can take a look."

  The...specimen room?

  Amaranth managed a swallow and followed her inside.

  He'd known that Lyrum were treated like lab rats inside the Academy. He'd known that they were locked in cells and subdued by drugs. But no amount of knowledge could've braced him for what he saw.

  Rows of cells lined a long corridor that seemed almost black compared to the sterile white light outside. Blood. Sweat. Urine. Sickness. Sanitizer. He covered his nose, instinctively trying not to breathe. Muted moans replaced the subdued droning.