Guardian of the Vale

by Shoemaker,Tamara

  Chapter 12

  Alayne staggered backward under her friend's weight. Marysa's arms were a stranglehold around her neck. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you, honey!” All at once, Marysa stepped back and planted her hands on her hips. “And if you ever do anything like that again, I'll turn you into a salamander, honest I will. Holy hot-breath, I've been so worried! Here,” she grabbed Alayne's hand and pulled her toward the food, “get your breakfast, and then come out to the table. Your hair, Alayne, your beautiful hair! Wait until I get Manders by himself; I can't believe he cut it! He told me he did this morning, but I didn't believe him. Not that it looks bad; you could never look anything less than gorgeous no matter what you tried, but still, your long, thick hair! Anyway, Layne, I've got so much to tell you, and you have loads to tell me, too. Or you'd better have loads to tell me, or I'm gonna be so mad, 'cause you got to go have all the adventures without me, Layne; how could you?”

  Alayne blinked under this exuberance, watching helplessly as Marysa danced out of the kitchen and sat at the nearest table, bouncing impatiently as she turned to face the kitchen door. “Hurry up, Layne.”

  Alayne shook herself awake again as Daymon nudged her. She walked to the counter, her mind churning, and pulled a plate from the stack, slowly filling it with casserole and biscuits. Daymon did the same. He watched her intently as she struggled to clear her befuddled mind.

  Marysa surely knew that what she and Jayme were doing was a big red-letter no-no in any friendship, but it didn't seem to faze her at all. Her continuous jabber irritated Alayne as it never had before. She pressed her lips together as she poured her juice, picked up her plate, and strode through the door without waiting for Daymon.

  He appeared a moment later at her side, his gaze alarmed as he surveyed her expression. Alayne slammed her plate down on the table across from Marysa. The food bounced a good inch into the air. Marysa's startled eyes flew to Alayne's face.

  “How could I go off and have all these adventures without you, Marysa?” She didn't bother to sit. Her hands curled into fists. She could feel them heating up; she was losing control of the elements within her simply due to her heightened emotions. “Yeah, how could I possibly have wanted to find out that my parents are in a cleansing camp? That was a sizzling morsel of joy that just exploded across my brain. Oh, and getting captured by Kyle of all people was oodles of fun. Especially when he arrested both Daymon and me and flew us out to Clayborne so Tarry could try to torture me into agreeing to use the Vale for the Alliance.” She was warming up. She ignored the hurt that sliced through Marysa's light blue eyes and leaned her hands on the table. Flames licked along her fingers. “It was really cool when Kyle turned completely delusional and thought I wanted what he wanted. He'd pretty well decided to use my weakness against me and take it even when I wasn't willing to give it up.”

  Daymon dropped his fork on the table with a loud clatter. Alayne ignored it.

  “And then the torture itself. That was a real whizz-bang. 'Cause I didn't get to eat anything or drink anything until I was literally dying. If Daymon hadn't been there, I would have died, and all this trouble could have been solved, 'cause the Alliance would have had what they wanted without me interfering in any of their plans. Oh, but that's right, they don't want me to die, 'cause that means more work and training for them once there's a new possessor of the Vale. So, back to the torture. Did you know they broke each of Daymon's fingers, one by one? With a wrench, Marysa.”

  Marysa's face had turned ashen. She glanced over at Daymon, and then back to Alayne.

  “Yeah, and then they were getting ready to drill some holes under his toenails. Oh, but thankfully, I beat up the guards that were going to do it, possibly killing Malachi, I don't know—no worries there; killing someone is no big deal and certainly won't ever bother my conscience—and we just strolled on out of there with only a thousand or so Elemental Alliance soldiers searching frantically for us. We were almost caught several times, Daymon almost killed—does a knife impaled in the neck sound like fun? Yeah, it was a real joyride for us. So, Marysa, sorry that you missed out on our little adventures.”

  Alayne stopped speaking, suddenly uncomfortably aware that the commissary was dead quiet. She glanced over at the corner table where the others were sitting. All of them stared at her in astonishment. The sleeping woman was the only one whose attention remained elsewhere.

  Guilt nibbled Alayne's insides. When she turned back to her friend, tears streaked Marysa's freckled cheeks. Alayne sat down, staring at her plate. One last accusation burned in her throat; she spit it out.

  “And why in the name of all CommonEarth did you think you and Jayme should start seeing each other? Is that the new fad, the latest trend? As soon as your best friend walks out the door, see if you can hook up with her ex? Is that what best friends do, Marysa? 'Cause I'm confused.”

  Daymon's startled jerk couldn't be ignored this time. He still stood with his plate in hand. After a silent second, he set the plate on the table and sat next to Alayne, studiously putting food in his mouth and swallowing, looking nowhere else but at the food on his plate.

  Marysa swiped her arm across her eyes, moisture smearing onto her skin. She sniffed, her fingers trembling as she placed them carefully on the table. “N—no, best friends don't do that, Layne. I—I intended to tell you everything as soon as you came back, and I would have, but you beat me to it.”

  Alayne's brows lowered. She opened her mouth, but Marysa rushed on. “Jayme's been making such amazing improvement, Layne. He's no longer flat on his back, he's up and talking and joking, just like before, only—”

  “Only what?”

  “He—he can't talk about you. It's the weirdest thing. It's like he knows who you are on a completely impersonal level, but if you try to remind him of anything that happened before he was Casted, it's like a big blank void. He knows you and he were a couple, of course, but there's no—no intimacy in his memories at all. I guess you could say it's like his heart-strings were completely severed with regard to you.” Marysa glanced up at Alayne, unusual timidity in her expression. “I tried, Alayne, I did. I wanted him to remember you, for something to work out, but he was adamant that you were in his past.” She leaned forward, her icy blue gaze intent on Alayne's face. “It’s pretty typical with the Casted, you know, Alayne. Some memories come back, but so often others—especially emotional ones—don’t. And then there’s the whole Elemental repulsion thing. It takes a long time for a Casted person to be able to tolerate Elemental skills again, and with you having the Vale and all that power, Alayne, it seemed pretty unlikely he’d ever be able to—to tolerate you at all.”

  “That works out so nicely for you.” Sugary-sweet sarcasm dripped from Alayne's voice. “How considerate of you to try so hard for, what, a month, to bridge a year's worth of Shadow-Casting before deciding to take him for yourself.”

  Marysa's eyes sparked. Her normal snap and vivacity returned. “Alayne, quite honestly, I didn't think you'd care. It's obvious you're all wrapped up in—” she flicked her glance at Daymon and then dropped it to her plate. Her cheeks flushed, and she continued. “I mean, you're busy with the Vale and the Alliance and everything. Jayme just didn't seem to be that important to you anymore.”

  Alayne's own cheeks burned, and she wished Daymon weren't here to listen to her conversation. It—seemed too personal. “Just because his fever would spike every time I'd get near him didn't mean I didn't want to visit him. This whole thing with the Vale isn't my fault.”

  Marysa leaned forward, staring hard at Alayne. “Layne, if you could be perfectly honest with yourself—if you could just push aside your anger at me, at anyone, for a couple of seconds—could you really say, with all certainty, that your feelings toward Jayme haven't changed since our first year at Clayborne?”

  Alayne was silent, staring at her friend. Anger still flickered in her mind, but the raw rage was gone in its first pulsing blast. She slowly shook her head. “No, I can't h
onestly say my feelings haven't changed. But Marysa, you were wrong to move in like I had given you full permission.”

  “But that's the thing, honey.” Marysa's exuberant smile flashed across her face again. “You didn't have to say it. You already gave permission with the way you acted. Now, Layne,” she held up her hand as Alayne opened her mouth to protest, “we can go back and forth all day about this, but in the end, here it is: you're my best friend. I love you, and I love you enough to know when you move on. I knew you had moved on from Jayme as clearly as if you had said it. And speaking of Jayme, I need to get him his food and take it up to him.” She swung her legs out from under the table and stood, pushing her black hair behind her shoulder. “By the way, Layne, I've decided I like your hair after all. Black's a good color for you.”

  Turning, she re-entered the kitchen, leaving Alayne slightly breathless, as encounters with Marysa tended to do.

  Alayne spent the rest of the breakfast hour in the commissary pushing her food around on the plate, stabbing it with her fork and then scraping it off again.

  “Don't you like eggs anymore?” Daymon asked as he returned from spooning out his second helping.

  “Of course, I like eggs. Why?” she demanded.

  “If you could incinerate something with your eyes, those eggs would be ashes.” He set his plate down opposite her this time and sat down. “Want to talk about it?” He loaded up his fork with casserole and shoved it in his mouth.

  Alayne opened her mouth to tell him to go take a flying leap when the chute door banged open and Manders strode into the room.

  “Ah, there you are,” Manders said. “Are you finished? Good.” He glanced lightly over Alayne's untouched plate and motioned to her. “The panel hearing starts at three. Come with me, both of you.”

  Leaving their plates on the table, both Alayne and Daymon sprang up and followed Manders back to the chute. The drop was a short one—only two floors down.

  The doors slid open, and Alayne hesitated before stepping out. A long, oak table stretched before her with at least twenty chairs lining either side. Nearly all the chairs were filled with unfamiliar men and women, all of them staring seriously at Alayne. Silence blanketed the room. Alayne cleared her throat, and the noise deafened her own ears.

  Manders motioned for Alayne to follow him, leading the way to the head of the table at the far end of the room. “Alayne, meet some of the ladies and gentlemen of the Last Order.”

  Alayne had seen some of the people in the common room that first evening, but not all together and not all staring at her. To her surprise, she noticed Eryc Connel at the far end of the table nearest the chute, and Rachyl three chairs down from him. She hadn't seen them when she'd first entered. Alayne's gaze swept the rest of the occupants, feeling unnerved. She took a tiny sidestep behind Daymon.

  Manders smiled at her, and one of his knowing gray eyes dropped in a wink. The woman on his right handed him something, and he turned back to Alayne, motioning her forward. “When you get into the observation deck,” he said as he pressed his index finger just beneath the tear duct on her right eye—Alayne felt a tiny pressure there after he had withdrawn his hand— “you'll find that there are two sets of stairs that lead down to the main floor before the Justice bench. Both sets of stairs will be guarded and likely impassable without creating a ruckus. As an alternative, you could simply go over the railing; whichever method you choose, Alayne, is fine. The more ruckus in this situation, the better. We want you to be very visible, and if you're too quiet, you won't get the attention we need.”

  Alayne nodded. She lifted her finger to the spot under her right eye, but Manders touched her hand. “Don't mess with it; it's a camera. You'll throw off our feed.”

  “A camera?”

  Manders nodded. “Looks like a tiny teardrop.” He turned to Daymon and slid a magnetic earring onto Daymon's right earlobe. “Your camera,” he murmured. “Both of you try to be aware that your head must move the direction you look—don't just move your eyes, because we're blind then.” He faced the table. “Okay, let's test it, Mr. Trent.”

  A large, dark-haired man touched the MIU on the center of the table, and an image of the room they were in shot out of it and hovered over the table. Trent touched another button, and the first image moved up the table to the right, while a second image of the same room stirred to the left. Every time Alayne moved her head, the image on the right moved. Daymon turned his head, testing, and the image on the left moved.

  “Excellent.” Manders turned back to them. “These are also equipped with sound, so everything that happens, we will hear as well.”

  “So I don't need to take notes?” Alayne asked. Her voice was magnified as it echoed out of the image on the table as well.

  “Do take mental notes.” Manders nodded. “I want your perspective on events. Though you can tell me later—we don't need a running narrative.”

  Manders pulled out a chair for Alayne and motioned Daymon to another. “Dr. Lynch here,” he motioned to a serious-faced woman whose eyes were rimmed by thick frames, “will brief you both on how to get into the High Court. Afterward, you will both be taken up to the entry level where you'll be dressed and you, Daymon, will be disguised. Go ahead, please, Dr. Lynch.” Manders sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. He looked expectantly at the woman.

  Dr. Lynch's severe gaze never left Alayne. She recited to Alayne and Daymon as if she were reading from a manual.

  “Once you exit the Last Order headquarters, you will find yourselves at the base of the east steps of the High Court. The observation wing is open for visitors on the north side of the structure, and you will need to make your way there. If you are detained in any way, Mr. Houser, you know what to do.”

  Alayne glanced at Daymon in surprise. Daymon simply nodded without looking at Alayne.

  “Once you arrive at the entrance to the High Court, it will be more difficult to maintain your anonymity. All visitors are screened; you will both go through a thorough full-body search. You are, of course, assumed Elementals, since identification as a Natural is cause for a trip to the NRCs. They will test you, though. You must give evidence of your particular element—Miss Worth, I suggest picking one element and sticking with it to avert suspicion.” She glanced at Manders, hesitated, and then added, “I've heard it said that you have trouble controlling the flames in your hands, particularly when you allow emotion to control your thoughts—”

  “That's not true!” protested Alayne.

  “—so I recommend choosing Fire-Breathing as a precaution. Besides, it is well-known that Alayne Worth wielded water long before she entered training at Clayborne Training Institute. The farther you stay from water, the better.” She looked severely at Alayne over the tops of her glasses and then continued. “Once you're in the observation deck, you will be closely monitored by no less than twenty guards. Two at the head of each descending staircase, one guard at the end of each bench in the observation area. There are eight benches. You and Mr. Houser must be on the front bench.”

  “Why?” Alayne asked, unable to bite back her curiosity.

  “Because we must see through your hidden cameras, and because you must be prepared for a quick trip to the floor, Miss Worth.” Dr. Lynch's sharp voice was tinged with impatience. “It's going to be hard enough to get past the guards without tripping over eight rows of people in front of you as well.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Just so you know, Miss Worth, it is likely that once you are inside the atrium, the elements will be out of reach as a precaution. This is a sensitive decision with tensions running high, and with the Alliance brass in attendance, it is unlikely they will be willing to risk having the elements at hand to anyone but their own agents.”

  “Wh—at?” Alayne's mouth gaped. “But I can't do anything without the elements.”

  “You can, Miss Worth, and you will. You will recall that following your latest escape from Clayborne Training Institute, you informed
Dr. Manders of four specialized Elementals that Tarry Shane Beckyr used for the purpose of balancing the elements out of reach? It is highly likely these same four will be in attendance today, near the Alliance leader herself. Gain access to them, find a way to distract them, and you will discover your way forward.”

  Alayne blinked helplessly, sure the woman was insane. How under the blue skies above was she to gain access to four strong Elementals without being seen, all while inside the heart of the most powerful government building on CommonEarth?

  Dr. Lynch's steel gaze rested heavily on Alayne, and at last, Alayne nodded meekly, checking Daymon's profile. His face was impassive, his long fingers were threaded together in his lap, one ankle crossed over his knee. Muscles corded up his forearm and disappeared beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. When he moved his arm, the muscles moved smoothly beneath his skin. His familiar, comforting, woodsy scent drifted across the space between them. Alayne jerked her attention back to Dr. Lynch, her cheeks flushing hot.

  Dr. Lynch stared at her with stern frustration.

  “Ex—excuse me?” Alayne stuttered.

  Dr. Lynch cleared her throat with an exaggerated cough. “I said, I believe Dr. Manders has covered what you must say should the declaration of war on the Last Order go through?”

  “Y—yes. I'm to say that I'm Alayne Worth, possessor of the Vale.”

  “And?”

  “And that I'm the Last Order's advocate for Natural Humans all over CommonEarth.”

  “Particularly that last bit, Miss Worth. Don't leave it out.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  Alayne and Daymon were led away from the conference room soon after Dr. Lynch's briefing by a thin, pale man whose name, he said, was Tony. He had luminous amber eyes and a mole on the tip of his nose. “I'm your makeup artist,” he explained.

  Ironically, Alayne thought, staring at the mole, immediately feeling ashamed. “You have pretty eyes,” she blurted.