Guardian of the Vale

by Shoemaker,Tamara

  Daymon cocked an eyebrow, and Alayne blushed, wishing she could snatch back the words.

  Tony smiled. “It's a good thing,” he said as he led the way down the hallway toward the exit above ground. “Helps to make up for the nose.” He winked at her. “In here, please.”

  He had stopped at a door just before the exit. He inserted his key and pulled it open. Inside were racks of various clothes, outfits, even a tuxedo. Three desks with mirrors lined the wall. Alayne stared in astonishment.

  “We don't always live like moles under the earth.” Tony chuckled. “These clothes and makeup come in handy for our trips up to the sunlit lands,” he finished in a dramatic whisper. “Please, have a seat, bella donna.”

  As soon as Alayne was seated, he went to work styling her hair, trimming a few uneven strands that Manders had missed in the woods. He fluffed it artfully so the curls tumbled in a frame over her face, and then turned to the makeup. He carefully removed the teardrop while he began to apply basic foundation. “Perhaps we don't need color on the cheeks?” he suggested. “You've already got such a lovely shade.” Ignoring his own comment, he plied the brush anyway.

  He rustled in the cabinet for a moment and then returned to her with a miniature container.

  “What's that?” Alayne asked, eyeing it. It looked like two small wheels attached to one another.

  Tony chuckled. “An invention of the dark ages. Contact lenses.” He unscrewed one of the wheels. Inside, a circle of dark, flimsy material floated in some sort of solution. “To cover the green. These are a pre-Deluge invention; we found a treasure trove of them in one of the abandoned spires beneath the Capital. We tweaked them with the elements, strengthening them and darkening their colors. They work wonders for disguise; you'd never guess how many people know you by your eye color until you change it.”

  Alayne found it extremely unpleasant to have someone put something directly against her eyeball. Moments later, she sat back, eyes streaming, sputtering a little. The room looked darker than it had moments earlier. When she wiped her cheeks and peered at herself in the mirror, she was shocked to see nearly black eyes staring back at her.

  “Beautiful,” Tony murmured, reaching for more makeup. He went to work on her eyelids. “Bold, dark eyes. Eyes that make a statement.” He laughed.

  Alayne watched him trace the eyeliner clear to her temple on one side and then the other. The shadow was a peach sunset that filled up her entire eyelid. His brush went next to her lashes, then her brows. He traced them with a defining pencil and then finished her makeup with a deep red liner around the contours of her lips. “Voila!” He stepped back, surveying her with satisfaction. “Oh, let's not forget this.” He reapplied the teardrop. “Come with me, madam.”

  He turned to the rack of clothes and pulled a sleeveless black camisole from it. Another hanger held a sheer, black, loose top to go over the tanktop. He tossed those to her and then snatched a pair of black jeans from a shelf above the rack.

  “Do you have something against color?” Alayne asked, holding up the all-black clothing.

  Tony laughed. “Get dressed.” He motioned at the screen in the back of the room before turning to Daymon. Alayne went behind the screen to change. The sheer top draped over the solid black tanktop and to her waist, clinging to her curves. The black jeans were form-fitting, but comfortable.

  “I put boots back there for you,” Tony called.

  Alayne saw them by the back wall. “They're black, of course,” she called.

  “Of course.”

  Alayne slid her feet into them and zippered them up. They were knee-high with a two-inch spiked heel. “Am I going to be expected to run in these things?”

  “You'll get the hang of it really quickly,” Tony said.

  Alayne took a couple of test steps. Her heels wobbled. “Any reason why I can't go barefoot?”

  “Yes. You're dressed as most of the ladies who observe in the High Court will be. If you want to get in to the observation deck, you have to blend in. If you want to strip off your boots to use as your distraction, feel free. But until you're in that Court, the boots stay on.”

  When Alayne stepped out from behind the screen, clutching it for balance, Tony had just finished transforming Daymon into an auburn-haired young man. He glanced over Daymon's shoulder and whistled. “You look ravishing, my lady.”

  Alayne found herself in the mirror, startled to see that, according to current standards of fashion and beauty, he was correct. She straightened and ran her hands down the sides of her figure as she stared at herself in the mirror.

  Daymon was staring at her as well. When her gaze met his, he dropped his attention to his hands.

  Tony finished spraying color onto Daymon's hair. He pulled a longer pair of black jeans from the shelf and a black tee. A blue plaid button down completed the outfit. “For over top of the tee,” he said. “Don't notch the bottom button, only the middle three, and don't, under any circumstances, tuck it in.” He tossed the clothes at Daymon. Then he led Alayne back into the tunnel. “Listen,” he said, “you'll do fine. If you need any help, there will be Last Order people outside the High Court. They left headquarters early this morning to get into position. Inside the High Court, you two will be on your own, but we have confidence in you.”

  Daymon opened the door and strode toward them, and Alayne gulped. He looked rakishly handsome. His thick, auburn hair brushed the back collar of his shirt, which stretched across well-defined pectoral muscles and tapered to a fitted waist where the shirt was not tucked in. His feet were shoved into natural leather steel-toed boots. Torch light glinted off the earring camera in his ear. Alayne swallowed and turned toward the exit. “Thanks, Tony,” she called over her shoulder. She took the first step toward the door and tripped on the stairs.

  Daymon grabbed her around the waist before she could smudge her dark jeans. He set her back on her feet, but the usual disparaging comment from him about her clumsiness was missing. His fingers trailed along her waist, holding her steady. Goosebumps rippled along her arms beneath the sheer sleeves.

  Daymon didn't remove his hands. “Ready?” he asked.

  Alayne nodded, concentrating on breathing evenly. He was close, much, much too close, and Alayne couldn't for the life of her remember what she was supposed to be ready for. Skies above, he smelled good, and his hands nearly spanned her waist...

  He cleared his throat and stepped back. “Let's go.” His voice was strained. He pushed the door open, and sunlight and heat poured into the void.

  Chapter 13

  The white marble steps shimmered in the afternoon heat as they arched up, up, up to the right of Daymon and Alayne. Crowds of citizens meandered through shops and eateries, grazing off of various foods during the lunch hour set by the High Court. Two nearby spires advertised restaurants and delicacies on each level as high as the hundredth floor, the lights of the signs brilliant with a strongly notched fire element that covered various districts throughout the Capital. Appetizing smells drifted across the cobblestone streets.

  “Hungry?” Daymon asked.

  “I just had breakfast.”

  “You just played with breakfast.”

  “No, I'm not hungry,” Alayne snapped and then sighed. “Sorry.”

  The stairs to their left seemed to stretch forever to the northeast corner, where they were supposed to turn. Guards lined the cobblestone way, each equipped with their knives in sheaths at their belts and their armbands that proclaimed which element they wielded.

  “Daymon,” Alayne began, “what did Dr. Lynch mean when she said you would know what to do if—we were detained?”

  Daymon shrugged, scanning everything in their way, the people who crossed their path, plates and cups clutched in their hands. “It's nothing more than what it always has been, Layne. Your safety. At all costs.”

  Alayne swallowed, overwhelmed. She didn't want her eyes to tear up—not with all the makeup coating them. She squeezed past two older men weaving drunkenly an
d carrying brown bottles. “Why did she make special note of it then, if it's what it always has been?”

  “Because, I suppose, there's a higher risk this time. This time, if something goes wrong, I most likely won't make it out with you. There are too many of them and too few of us.”

  Alayne swung her gaze sharply to Daymon. “What do you mean? You—you're not just going to give yourself up to them, are you?”

  “No! Of course not, Layne.” He laid a hand on her shoulder and steered her around a child who bolted after a ball. “But you do understand the significance of what you're doing today, right?”

  Alayne stopped in her tracks, and Daymon halted as well. “Gathering information for the Last Order?”

  “That's just a small part of it. Layne, the big thing, the huge thing you're doing is giving a leader to the losing side, the oppressed people. They've been disorganized and scattered, fleeing in fear and hiding in holes in the ground, in caves, in the mountains, anywhere they can find cover. They're watching and waiting, hoping for a break, something that will give them a chance. You're that chance.”

  Butterflies circled in Alayne's stomach. Her mouth suddenly felt as though she had been chewing on sawdust. “But—I'm no chance. I can't save a whole race of people.” She turned away from Daymon. “It would be wrong, letting them think I can do anything for them.” She felt her world tilt as she considered the idea. The tears that she had tried to keep back insisted on escaping. “I'll let them all down,” she whispered.

  Daymon gripped her upper arm and turned her toward him. “You can, you know.” His blue eyes searched hers. “You don't see how good you really are. But that's not important, Alayne.” One thumb came up to brush a teardrop that rolled beside her nose. “What's important today, right now, is that every camera will be on you in that court room, and there are thousands of cameras. MIUs all across this Continent and CommonEarth will show you proclaiming that you are the advocate, the leader, the hope of the Natural Humans. Think of it, Layne, the possessor of the Vale, throwing herself in the same lot as the Natural Humans. It's what they need to hear, more than anything.”

  Alayne sniffed and resisted the urge to wipe her eyes, conscious of the fake teardrop on her cheekbone. “But what good will that do? It'll give them a brief flame of hope, and then when they find out I can't save them, they'll be that much worse off.” She turned her burning eyes away. “That is, if I succeed without the use of the elements.”

  “We'll figure it out once we're inside, Layne. Anyway, the Last Order is set to follow up what you do today. They've been organizing factions across the Continent, and up until now, they've had trouble getting the message spread. What my uncle and the rest of the Last Order are hoping is that by making you the figurehead, humans will be hopeful enough to work with the Last Order. To form an army. To attack the tyrants and put all this oppression to rest once and for all.” His voice had dropped to a murmur as he said these things.

  Alayne swallowed hard and, for just one brief, wonderful moment, leaned her forehead against Daymon's chest. She closed her eyes, gathered all her mental strength and straightened. “We gotta hurry.”

  The never-ending stretch of steps at last turned the corner, and Alayne and Daymon strode up them. The entrance for the observation deck yawned halfway up the marble stairs, a deep black opening in the midst of the white.

  Two armed guards stood at the entrance. Another man had just removed a rope from the opening. Four others—a man, two women, and a teenager—entered as the guard waved them through. Daymon caught Alayne's fingers and tugged her up the steps. “Pick up the pace, Layne. A line's forming real quick.”

  Sure enough, several groups of people closed in swiftly on the entrance, jogging up the steps from all directions. Daymon and Alayne arrived just ahead of what appeared to be a school group. Twenty chattering Basic School students lined up behind them. “Close one,” Alayne muttered.

  The guard stopped them before they could enter the door. “Citizen pass?”

  Alayne's stomach dropped to her toes. A pass?

  Daymon pulled out a wallet and revealed two cards, both inscribed with tiny writing and an official-looking seal.

  The guard took the cards and held them up to the light. With a snap, he slid the cards back together and returned them to Daymon. “Just ahead to the room on your right. Next!”

  Alayne glanced at Daymon as he slipped his wallet into his back pocket. His lid dropped in a barely noticeable wink.

  Alayne's booted heels wobbled toward the room the guard had pointed out. Inside, a woman hunched over a desk, her glasses low on her nose as she read a news holograph. She looked over the rims as Daymon and Alayne entered the room.

  “Show me your element against that wall, please,” she muttered, returning to her reading.

  “Sorry, did you mean that you want us to throw our elements against that wall?” Alayne asked. “Or did you want us to stand against the wall and throw the elements at you?”

  Daymon dissolved into a coughing fit. The woman raised her eyes again, one eyebrow sliding up her lined forehead. “You throw your elements at the wall, Citizen.”

  Alayne turned to the wall and forced heat to her fingertips until she felt her hand burst into flame. A moment later, she hurled a ball of fire at the brick wall behind the woman. The flame burst into a thousand skittering cartwheels as it hit the wall.

  The woman nodded without speaking, her gaze turning to Daymon. A blast of wind shrieked past, blowing the MIU off the woman's desk and landing it in her lap. The wind hit the wall and died with a final wail.

  The woman glared at Daymon. “Fine. Go on in.” She carefully placed the MIU back on her desk, pressing the button to open the hologram again.

  Daymon led Alayne out of the room and down the hall to another checkpoint. Four guards lounged around a table. They straightened as Daymon and Alayne approached. “Any bags or loose articles to declare?” the tall one on the right asked.

  Daymon slid his wallet from his pocket again, placing it on the table. Another guard picked it up and opened it. A moment later, he snapped it shut. “Clear.”

  “How 'bout you, ma'am?” A green-eyed one winked at Alayne. “No purse today?”

  Alayne shook her head, irritated by the guard's blatant attempt at flirtation.

  “Search them,” the tall one ordered.

  Green-Eyes grabbed Alayne's arm and tugged her to the right. “Stand here, please, ma'am,” he ordered politely even while his hands rested on her shoulders for far too long.

  Daymon endured his own search while glowering at Alayne's guard.

  The guard's hands ran down Alayne's arms, her waist, and her back. He lingered near her hips.

  Daymon leaped at the guard, fury lighting his expression. He slammed into the man, knocking him to the ground and throwing a walloping fist across his chin.

  “Daymon,” Alayne called, but it was too late; the other guards had grabbed him and pulled him off Green-Eyes.

  Green-Eyes got to his feet, spitting blood to the side, a sneer across his face. “Didn't like someone else getting too close to the goods, did you?” he asked in a snarl. “Didn't care for this?” Taking advantage of Daymon's tethered state, he traced his hand along Alayne's rib cage to her chest.

  The fury that blazed in Daymon's face was nothing compared to what Alayne felt. She didn't hesitate. She wound her arms around the guard's, locking them effectively against his sides and brought her knee up hard between his legs.

  The guard bent double, howling, and Alayne slammed her elbow down on his neck, hard. He collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain. “You just don't learn your lesson, do you? Idiot!”

  The other three guards stared at her in consternation. Alayne let out the breath she hadn't realize she'd been holding. “Tell your buddy to keep his hands to himself next time.”

  The tall guard shook his head and started to say something, but Alayne interrupted. “Want to arrest me? Fine. But I see three cameras right here that
show exactly how excited this guy got with my search.” She pointed to the black, revolving cameras that graced the top of the walls.

  To her surprise, the guard who had searched Daymon suddenly burst out laughing. “She packs a wallop, don't she, Max?”

  The guard on the floor only gasped as he tried to stand again.

  “I'm glad you got the wildcat.” He turned back to Daymon, chuckling. “Go on through.”

  “That was too close,” Alayne whispered to Daymon as they neared the door.

  “Yep,” Daymon answered, “but there were a few benefits.”

  Alayne glanced at him in surprise. He pulled aside the flap of his shirt where the silver handle of the guard's knife winked at her in the dim light.

  Alayne entered the atrium of the High Court and drew in a sharp breath. Dr. Lynch had been right. A quick feel for the harp of elements came up empty. The elements vibrated out of reach, and the knot in Alayne's stomach tightened into full-blown nausea. The observation platform where they stood was a minuscule drop in the ocean compared to the level after level of balconies that surrounded the Justices' bench far below. Alayne stared up at the domed ceiling and then down to the tiny, black-robed figures who already lined the Justices' bench.

  “I had no idea it was so big,” she whispered. Even her whisper seemed to echo through the open space. She squinted down at the Justices. They sat in circles of benches placed on tiered flooring.

  Two long winding spiral staircases circled hundreds of feet to the floor. Guards stood posted at the entrance to each staircase, as Dr. Lynch had warned.

  “Layne.” Daymon nodded toward the front bench, which was already partially filled with the four people who had entered before them. The students began to pour onto the deck.

  Alayne took her cue and sat on the front bench, lacing her trembling fingers together. This is it. She drew a deep breath and let it out. She allowed her gaze to roam over the other balconies across from them, above them, below them, remembering to turn her head wherever she looked, not just her eyes. Likely most of the Last Order had been in a High Court session at some time or another, but they had been very clear that they wanted to see everything.