He'd almost reached her. She hurled the element in a white-hot swath, and then clapped her hand over her mouth as she realized what she'd done.
The fire cut through the air, and Daymon flinched just before it reached him.
But it didn't reach him. It sputtered and died an inch from his face.
Both Alayne and Daymon stood motionless, their faces frozen in surprise and horror. Smoke still wafted about them, but the fire was gone.
“What... just happened?” Daymon's voice held awe.
Alayne started to shake, and suddenly, tears burst her boundaries and flowed across her cheeks, dripping from her chin. “I—I almost burned you. The fire—almost—it almost hit...”
She couldn't go on; she was choking on her sobs, and she sank into a crouch, her arms wrapped around her knees, burying her face in her legs. A moment later, she felt herself lifted and carried to the entrance stairs. Daymon set her down and placed himself beside her, stroking her back.
“Hush now, Layne, hush,” he awkwardly soothed her. “It wasn't that bad. I didn't get hurt, did I? And if I had, you'd just touch me to heal me. Stop crying so hard, Layne; you're going to be sick.”
“But I don't get sick,” she wailed, her voice echoing down the tunnel. She snatched her tears from her cheeks, flinging them away. More arrived to replace them. “It's not just that,” she continued breathlessly. “It—it's this whole thing—the battle and the endless strategy meetings. My parents are missing—probably being tortured in some horrible way. The darkness is eternal down in this hole, and everyone's expecting me to use the Vale to mow down the enemy without giving a thought about how I feel about killing—anyone, Alliance or Last Order or anyone in between. And—and you!” Again, the tears flowed fast and thick, and Alayne coughed as she sobbed into her hands.
Daymon's hand paused on her back before continuing its soothing, circular motion.
“Layne?”
Alayne pulled her face out of her slick hands and glanced at Daymon through watery lashes.
“Can you try something?”
“What's that?”
“I want you to burn my hand.”
Alayne flinched backward. “No!”
“Do it.” He picked up her hand, gripping it tightly. “Now. Call the fire.”
“I'm not going to burn you, Daymon.”
“Do it!”
Alayne stared at him. His face was eager, unafraid; a smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. She looked down at their hands and swallowed. “Fine.”
Concentrating, she searched for the heat within her body, willing it to travel up her arm to her hand. As soon as it reached her wrist, it halted. Alayne stared at his pinky, just above where the heat stopped.
“I—I can't.” She raised her gaze to his. “I can't hurt you.”
An eyebrow winged up on his forehead, and a rueful smile played on his lips. “Not physically, anyway.”
His comment seared white-hot guilt, etching his pain on Alayne's heart. “But don't you see, Daymon?” She looked down at their hands again. “It's the Vale. The Vale won't let me hurt you because you're its Guardian. It controls everything, even how I care for you.”
Daymon blew out an exasperated breath and launched himself off the step. “Why should it even matter, Layne?” He threw his hands upward. “Suppose the Vale does affect our feelings. What then? It still pulls us toward each other, doesn't it? What's so wrong with that?” He knelt in front of her, his face on her level, his eyes intense in the lantern light. “We could live like this for the rest of our lives, Layne.” His hands cupped her cheeks, smoothing away the last traces of tears.
Alayne shook her head miserably. “We couldn't, Daymon. Yeah, sure, the Vale does a great job of attracting us to each other, but what happens when the real right one comes along for you, Daymon? You meet someone whom you just can't live without, but you're stuck with me because of the Vale? What then? Are you seriously going to let her go? Or even worse, try to make something work with her while at the same time, continuing this—this thing that we've got?”
Daymon shook his head. “It wouldn't work like that—”
“I don't know what way it would work, Daymon, but I do know that the 'us' created by the Vale is not the 'us' I want.”
“Layne—”
“We've already had this conversation, Daymon, and it makes me miserable to rehash it, so let's just drop it for good, okay? I—I don't love you.” She choked on the lie. It's only because of the Vale that I have those feelings. That's it; that's all of it. Any further thoughts, she wrangled into a choke hold and slammed her mental door on them.
Blue fire flashed in his eyes, and he stood stiffly, his face a bland mask. “Do you still want to go outside?” he inquired, his tone carefully polite.
“No.” Nausea twisted Alayne's stomach. All she wanted was to go to bed and sleep.
The chute door slid open to the hallway that led to the female sleeping quarters. Marysa and Jayme sat side by side on the floor. Marysa's black hair flopped against Jayme's shoulder, but she straightened when Alayne stepped through the opening. “Hi, Layne, we've been waiting for you.”
Alayne hesitated outside the chute doorway. “What did you need?” she asked warily. Jayme seemed calm enough, though his fingers played restlessly with each other.
“Nothing. That is, nothing much. Jayme says he's ready to talk to you, so I wanted to give you some time with him.” Marysa stood and brushed by Alayne, squeezing her arm gently on the way by. “I'll be back in a few minutes.”
After Marysa left, Alayne sucked in a deep breath and turned to Jayme. “Uh—you want to come in?” She opened the bedroom door and motioned to one of the chairs along the wall.
Jayme nodded, his gaze not quite meeting hers. His tall frame shrank the room as he entered it.
Alayne started toward the chair next to his, but he flinched, so she plopped on Marysa's bed. The silence pressed around them; Alayne felt the awkwardness grow as she waited. Finally, she took another deep breath. “Are you enjoying your time here?” That's a stupid question, Worth. Who would enjoy their time in this black pit of desolation while planning a battle for the lives of countless people all over CommonEarth?
“Passably.” A glimmer of Jayme's old easy-going grin peeked through, and Alayne suddenly laughed.
“I suppose Marysa helps pass the time?”
Jayme shrugged, but the hint of a smile was still there. The sight of it cheered Alayne more than she thought possible.
“She does fill up the gaps in conversation now and then.”
Alayne chuckled, but Jayme's face grew serious again.
“Al, listen. I know it's—awkward and stuff, me and Marysa, when you and I had—I mean, I know it happened, because I remember it, but there's just—a nothingness when I remember, and I wanted to say—I'm sorry. I feel like it's completely unfair to you.”
Alayne forced a smile. “It's nothing, Jay. Just—concentrate on right now, okay? You and Marysa. You're good together. She's always admired you.”
Relief flushed across Jayme's face. “Thanks, Al. That's—good of you.”
Alayne continued the stilted smile. He had plucked some of her heartstrings, and those feelings weren't easily forgotten, although she knew to leave them in the past. “It's not that good. But thanks for the compliment.”
Alayne glanced toward the door, hoping Marysa would charge through it to dispel the awkwardness, but it remained empty.
Jayme stood to go. A moment later, he turned back around. “Sometimes, Layne, I feel my mind tipping. It—it's like someone tries to stir it up without my permission. I don't think they can, because I'm not close enough, but Tarry and her militia had control of my mind for an entire year. They were close and comfortable with its structure. If they do succeed in re-Casting me, they'll be able to see through my eyes.”
Alayne stared at him, all speech gone.
“I plan to leave, Al.” “But—Marysa—”
“Doesn't know. A
nd don't tell her. I can't imagine the pain this will bring, but—it's for the best. If they found her through me—” Agony rippled across his face.
“Jayme, surely there's another way.”
“No.” He shook his head. “The Vale is the only sure protection from Casting, and obviously, I'm not its possessor.” He smiled ruefully at her.
“But—”
“Promise, Al. Don't tell Marysa. Or anyone.” His brown gaze met hers, warmth and energy still evident in its expression, though a deeper sadness shadowed its depths.
“Jay—”
He crossed the room in two swift strides and gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging in. “You can't tell her. I only told you so you would know if—if the worst happened. Please, Alayne.”
Alayne swallowed and slid her eyes shut. “I promise.”
“You promise what?” Marysa's cheerful voice whirled them both around. She glanced between them, questions pouring from her expression.
“I wanted her to promise that she would find out what happened to my uncle when she goes to battle.” Jayme's lie came so completely out of the blue that Alayne stared in astonishment at him.
“Your uncle?” Marysa raised an eyebrow. “You told me he was killed in a boating accident.”
“And so he was. But I wonder sometimes if it was an accident or something more.”
“You mean you think he was killed on purpose? But why didn't you say so? Do you think it would have had anything to do with Tarry?”
“It was just a thought I had. It's probably nothing.” Jayme walked toward the door, snagging Marysa's hand as he went. “Let's go.”
They walked down the hallway, Marysa's chatter resounding in Alayne's ears until the chute doors cut it off.
She sank onto Marysa's bunk again, her mind overwhelmed with everything that had happened that afternoon.
She could sympathize with Jayme's imprisoned feelings, his terror that he would lead the enemy to their door, but she hated the thought of his leaving. It would puncture Marysa's heart.
That night, she dreamed she huddled, frozen, on the mat in the dark tunnels beneath Clayborne, and the patter of rats' feet echoed on the stones.
Chapter 16
Manders called a meeting the next morning, an all-hands-on-deck gathering to discuss each person's role in the upcoming battle.
When Alayne emerged into the packed conference room, she spotted Marysa, Jayme, Rachyl, and Eryc at one end of the table near Manders. Daymon stood against the wall behind them. Dr. Lynch was there; Mr. Trent manned the MIUs on the conference table. She saw Bard, Kary, and a host of people Alayne recognized as spies, the rest of the Clayborne students, even Bryce Marshall.
That last one surprised Alayne. Manders had been tense and upset about Bryce's appearance in a strategy meeting earlier; she didn't understand why they needed to include him.
As she wove her way through people toward the opposite side of the conference room, she stood next to Daymon in the only open spot left. She caught his eye and tilted her head toward Bryce. “Why is he here? Manders doesn't trust him,” she whispered.
Daymon shook his head. “The meeting's for everyone at headquarters. My uncle's not going into deep strategy, because, as you say, some people can't be completely trusted. But we all need to know what we're doing.”
Alayne swallowed her reply as Manders called for order.
“Good morning, everyone.” He cleared his throat. “I've called this meeting as an informative session to let you all know what is happening on the front lines and what we can expect in the coming weeks. First, be assured that our time of secrecy is nearing an end. We will not have to hide in our headquarters for much longer.”
Bryce Marshall's voice from the far end of the table interrupted the quiet. “It's about time.”
Manders refused to acknowledge the comment. “Ms. Patel, if you would kindly give us a rundown of what the spy network has uncovered.”
A woman across from Manders stood, glancing down at a hand-held MIU that shot a miniature holographic list into the air. She smoothed her shining black hair. “Yes, sir. We sent a delegation of twenty Last Order operatives to Clayborne to discover any movements Tarry Shane Beckyr was making. She's amassed Elemental Alliance forces at the school, an estimated number upward of fifty-thousand. The landscape around the spire has changed; Capital Earth-Movers have arrived and have turned the place into mountainous, tree-covered acreage. We've gained word that reinforcements will arrive in the next weeks, likely doubling their numbers. We have no confirmation, but it is likely that the extra numbers will be filled in by the Alliance's captives from Cliffsides.”
Manders nodded, and Ms. Patel sat down, folding her MIU into her hand.
“Thank you, Ms. Patel. Mr. Trent, your other news?”
The dark-haired man switched on the central MIUs on the table, and holographic images of Clayborne appeared.
“As Ms. Patel stated, Tarry Shane Beckyr is planning to double her strength with her reinforcements from Cliffsides.” On the MIUs, the picture of Clayborne faded, and images of people began flashing through the air, each labeled with their names and their current status: Wynatte Family, Naturals, Four Children, Four, Six, Nine, Twelve. Syd Granler, Elemental, Twenty-Four. Jose and Sara Vasquez, Natural and Elemental, Fifty-six, Fifty-four. On and on the list went, underlining each picture.
Alayne's heart broke over the pictures of the wide-eyed, innocent gazes of the children.
Trent's words cut into her horror. “We weren't sure until our spies brought back confirmation, but the majority of those forces Tarry expects from Cliffsides are Shadow-Casted individuals, many of them former Clayborne students, a majority of them Naturals or Elementals from around the Continent who remain sympathetic to Naturals. Tarry Shane Beckyr has emptied NRCs nationwide and transported them to Cliffsides.”
Deep stillness settled over the room as the gravity of the situation took hold. Alayne glanced at Daymon. She had known that Tarry kept many Shadow-Casted fellow students in holding, quite possibly in Cliffsides, but—
“Tarry's a rat; she's vermin!” Marysa interrupted the quiet vehemently. “Using innocents as a protective front for her plans. There are children!” Her voice broke as another image of a dark-skinned little girl with wide, frightened black eyes peered seriously at the group from behind her mother's skirt.
“Yes,” Manders agreed quietly. “Tarry, and people like her, are what is wrong with this world, Marysa. She started out with good intentions—to rid the world of prejudice against those she loved. But she took it too far. In her quest to balance the power, she discovered her own lust for control, and the pendulum has swung full-tilt the opposite way. Now, she wants the Vale—to use it without inhibition.”
All gazes swung to Alayne where she huddled against the wall beside Daymon.
Alayne's lips tightened. “She'll have to take it from me, then. I'll never use it for her.”
Manders's mouth softened as his kindly gray eyes sparked over his glasses. “I hope never to have to put you in a position where you have to face that, Alayne.” He turned back to the group. “I need volunteers,” he announced.
Instant tension vibrated in the room. “The spy network has done a wonderful job of tracking Tarry's movements so that we can make an informed hypothesis about her battle strategy; however, I need two volunteers to intercept the Shadow-Casted army from Cliffsides as it makes its way north to Clayborne. Ms. Patel informs me that Kyle Pence has been assigned as leader of that particular effort. I need someone who is willing and able to get in there and upset the mission at all costs. Those people must be freed from their Casts; it is the only way that we'll be able to turn Tarry's numbers in our favor.”
Alayne searched the room. Kary nodded quietly to Bard; behind them, a short woman Alayne recognized as one of the newer Last Order spies opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Jayme interrupted the quiet whispers. “I'll go.”
“No!” Marysa and Alayne shouted sim
ultaneously. Marysa turned wide eyes to him, and Alayne caught her breath, shaking her head. “You can't,” she whispered.
Jayme caught her glance and mouthed three words: Here's my chance.
The conversation she'd had with him in her room spun back into startling focus. He'd planned to sneak out, to leave without saying goodbye, but here, in serendipitous form, was the perfect opportunity for him to leave with Manders's sanction and as a hero.
She shook her head slowly, but Jayme's attention slid from her to Marysa. He snagged Marysa's hand in his. “I can do it, Marysa; I know what I'm getting into.”
“Jayme, it's too dangerous, and you're still improving. What if—” Her eyes widened with a new horrific thought. “What if you're recaptured, and Tarry Shadow-Casts you again? Your mind wouldn't be able to take it; it would implode under the pressure.”
“I'm strong enough, Marysa, and I can—”
“I had been thinking two volunteers from the Last Order, Jayme,” Manders interrupted, his voice yanking everyone's attention back to him. His face was grave. “I hadn't planned on sending Clayborne students. Marysa is right; the mission holds a lot of danger for anyone untrained.”
“But I'm the right person for the job, Professor,” Jayme said, standing at the table in his eagerness. “I spent a year—an entire year, sir—beneath a powerful Cast, so I know what each one of those people are going through right now. They're trapped inside their own minds, and they can't get out. They know that they're prisoners, but they're unable to show it as they mindlessly follow what they're commanded to do. Untrained?” He spread his hands wide and glanced around the room. “Has anyone else in this room been Shadow-Casted? Ever? Do you know what it's like?”
“Do you know how to release a Casted person from a Caster?” Manders asked quietly.
Jayme glanced down. “I was released last year when Houser took Tarry far enough away that she could no longer maintain a hold over me, and there was no other Caster to take her place. If I can subdue the Casters—”
“A life-risking operation, Mr. Cross. Are you prepared for that?”
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