by CJ Brightley
The door opened and her head jerked upward. Colonel Grenidor and four different soldiers stood in the hallway. Grenidor entered and waved the soldiers to stay in the hallway. He left the door open, as if he did not fear any escape attempt. Aria struggled to her feet, leaning against the wall for support. Of course he doesn’t fear an escape attempt. I can barely stand up.
He stepped closer and looked down at her from arm’s length, studying her face. She tried to look up at him without looking afraid.
“Why would you help him?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Why?” He stepped away from her to pace thoughtfully. “If you know what he is, why would you help him? I assume you know. Perhaps that is an erroneous assumption.” He glanced at her, as if giving her an opportunity to interject.
She remained silent, and he continued, “I speak of the intruder last night, of course. The one who used you as a distraction while he attempted to infiltrate the secure area. You know him. What is he to you?” His voice remained cool, curious.
She sighed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He spun on his heel and stalked toward her, eyes hard on her face. “Do you not? I grow tired of your lies, Aislin, or whatever your name is. I have no interest in you. I am prepared to let you go without bringing charges against you. Except…” he let his voice soften as he walked away, then whirled back to bark, “Who is he?”
She swallowed and glanced around the room again. “I don’t know.” That was more or less true. He’d told her very little.
“But you know what he is.” His eyes remained on her face. “You know he isn’t human.”
She swallowed again. “Um.”
His eyes bored into her and she looked down. “Yes, you do. You know at least some of what he is. Do you know how many people he’s killed? Of course not. Foolish girl. You think because he has a pretty face he can be trusted. You think because he hasn’t harmed you yet, that he won’t.” He stepped back to look her over, his eyes running down her body. “You won’t be useful forever. Tell me his name. Tell me what he’s trying to do. And I’ll let you go.”
She pulled herself up and shifted her shoulders, wincing at the pain that shot down her arms. She didn’t have anything to say, but clenched her jaw and stared back at him. Why am I being defiant? I don’t owe Owen anything except perhaps pity.
He smiled at her, a small, sad smile. “Still loyal, aren’t you? For no reason you can define. He’s good at that, I hear. Inspiring loyalty.” He turned on his heel and walked out, and the door closed behind him with a click.
The lights stayed on. The hours passed. Her shoulders burned. Her eyes felt gritty and she dozed again, slumped in the corner with her head resting against the cold concrete wall. Her tongue grew thick and swollen from thirst. She wanted to cry, but was stubbornly unwilling to let him find her with tears on her face.
The line of light under the doorway flicked out, though the lights in her room did not. Night? Again? Later it came back.
The door opened at long last. Grenidor stood in the hallway flanked by soldiers. He entered and she pushed herself up, more weakly this time. The effort taxed her, and she leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath and stifle the whimpers that rose unbidden at the pain in her shoulders. Grenidor stopped at arms length and raised his right hand toward her. He held some sort of device, and he glanced from its small screen to her and back to the screen.
“Interesting,” he said at last.
“What?” It irritated her that her voice sounded so pathetic.
“How did you find it?” He pinned her with his eyes.
“Find what?”
He stalked closer, and she shrank back against the wall. “He told you, didn’t he? He removed it. This is problematic. It means I can’t release you, regardless of what you tell me.” He sighed, as if it bothered him.
“Why not? What are you talking about?”
He stared at the screen for a long moment. “What is your name?”
“Aislin.”
“Your real name.” His eyes flicked to her face.
“Aislin.”
He sighed, staring at her as if perplexed and saddened. “You’ll need water soon. It’s been almost two days. I hate to do it. You’re human, and that makes things different. But I need to know who he is and who he’s working with, and I can’t let you go back to him.” Then to the soldiers, “Transfer her to a solitary cell in Block 3. Give her no water until she tells me her name, his name, and those of any associates.”
“Yes, sir.”
The soldiers entered the room and pulled her forward. She stumbled along between them without resisting. What harm would it do to tell him?
The cell was much like the first room, the same color and shape, the same cold concrete. One of the soldiers stood in front of her for a long moment before they left. “Ma’am, are you ready to talk?” His voice was quiet and calm, devoid of feeling.
“No.”
He nodded and stepped out into the hallway, closing the heavy metal door behind himself. This room had a single metal bench bolted to the floor. She sat on it, staring at the floor near her feet. Truly, what harm would it do? I know so little, what harm can it do to tell him?
But they didn’t come back for hours. She slumped to one side on the bench and finally lay down, face pressed into the metal to take the pressure off her screaming shoulders. It didn’t work, and the position grew more uncomfortable until she struggled up again and slid to the floor in the corner.
She woke to the door opening.
Grenidor stood there again. He looked more rumpled this time, the uniform slightly less crisp. He pulled her to her feet, hands on her upper arms. His grip wasn’t cruel, but the touch woke her muscles to agony that brought tears to her eyes.
He stepped back. “Tell me. What’s your name? What’s his name? And who are you working with? I want names.”
She sniffled. “I want water first. And my hands free.”
Grenidor nodded to a soldier behind him. The soldier stepped forward and used wire cutters on the plastic handcuffs. The soldier looked at her for a long moment as she hunched forward, trying to hide the tears of pain. Everything in her arms burned as the blood flowed sluggishly through aching muscles and joints. She bent her elbows and hugged herself, wiped angrily at the tears that welled up.
“You’re horrible.” She finally looked up at Grenidor. “You’re a horrible person.”
The soldier handed her an open bottle of water, and she closed her eyes as she drank. The water tasted of plastic, but she didn’t care as it slid down her dry throat. She drank and drank, opening her eyes to shoot a reproachful glare at Grenidor. She emptied the bottle, the water cool and heavy in her empty stomach. She felt suddenly dizzy and almost stumbled. The soldier caught her arm, and she pulled away with an angry jerk.
“Names. Now.”
She sniffled again. “I’m Aria.”
“Aria what?”
“Aria Forsyth,” she muttered.
“And him?”
She swallowed. “Owen.”
“Owen what?”
“I don’t know.”
He reached out to grasp her chin and pull her face up to stare into her eyes. “What is his name?” His voice was low and angry.
“I don’t know!” She jerked away. “I don’t. He never said.”
“Who do you work with?”
“Nobody. We haven’t seen anyone. He hasn’t mentioned any names at all.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know!”
He frowned at her, gauging her honesty. She stood warily, shoulder blades against the wall. She wrapped her arms around herself again, muscles screaming with pain. She flexed her fingers, wincing, and he scowled suddenly.
“You are useless,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and ushered the soldiers out. One of them turned a quick, unreadable glance toward her before they closed the door and locked it again.
Thi
s time, she couldn’t keep her composure. She pounded on the door and screamed.
Her screaming didn’t last long, and she faded into sniffling sobs, slumped weakly against the metal door and finally to her knees on the cold floor. She bowed forward, resting her head on the floor. Her back and shoulders throbbed, she was still thirsty, and now her stomach felt both queasy with exhaustion and aching with hunger. She fell asleep curled on the floor near the door, arms around her head.
She woke with a start and scrambled back from the door. It clicked as it was unlocked and eased open, more slowly than before.
One soldier stood in the doorway. “Come with me.”
She swallowed. “Now what?” She tried to keep her voice confident, but it cracked.
He glanced at her face with a faint frown. “Can you walk?” He held out one white-gloved hand for her.
She hesitated, but grasped it, and he pulled her to her feet and steadied her when she swayed.
“Come,” he repeated. He kept one hand on her upper arm, firm but not harsh, and guided her out into the corridor, where he locked the door before leading her down the hall. He stopped at an intersection and looked around, then pushed her forward again.
“Where are we going?”
“Quiet.”
Even that answer gave her hope. If he wanted to be quiet, perhaps he wasn’t doing what he’d been instructed to do. She barely dared hope.
Down a stairway until they were perhaps one floor beneath ground level and through another long hall. Aria felt that the last week had been nothing but long concrete halls with metal doors. They walked to the end, then up another stairwell. This one went up five floors. She had to stop and catch her breath in the middle, dizzy with thirst and hunger, and the soldier waited with badly concealed impatience. At the top, she found herself facing another metal door.
The soldier opened it and guided her out. It was a clear twilight, the stars just beginning to show in the cold sky. Her coat had been left in Colonel Grenidor’s office days before, and Aria shivered, the wind cutting through her sweater and stealing away her pathetic warmth.
They were on a concrete walkway on the fourth floor some eighty feet from the perimeter wall. The soldier gave no signal that Aria noticed, but a thin cable sailed over the railing near them and tightened with a jerk. The soldier clipped a harness around Aria and pulled her upwards as he clipped it onto the cable.
“Over now.” He helped her climb over the railing, where she balanced on the edge precariously, gripping the cold metal railing with numb fingers.
She looked down into the indistinct blackness and her head whirled.
The soldier grasped her arms for a quick moment and put his face close, his cheek brushing against hers as he spoke into her ear. “Tell Owen my debt is paid.” With one quick movement, he pulled her hands off the railing and pushed her away.
She bit back a frightened shriek as she sailed through the air.
Strong arms caught her just before she would have crashed into the top edge of the wall. Aria felt dizzy and sick with exhaustion, and she wasn’t much help as Owen pulled her up and over the wall.
He breathed into her ear, “Put your foot here and hold on.” He bent to slip a loop of rope under her foot, then straightened again, holding onto her until she got her arms around his neck and shifted toward his back. She tried not to choke him, feeling awkward with her face and arms pressed against the hard muscles of his shoulders. His skin was cold, and when he turned his head, she felt the soft brush of his hair against her face. He tugged on the cable twice, and it loosened. He pulled it quickly across the lawn and up the wall, then dropped it to the ground below.
Her heart lurched into her throat when he descended. He wasn’t wearing a harness; he only held on with his bare feet and hands wrapped in the rope. He descended quickly, nearly a fall, but slowed at the bottom to let her land gently.
“Stand a moment.” His voice was only a breath in her ear, and he climbed again. The rope fell down, and he jumped, landing in a crouch beside her. He coiled the cable and put it over his shoulder, then looped the rope over it.
“Can you walk?”
She nodded, and he took her hand and led her away, slipping silently away from the wall. But in less than a block, she stumbled, her head spinning. He caught her up with one arm behind her shoulders and the other behind her knees and quickened his steps to a soundless jog. Her head jostling against the cool hardness of his chest, she felt suddenly as if she must be dreaming. It all feels so unreal. This must be a dream. Not exactly a nightmare, because if so, I should have woken sometime while I was still imprisoned. You wake up when you’re terrified, right? I was terrified, and I should have woken up. But something unreal, certainly.
After some length of time she could not determine, he opened a door and went into a darkened building. Her eyes were closed, but she had the feeling of a small, closed space, and then another door into a slightly larger room.
He let her down gently onto a blanket folded on the floor to make a pallet, then knelt in front of her. He lit an oil lantern and she blinked. The space appeared to be a bookstore, with shelves lining the walls and forming aisles.
“What do you need?” His eyes met hers.
She swallowed, her tongue thick in her mouth. “Water.” She hated that her voice sounded like a croak. But then she rearranged the thought and felt angry with him. “Did you know? Did you know what he’d do?” She tried to rise, and he caught her wrists with his cool, strong hands.
“Sit. I’ll bring you water. Wait.” He waited until she nodded before he stood, graceful as a cat.
In a moment, he reappeared with three bottles of water. He opened one of them for her, then he disappeared again, coming back into the tiny circle of light with a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, a pack of fresh raspberries, and a plastic box of fresh spinach. He knelt again and opened the spinach, berries, and bread, then began cutting the cheese into neat cubes with his knife.
Aria drank, too intent on the water to voice her anger. Or whatever she felt. Anger, curiosity, relief, fear, all mingled together into a hysterical jumble that finally overflowed into tears. She leaned forward and covered her face with her hands, shuddering. After a long moment, she felt one cool hand resting on her shoulder.
She raised her head to sniff and wipe at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He arranged the cheese cubes in a line on the plastic top of the spinach container. “I owe you an apology. I did not expect they would arrest you.”
“Why did they?”
“I believe either Colonel Grenidor or others noticed that you had no tracker. The guards at the gate did not have the sensors; it would have been someone at a higher security level inside the facility. It seems Colonel Grenidor has become more suspicious of late.”
She hunched forward, holding the water bottle tightly in one hand while she reached for the cheese. “I think he hates you.”
“I imagine so.” Owen did not seem surprised, and she wondered at that. “I had some unexpected difficulties and was detected earlier than anticipated. I am sorry you suffered for it.”
She sat up, catching his eye. “Are you? Can I believe you? He didn’t say exactly. But he gave me this story about the ancestor spirits someplace that cut the hearts out of this tribe.” She felt hysteria rising again and bit back a sob.
She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Breathe, girl. Breathe. It’s over, and you’re safe. More or less. With a heart-eating inhuman thing that rescued you from a man who might be any Revolution hero. This is so confusing.
“He wanted to know your name,” she continued. “And mine. And who you were working with.” She watched his face.
“What did you say?” His face showed nothing, as neutral an expression as she’d ever seen.
“Nothing at first. After three days? I think it was three days of no water, I gave up. I said you were Owen, I was Aria Forsyth, and I didn’t know any associates. Also, I didn’t know where you
were.”
“’Tis little harm. They’ll know your name and that you’re not dead, and that you were helping me, but they would figure that out eventually anyway.” He pushed the raspberries toward her. “Eat.”
She stared at him. “So, was it worth it?”
“Eat.”
“Did you find out anything useful? Because I hated it, but I’d hate it even more if it was pointless.”
“Yes. I thank you.” He rose and stepped back from the light. “Stay here and rest. I will return. There is a restroom through that door. Go nowhere else.”
She wanted to scowl at him, but he was already gone.
She woke to his touch on her shoulder.
“Are you well?” He knelt beside her.
She sat up, rubbing crust from her eyes and nodding. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep.
“There is someone here you should meet.” He looked up into the darkness beyond the lamplight and she followed his gaze.
A boy stepped closer to stand just inside the circle of light. He studied her with cautious eyes, lips pressed together. He glanced at Owen for a long moment, then back at her. He was barefoot, and his clothes were ragged. Deep blue bruises edged by green topped by angry red marks circled both wrists and ankles. Aria’s wrists were irritated by the plastic handcuffs, but the slight chafing she’d suffered seemed trivial in comparison. He was painfully thin, with dark circles under his blue eyes. She swallowed. Who was this child? He appeared to be perhaps eight or ten, but if he was Fae, that guess meant little. His skin shone ghostly pale, and dark hair fell into his eyes.
He made a gesture with one hand and shook his head at Owen.
Owen said something, and she looked at him in surprise, her mouth dropping open. That must be one of the Fae dialects. The language reminded her of a mountain stream, flashing in the sunlight. It sounded old, somehow, but also as fresh as spring, unhindered by the passing of time.
The boy shook his head again, this time with a plea in his eyes and an unhappy set to his mouth. He looked from her to Owen and his shoulders dropped.
