by Mary Fan
At least I know I’m certainly not in love with him—how could I be, after one night?—and I know better than to pin my hopes of a happily ever after on him. That’s a step up from the Juliets and Cinderellas. My infatuation with him is no different from my old crush on Brent—and just as meaningless.
The door to a nearby dorm building opens. A pair of security bots emerges. Alfred Winters, Concertmaster of the Orchestra’s main ensemble, walks between them, surrounded by a yellow hologram. I’m confused for a moment, then realize it must be his twenty-first birthday. He’s too old to remain at Papilio.
He keeps his head held high, and the way the sun splashes across his mahogany features makes him look like a heroic statue. But his stony expression betrays him.
Shock and disbelief anchor my gaze to him. How is the Concertmaster aging out? His ranking’s never been below 200.
Then again, he never made it much higher than 200 either. I’ve heard it said that it’s better to start low and keep improving than to float consistently with a good-but-not-good-enough number. Especially if Papilio promotes you as a rising star, as they did with Alfred. Though he’s a strong violinist, I always found his solos to be labored—technically correct, but lacking the natural charm of a performer like Brent.
If even the Concertmaster can age out, what chance is there for me?
“Al!” Caroline, Alfred’s wife, rushes past me. She throws her arms around him and kisses him deeply, her dark locks spilling over her face.
A security bot places its metal appendage on her shoulder. “Miss, please do not interfere with protocol.”
“Give me a moment, for Creator’s sake!” She shakes herself free, then wraps her fingers around Alfred’s.
Alfred places his other hand on her pregnant belly. “Just take care of our baby. I’ll be fine.”
Is this what happened to my parents fourteen years ago, when my father aged out? Did he hide his despair as well as Alfred’s doing? Did my mother weep as Caroline’s weeping now? I was a year old when Ronan Lei left… Did my mother hold me up for one last kiss? Did I cry for reasons I didn’t understand?
I can’t watch as a security bot grips Caroline’s wrist and rips her hand out of his. She says over and over that she’ll find a patron and take care of him from Adrye.
My parents. My family. This could have been us.
I swallow a lump in my throat. Hearing a giggle behind me, I whirl to see who would laugh at a time like this.
Kiki watches Alfred leave with visible glee. Beside her, a smirk of satisfaction contorts Brent’s handsome face into something hideous. Along with being the leader of the Pit, he’s also the main ensemble’s Assistant Concertmaster. That means he’s about to inherit Alfred’s position. Good for him, I suppose, but does he have to be so smug about it?
I turn away with disgust and continue toward the rehearsal hall, wondering how I ever found him attractive.
Vera slams her cane against the floor. “You’re rushing again! Play from measure ninety-six.”
I struggle not to scowl. I thought the slight accelerando I added to the end of the phrase emphasized Butterfly’s emotions spiraling out of control, but if Vera disagrees, then it probably sounds out of rhythm. I position my viola, count out a beat, and try the run again.
Instead of letting my fingers fly, I hold back and pay attention to every single note. When I finish, I look to Vera for a reaction.
Vera nods. “Better. But listening to you, I can tell you have no idea what ‘Butterfly’s Lament’ is about. Before tomorrow, I want you to go to the library and look up the song’s history and the story that inspired it.”
I grit my teeth. “Yes, ma’am.”
Vera frowns. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s just that I know what ‘Butterfly’s Lament’ means.”
“Oh?”
“Yes!” Too frustrated to hold back, I say, “I was being expressive, but then you told me I was rushing, so I held back. Now you’re telling me I’m too precise! What do you want from me?”
Vera crinkles her forehead. “You have to be both in time and expressive. Jianguo Shan didn’t rush that passage.”
“Maybe, but he definitely sped up the reprise.”
“Yes, it’s acceptable to speed up there.”
“Why? Because he did?” My frustration threatens to spill out into a long string of complaints, and I do my best to restrain myself. Vera was once an Artist herself—she should understand what it’s like to take a piece and make it your own. Yet she’s insisting that I imitate someone else’s performance. “Why can’t you let me play like me?”
Vera gives me a stern look. “That’s enough. Shan’s performance was a definitive moment for the viola as a solo instrument, and a fifteen-year-old student has no right to challenge his legacy. You have ten days to make this piece worthy of Master Raucci’s ears. I suggest you make the most of them.”
Her hologram flickers out, leaving me with no way to argue. Annoyed, I go to stow my viola away.
As I kneel beside my case, I feel a presence enter my room.
“Iris? May I come in?”
The sound of Dámiul’s voice brings an excited smile to my lips. Two whole days passed without any sign of him, and I was beginning to wonder if he’d decided he’d seen enough of Papilio—and of me. “Yes, of course.”
Dámiul’s hologram appears. “I wanted to return earlier, but… I couldn’t.”
“Where were you?”
“Occupied.”
What does that mean? From the shortness of his words, I can tell he doesn’t want to elaborate. If I pry, he’d probably just think me rude. I slide my bow into its place and close the lid of my case. The frustration Vera stirred continues churning in my chest.
“Is something the matter?” Dámiul asks.
“Just a bad coaching session.”
“What happened?”
“My coach wants me to be something I’m not. I know she’s supposed to know best, but I wish she’d listen to me once in a while. Everything here is so controlled, and I thought my one freedom lay in my instrument. But it looks like even that’s supposed to bow down to someone else’s will.” Frustrations upon frustrations bubble up, and words spill out of my mouth seemingly of their own accord. “Performers can’t judge their own performances. We’re playing for the audience, not ourselves, and they’re the ones who decide if we’re any good or not. That makes us slaves to their will, and they don’t care that I’m pouring all my time and effort into entertaining them.”
It hits me that I’ve just confessed to someone who’s practically a stranger, and heat fills my cheeks. I’m glad my hair’s fallen over my face, blocking Dámiul from my view.
I catch a holographic glow and realize he’s right beside me. My embarrassment deepens. “I’m sorry.”
“You have every right to be angry.” Dámiul’s voice is low. “They do make you slaves—to your Arts, and ultimately, to them.”
His words ignite a defensive flame within me. That’s what Phers said, but at least Phers knows what it’s like to be one of us. What right does Dámiul have to speak like that?
I look over at him. “No matter how hard things get, I’m grateful to be here.”
Dámiul kneels beside me, fierceness sparking behind his eyes. “Doesn’t it bother you how little control you have over your own life?”
“Sometimes. But I’d rather be at Papilio than anywhere else. I’ve seen what it’s like for those who don’t have this opportunity, and I know how lucky I am.”
“I’m glad you’re happy.” Dámiul’s expression once again takes on that strange, melancholy tint I can’t interpret.
What are you hiding? I wonder.
“I don’t mean to be secretive.” Dámiul seems to have read the question in my eyes. “But what I know would put you in danger.”
“What does that mean?”
“I can’t say. Please, just trust me.”
It occurs to me that he’s keeping his
secrets for a very good reason: to keep me safe. If he revealed his knowledge to me, and those who run Papilio found out, they’d destroy me.
Abrupt fear grips my heart, and I shudder. “I believe you.”
Dámiul’s brows gather with a mix of puzzlement and surprise. Then, his jaw sets, and he looks away.
The fear fades from my mind. Without it, I realize how strange my thoughts and reaction were. I’ve feared being expelled, but I’ve never been scared of the school—not the way I was just now.
Dámiul turns back to me. “Remember when I showed you what I was thinking?”
“Of course.”
“Many Adryil simply take over Earthling minds and bend them to their will.” His eyes flash. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”
I give him a puzzled look. “But that’s a crime.”
“Some people think they’re above the law,” he says dryly. “You mustn’t speak of this to anyone here. If Papilio found out you were making the Ka’risil doubt their future patrons, they’d send you away. But I want you to be prepared. The Adryil sometimes try to impose their thoughts on each other, so we’re taught from an early age to control our minds, although…” He trails off. “The skills are the same for both our kinds. Will you let me teach you?”
I don’t know whether to believe him. The Adryil wouldn’t try to control our minds when doing so would violate interstellar treaties, would they? Then again, our government surrounded Earth with telepathy-blocking satellites because they didn’t trust the Adryil to stay true to the agreements. Maybe I should take a cue from them. “All right.”
Some of the tension leaves Dámiul’s face. “I’m going to impose a thought on you to show you what it’s like. Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
I suddenly realize how horrifying the possibility of being brainwashed by the Adryil is. Why would I hesitate to accept Dámiul’s offer? I must learn to block my mind now, because otherwise, the Adryil could erase everything I am, leaving only my skills and a few impersonal memories behind. I’d lose my free will.
The horror subsides. I look up at Dámiul, wondering what he’s waiting for. “Are we beginning now? We should hurry.”
“That was it,” Dámiul says. “I just projected my fears into your mind.”
Those were his thoughts? My face grows cold. I was so sure they came from my own mind. I… I thought them myself.
Dámiul leans toward me. “This is where the danger lies: Earthlings can almost never tell the difference between their own thoughts and an Adryil’s. The more often an Adryil infiltrates an Earthling’s mind, the harder it becomes for the Earthling to recognize the brainwashing.”
“That’s horrible.” I’m still reeling from the fact that my thoughts were actually someone else’s. I’d expected something more obvious, like when I felt Dámiul’s presence.
“I’ve done it before.” Dámiul sounds nervous. “When you thought the Zexa device might be a weapon. I used my telepathy to calm you.”
I remember that day. At the time, I’d thought it was my own instinct. And my inclination to trust him, was that a false thought, too? I shake my head in disbelief.
“I wanted you to know I’d never hurt you.” His voice is tense. “And… I did it again, just a few minutes ago, when I was telling you that what I know is dangerous.”
“When you asked me to trust you?” I think back to the sudden, strange fear that gripped me and the unquestioning way I believed him. No wonder those thoughts felt strange—they weren’t mine.
“It was an accident. I knew you had more questions that I couldn’t answer, and I was looking for a way to dissuade you from pursuing them.” His words rush. “Even when we don’t mean to, the Adryil can use their telepathy to persuade others. To us, it’s as natural as talking. Had you been trained as I have, you would have known right away that the thoughts were an invasion. That’s why I’m telling you about all this now. I swear, Iris, I won’t do it again.”
I wish I could believe him, but what if he’s planting this desire in me? I stand and back away, fear creeping into my heart. Even this thought, this one, could be because of him. I stare at him, trembling, still unable to believe what he’s capable of.
Dámiul looks at the floor, gloom covering his face. For a full minute, neither of us speaks.
“If you want to deactivate the Zexa device, all you have to do is press the center and hold it down for ten seconds.” He stands but keeps his gaze on the ground. “I won’t be able to return, and you’ll be safe from me forever. I’ll go now.” His hologram flickers.
“Wait!” The cry bursts from my lips, and my hand instinctively reaches out to grab his, but my fingers go right through the light.
Dámiul’s hologram steadies, and he gives me a questioning look. I withdraw my hand, feeling idiotic for trying to hold onto someone who isn’t really here.
“I don’t want you to leave.” That’s all I can come up with. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing my connection to him before, and now that I’ve met him, the feeling is even stronger. He’s my one link to the world beyond Papilio. Possibly the only link I’ll ever have to Adrye. This thought must be mine, because it’s how I felt even in his absence.
Dámiul tilts his eyebrows apologetically. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I know.”
A pause. “How do you know?”
What does that mean? I bite my lip, searching for an answer. “I just do. It’s something deeper than reason, something I can’t really explain. It’s…” I trail off, looking for another way to say what I mean. “It’s like how I feel the music I play, on a level mere pitch and rhythm can’t explain.”
“Good. That’s what’s you need to focus on to separate your thoughts from mine. Are you ready to begin?”
I take a moment to gather my thoughts, reminding myself that I alone know who I am and what I’m thinking. No matter what external forces try to influence me, there’s always that kernel of truth within a person, something that’s always consistent, even if it’s not obvious.
This time, I’ll remember it’s inside me.
CHAPTER 10
MY MIND IS BLANK. COMPLETELY blank. It’s just me and the darkness—nothing else. I should go to my closet and wrap my red scarf around my head. It would look particularly nice if I stuck some feathers in it as well. Maybe I can pluck some from my yellow boa—what? I don’t even own a red scarf, much less a feather boa! That thought isn’t mine.
The urge to create an absurd headdress fades, and I grimace at the fact that I even considered it.
Dámiul lifts the corner of his mouth. “Well done. I think we’re ready to move on to subtler suggestions.”
“That wasn’t so bad.” I sink into my chair, and heaviness weighs down on my shoulders. “I never thought it’d be so exhausting, though.”
“It gets easier with time.”
I glance at the time on my monitor. It’s well past the hour I said I’d give Dámiul. But we’ve come so far since yesterday, and I don’t want him to leave just yet. “How long did it take you to learn?”
“I’m still learning.” Dámiul closes his eyes, and a holographic chair appears beside mine. He takes a seat. “It’s one of those things you have to keep working at, or you’ll lose what you have.”
“I guess it’s a bit like the Arts.”
“Yes, except the Arts are about beauty, and this is about defending something you shouldn’t have to defend.” Darkness clings to both his voice and the look in his eyes.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
I gaze at his face. In the short amount of time I’ve spent with him, I’ve seen so much rage and intent, determination and curiosity, and behind it all, a deep well of melancholy. I’ve never known anyone whose expressions and tones could hold so much while saying so little.
He glances at me, and his eyebrows come together with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s just… I do
n’t know anything about you.”
“There’s not much to know.”
I should drop my questions. There’s nothing interesting about someone so ordinary, even if he’s Adryil. The mind training is far more important, and I should concentrate on that.
No, those aren’t my thoughts. I throw Dámiul an annoyed look. “Nice try.”
He gives me a slight grin. “You’re a fast learner.” He pauses. “Someday, I’ll tell you more about my life on Adrye, but right now, it’s more important that we continue your training. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep communicating like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“My government’s sending me away. I don’t know exactly when, but it won’t be long. Before I go, I want to know that you’re safe.”
“What?” I feel as if the floor dropped beneath me, sending me tumbling down a rabbit hole of confusion. “Where are you going? When will you be back?”
“I don’t know if I’ll return.” His jaw tightens. “And I’m afraid I can’t say where I’m going.”
I glance at his black jacket, the one so reminiscent of a military uniform. “Are you in the army? Are they sending you to war?”
“Please, Iris, I can’t talk about it.” His voice is hard, but not with anger. It sounds more akin to fear, or maybe pain. “I don’t want to lie to you, but I can’t tell you any more. My government doesn’t want certain information reaching Earthlings like you, and they’re not kind to those who know things they shouldn’t.”
And they’d punish the person who spilled their secrets. I bite the inside of my cheek. My best guess is that Dámiul is part of some kind of classified government program, and that they’re going to send him on a dangerous assignment. When people break the law on Earth, our government sends them to work in the most perilous parts of the world and do the jobs no one else wants. I wonder if that’s what’s happening to Dámiul, if he’s being sent away because he trespassed on Earthling property. But that’s hardly a crime worth a death sentence. Even the harshest government wouldn’t do that, would they?
