by Mary Fan
“If we were anywhere else…” Milo’s expression hardens. “It doesn’t matter if I love my Art. Numbers and reputations are all that count. It’s time to cut my losses. You’re not going to change my mind, so you should just go.”
Does he realize what he’s saying? If Milo drops out, I’ll barely see him anymore. “What about me? What about Sabina? How can you leave us?”
“Sabina will get a new partner soon enough. As for you…” Milo turns away, angling himself so I can’t see his face. “I can’t be the person you want me to be. I’m pretty damn worthless.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’re family to me, and I love you.” I reach toward him, but he steps back.
“Come see me now and then. I won’t be hard to find.” He turns toward Phers’s door. His face has become an inscrutable mask, and I’m at a loss as to how to answer.
I should say something. There must be a way to convince him to come back. He said it himself—he loves ballet. It’s Papilio’s system that’s getting to him. I should have seen it. If I had, maybe I could have been there when he needed me. How could I have been so blind?
Milo enters Phers’s room, shutting the door behind him. I stare in silence. I should go after him—drag him out of this place and shove him back where he belongs. But if he won’t listen to me, then all my pushing won’t do any good.
Still, Sabina said he’s been returning before curfew. That means part of him still wants to stay at Papilio. It’s possible that between now and this evening, whatever kept him from burning his bridges before will bring him back again. I’ll return tonight, armed with actual arguments. Right now, my brain seems too paralyzed to come up with anything convincing. Maybe if I bring Sabina, the two of us can convince him.
But what if the pressure’s really too much? I recall Estelle’s panic attack; she looked like someone had snapped her mind in half. Maybe Milo’s afraid something like that will happen to him. Or maybe it already did, and he didn’t tell me.
Dried weeds crunch beneath my boots as I walk down the street, which seems haunted by the ghosts of fallen dreams. Surely, this can’t be where he was meant to end up—or anyone, for that matter. Yet for most Papilians, this is their future.
A flame ignites within me, and I clench my fists. Milo was right—we’re all trapped. They give us two choices: do as they say or rot in the tenements. There’s no space for anything else in this bleak world.
Dámiul said they drive us to desperation so they’ll get better performances. Now, I understand why that made him so angry. If this place weren’t so relentless, maybe Milo wouldn’t be so miserable.
How would I change things if I could? Is it even possible? Or are we all cursed by the very things that motivate us? Take away patrons and rankings and Spectacles, and I would still cling to my viola, searching for a way to show the world what I can do. The music commands me, and I’m helpless to resist.
I reenter Papilio, stopping briefly to let a security bot confirm my identity, then head back to my dorm.
When I reach my hallway, I find the door to my room open. Surprised, I dash forward and catch the doorframe, swinging inside. Two security bots wheel around, rummaging through my drawers. A minder’s hologram stands between them, watching them with a severe expression.
I approach tentatively. “What’s going on, sir?”
The minder turns toward me. “Estelle Carver filed a formal complaint against you, stating that you poisoned her prior to the last Spectacle.”
My jaw drops. “She’s lying!”
“That may be, but all complaints must be investigated.” The minder’s eyes relax. “Look, if you didn’t do anything, you have nothing to worry about. We’re not here to entrap you.”
I nod. They can turn my room inside out—they won’t find any poisons here.
One of the security bots flashes a hologram that says: “Clear. No contraband found.”
“Good,” the minder says. “Search her person.”
My heart jumps. The Zexa device is in my pocket. I turn to run, hoping I can get away long enough to hide the device.
A metal rope wraps around me, pinning my arms to my sides. I scream and stumble to the ground. The rope coils, forcing me to turn around, then pulls me to my feet.
I struggle to escape. “Let me go!”
“It’s not going to hurt you.” The minder sounds exasperated.
Lines of green light shoot out of the rope binding me. I keep twisting, trying to find a way to free myself.
“Object detected in subject’s pocket,” the bot says in a mechanical monotone. A small claw extends from its side.
I can’t stop it—its grasp is too tight. I squeeze my eyes as the claw reaches into my pocket.
“What’s that?” the minder asks.
“Unknown Adryil technology.” The bot keeps its rope coiled around me.
I open my eyes, clenching my jaw to keep my voice from quivering. “I can explain—”
“Don’t.” The minder’s sharp voice stops my words. “You are in illegal possession of alien technology. The school is obligated to turn you over to the local authorities.” He turns to the machine holding me. “Bot A-Fifty-Three, bring the subject inside and keep her confined to her room. Bot A-Fifty-Four, take the contraband to the Security Center.”
Both machines beep with acknowledgement. The second bot takes the Zexa device—my one connection to Dámiul—from the first.
“You can’t!” I writhe within the first bot’s rope. “I—”
“Save your breath.” The minder’s hologram disappears.
The rope around me pulls forward. The bot drags me into my room. The second bot retracts its claw, and the Zexa device disappears into its metal body.
Without that machine, I’ll never see Dámiul again. Any chance, any hope of even a goodbye is gone. I’ll surely be expelled for having it. I’ll probably be jailed too—maybe for the rest of my life. A painful mix of dread and misery strangles my lungs, suffocating me. I’ve lost Dámiul, I’ve lost my music, and I’ve lost my future.
I’ve lost everything.
CHAPTER 17
LESS THAN AN HOUR HAS passed since the last time I was in Dogwood, and yet here I am again, but this time in the severe interrogation room of the police station. When Mistress Medina first appeared in my room and told me I was to be sent here for questioning, I thought I’d be dragged out as Dámiul was. Thankfully, they let me walk, escorted by two security bots. I felt all the eyes in Dogwood watching me as they marched me to the station.
I expected to be intimidated by the officer they sent to question me, but instead, I find myself facing a kind-eyed woman with a loose bun that looks like spun sugar.
“Hello, Iris.” She leans her elbows on the metal table between us. “I’m Officer Klassen. Do you know why you’re here?”
I nod tensely, expecting that any moment, she’ll tear away her sheep’s mask, revealing the wolf beneath.
“Where did you get the alien device?” Her voice remains silky. “Did you find it on campus after the Adryil intruder broke in?”
I don’t want to tell her that I spoke with Dámiul because if word got back to his planet, that could get him in trouble. But I don’t have to lie completely either. “Yes, ma’am. It was wedged into one of the sculptures on the Wall of Glory. I… was curious. I’m sorry. I know I should have turned it in.”
“Did you know what it was for?”
“No, ma’am. I couldn’t read the Adryil symbols.”
“Understandable. Did you do anything with it while it was in your possession?”
“All I did was carry it around.”
Officer Klassen smiles. “Like a talisman?”
“Something like that.”
“And it never activated? Never made any sounds or displayed any lights?”
“Never.” I twist my fingers under the table, but the lie is calm on my tongue.
“Good.” Her lips remain curved, and there’s a trace of satisfaction on t
hem. But not the malicious kind Estelle displayed after the audition. A contented kind, as if I’m giving exactly the answers Officer Klassen wanted.
That confuses me, especially considering how sternly Mistress Medina spoke the night Dámiul was captured. I thought an officer of the law would be harsher.
I expect her to ask further questions, but instead, she stands and says, “Wait here.” She leaves, closing the door behind her.
Time ticks by, though I have no way of telling how much. As I wait, my mind fills with thoughts of Dámiul. He’s the reason I’m here. This must be what he feared would happen, why he kept insisting that I keep his presence a secret.
I should resent him for putting me in this position, but I don’t. Neither do I regret encountering him. I can’t believe I’ll never see him again, never look into his luminous eyes and marvel at all the secrets they hold. If only I’d had a chance to say goodbye. If only I knew he was all right. No matter how many times I tell myself to stop worrying, I can’t dismiss the strange weakness that weighed down on him the last time we met. Or forget that he might have been sent on a secret, possibly dangerous assignment, and I’ll never know what became of him. I’ll spend the rest of my life with a part of myself missing, with no way to ever get the answers that could fill the chasm Dámiul left behind.
A wave of grief rolls over me. What if he hasn’t left yet and tries to contact me, only to receive silence in response? Would he think I abandoned him?
A light appears and flickers into the holographic form of Mistress Medina. She stands on the other side of the table with her hands clasped behind her. “I’m disappointed, Iris. I told you to come to me if you found anything related to the Adryil intruder, and yet you concealed what you discovered.”
“I’m sorry.” Anxiety snakes through me, and I brace myself for the inevitable. She’s going to tell me I’m expelled, and it will take all my self-control not to break down in tears.
“Fortunately, aside from this incident, you’ve been a model student.” Mistress Medina’s tone is matter-of-fact. “While you are guilty of illegal possession of Adryil technology, the fact that you did nothing more than possess it mitigates the severity of your crime. The Papilio School has worked out a deal for you with the Township of Dogwood. Taking your youth and clean background into account, the authorities have agreed that the most suitable punishment is a fine. The school will pay on your behalf, and the amount will be added to your student debt, to be paid back along with your tuition and other routine costs.”
I look up, startled. “You’re not expelling me?”
“Not at this time.” Mistress Medina leans down toward me. “Make no mistake: You committed a serious offense. But the school has invested a great deal in your education, and given your recent success, it would be a shame to waste your potential. However, you are to be confined to your room, with the only exceptions being for rehearsals.”
So that’s it then. I get the same punishment as Eva D’Antonio, who cost Abigail Fleming her ability to dance. Meanwhile, Estelle, who cost me Dámiul and could have cost me my future, will get away with everything she did.
A hint of relief winds through me, but it’s so entangled in a million other things that I find little gladness in it. I’m only getting a second chance because I’m highly ranked, and it bothers me that so much hinges on a number beneath my name.
Mistress Medina tells me to wait for the security bots that will escort me back to my dorm, then flickers out. I bury my face in my hands. I should be happy that I get to keep my place in the school, that one of my dreams, at least, has been returned to me.
Yet that only throws into relief how deep the crater left by the other one remains. My hard work and a stroke of luck saved my future career. But no amount of effort will bring Dámiul back to me, and that feeling of helplessness makes my eyes burn.
I glance up at the ceiling. Beyond it lies the sky, and beyond that, the infinite abyss of space. If I had wings, I’d do as Butterfly did, even if it meant sharing her ultimate fate. Around and around I’d fly, not caring how many pieces of myself I lost on the way.
The melody of Butterfly’s Lament winds through my head. I spend half my life creating such tragedies. Through my instrument, I must have woven a thousand sorrowful tales—through the Opera’s weeping arias, through the Ballet’s despairing dances, through the Orchestra’s wordless cries of profound desolation. I find beauty in sadness when it’s happening to others in a world disconnected from my own. There’s a strange fascination that comes with seeing an inescapable shade loom over the characters. Each time I lend my Art to another saga of anguish—or even when I’m just watching—I find myself adoring the suffering of fictional people. Perversely enough, I know I’d be disappointed if they escaped their dismal fates.
I’ve heard it said that tragedy brings out the true and the pure, and that’s why people find it lovely. But it’s not so beautiful when it’s real, when I’m cast in the role of the mournful heroine, torn from the one my heart cries out for, feeling the shadows of fate close in around me. I want to fight my way free. I want to claw and kick and scream until I find my way out of this miserable story.
But I won’t. There’s no deus ex machina that will save me. And I can’t help wondering whether, if someone were watching my life unfold on stage, they’d applaud at the tears spilling from my eyes.
I swipe my finger across the hologram projected from my watch, rereading the praise from the reviewers who saw me at the last Spectacle.
“An astounding performance by a gifted youngster.”
“Brilliantly expressive and technically sound.”
“Iris Lei is a force to be reckoned with.”
I hoped seeing their praise would make me want to play again. Picking up my viola would be the best way to get my mind off Dámiul.
I flop over on my bed. This isn’t helping. Only a few minutes have passed since Security brought me back to my room, but it feels like much longer.
A buzzing sound. I ignore it. I’m in no shape to talk to anyone.
The buzzing, again. I barely hear it through the dullness in my mind. For lack of anything better to do, I bring up my Linx profile. A green 12 sits under my name. At least my arrest didn’t affect anyone’s opinion of me as an Artist.
More buzzing, this time accompanied by banging against the door. There’s only one person who would be that insistent. I don’t want Milo to see me like this, but I don’t want him to think I don’t care about him either. Especially after the despair I saw during our last encounter.
I force myself to sit up. “Enter.”
The door slides open. Milo walks in, and I go to greet him.
“What took you so long?” He gives me a forced smile, which quickly falls. “I saw them take you into the station, then heard about what happened. Don’t worry—patrons don’t give a shit about disciplinary records. They only care about your talents.”
“I know.” I quirk my lips. “I’m fine.”
“Come on, I know that’s not true. You looked like you were about to fall to pieces.” Milo puts a hand on my arm. “Please, Iris, you can tell me anything.”
I won’t be able to keep lying. I’m having a hard enough time holding in my tears. The only reason I didn’t tell Milo about Dámiul before was because Dámiul was afraid the school would find out.
Well, that’s not a problem anymore.
“I haven’t been honest with you.” I collapse in my chair. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t tell you before. I wanted to, but… he made me promise not to.”
“Who?” Milo leans against my desk.
“Dámiul.” His name brings a slight smile to my lips. Speaking in a whisper in case the minders are watching, I recount how he contacted me and how we communicated through the Zexa device. I even confess that I met up with him at the Wintertime Masquerade, and that he’s probably the reason I made it through my solo at the Spectacle.
When I finish, Milo lets out a low whistle. “I can’t
believe you had all that going on, and I had no idea. Breaking all those rules… that’s pretty badass.” He gives me a playful smirk. “Sounds like you really liked this Adryil.”
I nod slowly.
“It never bothered you that he’s one of them?”
I shake my head. Honestly, I never really thought about him that way. To me, Dámiul’s just Dámiul, a person like me. That he’s from a different star system made him intriguing, yet there was far more familiar about him than strange.
Milo’s expression turns somber. “You miss him, don’t you?”
The aching in my heart becomes acute, and I look away. “Do you know why I played ‘Butterfly’s Lament’ so well? It’s because I kind of meant it.” I feel a hand on my shoulder and look over to see Milo standing beside me.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Thanks for listening.”
Milo crouches by my chair and peers into my face. “Hey.” He lifts the corner of his mouth. “I’m no alien prince, but if it’s any comfort, I’m still here. I guess you get me as a consolation prize.”
I can’t help returning his smile. “You’re not a consolation prize.”
A gust of air blasts toward me, and I whirl toward it. A security bot stands in the doorframe. I barely have time to acknowledge its presence before it projects its yellow hologram around me. “Iris Lei, you are wanted in the office.”
I blink in confusion. The school’s authorities just sent me back here—why would they summon me again? Unless…
Coldness envelops me as I realize a minder must have heard me telling Milo about Dámiul. That means Papilio knows I lied to Officer Klassen—and that my crime is much greater than the one they just bailed me out of.
I should have known better. Perhaps the minders weren’t paying attention to me before, but they certainly would have kept an eye on me after I was caught breaking the law. How could I have thought that whispering would keep them from hearing my words?
My breaths become short as the bot wheels forward. The holographic haze follows, but since my legs seem paralyzed, I don’t.
