by Mary Fan
I whisper my actions in Adryil, just to see if I can. “Ona talbat at’strat onayil bor etrin yarrek faro.” I place my viola case on the black shelf. “Ona ata tortet ut at’strat gren.” I open it and take out the viola.
The phrases I’ve learned so far aren’t very useful, but I think I’ve done reasonably well in three days’ time. I might even know enough to figure out an Adryil communicator if I can find one.
The door opens, and Cara enters. She gives me a smirk and whispers, “Tra’kel,” which is Adryil for “hello.”
I smile back. “Ona larsal da.” I studied.
I yearn to know how and why she snuck out three nights ago, but I doubt asking for a seventh time will do anything other than annoy her.
“The other two are on their way.” Cara places her case next to mine and takes out her violin. She flips her thick hair off her left shoulder. A flash of silver catches my eye in the split second before her hair falls onto her back.
“What’s that?” I ask.
Cara ignores me and raises her violin.
I sigh. She’s barely spoken to me since giving me the tablet, much less answered my questions. I glance at the closed door, then say softly, “What’s it going to take for you to trust me?”
Cara tunes her violin without acknowledging me.
“Cara, please.” I try to catch her eye.
Cara plays an emphatic scale, like she’s trying to drown me out. I start to say something else, but then the door opens to admit Andreas and Temir, chuckling over something mindless.
I turn back to my instrument in resignation.
I step off the elevator on the Ydayas’ second floor and look around curiously as Puna leads us down a glimmering indigo corridor. We pass several archways rimmed with decorative white lights. Through one of them, I glimpse a computer monitor that looks similar to the one in my room.
I keep my gaze ahead so Puna won’t suspect anything, but mentally note its location. That computer’s in the main house, so it won’t be limited like mine. I could use it to contact Dámiul. But do I know enough Adryil to try? Do I dare, with Puna always watching?
And if I succeeded, what would I say to him?
Dark thoughts loom over my mind. People’s memories are being erased against their wills, and he knew all along. If my suspicions are right, then Dámiul’s father is somehow behind this horror—maybe he even employed Erayet. Is Dámiul a part of his father’s company?
My heart riots at the thought. No—he couldn’t be complicit in something so awful. Anger and sorrow clung to him each time he spoke of Papilio.
I need to talk to him. My mind keeps wandering back to the computer I saw. We’ll get a short break after Temir’s solo—maybe I can slip in then. No, the door’s wide open. Someone will see me.
Puna glances at me, and I realize that I’ve let my guard down and allowed my mind to wander in her presence. I hurriedly turn my thoughts to mundane viola warmups, keeping my face as blank as possible.
She leads us to the end of the corridor, then glances down at her wrist device. Mechanical whirring hums behind the wall, and something clicks into place. A rectangular section of the wall slides up into the ceiling, revealing a small, circular balcony overlooking the apartment’s main hall. In the center are four silver music stands, already adjusted for our heights. Our ensembles—black suits with green ties for the men and flowy emerald dresses for Cara and me—match the holographic backdrop, which features a lively forest reminiscent of the one surrounding Papilio.
“This is where you’ll be performing from tonight.” Puna looks up from her wrist device, and a table-sized slab extends from the wall beside her. “You may leave your cases here. The Ydayas’ guests will be arriving in half an hour.”
The others and I run through the familiar routine of tuning, warming up, and taking our places. I force myself to concentrate on the job at hand in case Puna reads my thoughts.
The Ydayas cross the hall below, and the double doors of the entryway open. In her sparkling scarlet gown, Mistress Ydaya seems to glow against the white walls. I can scarcely keep my eyes off her and the other glittering members of the Adryil elite, who enter with enthusiastic greetings.
Unlike on Earth, it seems that on Adrye, the men are every bit as ostentatious as the women when it comes to eveningwear. Master Ydaya’s blue, robe-like ensemble with a high, stiff collar and bright yellow stripes streaking across it seems garish by the standards I’m used to, and his outfit is one of the more muted ones.
I recall the white, tunic-like jacket Dámiul wore to the Wintertime Masquerade and smile to myself. Either he knew enough about Earthling culture to tone down his kind’s usual flair or he has more modest tastes. Remembering that night of wonder makes me miss him fiercely. In my search for answers, I haven’t forgotten the person behind the mysteries. But it’s been weeks since I last saw him. What if he’s forgotten me?
That can’t be. He’s probably wondering what happened to me. Maybe he feels the same despair I did when Security took the Zexa device away. I’ll find you, Dámiul. Even if you’ve left for your secret assignment already, I’ll find out where you are.
I turn my focus back to the song I’m playing. After the first movement comes to an end, Andreas cues the upbeat, and we begin the second.
As I did so often from the Pit, I find myself relying on memory to play my part while my eyes wander toward the scene I’m accompanying. The Adryil laugh and chat as they sip colorful drinks. Some hold up their wrist devices and show each other holovids, many of which appear to feature performances by Earthlings. I wonder if they’re comparing us, bragging about which of them has the most impressive Artists in their employ.
A woman with a mass of black hair arranged in high twist on top of her head shows Mistress Ydaya a holovid of two ballet dancers: a boy and a girl. Mistress Ydaya exclaims in delight and chatters excitedly. The woman looks down at her device, and a second holovid of the same dancers appears.
An idea sparks. From the interest Mistress Ydaya is showing, she could be considering adding dancers to her Ka’risil collection. Maybe I can convince her to sponsor Milo—assuming he’s still with the Ballet. If only I could talk to him!
A familiar tension grips me. Worrying won’t help, I tell myself. I try to focus on the piece I’m playing to keep the anxiety from rising.
An image catches my eye—a close-up holovid of a face. From where I am, I can barely make out the holovid’s details, but it’s so familiar, it calls to me. Tan complexion, handsome features, black hair—it must be Dámiul. I’d recognize him anywhere, even from this distance. Or could it be his father, who looks so much like him?
“Iris!” Cara throws me a glare.
I realize that, in my distraction, I must have slowed the tempo. I turn to the music and concentrate, taking a moment to reorient myself in the notes. My fingers flicker along the viola strings automatically, and I can’t stop myself from glancing down again.
The holovid is still playing, and I turn my attention to the Adryil woman whose wrist device projects it. She speaks to the woman beside her, and I try to pick out her voice from the music and the noise of chatter. Through the unfamiliar syllables, two familiar words jump out: “Dámiul Verik.”
It is him. In the holovid, Dámiul appears to be speaking, but I can’t hear his voice. The volume must be too low. My breath quickens, and I stare at the Adryil woman. Why is she watching him? Does she know him? She can’t be related to him. With her snowy white skin, pale blond hair, and round face, she resembles Dámiul about as much as I resemble Temir.
Could she be a friend of his? She turns to the woman beside her, who was also watching the holovid, and wrinkles her nose. What does that mean?
“Iris!” A swift kick to the shin brings my attention back to the present. Cara looks ready to tear my head off, while Andreas and Temir glare at me with accusing expressions.
I glimpse Puna from the corner of my eye. She’s approaching the balcony. I can’t let her k
now why I was distracted. Fixing my eyes on the music, I clear my head of everything but my viola harmonies.
The archway to the room with the Ydayas’ computer stares at me, beckoning. My heart thumps so loudly, I wonder how the others don’t hear it. Now would be the ideal time to slip in and try to contact Dámiul. The Ydayas are distracted by their guests, and Puna’s gone for the time being.
I yearn to ask that Adryil woman how she knows Dámiul, but if I tried, Puna would surely erase him from my memories. The computer is my best chance, and I should go now. If I don’t, there’s no knowing when I’ll be this close to it again.
I glance around the corridor. It’s empty. The other three players are in a nearby lounge. I take a breath, then tiptoe to the archway at a brisk pace.
The computer monitor stands alone on a semi-circular desk made of some kind of gold metal. A high-backed chair sits before the console, its orange color brilliant against the purple walls behind it. I dash to it and curl up on the seat, hoping I’m small enough that anyone who walks by won’t spot me.
I do my best to control my breaths and hope the heat engulfing me won’t make me sweat through my thin dress.
The monitor glows under my touch, and a second later, a list of symbols and icons appears.
“Ona pari fenst en clogamo?” I jump at the sound of the computer’s voice and curl up tighter. Please, please, please say no one heard that…
I listen, certain that Puna will come rushing in any moment. After several seconds of silence, I release my knees. So far, it seems, I’m safe. What did the computer say? “Ona” means “I”… “clogamo” means “help”…
Some of the voice-activated computers at Papilio greeted users with, “How may I help you?” Maybe Adryil computers do the same.
If this computer is like the ones at Papilio, saying Dámiul’s name should be enough to bring up his basic contact information. “Dámiul Verik,” I whisper.
“Lorst mand?” “Mand” means “again.” The computer probably couldn’t hear me.
“Dámiul Verik.” I repeat his name slightly louder.
“Ona balnásin luwell: Dámiul Verik.”
A list appears before me. Large, black symbols with smaller ones beneath, like titles with subtitles. I recognize the symbols for Dámiul’s name in each of the titles but can’t make out much else other than Karovye—Earth—and Ka’risil. Beside each title is a line of symbols representing numbers—I think they’re dates. If I had to guess, I’d say this list looked more like news headlines than contact information.
Why would Dámiul be in the news? His father’s important—is he as well? If so, that would explain why the Adryil woman was watching him. But what is he famous for?
Hoping to learn more, I press the title at the top of the list. A holovid appears before me. I gasp at the sight.
It’s Dámiul—there’s no mistaking him from this close. He’s dressed all in white, like he was the first time I saw him at Papilio, when I thought he might be a ghost. His azure eyes gaze ahead with fury, his expression blacker than anything I’ve seen in him before. But that’s not what’s making me stare. It’s his hands—they’re bound together by metal cuffs, which are chained to a railing before him.
“Ona dratuttin jatoi nur.” His voice is soft but intense. I don’t recognize the words, but as he continues, he speaks with such fervor, I can almost understand him. His tone is at once measured and aggressive, carrying the cadence of a warrior meeting his enemy before a battle.
Who is he speaking too? Why is he chained like a criminal? My gaze falls on the symbols behind his head, and I recognize them from the map he once showed me: “Hall of Justice.”
This scene must have taken place after he broke into Papilio. It must be a record of the disciplinary hearing when he was banned from returning to Earth.
A woman’s sharp voice cuts Dámiul off, and he flinches as if someone struck him hard across the face. He sags, suddenly looking exhausted, like he did before the Spectacle. Still, he keeps his head high as the woman spews venomous-sounding words at him.
Whatever she’s saying, it must affect him profoundly, because his eyes glisten. Otherwise, his face remains a proud mask. The woman finishes her tirade with a question.
Dámiul repeats firmly, “Ona dratuttin jatoi nur.”
A man’s stern voice starts speaking. A line of symbols scrolls along the bottom of the holovid. Once again, I only recognize the symbols for “Earth” and “Ka’risil.” That seems to fit my theory that this holovid was taken at Dámiul’s disciplinary hearing after he broke into Papilio.
But the severity of what I’m seeing doesn’t line up with that idea. Why would they chain him? What did that woman say to him? Do they keep records of every disciplinary hearing on Adrye? Even if they did, why would there be so many records under his name?
Dámiul, who are you?
I always suspected that his refusal to answer my questions wasn’t only to protect me, but to protect himself as well. Now, I wonder just how powerful the danger to him was. What if revealing what’s done to the Artists on Adrye and what lies behind his father’s company would have led to a worse fate than being banned from Earth? Maybe my past theory about him being sent away as punishment wasn’t so far-fetched after all. But where would they send him? Where is he now?
The unseen man finishes, and Dámiul speaks again. His eyes burn like blue-hot flames, and yet he otherwise appears calm. I do my best to catch his words. Justice… not…
A hand clasps my shoulder. I yelp, and my heart stops.
Master Ydaya glares down at me, his face twisted with rage.
CHAPTER 24
MASTER YDAYA GRABS MY ARM and drags me out of the chair. “What are you doing?”
My insides clench with fear. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. He tightens his grip, and I feel a bruise forming on my arm.
“Answer me!” He gives me a shake so hard, my teeth clack together.
I try again to say something, but I can barely breathe.
Master Ydaya’s glare seems to drill a hole through my head. He’s going to use his telepathy on me—I know it. I try to focus on my usual defense of viola scales.
It’s not working.
I have no right to enter his office. How dare I defy those who take care of me? I should be grateful and obedient. I have no business watching holovids about Dámiul Verik. Dámiul Verik is a troublemaking criminal, and he deserves his fate. I should forget him.
No…
I try to fill my head with mundane ascending notes, but Master Ydaya’s thoughts drown them out. I must forget Dámiul Verik. In my mind, I see his face fading.
No, no, no…
My eyes sting. The scales aren’t working—I should try something else. Dámiul told me once that… What did he say?
I shouldn’t remember. The name Dámiul Verik shouldn’t mean anything to me.
I close my eyes, and tears fall down my face. I recall the melancholy notes of “Butterfly’s Lament,” which I’m supposed to play later this evening, and hope that focusing on a piece I care about will work better. The melody soars through my mind, but Master Ydaya’s presence remains strong. I try to picture Dámiul’s face, but see only a blur.
Butterfly watched, helpless, as they took her love away…
“En swar fac?!” Mistress Ydaya’s shrill voice pierces the air.
I open my eyes in time to see Mistress Ydaya pull her husband away from me. Master Ydaya points at me accusingly and speaks in a low voice, then gestures at the still-playing holovid of Dámiul.
Mistress Ydaya narrows her eyes at the computer monitor. The holovid disappears, and the screen goes blank. She says something sharp to Master Ydaya, and I recognize the word for “art.” She turns to me, and her eyes soften. “You did not mean to make trouble, did you, little one?”
I shake my head. Recalling what Cara said about my looking innocent, I make no effort to stop my tears. “I-I’m sorry, Mistress Ydaya.”
&
nbsp; “What were you doing with the computer?”
“I… was curious.” I feel her probing my mind for the truth, and I bite my lip. I can’t lie, but I don’t have to tell her everything, either. “I was the one Dámiul Verik ran into when he broke into Papilio. I saw someone watching a holovid of him downstairs, and… I just wanted to know who he was.”
Mistress Ydaya puts her hand under my chin. “And you thought maybe he could be your prince from the clouds, didn’t you, my little butterfly?”
She must have heard me thinking about “Butterfly’s Lament” and assumed it was connected to my searching for Dámiul. If that’s so, I’ll gladly support her assumption. “I… I know it can’t be, but… he was so handsome. I thought maybe, if I made myself part of the story and felt what Butterfly felt, I could perform better.” I must sound like a complete idiot, but that’s good right now.
“Always trying to improve your Art, aren’t you?” Mistress Ydaya puts her light hand on my head and smiles fondly. “There’s a good girl.” She snaps her gaze toward Master Ydaya and narrows her eyes. “You could have destroyed her talent.”
Master Ydaya scowls and says something in Adryil, keeping his voice a low growl.
Mistress Ydaya gives him a hard look, then turns back to me. “It was an accident, wasn’t it? You didn’t think there was any harm in venturing into one of the pretty rooms, did you?”
Unsure of whether to nod or shake my head, I say, “I only wanted to see what was inside. When I found the computer, I thought it could tell me who that Adryil boy was.”
“Did you know that Dámiul Verik is a dangerous criminal?”
I shake my head, genuinely surprised. Knowing she can see my thoughts, I suppress the riot of questions in my head and focus on the simplest notion of who I thought Dámiul was: a mysterious young man from another world.
