“Don’t worry, I won’t be far,” Cathwell says. “I help with keeping an eye on the crowd during Order meetings. For that, I have to go, but I want you to watch this. I want you to understand what kind of group we are.”
Her words are careful and somehow fragile. When I look up at her, intending to ask how she’s been assisting with meetings when she’s been in prison for two and a half years, I realize she’s watching me. Searching.
This is something incredibly important to her. These people, this place. And she’s chosen to share such a treasured secret with me.
“I understand,” I say, however much I don’t want to. “I’ll pay close attention.”
The smile she gives me is the most genuine I’ve ever seen from her. My heart kicks.
“Thank you,” Lai says. “I’ll be back soon.” She begins departing with Clemente and Seung, then appears to think of something and turns back around. “By the way, don’t worry if you can’t sense me with your gift.”
She vanishes into the throng of people before I can ask what she means.
Okay. Okay. Now what?
“So, you’re Lai’s teammate?” one of the twins asks. I think it’s Paul Wood. “She’s told us a lot about you.”
“She has?” My surprise must show more than I intended it to, because the twins exchange a mischievous grin. Syon merely watches us.
Peter Wood throws an arm around my shoulder, an unfamiliar gesture I have to physically force myself not to flinch away from. “Of course she has. How could she not? She obviously thinks pretty highly of you if she invited you here.” He directs his focus toward his brother. “Well, she doesn’t talk about you as much as Paul talks about his dear Joan, but then, I don’t think anyone else talks about another person that much.”
“Peter,” Paul Wood says, horrified. “We only just met him, you don’t need to go talking about stuff like that.”
“What, did you want to tell him about her first?” Peter Wood asks with a laugh. “We would’ve been here all night.”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“Riiight.”
Just as I’m thinking I couldn’t feel any more out of place, I notice a tug on my sleeve. I look down to see Syon holding on to it, a notepad in his other hand. In possibly the prettiest handwriting I have ever seen, it reads Peter’s just jealous.
“Oh.” I’m not certain what to say. “That’s, uh, nice.”
The Woods peer over my shoulder at Syon’s notepad.
Peter Wood bristles defensively. “Don’t go telling him lies, Syon.”
“I don’t see any lies,” Paul Wood says. Now it’s his turn to laugh. He must notice my discomfort, however, because it quickly slips into a more shared smile. “Sorry, you must be feeling overwhelmed by everything.”
“A little,” I say, which is a gross understatement.
Syon tucks his notepad back in his pocket. Peter Wood notices my attention follow it and says, “Syon’s mute, so he uses the notepad to communicate with people who can’t sign. But he usually chooses not to. He must’ve taken a liking to you.”
Once more, I’m not certain what to say. I’ve barely even said anything for him to have been able to take a liking to me.
I’m saved from having to respond when Syon looks up as though someone has called his name. All the lanterns save the ones illuminating the stage dim to embers. The hall begins to quiet.
The lanterns must be controlled by a Nyte to dim like that. That would explain quite a lot. The Order can’t have too much access to electricity; if they used it all the time, the high bill would be too conspicuous not to warrant an investigation. But what kind of gift controls them?
My wonder at the underground lighting system comes to an abrupt halt as Seung, Clemente, and a young woman I don’t recognize walk out onstage. The crowd falls silent.
My stomach plummets. “How important are Seung and Clemente in the Order, rank-wise?”
Peter Wood answers. “Fiona and Trist are second only to Walker, leader of the Amaryllis Order.” His grin from before returns. “Just in case you were wondering, there are also eight captains under them, two of who are me and Paul. And Syon is what we call a Helper, someone who supports the Order in a huge way but doesn’t have a position of leadership. Usually by choice. Lai’s a Helper, too, by the way.”
Of course they’re all high-ranking. Of course I’ve been making an awkward fool of myself to the very leaders of the Order.
But what truly surprises me is how important Lai appears to be in the organization. I didn’t realize how deeply she was involved. It’s unexpected, given that she’s been in prison these last few years.
“This meeting of the Amaryllis Order is now in session,” the young woman, Walker, I presume, says. She doesn’t have to raise her voice; her lightly accented words reach us all the way in the back of the hall. The acoustics in this place are astounding.
I try to use my gift to sense her emotions and pinpoint how her presence appears on my grid, but as with the others, she doesn’t appear at all. And when I try to locate Lai, she, too, is nowhere to be found. Just as she said. But how is that possible?
“Why doesn’t my gift work on the three of you or the people up there?” I ask quietly as those up on stage each give a short greeting. I realize, belatedly, that perhaps I shouldn’t have admitted to attempting to use my gift on the very leaders of their organization.
“We all have power crystals that neutralize other Nytes’ gifts,” Paul Wood whispers back, seemingly unconcerned. “It’s to protect ourselves and the information we carry, especially during meetings when everyone is gathered in one place.”
But that can’t be right. Since our last mission, I’ve been thinking about that rebel Devin and how we couldn’t use our gifts on him. He didn’t appear to have any starlight armor that would’ve canceled out our gifts. The more I considered it, the more convinced I became that Devin either has the ability to cancel out other gifts or else possesses a neutralization power crystal. Each Nyte’s gift is unique; there can be only one person with the gift to cancel out other Nytes’ gifts, and thus only one Nyte can make a power crystal with that ability—which means that whoever made the Order members’ power crystals is working with the rebels.
But that doesn’t make sense. Isn’t the Order working against the rebels? Just what is going on?
“Our first order of business today is updates on the military and the rebels,” Walker says.
Seung steps forward. “We’ve caught word that the High Council has been performing some sort of long-term experiments. It seems they are somehow attempting to take full control over the gifted. For the time being, we are assuming they’re making a weapon. Our informants are searching for more details, and we will keep you updated as we learn more. If you hear anything of interest related to this, please let us know.”
Bursts of conversation flare up all around us as everyone voices their concerns. Seeing the Etioles just as worried as the Nytes takes me by surprise. Are the ungifted here truly that concerned for us?
“That can’t be true, can it?” I ask.
“It’s information Lai herself gained for us,” Paul says. His eyes are downcast as if out of respect. “It can be trusted.”
Lai did? How could she have learned that? When would she have even had the chance?
I want to ask more, but based on what Seung just said, I doubt I would receive any substantial answers.
As Seung goes on to talk about the little progress the military has made in finding out more about the rebels, I’m unable to prevent my attention from wandering over the mass of people assembled here. This place, these people, their very existence is every idealist’s dream. No one is arguing. No one is glaring at one another. There’s not a trace of the usual tension that inevitably arises when Nytes and Etioles are present in the same room.
All at once, a deep sense of longing rises within me, so strong it takes me aback. I’ve always wanted to see the gifted and ungi
fted get along like this, as equals, without any apparent effort. However, without realizing it, I must have dismissed that desire as impossible somewhere along the way. I’d try my best to do what I could, but I knew I would never live to see the day Nytes and Etioles would truly get along.
But I was wrong.
My attention snaps back to the stage when Seung says, “Our own scouts have been able to locate two smaller rebel bases. We’re keeping an eye on them in the event the rebels start moving, but nothing of import has happened yet. We will keep everyone updated on this matter as events occur.”
“If you know something as important as enemy locations, why not share that information with the military?” I’m not certain which of the twins I’m directing the question to.
“Why should we?” Peter Wood asks. “The military may be willing to use Nytes, but that doesn’t mean they like us or treat us well. A coalition of Nytes and Etioles? They’d try to rout us out and label us as part of the rebels so they could stay in control of the gifted. What we work hard to learn is our own information.”
I don’t pursue the topic, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother me. I know from all the looks I receive at Central, from the way people avoid me in the hallways or the mess hall, that the military tolerates us merely because we’re useful. However, if the Order shared its information with the military, we could put an end to the rebel threat all the sooner.
“That is all for our outside news,” Walker says when Seung steps back. “Now then. Home reports, Trist?”
Clemente steps forward with a clipboard in hand. “Earlier today, Captain Jair Lovell separated a fight between Gregor Fijk and Remy Fontaine in the marketplace.”
“Will all three named please step forward?” Walker asks.
Now my interest is piqued. What’s all this about home reports? Are these people going to be punished and made an example of before the entire organization? No one appears overly concerned, however. It must not be punishment, or at least not a drastic one.
I expect to see perhaps a middle-aged man and a boy who’s at most nineteen step up with the named captain. Instead, two older men step up, led by a deeply tanned man who’s probably in his late twenties. None of them could be Nytes.
“Jair,” Walker says once all three men are standing before her on the stage. “Please give me your account of what happened.”
“Of course,” Captain Lovell, the youngest of the men, says. “I was patrolling the southern region just after noon when I passed through the marketplace. Someone informed me of a dispute over by the butcher’s, so I made my way there to find these two arguing over a chicken.”
“There’s been a shortage of meat,” one of the men says. He throws his hands out in appeal. “I got there first, and was getting ready to—”
“Whose turn is it to speak?” Walker asks, quiet and cool. She doesn’t even look at him. The man shuts his mouth, and Walker waves for Lovell to go on.
“The butcher told me it looked like they grabbed it at the same time and began a spat over who had it first,” Lovell says, as if there was no interruption. “It was the only one in the store.”
Walker nods to the man who spoke previously. “Gregor. Please tell me your side of the story in the most unbiased manner you can.”
“I came into the store and went to see if there was any meat to be had,” Fijk says. He speaks more cautiously now than when he interrupted the captain. “My girls, they love chicken.”
The other man, Fontaine, opens his mouth, but just as quickly snaps it shut, likely recalling when Fijk spoke out of turn. His presence radiates fury.
“So I find the first chicken I’ve seen in weeks, and just when I lay hands on it, this here man tries to rip it out of my possession,” Fijk says.
“Remy,” Walker says. “Your side, please.”
“With pleasure,” Fontaine says. He elegantly twists his hand in front of his chest, a gesture of respect I used to see presented to my father dozens of times when I was younger. I think it’s from Sector Fifteen. “My wife and I finally saved enough money to buy meat since coming here. Our anniversary was approaching, and we agreed to indulge ourselves for once.” Now it’s Fijk’s turn to be infuriated. “Just as I was about to purchase the chicken in question, it was rudely taken from me and this gentleman declared that I had stolen it from him.”
No one in the crowd speaks. Walker has her hand over her mouth, thumb hooked under her chin; her eyes are downcast as she thinks. Finally, she looks to Lovell. “The butcher couldn’t determine who had it first?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“And neither of you can differentiate as to who claimed it before the other?” Walker asks the two men.
“That’d be me,” Fijk says in the same heartbeat Fontaine says, “I did.”
Walker’s air is cold. “You’re sure that’s your answer?”
Following a quick glance at each other, they both nod.
I’m not quite certain what’s going on. When the mention of a fight came up, I was anticipating a genuine fight. Not this quarrel over a chicken. I’m unable to comprehend how this matters, or why anyone cares. Give half the chicken to each of them and send them on their way. It feels a waste of time to discuss it at a meeting of everyone in the Order. This isn’t even an argument between a Nyte and an Etiole.
“I see,” Walker says. “Lovell, please make sure that neither of these men are allowed to go into the butcher’s for two weeks’ time. The chicken can go to someone else.”
Now start the murmurings in the assembly, though not, I notice, of disapproval. As all three men descend from the stage, I ask, “What just happened?”
“Walker does this every meeting,” Peter Wood says. “She’s only in Regail Hall for these assemblies since she’s out gathering intel, allies, and living her normal life the rest of the time. She doesn’t even come to the organizational meetings with Fiona, Trist, and the rest of us.” He shakes his head. “So whenever there is a meeting, she handles the domestic problems that come up.”
“Well, not all of them, of course,” Paul Wood says from his brother’s side. “We have a normal court led by Trist for that. But she handles enough cases to remind everyone why we’re here, and that fighting among ourselves isn’t acceptable.”
“She’s pretty fair with her verdicts,” Peter Wood continues. I wonder whether they switch off like that a lot. “Which is part of the reason everyone loves her. She doesn’t differentiate between Nyte and Etiole, so no one can really complain.”
“Though they don’t have to stay to watch her trials if they don’t want to,” Paul Wood says. “It can get a little boring after a while, but people usually hang around.”
“So which is she?” I ask. “Nyte or Etiole?”
“No one knows,” Peter Wood says, but even without being able to use my gift on him, I know he’s lying. Someone must know aside from Walker herself.
Paul Wood is watching the stage, where three new people have been summoned. “She has another power crystal in addition to the neutralization one. A crystal with the ability of illusions from Fiona. The illusion is set to make her appear about nineteen, so that she could look to be a Nyte, but isn’t necessarily one. Since she’s trying to get discrimination to fade, she hasn’t revealed what she is. This way, people can’t say she’s biased one way or the other.”
“If she’s attempting to eliminate prejudice, then she shouldn’t let whether she’s a Nyte or an Etiole stop her,” I say. Lying can’t be okay. The Order should’ve demanded answers from her by now. Why haven’t they, after all this time?
“Everyone’s scared,” Paul Wood says quietly. “They want someone to believe in, someone similar to them who knows their suffering. That doesn’t work both ways. Most people who first come here hate the kind of people who hurt them to begin with. It takes time for them to adjust. They project onto Walker whatever they want to be true. It’s another reason for her illusion. Since everyone knows that isn’t who she really is,
they can imagine whoever they like. It’s comforting.”
I’m not certain I’ve ever been so desperate for something that I would outright lie to myself about it to make myself feel better. That doesn’t sound as though it would end well in the long run.
But no. That’s not true. I lived my entire childhood like that. Believing that if I worked hard enough, if I did everything just as I was taught, then Father would come to accept me. I must have been aware all along it was pointless. But I wanted that delusion badly enough that I was willing to lie to myself for years.
There are a few more domestic problems similar to the first. Occasionally it’s Nyte against Etiole, sporadically Nyte against Nyte, but generally Etiole against Etiole; likely due to the fact that there are simply more of them. There are always more Etioles.
The problems are rather mundane. Minor property damage. Accusations of stolen food. If nothing else, I gather the Order isn’t doing very well on rations.
Only once is there an Etiole with a problem against a Nyte for no other reason than him being a Nyte. The instant they step foot onstage, a silence so complete it has weight falls upon the hall. You could hear a speck of dust drop. Everyone stares at the Etiole.
She holds herself with straight-backed pride, but I can sense her anxiety on my grid. It swirls like a storm in response to the muted aggravation in the room. She doesn’t look at the Nyte beside her.
Walker looks them both over carefully before her gaze settles on the Etiole woman. “Has Leo wronged you in some way, Maya?”
The woman gazes coolly back at Walker. “His kind killed my husband and only son. You know that, Ms. Walker.”
The Nyte, Leo, maybe thirteen or fourteen, keeps his eyes trained on his feet. His presence sputters a nervous indigo.
“I do,” Walker agrees. “But that isn’t what I asked. Has Leo done anything to wrong you?”
“Only his demon brethren,” the woman says.
Anger ripples through the crowd, along with a few shouts. The woman’s presence tightens in on itself, defensive, hating, and so, so alone.
Despite myself, I feel a twinge of sympathy for her. She lost so much, and in her quest to find someone or something to blame, she’s ended up bearing the furious attention of everyone in this room. She’s in the wrong. But at the same time, I feel like I can understand her anger and loneliness.
A Soldier and a Liar Page 18
