by Rowan Rook
Rickard didn't say anything for a while, her hands forming fists at her side. Verox was the perfect example of all that was wrong with Humanity. Oh, if only she could—
No. She couldn't take off her mask too early. It would waste all she'd worked for. Verox most certainly wasn't worth the sacrifice.
"The affairs of my scientists, Mr. Verox, are of no concern to you nor any of your soldiers," she echoed, not quite diluting the acid in her voice. "As I promised, Amaranth's presence should not affect them. Not if you've done your job. I raised my daughter better than to get distracted." She tried to relax her grit jaw, her clenched hands. "However, would you please at least tell me if my daughter and my scientist are all right?" She tried to hide the fear, too.
Please, her heart hammered, let them be just fine.
Verox sighed, then seemed to relax a bit, himself. "They're fine, yes. The same can't be said for all of my soldiers, but your snakes are among the survivors."
Rickard let out a breath. Her heart unclenched, making more room for the fire in her chest. She straightened. "Very good, then. Don't let me hear you speak ill of my daughter—one of your soldiers—again."
She spun away, her lab coat swirling behind her. She couldn't look at his ugly face for one second longer.
First the disastrous assault on the labs, with so much unnecessary destruction. Now the whole damn train car had been destroyed.
Air hissed through her teeth. Careless. So fucking careless. They couldn't afford negligence, not now.
If they'd lost either Amaranth or Shakaya...
Still, she supposed it wasn't Verox who deserved the brunt of her blame. He wasn't the one who should've known better than to take unnecessary risks—the one who let her anger get the better of her again.
"That imbecile Lyrum," Rickard snarled at the air.
Heads were going to roll for this.
When Rickard returned to her office, she started packing. She took only the essentials: Rune, her uniforms, her travel sketchbook and supplies, the Medium prototype and enough parts to continue its development. She hadn't wanted to do this, not when Rune and time were running short, but she had no choice. There was too much at stake to simply sit and wait. Too much that could go wrong. Too many people that couldn't be trusted. She would simply tell her subordinates and students that she was going away on a research expedition. It might raise a few eyebrows, but her rank was too high for anyone to question.
She needed to stay close to her daughter.
Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ
Amaranth sat on the edge of Shakaya's bed, shoulders slumped.
Hazza, a mining town above cliffs dotted with caves, wasn't far from the crash. The troop's march through the night hadn't lasted for more than an hour, but with so many injured travelers, it had seemed to go on forever. Supporting Shakaya had left Amaranth utterly exhausted by the time they'd stumbled into the slumbering town. A second sunrise had passed since then.
He and the soldiers were staying in Hazza's lone inn—a musty lodge with rows of beds packed into a single guest room. Men from the local clinic had come shortly after the wounded troop had arrived, regardless of the hour. Impressive for a small town. The Academy's prestige had its benefits.
Several of the soldiers had broken bones. Others had more serious injuries. Shakaya had been relatively lucky with heavy bruising and a sprained back. She'd be sore for a while, but it wasn't anything she wouldn't easily recover from with time. Amaranth had been even more fortunate. He'd come away with nothing but a few bandages. Many hadn't been so blessed. The troop of thirty-three had lost thirteen.
Rustling curtains and breathy rhythms—some more steady than others—filled the otherwise silent room with stagnant life. The most fortunate survivors were discussing the next course of action on the inn's veranda, while those that needed to rest did so. Shakaya had been outside with the others before pain had returned her to bed against her will. Amaranth was naturally excluded from the conversations. After all, he wasn't a soldier.
"What are you going to do? Is it decided yet?" He wrinkled his nose, trying not to sneeze. Even the smallest movements stirred up dust.
"The Academy contacted us yesterday. Edgard has reinforcements on the way. With the trains down, it will take a few days for them to reach us. After they arrive, we're continuing with Edgard's plan. It can't be a coincidence that the Lyrum targeted the southbound car." She almost smiled. "In the meantime, we'll stay here. Hazza should be relatively safe, and the wait will allow everyone at least some time to rest."
Amaranth nodded, recalling the stranger's words. Indeed, the attack had been anything but a coincidence.
The hush lingered for a while.
Shakaya lowered her voice. "That Lyrum...what did it say to you?" she asked, as if she'd peeked into his head. "I saw its uniform. It was a Butterfly, wasn't it?"
He couldn't simply tell her the truth—she would think he'd gone mad. And there happened to be a few details that he didn't want her to know. "She said that a member of the Lyrum Council should be here, somewhere in the Hazza mines. I...can't fathom why she told me," he lied, running his fingers through sweaty strands of hair.
"It did?"
He nodded.
"But it didn't say why it was telling you this?"
The shift in her voice forced him to meet her eyes before he shook his head.
She was quiet, watching the wall.
"Shakaya?" A tinge of worry escaped. Did she not believe him?
"Oh," she answered quickly, as if pulled back to the present. She crossed her arms over the top of her blanket. "It has to be a trap. Bait. It probably engaged the first person it saw in hopes that the rumor would spread among the soldiers. I bet there's a hopeful ambush waiting to finish the rest of us off inside the mines."
Amaranth blinked. If that were the case, wouldn't it have been better for the Lyrum to ambush them inside the ruined train car, injured and disoriented? It wasn't like Shakaya to overlook a possibility like that. Still, it could be a trap, he supposed.
Except it wasn't. The Lyrum had left the letter. She knew who he was. She wouldn't have gone to all that trouble for a simple trap. She'd targeted him. If she wanted to kill him, there was no need to go to such lengths for such an easy task.
He'd tried to forget everything she'd said, but the image of her face—her scornful lips, her narrowed green eyes—wouldn't leave him.
Anson. He could still see the way her mouth formed the name. Slow and calculating, as if savoring every syllable. As if the word itself was an act of revenge. A sweet, satisfying revenge.
Who was she? Who was this stranger who knew things no one should?
He'd considered the idea of reprisal for the many Lyrum who'd died in the Academy's labs, but the use of his old name made him doubt it was anything so simple. He shook his head. If it was vengeance she wanted, she would have already claimed it. She'd reduced him to trembling gooseflesh. She could have killed him in an instant if she'd chosen to.
"You're the one who owes it to them."
Shivers pooled at the nape of his neck. "What if it isn't a trap? What if a Councilor is actually here?" He straightened. "Imagine if we could extract the location of the colony out of it before finishing it off. We'd be heroes." He tried to pose the idea in a way that might catch the soldier's interest, even though the wording churned his stomach.
"You're being foolish," Shakaya dismissed. "It's a trap. Butterfly or not, it was still a Lyrum. The three members of the Council are not only their leaders, but also their most important spiritual figures. That religious trash is what drives them as a species. The Academy and the capital itself have hunted the Council for decades without success. There's no way one of their own would give a Councilor's location away like that, not for any reason."
Amaranth sighed, slightly disappointed. "I suppose you are right."
What had he been hoping for? He wasn't actually interested in the Lyrum's words, was he?
Blue eyes stared back at him like
he'd gone mad.
Hurt sunk into Anson's stomach, but he tried to keep it off his face. "We wouldn't have to fight anymore. We wouldn't have to be afraid, and—"
"You're scaring me," she whimpered, her gaze sinking toward the cobblestone. "Anny, I..."
He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Never mind. It was only a fantasy, anyway." He forced a smile. He wasn't really surprised. When he'd told Aydel about his ideas a few days earlier, her reaction had been even worse.
"I don't think it's a very good one." The girl looked up at him. "I like who I am."
He shook his head. "We'd still be who we are—that's the whole purpose. We wouldn't be trapped in roles and fates based on what we are anymore. We'd be free."
She was quiet. The breeze jostled threads of hair that escaped her red ribbon.
"It would save you," the sorrow in his voice surprised him. "You, and so many others."
Amaranth stood. "I'm going to get some air. I might look around for a while and see if I can find any samples to bring back to the labs. The plant life here is so different from what we have around the city." He looked at Shakaya. "I may as well put the time here to use somehow."
She offered a light smile. "Still glad you came?"
He returned it. "In comparison to the Academy's current state, this is quite the vacation."
Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ
The tunnels were dank, dim. Lanterns dangled from the walls and flickered with meek orange light. The air was stale with sweat and oil, and the stink hung thicker in the atmosphere the deeper Amaranth ventured inside.
Hazza had always been a mining town, but new technology had made rapid work of its mineral deposits. It had experienced a fleeting crescendo of wealth before its success had ended just as quickly. Amaranth passed only a handful of workers. They seemed listless and weary, barely noticing the stranger's presence.
This was mad. Absolutely, completely mad! He cursed his rashness, his infernal curiosity, but kept moving, clinging to the walls and the faint glow their lanterns provided.
This little excursion had only three possible outcomes. One, the Lyrum had been spouting nonsense and nothing would come of it. Two, he actually was walking into some unnecessarily obtuse trap. Three, the Lyrum had told the truth—there was a Councilor inside the tunnels with him. If the first possibility proved true, his efforts would result in only an embarrassing waste of time. The second and third possibilities would end with his death.
Even if he chose to believe the Butterfly, it was madness to search out a Councilor. He was alone, with nothing but a gun he could hardly use and unstable fire Translation that wouldn't stand a chance against the skills of a Lyrum leader. To put it in rough, simple terms, he'd be screwed.
So why was he even there?
He found himself unable to answer that question and yet equally unable to keep himself from venturing further into darkness. Every part of him prickled with unease. He was a man of science, not religion. He was wandering into something he didn't understand. If he took just one step too many, something inside him knew, he'd never be able to go back.
He glanced down at the handgun hanging from his belt. He'd spent much of his life cooped up inside the Academy, and when he left it, he relied on Shakaya.
It hadn't always been that way. He recalled the years before entering the school with a bittersweet smile. He didn't want to lean on her forever. His heart pounded and his muscles tensed, but his morbid determination overpowered his dread.
The tunnel darkened the farther he wandered down the mine's throat. Lanterns were spread more sparsely, not all of them lit. He hadn't seen any miners for a long time.
But where might he find this supposed Councilor? What could a Lyrum leader want with such lonely tunnels in the first place? The answer to his first query would most likely lie within the second. Until then, all he could do was press deeper into the abandoned innards of the mine. The miners were Human—any Lyrum would want to evade their eyes.
Amaranth kept walking. Soon, light dissipated all together. Lanterns still jutted from nails, but no oil burned inside them. He stopped, suddenly claustrophobic. His eyes found his cuffed wrist, and after a final moment of hesitation, he held open his palm.
A flame sparked into existence there. Its tendrils reached for the roof and sent him lurching backward before they disappeared in a clumsy poof of heat. He breathed a shaky sigh before trying again, straining to match the flames to the image in his mind.
This time, a delicate tongue of red appeared, dancing in the cup of his hand. It gave out just enough light to show him where he was going—a makeshift torch.
For a while, he only stood there, entranced by the orange shadows flickering across his face. He curled his fingers around the flame, opening and closing his fist. He felt only a comfortable heat. His eyes watched blankly, his mouth an unreadable line.
"So you enjoy playing with fire now, Anny?"
Amaranth jumped, the flame in his hand sputtering and nearly going out. A figure stood behind him—the same one as before. The firelight cast strange shadows on her cloak. He dug into his frustration to mask his nervousness. "So are you planning on making this a habit?" he retorted like an irritated child.
The Lyrum crossed her arms. "Don't blame me for that wandering mind of yours." She glanced at a side tunnel near her left. "Follow me."
"Follow you...?" he echoed.
"I'll lead you to the Councilor. That is why you're here, is it not?" She arched an eyebrow, though it was clear she already knew the answer. Why else would he be wandering alone in the Hazza mines?
He didn't reply, following with stiff steps.
She paused to show him satisfied eyes and a sly smile. "I knew you'd come. You never could resist temptation."
Chapter Eight: Trigger
"Did you take care of the problem or not?" a man asked, his voice like a tightly bound string.
"Yes, Morak," a second man answered, his voice softer but firm. "For the time being, at least. The Butterflies we sent only managed to derail the soldiers actually bound for the southwest. The Academy may find this suspicious and send more troops in that direction. There were also survivors..." he paused, as if bracing for the recoil those words might bring. "However, this should give you time to adjust your plans. Evacuate your people to a new location or increase the size of your own army in case Riksharre is finally discovered."
Amaranth peered into what looked like an old storage room. Pickaxes, hand lanterns, and crates lined the walls and cluttered the floor, but it was the crowd of people gathered inside that held his interest. The Lyrum woman listened to the argument beside him. She'd led him through a complex route of side tunnels until they reached a branch where the torches once again burned. Without her, it was unlikely he would've found the place. But what was it, exactly?
"This is one of the Butterfly's meeting rooms," the woman answered his unspoken question. "There are several scattered throughout Lusanthine, and Havventhale as well, but this is one of the most widely used, as it is reasonably accessible for both Humans and the Lyrum of Riksharre. These tunnels are abandoned, so we can come and go as we please after dark."
Amaranth didn't answer, focused instead on the arguing strangers. Brown bangs bobbed over the first man's angry green eyes. He adorned a regal cloak that differed from those worn by the others, accented with jewels, decorative stitching, and a sun motif brooch nestled in its laces. The Councilor of External Affairs. He swallowed. Just below the brooch was a golden-winged pin like those he'd seen on the Butterfly's lapels.
The other man, much bigger in stature, wore what Amaranth recognized now as a Butterfly uniform, albeit a simpler version than the woman's. Short black hair accented dark skin and patient brown eyes. The familiar pin shimmered on his chest, but something about it was different. The color. It was bright silver, not gold.
There were about twelve other people, ranging from adults to adolescents. All of them wore identical Butterfly uniforms, but their badges varied between t
he two hues.
"Why aren't all the pins the same color?" Amaranth whispered.
"Our Lyrum members wear badges gold like the soil and the sun," the woman grumbled, as if he should've figured it out on his own, "while Humans have to settle for metallic silver."
Ah. Well, that explained it. It was a strange sensation, though, seeing a group of people talking in any organized manner and realizing both species were present. Attempting a similar meeting anywhere else would inevitably lead to bloodshed.
"We can't just evacuate!" the first man shouted. "Riksharre has been our Lusanthine home for generations. We have nowhere else left! Nowhere else to go! Our army is already as large as we can afford. We're performing drafts, for Heaven's sake!" He quivered. "But if Humans actually find us...then it won't be enough. You said that you would—"
"We said that we'd do everything in our power to prevent the Academy's discovery of Riksharre. That we have done," the second insisted, calmer.
The woman gestured to the man in extravagant clothes. "That's the Councilor, there. He's also a spy for the Butterfly. Like his father before him, he made an agreement with us. He keeps us updated on Riksharre's status, allows us access to their old records and books, and gives us a small amount of sway over their troops—all in exchange for our help in preventing the colony's discovery. Disrupting the train was part of that agreement." Her chuckle oozed with arrogance, "It was convenient of you to hitch a ride on it."
"So that's how you got inside the Academy to leave that letter, then?" Amaranth realized with a blink. "The invasion really was the colony's doing."
"Well, it wasn't quite the colony itself that planned the attack. Even a peaceful place like Riksharre has its more radical subgroups. Most of its residents are content to hide from Human eyes, but not all of them. There are Lyrum who crave revenge just as badly as your soldier-stalker." Her face wrinkled with disgust. "Rebel soldiers conceived and executed the assault on the Academy without approval from the Councilors. The Butterfly named Sylan Rita is another spy of ours, involved with both the Butterfly and Riksharre's rogues. He helped us take advantage of the attack." Her eyes narrowed at Amaranth. "He was tasked with testing you, and all I needed to do was leave the letter where I was sure you'd find it. If you lived up to expectations, that is."