Daymon was missing from the circle. His absences were always poorly-disguised excuses to stay away from Alayne—hunting when someone else had just returned with game, scouting when other scouts had already given an all-clear signal. Manders didn't mention his current absence, but Alayne saw his gaze rest on his nephew's pack more than once.
“What are we gonna do with him?” Bard asked, jerking his head, covered with thick sand-colored hair, toward the bounty hunter.
Manders sighed. “We'll have to put him in custody at headquarters, I suppose. He knows our location, he knows we're heading for the Capital, and if we freed him now, we'd have the Elemental Alliance swarming these woods before the day was out.”
“But once he knows where headquarters is, we'll never be able to let him go.” Frown lines turned Kary's lips downward in his dark goatee.
“It's not likely we'll free him anytime soon,” Manders replied. “We'll make sure he doesn't see where headquarters is, though, until we're inside it.” He stirred the dirt at his feet with a stick. “It does concern me that Alayne's picture is posted all over the Continent. We picked off one bounty hunter, but how many more are out there? We're going to have a hard time getting back into the city as it is.” He eyed Alayne over the flames. “Alayne, how would you feel about a cut-and-dye job?”
Alayne hesitated. Self-consciously, she pulled her braid over her shoulder, stroking the end. She had always been proud of her hair, perhaps a trifle vain. She loved how thick and long it was. Still, to keep it at the risk of capture seemed foolish. “I guess that would be okay.” Her heart sank as she said the words. It's just hair, Layne. It'll grow back.
“Are you certain?” Manders asked.
Alayne nodded. She unclasped the leather tie that held the braid, and worked her fingers through the mass, shaking it out across her shoulders. “Marysa's going to kill me,” she muttered as she stood.
Manders nodded decisively. “Yep. But probably not because you cut your hair. Let's get started.”
In the end, he took her to the riverbank to wash her hair, using black dye he'd brought along for the purpose. Alayne lit a pillar of fire nearby and notched it so Manders had plenty of light.
As he stood with the scissors poised at her neck, Alayne squeezed her eyes shut.
“Ready?”
Alayne nodded. The first snip struck pain in her heart. She pushed it away, but kept her eyes shut through the whole thing, bending obediently as Manders massaged the dye into her hair, allowing him to turn her chin so he could color her eyebrows as well. At last, he rinsed the dye and squatted to wash his hands in the river. His palms would be purple-black for a few days.
Manders slid a shard of the broken mirror from his pocket. “Want to see?” He handed her the piece. “It doesn't look half bad.”
Alayne stared at the stranger in the reflection. Tears stained the rims of her eyes; she hadn't realized she was crying. The black hair that curled across her head lent her an entirely new look. If she didn't know who held the mirror, she would have thought another girl stood there, looking lost, sad, and bewildered.
“WHAT IN COMMONEARTH DID YOU DO?” Daymon's shout froze Alayne.
Manders glanced up as he carefully dried his hands on his shirt. “Calm down, Daymon. It's another step in her protection plan.”
Daymon stared at Alayne, the flaming pillar Alayne had notched glinting off his outraged eyes. “One you never discussed with me.”
“I discussed it with Alayne, and it seems, nephew, that she was the only person with whom I needed to discuss it.”
Daymon glared at his uncle, although he said nothing further.
Manders slid his scissors and dye pack into his bag. “Cool off for a bit here, Daymon, and then bring Alayne back to camp with you.” He flipped his bag closed and stepped through the trees to the glowing embers of what was left of the campfire.
Daymon was silent for so long, Alayne became even more self-conscious. She smoothed the curls along the back of her neck, struck by how light her head felt. “I—I know you don't like it, Daymon, but your uncle did say it would make me harder to recognize, and since my picture is out there on MIUs across the Continent, he said I should do it.”
“I never said I didn't like it.” A scowl still bunched Daymon's eyebrows.
“No, but it's pretty obvious.”
Daymon stared at her for a moment before crossing his arms, looking out over the river where the moonlight danced on the currents. The muscle in his jaw jumped. “It looks great, Layne. You're still gorgeous. Of course, I loved your hair long, but the fact that it's short and black doesn't change the way I—” He released his breath in a wry laugh. His face softened as he dropped his gaze, scuffing his toe in the dirt. He shook his head ruefully and turned back to her. “I mean, it doesn't change my responsibilities as your Guardian.”
Alayne glanced once more into the mirror shard, twisting her mouth into a frown. “I'll get used to it. I'm not the one who has to look at it.” She slid the shard into her pocket and collapsed the flame. “Let's go.”
She could hear his careful footsteps behind her as she returned to camp, could feel his warm presence as he stretched himself out in his bedroll next to hers. As his breathing grew deeper, she twisted to her back and laced her fingers behind her head, staring at the brilliant panorama of stars through the leaves.
You were disappointed, she scolded herself. He didn't like it, and you wished he had. It wasn't simply that. She flushed as she remembered their talk from days earlier. Her mind reviewed every last word exchanged between them, the content, the tone, the fiber of the conversation. He loves you, her heart whispered at last. It doesn't matter if it's because of the Vale's influence or not. He loves you, and you threw it back in his face. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. Coward.
With a light hop from a rotted log, Alayne landed on the forest floor. Eryc glanced at her from where he hiked in front of her. His shoulders hunched under the weight of his pack.
“We'll be there in another day's hike, probably,” he commented.
Alayne nodded. “Thankfully.”
“It should be easier to get you into the city with your dye job. Nobody'll recognize you with black hair, probably not even Rachyl and Marysa.”
Alayne laughed. “I don't even recognize myself.” She pushed aside a branch, letting it whip behind her. “How—how have they been, you know, the last three weeks since we've been gone?”
The words she meant to say—Are they angry with me? For breaking curfew, for getting myself and Daymon caught, for not telling them when I planned to go out?—hung in the air anyway, and she saw that Eryc understood her real meaning.
“Rachyl took the whole thing pretty well. You know her—even-keel. Not much gets her ruffled.”
“Except finding out you were at LO headquarters after weeks on the run.” Alayne's lips twisted into a smile.
Eryc blushed. “Well, yes, there is that.”
“What about Marysa?”
Eryc chuckled, ducking beneath an overhanging, moss-covered boulder.
“She went berserk, didn't she?”
“You might say that.” Eryc politely lifted another branch for Alayne to duck under. “She told off Manders, accusing him of not being responsible enough, and then she went around trying to convince some of the Last Order guards to storm the NRCs, because she was convinced that's where you were. Manders couldn't reason with her until he'd promised to form a search party.”
Alayne grinned at the mental image, but her conscience twinged. It was her fault that Marysa was frantic for her safety, as well as her fault that Manders and the others put themselves in danger to try to find her. A thought struck her.
“Where were you intending to go, anyway?” she asked. “When you figured out we weren't in the Natural Re-Education Centers, how did you know the next place to look?”
Eryc shrugged. “We knew you would have come back to headquarters if you could, so the only reason you couldn't was because you
were captured. If you were captured, there were only two places you could be—the NRCs, or Clayborne, where Tarry's setting up a stronghold. Once we got the lists for the NRCs and your name wasn't on them, we figured Clayborne would be the next place to look.”
“That is something I wanted to discuss with you, Alayne.” Manders appeared silently beside her.
Alayne gasped. “Sorry, I didn't see you, Professor.” She accepted his hand to help her up a steep, slippery section of earth.
“No need to call me Professor anymore, Alayne. As you know very well, I am no longer professor of anything.” His voice was level, but Alayne wondered if she imagined a shadow of disappointment behind the tone. “Please call me Manderly.”
Alayne nodded. “Manderly it is, sir.”
Manders took a deep breath. “We should be back at the Capital by tomorrow, Alayne, just in time for the High Court's panel hearing, and I want you to be present for it.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Alayne tripped over a root, catching Eryc's sleeve before she could regain her balance.
Alayne glanced over her shoulder at Daymon, who followed behind, within earshot. At Manders's words, the Guardian's eyebrows bunched. “What hearing is this, and why does Alayne need to be present for it?”
Manders climbed a boulder that stood in the path and waited until the three joined him on the other side of it. Bard and Kary had gone ahead with the bounty hunter. “Daymon, you're going with Alayne. By law, the High Court opens its sessions to Capital citizens for its hearings, and this one's a big deal.”
“Why, sir?”
“Because of the war, Alayne. This panel is set to take a vote from all 120 of the High Court Justices on whether or not the Alliance will go to war against the Last Order. Of course, they'll call it 'an insurgent group' because the Last Order isn't officially recognized by the High Court, but terminology will be thrown around haphazardly in the panel.”
“I thought the Alliance had already passed a law that made it legal to send all Natural Humans to the NRCs, essentially warring against the Last Order, or at least what the Last Order was trying to do.”
“Yes.” Manders's eyes sparked. “But that's the exciting thing, Alayne. The Last Order is finally making enough of an impact that the Alliance has requested the High Court allow an open declaration of war against us.”
Alayne stared at Manders. “I thought the Last Order much too small to openly take on the Alliance. That's why all Last Order work has been undercover, right?”
“If you only judge by the Last Order presence in the Capital, then yes, our numbers are far too few. We only have a few hundred at headquarters.” Manders glanced at Eryc. “And Mr. Connel has been doing an excellent job working the soldiers into an organized, tight-knit army.”
Eryc flushed under the compliment. “My father was a good example, sir,” he murmured.
“He would have been proud, Eryc.”
Alayne chewed on her lip. “So—there are more members outside of headquarters?”
“Yes, all across the Continent. I told you the Last Order was approximately fifteen thousand strong, but those members are spread far and wide. Despite the fact that the Capital houses the headquarters, there are larger numbers in many other pockets. Two-, three-, sometimes five-thousand in an area. Most of them are still undercover so the Alliance has no specific target yet, but if war is declared on us, we will band together as one unit.”
Alayne blew out her breath in a whoosh as she took in this new information. “I still don't understand why I need to be at the panel hearing, though, sir.”
“Listen carefully, Alayne. Do you remember last year when Justice Connel was murdered? At the time, he was the last remaining Justice sympathetic to the Last Order and what we stand for. When he died, the Alliance had free reign to bar the rights of Naturals in society and move them to the Natural Re-Education Centers. Since Justice Connel's death, we've worked hard behind the scenes to sway some of the Justices toward the Last Order. Three of them have been moved to our side, but it's a very, very touchy situation with the political climate boiling as it is. It's dangerous not to stand with the Alliance these days, particularly for Justices. These three Justices still sit the bench, however, and they know we plan to use their votes to slow the Alliance agenda.”
“Three votes won't be enough to tip the vote, though, sir.” Alayne's brow furrowed.
Manders shook his head. “To forestall a declaration of war, there must be three Justice dissenters—each one representing a central ring of Elemental power.”
“Clayborne, Andova, and the Capital?” Alayne guessed as she pictured the Alliance symbol—three rings in a circle.
“Very good, Alayne. Three among 120 seems a small number, but if a Justice undertakes to stand for a central power—say Clayborne, and another Andova, and the last the Capital, they are essentially representing a large number of people and so hold more weight in the vote. The three Justices we've swayed to our side will vote to forestall the war declaration. However,” Manders shook his head, “Continental Media caught wind of their new political proclivities and reported them.”
Alayne's eyes widened, and Manders's expression turned even graver.
“It's likely that those Justices are in danger, from within and without. They understood this when they turned their backs on the Alliance. Despite the danger, they've informed us that they will be present at the hearing. However, if they don't make it, it may be that war will be declared. No matter what happens, Alayne, I need to know what happens in that courtroom, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, but—” Alayne stumbled to a stop. “Couldn't you come with me? Or go yourself?”
Manders shook his head. “No, I'm too well known in the High-Court. You would be as well, if you looked like yourself.”
“But—Daymon. If Tarry or someone else showed up—”
“Daymon will undergo a transformation as well.”
Alayne glanced back at Daymon. He looked serious, almost austere, his arms folded over his chest as a muscle jumped in his jaw.
Alayne sighed. “Is there anything specific you want me to do, besides just taking careful notes?”
Manders drew a deep breath. “Yes, there is.” He seemed to have difficulty speaking.
Alayne watched him, her left eyebrow creeping upward.
“Alayne, if—if the Justices reach a declaration of war on Natural Humans, I want you to make yourself known to them.”
Whatever Alayne had been expecting, that wasn't it. “E—excuse me?”
“I want you to go before the bench, and I want you to tell them that you are Alayne Worth, Quadriweave and possessor of the Vale. I want you to say—and this is very important, Alayne—that you are the Last Order's advocate for Natural Humans across CommonEarth.” He paused, his gray eyes intent on her face. “Tell me you understand, Alayne.”
Alayne stared at him, fear filling her mind. This is what it would come down to, then: her capture and subsequent execution at the hands of the High Court. “Why?” she whispered.
“Because the people need a leader, Alayne. You will give them hope, vision, and—if we are very fortunate—victory.”
His words hit Alayne with the force of a driving punch. The pressure of expectation weighted her shoulders, and a single phrase repeated its mantra in her head: What if I fail?
Manders started to walk again, but Daymon grabbed the man's arm, whipping him around. Tension radiated off Daymon in the set of his shoulders and the clench of his fist. “Uncle, what are you thinking, putting Alayne in such a situation? It's far too dangerous, and too many things can go wrong! Skies, it's the same as putting a sheep in the middle of a wolf pack!” His harsh voice lashed against the trees and undergrowth around them.
Manders stared at his nephew for a long, heavy moment, his gray eyes hard as nails. At last, he broke the silence. “Firstly, it's not the same, as Alayne has several quite effective methods of defense at her disposal. Secondly, no war can be won if those involv
ed are not willing to put themselves to some personal risk. And thirdly,” he yanked his arm free of Daymon's grasp, straightening his sleeve with a crisp yank, “perhaps you would do well to remember, Daymon, that you are pledged to protect the Vale at all costs and not the vessel that houses it.” He glared at his nephew a moment longer before turning his back and continuing up the path.
Chapter 11
When the turrets and spires of the Capital edged into view among the trees, Manders turned the group west, past the Alliance army outposts and the soldiers milling in large crowds around the main gate.
“Manderly? Isn't that the only way into the Capital?” Alayne asked, the professor's given name resting awkwardly on her tongue. She pointed to the gate, eyeing the crowded market scene, the busy jostling of people as they bustled around the booths.
“No.” Manders said nothing else as he led the group out and around the walls. The slopes and rugged hillsides made the going slow and rough, and the sun had traversed the whole sky and hovered behind the distant mountains when he finally called for a stop. “We'll rest here for a bit,” Manders asserted. “It'll be dark soon—we'll head into the city then.”
Alayne glanced at Daymon, mystified. He shrugged. Apparently he didn't know another way in either.
Alayne slumped against a tree, waiting for darkness to flood the glade. Kary and Eryc disappeared, while Bard and Manders sat on either side of the bounty hunter. Daymon refused to sit. He stood at the edge of the glade, his hands resting on his hips as he stared at the Capital.
Darkness eventually covered the group. Kary and Eryc returned with handfuls of berries, which they distributed. Alayne gulped hers quickly, wishing for more. Her stomach growled.
Kary's lips lifted in an amused twist. “There'll be more food at headquarters. Think you can make it?”
“Of course,” Alayne snapped, pushing her fingers into her traitorous stomach. It didn't help. Another loud snarl filled the air, and Kary burst out laughing.
Guardian of the Vale Page 14