Chapter 15
Alayne stared moodily at the hovering holographic maps. Clayborne and its surrounding geography rotated on the central map, and outlying areas in the northern and eastern plains clustered around it.
Eryc Connel cleared his throat. “Did you have any questions, Layne?” His shy gaze flicked over the other occupants of the room. Kary and Bard from the rescue mission were there, quietly murmuring in the corner. Rachyl sat beside Eryc, and Marysa had dragged Jayme to the room as well. “What are your thoughts?” Eryc asked.
Rachyl glanced up from her neat, slanted notes she'd taken. She was still the same Rachyl, but a new spark danced in her eyes after her reunification with Eryc. Though they had been careful and secretive about their relationship while students at Clayborne, they were inseparable in the Last Order headquarters.
Only that morning, Rachyl had lounged beside Eryc in the common room, her feet on a worn ottoman. “Sometimes you find out that things you thought were important, Layne, really weren't at all, and you uncover treasures behind your hesitations.” She'd leaned over and given Eryc a soft kiss full on the mouth.
“You guys are nasty,” Bryce Marshall had commented as he'd meandered past. His manner hadn't improved. Alayne had caught people doing an about-face if they entered an area and found him there. The kid had a way of sucking all the joy from a room.
While Alayne would normally have found Rachyl and Eryc's new open affection adorable, she felt like an outsider instead. Not only did the couple enjoy new-found freedom away from political affiliations and pressures, Marysa's joie de vivre had returned with Jayme's healing. The joy they shared was evident to everyone—except Alayne. Until recently, Jayme had refused to enter a room if Alayne was present. He had only come to the meeting because Marysa had begged him. He sat at the end of the table, unwilling to come any closer. Marysa sat beside him, their fingers interlaced.
Alayne's thoughts turned to Daymon, but thinking of him still darkened her mood. He wasn't here yet, but she would see him before long, she was sure. She glared at her lap, pushing back her yawning ache of loneliness.
Alayne sighed, scratching her fingernail across a rough patch on the table. If she were honest, Marysa's relationship with Jayme didn't bother her. Well, not much—she was too confused about the situation with Daymon to waste time rehashing the past. But it horrified her that she couldn't even get close to Jayme without an adverse physical reaction on his end. For a while, his fever had spiked anytime she was around. These days, if she got too close, he'd just sweat, drawing inside himself, dullness reflecting in brown eyes that used to dance as they watched her. Only in the last week since the High Court fiasco had Marysa managed to talk Jayme into entering the same room as Alayne.
Alayne massaged her temples, pulling her mind with sharp discipline back to Clayborne, Tarry, and the Elemental Alliance. “When do we attack?”
Eryc tapped a finger on the table. “A lot of it depends on Tarry's movements. We've got spies bringing us information, and it does seem that she's keeping the bulk of her manpower at Clayborne with her. So if—”
“But Clayborne only houses a few thousand max, doesn't it? Enrollment was just over a thousand the first two years we were there.”
“But think of all those empty dorm rooms, Layne.” Rachyl tossed her pen aside. “We had floors and floors above both girls' and boys' dorms that were unoccupied, and then the top level had bedrooms for guests, faculty and staff, and visiting teams that rarely got used.”
“Except when Tarry Shane Beckyr used them to house Jayme last year when he was still one of her biggest coverups until she was ready to identify herself.” Marysa's voice from the corner sent everyone's attention to her.
Alayne chewed her lip, remembering her vision the year before when she had stood atop the spire and looked out over the prairie as it crawled with Alliance soldiers. The vision had come from the ring she'd worn—the circlet that had shown her glimpses of a possible future when she'd twisted it around her finger. She'd taken it off after she'd fled Clayborne the first time. Then in the weeks of hiding from EA soldiers—tramping through mountain streams and brambly underbrush—she'd lost it. She couldn't feel sorry, even though the ring had been her grandmother's. It had brought too much pain and confusion.
Alayne shook her head. “She wouldn't have to house them all inside, either. She's more than capable of setting up shelter for thousands.”
“And then there are the tunnels.” Daymon's voice interrupted, and Alayne flinched before turning.
“How 'bout knocking before entering, Houser?”
Manders entered quietly behind Daymon. “He has a perfect right to be here, Alayne,” he said smoothly, “as you know very well.” He nodded to Eryc. “I apologize for being late, Eryc.”
“Daymon does have a good point about the tunnels.” Eryc slid his fingers over the map hologram and expanded the view and the angle. The door in the hedge disappeared as the viewfinder slipped past the wood, and Alayne watched the tunnels branch, running in a thousand different directions, rusted doors spaced systematically along the walls. “Not just thousands—hundreds of thousands of militia could be housed here. The tunnels run for miles beneath the school, and no one knows for sure where the borders really are. Andova's tunnels are nothing compared to Clayborne's.” A note of awe tinged his voice.
“So is that where you believe the Casted are?” Alayne eagerly searched the tunnels, wondering if indeed Tarry were keeping the Shadow-Casted Naturals in some forgotten corner of the corridors. Or perhaps her own parents waited behind one of the doors, hoping faintly for freedom. She and Daymon had fled from Kyle through those corridors, but they had only run through a small segment compared to the hundreds of tunnels and thousands of doors.
Eryc shook his head. “I don't think all the Casted are there. I believe Tarry transported students to Cliffsides last year after they'd finished exams. Once they lost exam face-offs, students boarded shuttles to supposedly return to Clayborne, remember? Tarry instead sent the shuttles south to Cliffsides.”
Alayne had been terrified of that very thing, but she'd hoped that it wasn't true. However, one didn't just hide nearly a thousand students under a rock somewhere. “How do you know? Is it only speculation or have you found evidence of where she's holding the students?”
Manders clasped his hands behind his back, pacing the length of the table as he studied the hovering map. “The Last Order received word of Alliance shuttles landing at Cliffsides and occasional sightings of people who matched the identities of some of the missing students. It's pretty conclusive that at least some of the students are there, although, make no mistake, Tarry isn't limiting her Shadow-Casted army to Clayborne students only.”
Eryc flipped the map over, and crashing ocean currents slammed against the towering ridges of Cliffsides. “That's where the traitor Sprynge was heading all last year when we didn't yet suspect him, overseeing operations, ensuring the Casted stayed Casted. Since Sprynge's death, we believe Tarry's shuttled some of the Casted north to Clayborne and keeps them in the tunnels in preparation.”
Alayne's eyebrows arched. “For what?”
“For war.” Eryc blinked at her. “Didn't you know?”
Alayne felt dense. Realization swept over her even as her tongue stumbled over the words. “Know what?”
“Tarry's going to use the Shadow-Casted army to attack the Last Order. When we fight, we'll fight the Alliance, but they'll use the empty shells of our friends, our fellow students, and our families—both Natural and Elemental.”
Alayne's jaw dropped and she was powerless to close it. She sat, thankful that a chair was behind her to catch her. She would have hit the floor otherwise.
“But—we won't. We—we can't. Can we?” She looked helplessly around the room.
“No, we can't.” Manders's gentle voice cut through the stillness. “Tarry knows that we can't, which is why she believes her plan will succeed.”
“Then it's over before it starts.” Alayne's m
ind jumped to her parents, and panic washed through her. She hadn't considered it before, either because she was too afraid or because she'd foolishly held onto a gossamer thread of false hope, but—how likely was it that Tarry hadn't Shadow-Casted her parents? The thought plunged through her like a knife, and her voice only came out in a whisper. “How am I ever going to get them out?”
“We, Alayne, not I.” Manders laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. “It's a team effort. We will free your parents and every student and teacher at Clayborne, as well as the thousands of others that Tarry has Casted for her own purposes. We just need to come up with a strategy that trumps hers. I have a few ideas.”
The Last Order Hive (as Alayne liked to call it) buzzed with activity over the next week. The sewer doors almost continually opened as spies carried their information to headquarters.
Manders grew pensive as the days passed. He didn't say much to Alayne, but he did fetch her whenever a new meeting was held. Alayne became accustomed to the LO leaders: Manders, Dr. Lynch, Mr. Trent, Kary, Bard, Hugh Whyttier, Reen Shyft, Caryn Sorkyns, Lynda Jenkyns, Nathyn Brenk. Their faces were always tight with the tension that accompanied world-altering events. Tony grinned at her past the end of his blemished nose as he, too, slipped into some of the meetings.
Tension between Marysa and Alayne hadn't improved much since Alayne's return to the Hive. It wasn't without effort; anytime they were in the same room, Marysa talked twice as fast and long as normal—quite the feat—and Alayne smiled too brightly and laughed too heartily in response to her friend's jokes.
It wasn't the same.
Alayne had finally had enough. After supper one evening, she entered the common room, approaching Marysa where she sat on the floor before a fireplace, playing a string game with Jayme and Rachyl.
Marysa glanced up, her mouth widening into a taut smile. “Want to join us, Layne? We've just started—”
“Can we talk?” Alayne interrupted. She softened her tone. “Please?”
Marysa jumped to her feet. “Sure. Let's go make some tea.” She led the way to the chute, Alayne trailing behind and ignoring the curious stares from others in the common room.
The commissary was empty, but Marysa found the tea with no problem.
Alayne filled two mugs with a simple element twist and heated the water with another. Marysa slid the tea bags into the liquid and shifted into a comfortable position on the counter, wrapping her hands around one mug.
Alayne blew on hers, cooling it, sorting her thoughts.
Marysa took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “Needs sugar.” She spooned in two heaping helpings, stirring thoughtfully. At last, she looked up. “I miss this.”
Alayne sipped. “I know.” Her quiet voice echoed in the cavernous kitchen. “I do, too.”
Marysa put her spoon down, her gaze on her cup, her hair sliding down on either side of her face, a warm veil for her tea. A minute of silence was followed by a sniff.
Alayne straightened. “Marysa, are you—”
“Crying. Yes, I am.” She put her tea on the countertop, hopped off, and crossed the distance to Alayne. Alayne barely had time to put aside her own mug before Marysa knocked her backward with a strangling hug. “I've felt awful about how I handled the whole situation with Jayme, and you coming back and finding out about us before I had a chance to talk to you. I know I hurt you, and I hate that. I flubbed the whole thing and made it ridiculously awkward for both of us.”
Any bitterness and vestiges of anger fled before Marysa's words. Alayne buried her face in her best friend's shoulder and cried, too—because beneath all the pain, guilt, heartache, and sadness, her friendship with Marysa was a steel rope—strong, woven, and unbreakable.
Finally, sniffling, Alayne pulled away. Both girls laughed at the sight of each other's tear-streaked faces. Alayne shook her head. “I'm the one who should apologize, Mary. You were right, completely right. I'd moved on and was too stubborn to admit it. I had no right to deny you any happiness, and I feel horrible that I reamed you for it. You and Jayme are perfect for each other, and I—I'm happy for you.”
“Truly?” Marysa's wide blue gaze searched Alayne's.
“Truly, honey.”
And then they couldn't stop talking. The strain on their friendship since their flight from Clayborne dissipated over tea. Marysa dug out wrapped chocolate candies—strict embargo from above-ground, she said—and the girls stuffed themselves as they giggled over every romantic thing Jayme had done since he and Marysa had started seeing each other.
“So, what about you and Daymon?” Marysa asked at last, gathering a handful of wrappers and throwing them in the trash.
“What about us?” Alayne asked, studiously picking her fingernails while avoiding Marysa's gaze.
“Come on, Layne, you know we all see it. It doesn't live in your imagination, it's nothing to be ashamed of, and it's as obvious as if you spelled it out for us.”
“Us meaning the whole Hive?” Alayne shot Marysa a sharp glance.
“Well—yeah. We all see what's going on. I guess we're just wondering if you guys have made it official.”
Alayne ripped at a hangnail until it bled and then almost immediately healed. “Daymon and I will never work out, Marysa. It's not meant to be.”
Marysa leaned against the counter next to Alayne and folded her arms. “Why not?” she asked softly.
“It's complicated. I—it's just—there's no point. The Vale affects my thoughts and emotions, and apparently, it affects the emotions of the Guardians as well, especially Daymon as my primary Guardian. What we have isn't genuine. It's a distorted reflection of what the Vale conjures up and throws at us.”
Silence hovered. Marysa finally broke it. “Alayne, I'm sorry.”
Alayne nodded once, dropping her hands to the counter and staring at her toes. “Doesn't matter. There's too much else to think about now. We don't have time for—for love. Even shadows of it.”
Marysa silently cleaned up the remnants of their tea party. When she dried her hands, she threaded her arm through Alayne's, leading her through the kitchen door. “I think, Layne, that hope isn't so very silent after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you see the Vale as an obstacle. But maybe, instead, you should see it as a catalyst. Maybe Daymon's love has been there for a long time, but it took the Vale to bring it to your attention.”
Alayne didn't answer. She doubted it, but then, she'd been wrong about a lot of things lately.
The last meeting of the week left Alayne's neck tight with tension. Bryce Marshall, a frequent lurker, took a notion to sit in the conference room while the “talking heads”—as Bryce snidely called them—finished mapping out their battle plans.
“With all due respect, Dr. Manders, this is the best possible area.” Trent pointed a meaty finger at a spot on the holographic map. He traced along the eastern perimeter of Clayborne's property. “You can bet they've got Earth-Movers out there changing the scenery, but it's the location that is farthest from any civilization, and therefore, from civilians.”
“I think you're right, Mr. Trent. In ten days, we're expecting—” Manders sucked in his breath. “Mr. Marshall, this is a private conference, young man.” His gray eyes, normally kind, were snapping steel studs.
Bryce shoved his hands in his pockets, sullen. “I'm tired of not knowing anything. I sit in this black hole day after day, and nobody tells me if it's winter or summer, rain or shine.”
Manders's back was stiff and straight as a pole. “Mr. Marshall, you know very well the reasons for our seclusion. That has nothing to do with rules. I'll give you three seconds to leave this room, or you'll be very wet and wish you weren't. One, two—”
“Fine, I'm leaving, I'm leaving.” Bryce swiveled toward the chute. He disappeared as soon as the doors closed.
Unease rolled through Alayne's stomach. Worry etched Manders's face, and her feeling grew. The meeting continued until everyone seemed too tired to fi
nish. Manders finally dismissed them, sitting in his chair, his expression lost in thought.
“Is everything in order then, sir?” Alayne asked, knowing that, at least for herself, it wasn't. Terror crouched at her door, waiting silently to destroy her when she opened it.
Manders rapped his fingers on the table, his lips pursed. Suddenly, he stood up, gathering his papers. “Keep an eye on Mr. Marshall for me, will you, Layne?”
He hooked his folders under his arm and strode toward the chute, entering it and dropping from sight almost immediately. Alayne swallowed, going over the thousands of details she'd been privy to in the LO meetings, panic swarming her mind. All at once, overwhelmed with claustrophobia, she ran for the chute and hit the button for the top level. No one in the other rooms seemed aware of her. They nodded over their maps and charts until Alayne wanted to smash every MIU the Last Order possessed.
The flickering darkness of the top level corridor appeared almost instantly.
Alayne jogged toward the entrance.
“Where do you think you're going?”
Alayne gasped and turned. Daymon stood in front of the chute door, his arms crossed over his chest. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Rebellion bubbled inside Alayne. Just once, couldn't he give her a break? She needed sunlight, air, freedom. She'd been cooped up too long.
“You can't stop me, Daymon.”
Daymon took a step toward her. His eyes flashed in the lantern light. “Can't I?” he asked quietly. The challenge was evident in his voice.
“Let me put it this way, Daymon. I'm going out. If you try to stop me, you'll get hurt.”
Daymon casually lowered his arms, but tension poured from every line in his body. “You wouldn't. After what happened last time we sneaked out, Alayne, you know better.”
Alayne flung the guilt aside. “I absolutely would.” The warning had no effect. Daymon marched down the hallway toward her, his stride wary but purposeful.
Alayne's hand burst into flame. “I'm warning you, Daymon.”
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