Catalyst (The Second Cycle Book 1)

by Solstice Locke

  4

  Dian tried to focus on his conversation. He should not have been as distracted as he was, but then, nothing about this mission was going precisely to plan. And they hadn’t even started.

  He should not have leaned. That moment was haunting him, distracting him, messing up his careful calculation. No matter how he tried to rationalize what happened, he couldn’t escape the bitter truth of it. He had wanted to kiss her and he had tried. And he had failed.

  All the better, honestly. She was off-limits for several crucial reasons. Nevermind the issues of his being her commander, which—though against the rules—was something that could be overcome with the right paperwork. The real problem was that she was still a convict. She had chosen the legion as her sentence, which technically, made him her jailer. The power imbalance was beyond immoral, it was illegal. Any improper actions, whether initiated by him or her, would be a misuse of that power. He could not, ever, allow that lapse in judgement to happen again.

  She was sitting with Kirst now, laughing and letting him buy her drinks. That was good. Hopefully, Kirst would divert some of her attentions away from him.

  Dian turned his attention back to Miss Arvet.

  Caprice Arvet had pressed him thoroughly about his plan to retrieve the ambassador. There was a fierceness to her questions, a spirit of determination and drive that he understood.

  “I understand this is hard for you,” He offered, when she rejected the idea of hiding and searching instead of mounting a rescue. “I promise you, if the opportunity arises we will save the Ambassador. If we alert the enemy too soon, things will escalate. They wouldn’t abduct a high profile politician just to kill him in secret. Which means he is likely alive. But if they know we’re coming, they could act out of fear.” It was hard to argue when he agreed with her, but she was not a citizen of Vacua. He couldn’t side with her openly and contradict his Queen and the General. That’s not how a good soldier acted.

  Some of the tension eased from her shoulders and her features relaxed. When she looked up she wore a smile. He sensed she looked more herself, though he had no way of knowing, just that a smile suited her more than a scowl.

  “The idea is to do a thorough sweep of the city as quickly as possible. I’ve been studying maps, memorizing the layout and streets, the corners where someone might hide. We have enough soldiers for five groups to split up and sweep from five starting points. Each group works toward the city’s center,” He took a map from his mission folder and set it out to illustrate his idea. Sharing his plan aloud would help him spot errors or make corrections and hearing it seemed to help her.

  Meraton was defined by the meeting of two rivers, merging near the city’s northern border. Freight ships were sent through the city and it had two major docking ports for traveling airships. Its buildings were compacted, practically on top of each other, with narrow streets spiraling toward its center. A row of buildings formed a ring around the heart of Meraton. “If we work inward,” he continued, “We should be able to cover the entire city with ease and speed.”

  “And what are we looking for? How would we know when we found them? There won’t be a sign saying ‘Free Chanters Here, Legion Keep Out.’”

  “There will be other ways of finding them. A drop in temperature could mean increased enchantments. They will want to be somewhere that blends in, but that has a lot of activity to disguise their own coming and going. So it won’t be secluded or hidden. If it were me, I’d pick something large and obvious with a lot of civilian traffic.” Miss Arvet’s dead, defeated stare returned. “I promise, we will find your Ambassador. One way or another.”

  “Hmm.” She stood up, hands on the table for support as she regained her bearings. “Thank you, Major. I’m sorry if I...I’m not normally like this.” Her eyes closed. “I appreciate your help.” She gave him a half-hearted goodbye before retiring to her room.

  With no one to distract him, Dian’s eyes kept drifting to Jade’s table. She and Kirst were still talking, smiling, touching. Dian ran his hands through his hair and considered the very real possibility that the stress of this mission would kill him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT’S A SIGN

  1

  Fel’s room was three walls and a curtain. The Free Chanter barracks were hollowed-out cubes in the bedrock. Identical in size and shape, they dotted the cave like cells in a beehive. The space dividing the rooms held walkways and ladders, stairs and ramps, or nothing at all. They were free to decorate and furnish their space how they wished.

  His room held a small, wood framed bed, shelves, and a footlocker for his clothes. He didn’t own much. He’d lost all his meager possessions along with his name, identity, and soul when he was a child. On the shelves were his recent attempt at a hobby—instruments. A shelf of flutes fashioned from rock, marble, wood, and a resin composite he’d designed. Another held mandolins of oak, cedar, chestnut, and coconut shells. Drums in every combination of wood and hide were mixed with whistles of bronze, steel, gold, and pewter.

  Reclined on his pillow he controlled a lump of clay between his hands. The ball spun and shifted, waiting for him to decide its shape. A twist of his fingers and the sphere flattened, holes hollowing through its center, his mind crafted chambers for sound until it was finished and he let it drop into his palm.

  The harmonica was ruddy red, as the clay had been, and he wasn’t sure what sort of sound the material would make as he held it to his lips. He tested it lightly, blowing and waiting for the resulting notes. Dulled and low, but the pitch was nice. It wasn’t quite enough to take his mind off the prisoners, though.

  He set the harmonica down and sat up. Amaria had always been a firework, prone to igniting into explosion. It had been stupid and risky to start abducting people. Their orders had been to keep a low profile, get the weapons to base without raising suspicion. The supplies they’d managed to extract weren’t enough, but there was no going back to that seller now. Even if the shop owner was willing to do business again his shop would be watched.

  Fel stood and started his descent toward the kitchens. The cavern of their base was large and spacious, but to accommodate their growing numbers they needed organization. They’d constructed a city of structures with tiers and platforms, a maze of bridges and paths. The kitchens were on the lowest level. He slid down poles, descended spiral stairways and ramps, and hopped onto a platform rising and falling at an even pace to connect one floor to another.

  Steam and smoke gathered above the stoves, a cloud he could see as he approached. The air tasted of herbs and spices, growing hotter and richer. He strolled behind the large, open counter to the sizzle and spit of oil, the churning bubble of boiling water, the scrape and clatter of knives. There were six cooks needed to feed everyone. They worked in shifts of two. Fel merged into the controlled chaos of pans and plates, finding his way to the farthest counter where two metal trays sat half filled.

  “Oy, what did I say about walking back here?” Vik had nearly collided into him as he turned to drain the grease from a pan.

  Fel’s motions were exaggerated pantomimes, the only way he had to convey meaning to those who didn’t know his language. His communication relied solely on facial expression and body language. Maybe that was why his face was constantly set in a stagnant scowl when he wasn’t trying to be understood, it was exhausting. He used his whole arm to gesture at the waiting trays, eyebrows raised. Vik followed the motion and nodded.

  “Yeah, yeah. It’ll be another few minutes.” There was a small pop of gold light as Vik tapped a knife and it sprang to life, chopping carrots so he could return to his task. Fel hopped onto a stool to wait. “Don’t just sit, do something,” Vik grumbled, “Start peeling those onions and get ‘em quartered for me.”

  Fel grimaced. His eyes were going to water. He slouched and raised a hand to conduct. With a lazy twirl of his finger a knife and onion rose into the air, dancing together until the skin was peeled. A line of onions formed behind the k
nife, each bobbing to the tune in his head. Fel tried to wipe the sting from his eyes, tears welling against the heel of his hand.

  He finished an entire sack when Vik loaded the last of the food onto the trays and allowed him to leave. Fel balanced them on his hands, not bothering with enchanting, and headed for the dungeons.

  The “holding cells” were technically dungeons. They held prisoners underground, though there was no castle above. However, the narrow passage that led to the cells gave the full effect. Dark and narrow, made of rock and stone and steel. Thick, black bars separated the holding cells. Piles of straw were placed on cots. Isolated from the rest of the base, none of the noise reached here. Spheres flickered along the walls casting wavering shadow…Fel paused, and stared at the spheres. Who the fuck had enchanted them to do that? It was unnecessarily dramatic.

  Until now, there had never been a need to use any of the three cells. Now, their prisoners were being held in the first, Fel could hear them talking as he rounded a corner. Their voices echoed slightly off the stone, but their words were clear.

  “I assure you, this will be sorted soon enough,” Ambassador Laine Kura said, his tone brimming with arrogance and a touch of anger. Ambassador Laine Kura—he had repeated the name over and over—felt his name would carry weight down here, which was not likely. No one followed politics aside from what affected them and some ambassador from one of the other nations would mean less than nothing.

  “They haven’t been compliant so far. I think it’s smarter if we use this time to start thinking of a way out. Instead of waiting for a parlay that might never happen.” The other man spoke, the calmer, more tolerable of the two.

  There was an irritated groan and then shuffling. “What do you propose, then? We don’t even know where we are.”

  “Underground, I’d guess. Deep underground.”

  Fel walked into view with the trays and their conversation halted. He kept his eyes down, focusing on the food.

  “Finally,” Kura said and his nice boots clacked against the stone as he stepped forward, “I demand to speak with whoever is in charge here. You, with the trays,” he snapped his fingers, but Fel ignored him and began to slide the trays into the cell, “I’m not hungry, I’m pissed. Who is in charge here? Blast, I can’t recall his name. All those meetings discussing this Free Chanter nuisance…”

  “Kade,” said the younger man, “Their leader is Kade.”

  Kura breathed in sharply through his nose, “Yes, thank you, Aldon. You,” He whirled on Fel, “Where is Kade? I demand an audience.”

  He continued his rude demands and pissy fit, but Fel’s gaze dropped to where the younger man sat quietly. Aldon. From what the dark showed of his face, he was not happy. His silvery hair shadowed his eyes. It had been neat and styled at the shop, but since had fallen into disarray. He wore expensive clothes, layered with a jacket, waistcoat, shirt, and even a cravat tied close to his neck. It was clear from the way he carried himself, to the way he spoke, to his fancy pocket watch that he was of a different class than Fel was used to seeing down here or at all. Still, he remained stoic while Kura ranted.

  Kura tried to press Fel for information or response, and Fel might have offered one if 1: Kura could possibly understand him or 2: he wasn’t being such a dick about it.

  “Hello? Kade. Your leader. Is this some sort of tactic to break me? The silent treatment?”

  Fel ignored him, his attention on Aldon. Then he looked up and their eyes held for the briefest of seconds before derision crossed Aldon’s face and he turned away.

  “What are you deaf or just some kind of idiot?” Kura threw his hands in the air. “Of course they’d send the simpleton lackey to feed us.”

  Fel’s attention snapped to the Ambassador. His fingers curled into a fist. Kura needed to cool down or his words would go too far. Fel lifted his hand, fingers dancing in practiced motion until the ground rumbled. Kura grasped for the bars.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Kura yelped as the patch of rock under his shoes catapulted him backward. He landed hard on the cot, straw billowing out in a puff. The rock shifted back into place as Kura straightened himself. He was quite, though, stone-faced with a visible tremble in his knees.

  “Wait a second,” Aldon stepped forward and Fel retreated a pace, eyes falling. Were the two of them close? Maybe he had been too impulsive shutting up the Ambassador. “I recognize those motions,” Aldon said, his voice closer, “Do you...do you know Sign?”

  Something happened to Fel that he could not explain. A pull in his chest, like the sudden release of weight combined with the lurching sensation of a sudden fall—it wasn’t pleasant, yet he had to fight a smile. In reality, he stood dumb and stiff—like an idiot, but this time it was true.

  “Forget it, Aldon, he’s just a mindless drone.”

  Aldon didn’t look away, which made the numbing buzz in Fel’s brain worse. Fel remained very still as Aldon lifted his hands. His heart was beating very fast and there was a part of him that would not accept what was about to happen. It couldn’t happen. As Aldon hesitated, Fel hung in space not sure which outcome he wanted more.

  Then Aldon spoke, with his hands, moving them in patterns—words. “I’m Aldon. My father had me learn when I was little, since I was born with only one ear. He feared my hearing would suffer and wanted to prepare me. Do you understand me or...did I get it wrong?”

  Language barriers were not common in Liore. Practically unheard of. The nations were separate in culture and traditions and values, but their respective Founders believed in a unified world. They all used the same language, used the same currency, and kept in constant balance with their neighbors. And so, Fel’s situation was unique. There were few who knew Sign. The man who taught him had only done so out of cruel necessity. Fel could barely read or write and had never been taught how to communicate beyond pantomime. It had been crucial to the results that Fel communicate.

  But it was a crude, broken sort of lesson. Fel had had to fill in the gaps on his own using one of Vacua’s famous resources, books. Their Founder valued knowledge so libraries and universities were open to everyone, encouraged in everyone. Knowledge. Impartiality. Discovery. Though, Fel had long since decided to disregard those virtues. He was not exactly a patriot, given what Vacua had allowed to happen to him in the name of discovery and knowledge. It was beyond his belief that a politician would know how to communicate with him and yet…

  There he was. Signing to him. Not Amaria pretending to listen then running with her version of his words or his attempts to write his thoughts or pass notes. This was someone else who could understand him, talk to him, communicate. Aldon’s words hung in the space between them as Fel stood mute, truly.

  Fel’s fingers shook as he lifted his hands. He had forgotten to breathe and on an exhale started to sign his name—

  Voices carried down the stone passage. Fel froze and his chance to respond slipped away as Kade and a guard came into view. Spheres followed them, their strong light casting harsh shadows. Fel took a step back, looking down. He kept very still as Kade approached the cell. He glanced up briefly and Aldon was no longer looking at him, but backing away from the bars.

  “Ambassador Kura?”

  Kura stepped forward with a dramatic sigh of exasperation. “Finally, someone in charge.”

  “You can come with me. I apologize for my men,” Kade’s somber expression never changed, a stone mask of scars both mental and physical. He put up a hand when Aldon tried to follow. “Just the Ambassador, for now.”

  Kura paused in straightening his cuffs and cast a glance over his shoulder to Aldon. For his part, he did look worried.

  “Surely he may…” Kura started, but Kade was already moving.

  “Not at the moment. We have a lot to discuss.”

  “Very well.” Kura brushed dust from his sleeve and said, “Aldon, I promise to sort this mess out as quickly as I am able.”

  Aldon nodded, but said nothing. Kade
and guard swept past as if they couldn’t see Fel standing in the shadows, eyes down. Soon the cells were once again dark and quiet, the atmosphere thick and tense. Fel stepped forward and lifted his hands, but Aldon’s back was to him now. Pain lanced through his heart, a stab of loneliness with a touch of rejection adding to the sting. They were on opposite sides. He was a politician, no less. Fel didn’t know what he had even hoped for.

  He left, tucking his hands deep into his pockets as his boots stormed across the stone. He wanted to return to his room, seethe and despair in silence, when Amaria’s voice caught his ears.

  “I still vote we kill him,” She said in her casually violent way.

  Fel looked to the dungeons and let out a breath. He followed her voice, keeping his distance as Kura, Kade, and Amaria filed into a private room. They shut the door and locked it.

  Fel hovered for a second, rallying the strength to commit to what he was about to do. With a glance left and right he tapped his fingers against the wall. Sound whooshed toward him, a one-way eavesdropping hole opened for him to overhear and not be noticed. If he was caught...well, he supposed it would depend on who caught him.

  “This is more complicated than you understand. You are the reason we’re in this mess in the first place,” said Kade, Fel guessed he was addressing Amaria, though she remained quiet.

  “Now,” started Kura, “What do you propose we do about this mess? There has no doubt been news of my capture circulating. A unit dispatched for my return—”

  “They sent a small scouting unit. One of those criminal groups they’ve been using,” said Kade.

  “They…” Kura sputtered for a second, “They have sent a Custodial Unit to retrieve the abducted Ambassador to Rosewall? What will my countrymen think? What could the Queen possibly be thinking?”

  “We didn’t get a reason, just to be aware of a small unit entering the city.”

  “And what city is that, exactly? Where are we?”