Diamondsong 02: Capture Read online

  After a lifetime of using her senses in full, Dime yearned for the hood to be off. She understood that the marshal didn’t want to see. Many didn’t. That said, she knew xe wouldn’t forget her, whether or not xe’d seen her face. For that, she didn’t know whether she was sorry.

  As it appeared the fairies all lived above the ground, or at least did in Pito, she did not expect to be led to an outdoor corridor at ground level, not far from a sloping wall of rock. A guard, for she knew nothing else to call xem, emerged under an archway, blocking their passage.

  “Your Honorous, this pyr was found downcreek saying xe had an arrest decree and xe needed to see the High Seat.”

  The guard rolled xyr eyes, tapping a wood staff against the stone path. “A pyr says xe wants to see the High Seat and you take xem here? Seriously? What is your name?”

  “Your Honorous,” the marshal dropped to a whisper, “I swear to you on Sha’s ways, I want no part of this. Xe said more. More I can’t repeat. Please. Please, I beg you, take the pyr. Let me leave.”

  Dime watched the guard’s eyes flick with annoyance. Xe reached into a pocket in xyr robes, as if for a pen. Xe wasn’t buying it.

  “Burge,” Dime offered, to get xyr attention. Angled so the marshal could not see but the guard could, Dime pulled her hood back on one side, allowing just a border of her vine tattoos to be visible in the nightlight. The guard’s eyes widened.

  “Promise you will not speak of it,” the guard hissed to the marshal.

  “I promise,” the marshal whispered. “With your leave?”

  “Go,” xe returned. The marshal flew away without pause.

  As if invited in, Dime walked on past the guard, under the arch and through the large open door behind xem. “This way?” she asked.

  The guard gnarred behind her, but she could tell xe was following as she walked along a long, stone corridor, lit with more of the glowing stones and lined with carved statues. “Through there,” xe directed as she reached a juncture. Dime obeyed. After several more turns, the adorned passageways ended, replaced by plain corridors, almost tunnels. Having imagined an elegant tower with a view of trees, she did not expect these long, dreary halls. Or the quiet. Or isolation.

  Yet there was something stirring in this empty place, a feeling she could not describe. It made her uneasy, like an itch.

  Her concern grew as she saw no paintings, no signs of office work. The air grew cool against her exposed hands. It was becoming clear she was not approaching any grand chambers. The walls were gray and brown, spotted with patches that looked like char, but hardened like they’d been there a long time.

  Passing through an old-looking door, Dime stepped into the middle of a much wider corridor, brightly lit and extending to her left and right. Dime stopped cold, seeing the structures that lined it in both directions.

  She’d seen cages before; Luja used them to transport wounded animals to the medical enclave. These cages were pyr-sized and cubical in shape. Each was formed by long, glimmering bars, and inside, rested stark furnishings: a round stool, a chair, a wide bed, and a tray-like table. A smaller cage connected to each in the back, shielding what appeared to be commodes. The large corridor—or long room, she supposed—smelled musty, but clean.

  Dime’s gut wrenched at this idea of confinement. Thinking of it had troubled her, but seeing it spun her mind into a state of fury. She fought every instinct to run.

  Without anyone touching it, one of the cage doors swung open. Valence. Dime was still not used to the reality that fairy wings truly did hold mystic powers, but, she realized, she’d better get used to it fast.

  For a moment, she considered refusing to enter. She didn’t know if they would force her in anyway, or whether it would be wise to tempt them. Or, if not, whether she’d be less of a prisoner sitting here, in the middle of the floor. At least the cage held a chair.

  Now was not the time for Dime to doubt her plan. She hadn’t felt scared in her own small office in the towers; she imagined this as another. She stepped into the cage and the door closed in front of her. A small object flew from the guard’s hands, glittering as it zipped into the area of the handle. She heard a click, and the object flew back again. Xe relaxed a quick moment and then left, the glittering key still in xyr grip.

  They locked it! She knew what a cage was for, but it was different to sit in one than to be locked in one. Dime felt like the air had been taken from her lungs in the small space. Then, she considered what it must feel like to a fairy used to flying, and anger joined her anxiety. Each furnishing had more space between it than she was used to, and the ceiling lifted higher; she supposed that accommodated wings. Still, it was small. Stifling.

  She sat in the chair, really just trying to acclimate to this confining space, trying to regain calm and resolve, to keep herself in control for when they returned.

  After a while, a pyr walked into the room, wearing striped, orange robes, layered chains of glittering jewelry, and a large, rust-colored twist of hair. By xyr skin, xe was perhaps Dime’s age. “Say your name,” xe commanded.

  “I will speak only to the High Seat,” Dime responded. Still held by the anxiety of the small space and still wearing the dark hood and cloak, the arriving fairy brought her no additional fear. Instead, Dime grew annoyed.

  The pyr paused. “I am Seat Fe’Dailawe. Perhaps you did not know. Why have you lied to our guard?”

  Lied? Dime never lied. This infuriated her, beyond any annoyance. Yet she wouldn’t be drawn in by a ruse. “I will speak only to the High Seat.”

  “If you are not lying,” Dailawe said, “then whatever you were told is wrong. The Seats have issued no arrest for a Ja-lal. You should not have come here.”

  Dime was struck with a beat of panic in her heart. Had she come here for nothing? But the pin. The Fo-ror who’d burst into her home had been wearing the Seats’ pin. No. Even if she were wrong about who had tried to take her, she was born a Fo-ror. She was still a Ja-lal, but that did not make her not a Fo-ror either. Her wings had been removed, stealing her heritage. Her history. Her ability to use valence as the others did.

  For answers, she would speak to the High Seat. Which was even more relevant if this important pyr truly did not know.

  “With proper respect to you, Seat Dailawe, I will speak only to the High Seat. And I will not say it again.”

  With that, Dime sat her backpack down on the floor. She removed her cloak, folded it, and tucked it into the bag’s large side pocket. Taking a deep breath, she sat back in the small chair, closed her eyes, and waited.

  A crack issued from the side, forcing Dime’s eyes open again by reaction. A miniature light show exploded before her, filling the room with blue light. The Seat raised her hands to her sides, silhouetted against her wings. Bright azure bolts and sparks bounced between the stone walls, zapping around like festival fireworks, meant, she supposed, to impress her into speaking.

  If this was meant to impress or even frighten her, perhaps Dailawe should have seen the fireworks Dayn and Ador had recently constructed. Dime had worried they’d blown up the tower skygarden.

  Dailawe lowered her arms, stepping forward, as the room returned to its previous state. A show of her valence, then. Fine.

  With a look that told Dailawe she’d have to do better than that, Dime closed her eyes again. This time, she focused on music. She remembered the little songs that she’d written during her long turns in the field, the fragments of longer pieces she’d not had the time to stitch together.

  She relaxed into the fledgling tunes within her mind, blocking any sense of whether Dailawe continued to speak.

  Dime may have even fallen into an uncomfortable half-sleep for a while. She stirred, rested but stiff. Standing, she stretched and looked around. A simple latch opened the pathway to the commode, which was as clean as she could imagine without the benefit of plumbing. Closing the small
er door again, she returned to her seat.

  The guard, when xe returned, did not look happy to see her. Without words, xe unlocked the cage, again with the glittering key, and motioned for her to follow. Dime heaved the backpack on, but left the cloak in its pocket. The guard started at her tattooed head then glanced away, as if disgusted. Or embarrassed. Dime wasn’t sure. She thought about talking to xem, but she’d drawn a line. She was staying behind it.

  After a take or so of walking, xe transferred her to a second guard. This one, with the swagger to match it, wore the pin—the diamond pin of the Seats. Dime tried not to stare. She didn’t recognize xem from the invasion into her home, or at least she didn’t think so.

  At this point, the drab tunnels opened into wood-paneled hallways, painted and carved like the most elaborate ferm hall in Lodon. Water ran, and metal clanged, and Dime had the distinct impression they were taking a back way to wherever they were going. The guard opened a wide door, and they stepped through together.

  The expansive hall was the height of three or four levels. It smelled like cedar planks and a strong floral perfume. Large chandeliers of glowing stones provided ample light across the bright space. Despite the lofty ceiling, no pyrsi flew here, except a quick flutter to skip across more open portions of the hall. All stayed at floor level, their wings sometimes swaying, like flowers in a field.

  Nine fairies stood, sat, or even perched upon huge chairs, arranged across a curved dais, faced at an angle from where Dime stood. Those who sat back had their wings spread wide and they leaned against them. Those sitting forward folded their wings behind, the two wings almost, but not quite, touching.

  Each chair reminded her of a storybook throne, and each was decorated or upholstered differently, she supposed according to the wishes of each inhabitant. Small tables waited by each chair, some littered with papers and others pulled neatly to the side.

  In the center of the arc, a fairy sat on a plain chair of dark hardwood, with rounded bars across its back, and a line of diamonds on its top. A cluster of white braids shifted at xyr side. Or, his, she realized. This must be Ma’Ferala, the High Seat.

  She could have gazed at the elaborate beauty of this space for bells. She could have drunk in every detail, every rail and pillar. She could have memorized the elaborate embroidery of each gown, the wafting capes, and the towering hair. She could have stared forever.

  But, it turned out, there was one Sol of an argument underway.

  “Don’t lecture me,” Dailawe said with a bit of a growl. “It’s not a coincidence! Not just the one, now, but both in our prison. At the same time? Are there others? This one swore not to talk except to the High Seat himself! I believed xem! Xe had a truth to xyr voice. Different than the other. Clearer. We need to know what’s going on! Something is going on. This threatens our security!”

  Both?

  “Security threat?” another responded. “The security threat is taking some unknown brute into Chambers without vetting. Sha’s sacred hall. Have you not studied history, Seat Dailawe? Should we return the Violence? Have xem do it for us? Watch our children die? What would you do? Would we—”

  “Enough!” the fairy to Ferala’s left growled. Dime shuddered. Even from afar, she did not like this pyr. Xyr sneering face, xyr drawn lips, xe rang of anger. Of bitterness. Xe wore a necklace of large metal beads, large diamonds set within each one, and xyr hair was pulled back with dark ribbons. “The brute will not be taken to Chambers; you will return it to prison and I will pyrsonally ensure its return to the Barrens.”

  Oh, that was not going to happen.

  “Honorous High Seat Ferala,” Dime called, her voice surprising her with its steadiness. She stepped forward. “I am Fe’Diamond of the Ja-lal, and I am responding to your order of arrest. I request a private audience to learn the nature of my crime.”

  Amidst the gasps and the clattering of dropped objects, all eyes first turned to Dime. And then to Ferala.

  Ferala did not deign to look at her, but stared ahead, his mouth hidden behind dark gray fingers, covered in sparkling jewels. Diamonds. His fingertips pressed against his lips.

  Dime glanced around the room, noting the shocked expressions, the gaping mouths. She noticed the way Ferala hid his own in his hands. His eyes stared ahead. Blank.

  Understanding, Dime was now certain it was Ferala who’d tried to bring her here. But not like this. It was supposed to be in private. Not revealed here, in front of the others.

  Yet what choice had she had? How could she sneak to find him, locked in a cage like a wounded squip? He could have communicated with her like a pyr, not sent his minions to take her in secret. He’d done this, not her.

  “There are other matters to discuss!” she called. “Other matters. I will only wait so long. Know this.” She stared directly at Ferala as she spoke. “I am willing to negotiate terms. Otherwise, the terms will be mine.”

  The angry Seat began to shout orders, but Ferala interrupted, talking over xem. “Dead caves. Now. No one is to have any contact with either of them until I decide how this is handled. And no news leaves this room. None. That is my decree.” He slammed a staff onto the dais, with enough force that room crept to a silent stop.

  Several pyrsi bowed low, while the Seat to Ferala’s left just glared at him, a silent communication that Ferala would not return.

  “Out, now,” the guard whispered, not saying another word until they were back in the plain passages again. The waiting guard stood back up as the higher-ranking guard barked a few quick orders, turned on his toes, and left.

  “Prisoner Fe’Diamond, huh? Seems I can’t shake you.” It was the same guard who had locked her in the first time. “I’m Guard Ma’Wayniam. We’ll get along best if you don’t bother me. Do you have any, uh, dietary needs?”

  Dime assumed it was a standard question, but the way he asked it had a “what do you pyrsi eat” vibe that for some reason struck her as funny. She held back a smile. Given her situation, she wasn’t sure why she was grinning so much.

  “Call me Dime. Nothing serious, but I’m not the biggest fan of raw hullnut.”

  “Hullnut?”

  “Not served here? Great, that’s one point Fo-ror.”

  “Through here,” he said with narrowed eyes, leading her back through the drab corridors, until they entered the wide corridor of cages again, though this time at one of the ends.

  “So these are the dead caves?” Dime asked.

  “I don’t answer your questions.”

  A familiar voice wafted up the passage, gravelly but with a sultry edge. Dime tripped over her feet as Wayniam noted her shock. “Holy Sol,” the voice continued, “is that really Agent Dime? You tell me right now that’s Agent Dime.”

  Wayniam gritted his teeth as they walked toward the third cage, the one occupied by the unexpected voice.

  “Know her?” He pointed into the cage.

  Still stunned by what she thought she’d heard but unsurprised now by anything, this required quick thought. Maybe she shouldn’t have ticked Wayniam off on the way here; he was unlikely to grant her requests. Ok. A risk.

  “No.” Dime stopped in place. “No. I will not be anywhere near that pile of refuse. I demand you place me back where I was. I order you, Guard Wayniam.”

  Wayniam turned around with puckered lips, his knotted hair bouncing over his shoulders. “You order me, brute? Ok. How about this?”

  The key zipped through the air as the neighboring door swung open. Trying not to let the ever-flying key throw her off, Dime pretended to pout and then gave the guard the angriest face she could muster as she walked in and sat down. The door slammed shut with a click and the tiny key zipped back into his hands. Dime set down her backpack and turned away, arms wrapped around herself.

  Chuckling, Wayniam left.

  Dime spun on the round stool. Through the bars of the neighboring cage, s
he wasn’t sure what to expect of the fe’pyr, the best agent she had ever known. There she sat in the middle of her bed, with drawn-on tattoos, painted blue lips, and eyes as bright as she remembered. That gray skin, though. Dime’s could not have grown that gray. She glanced at her hands. Harm it. “Rock. What the kill are you doing here?”

  “Maybe you’re dreaming,” Rock said, giving her a wink. “Anyway, nice move with Waynie there. He’s not really terrible; just hates his job.”

  A long, long moment passed as Dime stared into the agent’s eyes. With a grunt, she looked away.

  “Good to see you, D,” Rock chimed. “It’s been way too long.”

  A whistle sounded outside Keliaka’s bungalow. From the back room, her ba’pyr let a shrill cry. “Hold on,” she yelled at the window, “you’re early!”

  The delivery crew probably couldn’t hear her from the ground, but it made her feel better to scold them. After all, it was low-class delivery shift, so who cared whether her cooking was interrupted? Who cared whether the ba’pyr’s nap was cut short? Who cared that she received the same plain food every time, while the pyrsi she served at work ate fine, seeded pods and soft grain noodles?

  The whistle sounded again.

  She grabbed last delivery’s bags and whisked through the curtain, to see four pyrsi lowering a delivery blanket to the ground below, covered in bags of produce and grain. She flew down to meet them.

  “Keliaka. Three. Standard.” The pyr read them off, not introducing xemself. They never introduced themselves. Just knew her name from the list.

  “Here,” she handed over the empty bags. “My ba’pyr is crying. May I fly back up? Could you set them on the walk?”

  The pyr rolled xyr eyes. “We’ve got a whole route ahead of us and two out sick. We’ll leave them here. We trust you’ll get to them soon.” Another pyr unloaded three full bags, setting them off in the grass. “Be well,” xe offered with a smile.

  “Thank you,” Keliaka said. “Most kind.” After all, it did no good to irritate the delivery pyrsi. She didn’t think they’d do anything to her delivery, but less enthusiasm she didn’t need. “Sha’s blessings,” she added.