Starswept Page 11

  Envy flashes through me at all the wondrous places Dámiul must be able to visit. Even our wealthiest cities and grandest nature preserves look dull compared to his world. It’s a small wonder that our government works so hard to maintain the trade agreements that bring pieces of Adrye to Earth.

  “Is that near where you live?” I ask.

  Dámiul shakes his head. “Nathril is inland.” He shuts his eyes for a third time. The hologram of a magnificent city, with strangely shaped skyscrapers—some twisted like antelope horns, some bulbous like stacks of onions, some sharp and straight like blades, and everything in between—reaching toward the slate clouds, appears between us. “This is what it looks like.”

  I stare in wonder. I’ve seen holovids of the Adryil capital before, but images on a screen can hardly compare with what Dámiul’s created through the holoprojectors.

  He opens his eyes and puts his hands on a silver building, which resembles crystals growing in a gleaming cluster. The building magnifies as he moves his hands apart, and I make out several windows. “My family lives in this building, right about… there.” He points to a section near the top.

  Considering the size of the windows, the building must be enormous. I’m pretty sure all of Papilio could fit within its walls. “What does it look like inside?”

  The hologram morphs into a three-dimensional image of a room. A waterfall runs down one of the white walls, and a long, black table surrounded by silver chairs sits in front of it. The pristine silver floor gleams, and beautiful, abstract designs streak across it in white lines. A chandelier made of what look like tiny sapphires glimmers in the center of the high ceiling.

  I gape. “You live here? Is your family royalty or something?”

  “My father runs one of the biggest corporations on Adrye.”

  “He must be brilliant.”

  Dámiul lifts his mouth into a humorless smile. “You could say that.”

  Hoping he trusts me enough now to answer the question he refused to before, I ask, “What does your father’s company do?”

  “He sells things the Adryil find irresistible.” His words are quick and somewhat sarcastic.

  I can tell he doesn’t approve of his father’s business. “What kinds of things?”

  “There’s no equivalent for Earthlings.”

  Annoyance flashes within me. “Dámiul—”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  The sharpness of his tone surprises me. There’s something tormented about the look on his face. The only thing I can think of that might cause such distress is that his father deals in something immoral—maybe something like Phers’s lotus. My mind itches to know more, but pressing him to talk about something that pains him would be cruel. “Fine.”

  His eyes take on a regretful tilt. “I know there are a lot of things I can’t talk about. I promise, Iris, I have my reasons.”

  “It’s all right.” I gesture at the hologram. “Can you show me more of your city?”

  He brings back the view of Nathril. “I’ve lived here my whole life, but I’ve barely seen a quarter of it.” He points at a wide, pyramid-like structure not far from the silver building. “That’s my school. Most of the building is underground.”

  “Are there many underground buildings?”

  “Yes, but most of those structures are very old. They were built before we developed weather machines to tame the rain, and most have been forgotten.” He points at a white spherical structure, and the dry smile returns. “This is what they call the Hall of Justice. It should be called the Hall of Sentencing, since most cases are settled within minutes. It’s hard to hide the truth when the Justices can read your mind.”

  I gaze at the alien city before me, which must be full of wonders I can scarcely imagine. My corner of the universe seems pitifully small in comparison. “I’d love to see all this someday.” But I try not to hope too hard. After all, hope, like a flame, can burn as easily as it illuminates.

  Dámiul places his hand on my shoulder. While I know he’s not really here, I sense his touch. “You will.”

  “You don’t know that.” I know he means well, but unless he can guarantee that someone he knows will hire me, his words are empty encouragement. Part of me wonders if he could help in that way, but asking feels wrong. If I make it to Adrye, I want it to be because I earned my position.

  He draws back, and his expression falls. I guess he realized that he made a promise he can’t keep, no matter how much he might want to.

  Nevertheless, I appreciate that Dámiul cares enough to try comforting me. Not wanting to make him feel bad about it, I decide I might as well indulge a few what-ifs. “Maybe I’ll find a patron in Nathril, and I can see you in person again.”

  “I’d travel across the planet to see you.” He looks away. “But I won’t be here by the time you arrive.”

  “It could be another five years before I’m hired. You might be back by then. Even if you aren’t, I’ll still be on Adrye.” I manage a small smile. “Whenever you return, come find me.”

  “There’s no returning from where they’re sending me.” His voice is quiet. “That’s all I can say. If you knew any more, and they found out…” He trails off.

  A chill runs through me. The fatalistic note in his voice—it sounds like he’s expecting to die. I warn myself not to let my mind wander down that path again. It’s a guess based on an assumption, and it’s too awful to consider.

  What secret could possibly have such dire consequences that he’d fear for me so much? “Found out what? Whatever it is, I swear, I’ll never speak a word of it.”

  Dámiul looks me in the eye. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. But they’re watching.” He glances at the ceiling. “I can keep your minders from seeing me while I’m here, but when I’m gone… I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  He avoids my gaze and doesn’t answer, leaving me to once again guess at what could be going on behind his eyes. I wonder if his secrecy is to protect himself more than me, and if by prying, I’m selfishly asking him to put himself at risk. But if that’s the case, why wouldn’t he just say so?

  A stiff silence hangs between us.

  Finally, he turns to face me. “Do you want me to show you more of Adrye?” He nods at the holographic map.

  The gleaming artificial peaks of Nathril twinkle. Realizing I won’t learn anything more from him, I decide not to press further. So I say, “Sure.”

  Dámiul smiles, but sadness lingers in his eyes. He brings up another building, and I know he’s using Nathril’s sights to distract me from the fact that he’s barely said a word about his own life. Despite what he said before about his life being ordinary, there must be so much more to him.

  I wonder if I’ll ever understand.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE MAIN FLOOR OF THE Grand Hall glows under a marbled pattern of blue, indigo, and violet lights. Strings of bright, illuminated crystals dangle from the high ceilings, glistening like enchanted snowflakes above us. Between them, lithe aerialists in gleaming silver costumes twirl, snow fairies on white silks. Gowns swirl on the dance floor to the music of the Junior Wind Ensemble, the offshoot of the Orchestra currently performing on the white stage between the two halves of the double staircase. Papilians laugh behind colorful masks, some of which are embellished with feathers and jewels, others of which are minimal and elegant.

  Beka puts her cup down with a sigh. Of the six of us who came to this table as single girls, she and I are the only ones left without dance partners. Which she’s been complaining about for the past ten minutes.

  “I should have chosen a different dress.” She looks gloomily at her skirt. “I thought red would help me stand out, but now I think it’s scaring everyone off.” Admittedly, her sparkling scarlet gown is a bit overwhelming to look at, especially with the large gold mask she paired it with.

  Tired of her complaints, I say, “Why don’t you just f
ind a boy and ask?”

  “Call me old-fashioned, but I’d prefer to be asked. Like in a ballet, you know?” She gazes into the distance with a dreamy expression. “I want to believe my Prince Charming is out there.”

  “I understand.” Knowing that Beka clings to the same kinds of fantasies as I do brings me some comfort. I’m not the only one who wants to see the ideals we portray on stage come to life. All our lives, we’re surrounded by the beauty of true love—or, at least, depictions of it. No matter how many times I tell myself to be realistic, my heart refuses to let go of the hopeless dream. I imagine Beka feels the same way.

  My mask starts sliding down my nose. I push it up, then give the sides a light squeeze, hoping that’ll keep it in place. I’m glad I chose a small, light mask, rather than an elaborate one like Beka’s. I picked it because its intricate silver wires, embellished with a handful of white crystals, matched the sparkling belt of my navy blue dress. That it happened to be practical was a bonus.

  I look down at the blue ribbon embroidery adorning my long skirt and admire the way the light reflects off the satin. My neck feels strangely exposed, partially because I opted for a strapless sweetheart neckline, and partially because I’m so used to my hair falling onto my shoulders. Now that it’s pinned back in a stiff updo, I feel like it’s missing.

  Beka heaves yet another sigh, and I nudge her.

  “Just ask someone already.” I nod at a group of boys standing by the edge of the dance floor. “What about one of them?”

  Beka hesitates, then stands with resolve. “You’re right. Enough sitting around. Here goes…”

  She walks over and taps a boy on the shoulder. I can’t make out their words, but after a few moments, he gives Beka an admiring smile and takes her hand. Beka flashes me a grin as he leads her onto the dance floor.

  I recline in my chair, taking a moment to appreciate the scene before me. All around me are familiar people, and yet each seems to glow, as if a fairy godmother cast a spell to transform them all into princes and princesses. I don’t see Milo, though. I haven’t seen him all evening—he’s probably in some private corner with Sabina. Looks like the storybook dream he held on to for three years came to life at last. I wonder when—if ever—it’ll be my turn.

  Beautiful young couples dip and swell with the music, each one wrapped in their own fairytale. Even under the dim lights, Beka’s red dress commands attention. Almost as commanding is Estelle’s glittering gold gown, which seems especially bright next to Zuriel’s simple black suit. Not far from her, Brent and Kiki dance so closely, they almost look like one being.

  And here I am, watching. Maybe I should take my own advice and ask someone to dance. But there’s no one I’d want to dance with—no one here, anyway.

  Brent lifts Kiki’s purple, feathered mask and presses his lips to hers. What must that be like? All the songs make it sound like one kiss can electrify two people and seal the bond between them. I wonder if I’ll ever find out for myself.

  I glance at my sparkling silver clutch, into which I tucked the Zexa device. Dámiul said he’d be here, but I’ve yet to feel his presence. What’s delaying him?

  “Excuse me, miss, may I have this dance?”

  I whirl. Those words weren’t meant for me, were they? A boy in a slate-colored suit stands before me, bowed at the waist with his right hand extended invitingly. Though a plain black mask covers the top half of his face, from his forehead down to the tip of his nose, there’s something familiar about those gray eyes…

  “Milo?” I glance around. “Where’s Sabina?”

  “Powdering her nose with a gaggle of ballerinas. I’m sure she’ll be back soon, but meanwhile”—he extends his hand again—“How about it?”

  “You know I can’t dance.”

  “Not a problem. I happen to be a dancer.” He takes both my hands and pulls me up. “Come on, Iris. I hate seeing you moping all by yourself. Sabina won’t mind—if she even notices.”

  From the way he tugs at my hands, I can tell he won’t take no for an answer. And it’s Milo—he already knows what I’m like, so at least I don’t have to worry about hiding my awkwardness. Maybe it would be fun to partake in the dancing for once, instead of always watching.

  He leads me to an empty spot on the dance floor. The sweet mixture of perfumes swirls around me. The Wind Ensemble strikes up a lively tune, with flute accents that skitter through the ballroom. He puts one hand on my back and keeps his other around mine. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’ve been watching long enough to know that I’m supposed to put my left hand on his shoulder.

  “Just follow my lead.” Milo steps back and forth to the rhythm of the music, and I follow.

  Easy enough. I do my best to keep up, hoping I won’t trip over my heels.

  Suddenly, Milo releases one hand and raises his arm. The next thing I know, I’m twirling under it. I gasp in surprise. He takes my other hand again and gives me a playful smirk, then leans forward. I yelp, falling back into an unexpected dip.

  “Milo!” I giggle.

  Milo grins. “Fun, isn’t it?”

  The music crescendos, and he spins me out. Imitating what I’ve seen the others do, I extend my arm, then let him reel me back in. As he leads me through some of his other ballroom tricks, I can’t keep myself from laughing up at him.

  The song comes to an end, and Milo finishes with one last dip. This time, I manage not to yelp.

  I stay down as I wait for the Wind Ensemble to finish their last note, trusting that Milo won’t let me fall.

  He draws me back up with a smile. “Ready for another?”

  “What about Sabina?” I glance around, wondering what’s taking her so long.

  The music starts up again—a slow song this time. Milo pulls me closer and starts swaying to its beat. “She’ll find me when she’s ready.” He looks past me and shakes his head. “I spent so long dreaming about her, I think I started making things up. I always thought that something more lay behind the snooty ballerina she comes off as, but the more time I spend with her, the more I realize that, wow, she really is just in love with herself.” He meets my gaze. “I can’t help wondering if, by carrying a torch for a distant princess… I might have missed the one right in front of me.”

  I drop my gaze, not knowing what to think. Could he really see me as more than just a friend? And if so… what then?

  The song continues, slow and steady. I always imagined that dancing this closely with someone, especially someone as handsome and elegant as Milo, would ignite some kind of spark. Instead, all I feel is gentle affection. It’s warm, yet hollow. Though I find comfort in the familiar safety of his presence, my heart is a million miles away.

  Or a million lightyears.

  “Milo?” Sabina approaches, looking more beautiful than ever in her pale pink gown. Her eyes betray a look of dismay while her lips hold a hopeful smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

  I pull away from Milo. “Thanks for the dance.” I speed back to my table, hoping Sabina didn’t take our dance for anything more than what it was.

  An invisible but familiar presence materializes beside me, and all thoughts of Milo vanish. “So you made it after all,” I whisper. “Give me a minute—I’ll let you know when it’s safe to appear.”

  I grab my clutch and rush up the staircase. As expected, the second level is all but deserted, save for a few people going to and from the restrooms. I walk down a long corridor and enter a room at the end. Even after I close the door behind me, the Wind Ensemble’s bright notes ring through the walls.

  “All right,” I say. “It’s safe.”

  Dámiul’s hologram unfolds from a stream of light. Instead of his usual black uniform, he wears a white, tunic-length jacket with a crisp silver belt. Lustrous gray lines run down the jacket’s center and along the sides of his black pants. If I thought he looked like a prince before, I guess I hadn’t seen the best of him yet.

  He smiles. “You look lovely.”r />
  “Thank you. So do you.” Did I just call him lovely? Blushing, I glance around the dim, empty room, wishing I could take him downstairs and show him the gorgeous decorations. “I’m sorry we have to hide in here.”

  “The music’s beautiful, but I guess it’s not exactly a ballroom… yet.” Dámiul closes his eyes. The room’s yellowish lights fade to blackness. A blue-and-purple holographic haze fills the air, and crystal snowflakes float down from the ceiling. Bursts of white light make the world around me sparkle, and I feel like I’m standing in a frozen nebula, surrounded by newborn stars and falling snow.

  Dámiul opens his eyes. “It’s not quite what I saw downstairs, but I hope it’ll do.”

  I look around in wonder. “That’s amazing.”

  “I’m sorry I was so late. I had a previous engagement that wouldn’t end.”

  I know better than to ask for details. “That’s all right. I’m glad you could make it at all.”

  “I glad you asked me. I think this is the first time, outside of official Adryil-Earthling gatherings, that our kinds have attended a ball together.”

  Still enchanted by the holographic vision around me, I walk around the room. Dámiul walks beside me. I sense something different about him, though what, I can’t pinpoint.

  A question occurs to me. I always assumed that his experience with the holograms was the same as Vera’s, but he controls the projectors with telepathy, not machines. “When you visit, do you see a hologram of me, like I see of you? Or is it all a vision in your head?”

  “To me, both you and this room are a vision only I can see. Sometimes, I just close my eyes and act in my head, but most of the time, I move as if I’m here.” He looks down with a slight, self-conscious laugh. “Right now, if anyone were to spot me, they’d see me roaming around an empty room. But in my mind, I’m here with you.”

  His luminous eyes warm as he gives me a fond smile, and I realize why he seems different. The traces of anger and sorrow I’ve grown accustomed to seeing in him are absent. For the first time since I met him, he seems to be all here, not brooding over something he won’t tell me about.