The Agrista (Between the Lines Book 1) (22 page)

  “I pack light.”

  “Light,
right
.” Marie’s laughter quickly ceased when she saw that Laylia was being completely serious. “I can’t decide,” she recovered with a harrumph.

  “Oh? Then I suppose I’ll have to decide for you!” Laylia shoved Marie out of the way and began furiously rifling through the dresses. “This one!” she announced triumphantly, settling on an elegant dark green dress with a wide, black lace belt.

  “It’s beautiful…”

  “But?”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little fancy, considering our surroundings?”

  “The time and place for beauty is anytime and anywhere,” Laylia said gravely. “It’s imperative to surround yourself with beautiful things, young sister. We have a tendency to forget they’re there, and focus on the ugly.”

  “It looks too small,” Marie blurted out, grasping for excuses.

  “Oh, it’ll fit. Have you ever heard of Parvúlus armor? It’s what they use to train children on Milités. It’s the only thing there that’ll fit me!”

  “Same here,” Marie admitted with an embarrassed smile. “How do you know…” Laylia waved Marie’s impending question away with an impatient hand.

  “I know more than I let on,” she answered vaguely. “Did you know that Fallon invented Parvúlus armor? She doesn’t particularly care for magic, and she’s the first to give you a tongue lashing if you use any, but she’ll use it herself if the ends justify the means.”

  “Why do you mention it?”

  “Cerin isn’t the only one who likes to experiment. I used a similar method on my clothes. All of these dresses automatically adjust to the size of the wearer, just like Parvúlus armor. How else would Bria be able to borrow my dresses all the time?” she whispered with a laugh.

  “Does it repel metal the same way Parvúlus armor does?”

  “Great Lucidus no! Then I couldn’t wear jewelry!” Laylia’s laughter was contagious. Whenever she giggled, Marie began bursting at the seams, and half of the time she wasn’t even sure why she was laughing.

  Laylia was a breath of fresh air, though she and Marie couldn’t be any more different. Marie was pensive. Always planning, never doing. She spent most of her time in her head, which was a place that Laylia seemed to avoid like the plague. If something crossed her mind, she immediately sprang into action without ever considering the consequences.

  Her impulsivity only added to her elusive charm, and was part of what made her so much fun to be around. Marie felt a natural kinship with her, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. They bonded instantly, and while they’d only known each other for a little over a week, they soon grew inseparable.

  They shared everything whilst trapped on Isa-hell. Gripes, secrets, gossip, meals – if you could call them that – and even nighttime hygiene rituals.

  Every night they talked deep into the late hours, and took turns telling one another scary stories while the other drifted off to sleep. Not the wisest tradition, they soon learned, but Marie would gladly welcome the nightmares that ensued over ones of Tajana.

  Marie was surprised that they’d grown so close in such a short amount of time. At first, she found herself constantly second-guessing her judgment. The others hadn’t had anything nice to say about Laylia, but what made
them
the final authority? Still, she couldn’t ignore the fact that Laylia seemed to have no qualms with making a living running cons, and her most recent business venture had included duping innocent children.

  Everyone went their separate ways when they arrived on Milités. Fallon disappeared around the corner almost immediately in search of Cayden. Cerin and Raeph headed straight for the pub, and Alex took a walk to stretch his long legs while Marie tagged along with Laylia and Bria to the hot springs.

  It was a particularly chilly evening, and the steaming water felt like heaven. Marie felt delectably sinful being naked beneath the shroud of murky water.

  A bittersweet smile ghosted Laylia’s lips at the prospect of her younger sister’s innocence, trailed by a twinge of jealousy that she immediately shoved to the back of her mind. The small thrill of being nude in a somewhat public place was enough to give Marie an adrenaline rush, and she was bubbling with energy.

  “My last experience here wasn’t nearly as much fun. It’s kind of funny to think about it now,” Marie said with a lopsided grin.

  “What happened last time?” asked Laylia.

  “It’s
really
embarrassing.”

  “Even better!” Bria pressed.

  “On Earth – which is where our mother sent me – I looked very different. My face was pretty much the same, but my skin, my hair, and my eyes were different colors. Alex said that our father had placed some sort of spell on me to keep me hidden. It worked. Too well, actually,” she snorted, as if making a private joke. “I’ve always been very plain, you see, not that I’m anything special now.”

  “Nonsense! You’re beautiful,” Laylia rolled her eyes.

  “Move on to the embarrassing part!” Bria cheered vociferously.

  “I thought I saw a dead woman in the water the last time I was here.” Laylia and Bria immediately stiffened. “As it turns out, it was only my reflection,” Marie laughed. “I ran out of the water screaming and flailing. I nearly knocked myself out running into Raeph! That’s how we met, with me yelling at him in a towel,” Marie could barely speak through the swirl of laughter.

  The others began to relax and soon joined in her merriment, telling embarrassing stories of their own as they hooted and hollered in fond remembrance.

SAD ENDINGS AND NEW BEGINNINGS

 
A
t Fallon’s request, everyone arrived at Dübess – an extreme devolution of its original title, the
Strategy Station
– roughly around the same time. It was an elegant edifice of rounded columns and chiseled marble that reached several stories high. Each floor was designed to assimilate different climates and simulate warfare, and each story signified a different level of training.

  The first floor, however, was different than the rest. The base level was where everyone – everyone that mattered, that is – assembled to strategize, as simply stated in the building’s original title. Dübess looked rather out of place on Milités, which in itself was a giant paradox.

  Milités’ technology was extraordinarily advanced, yet the soldiers lived in crumbly old clay huts that lacked the basic necessities, eating just enough to survive. The only buildings endowed with the standard amenities that made Milités appear somewhat humane were the buildings that no one actually lived in, and existed solely for conducting business.

  The inside of Dübess was cold and dark. The building was chillingly quiet, but the acoustics reverberating off the hollow stone walls amplified every breath and whispered sentiment, as if the building were haunted. Considering what dour plans often took place here, perhaps it was.

  Rows of stiff metal seats wrapped around the interior in a spiral, divided by a set of thick concrete stairs that sliced through the middle of the circular structure, creating two halves. At the center of the room sat two iron thrones, built into far-reaching pedestals that made them easily the highest seats in the room, and rather ridiculous looking. One needed a means of ascent simply to ascend them.

  Marie, Alex, Laylia, Bria, Cerin, Fallon and Raeph entered the building as a group, but Raeph split off from the others to find his designated seat. By inviting the others to sit in on the meeting about to take place without a formal request, Fallon was callously throwing tradition to the wind. Raeph wasn’t quite so quick to forget what the people of Milités held in high regard, and continued to respect the rules.

  The seating arrangement was very specific in Dübess, because it symbolized rank. The higher up one sat, the greater their ranking. The same concept was represented by distance from the thrones. Raeph, being a fairly high-ranking official, was seated near the innermost part of the top row, with only a few officers above him in rank seated to one side of him, closer to the thrones.

  “I’ve never seen this place so empty.” Alex had attended a few meetings in the past, at Cayden’s behest, but it was always packed to the brim with blank-faced officers in full regalia.

  “It isn’t an official meeting,” Raeph snapped, obviously irked by their presence.

  Marie and the others seated themselves along the bottom row so as not to cause a commotion when several dignitaries shuffled into the room. Judging by the consternated looks on their faces as they irately took their seats beside Raeph, they were just as confused as Marie the others.

  They turned to one another with hissed murmurs of confusion while shooting angry sidelong glances at Fallon.
Pretty ballsy of them,
Marie thought with a laugh.

  Cayden’s absence, and the motley crew that filled the seats at the bottom of the stairs were both highly unorthodox. Fallon relaxed into the throne and sharpened her gaze, focusing her intense honey eyes on the flustered officers clucking like hens.

  “Gentleman! Be silent.” The powerful timbre of Fallon’s sonorous voice promptly stilled their tongues. “I understand your confusion and frustration. Please, let me explain.” The menacing gleam of her cold stare snapped their backs straight and brought them to full attention. “Cayden left on a quest of a personal nature. He should have returned to Milités by this time, but as you can see, he has not.” She paused, as if for dramatic effect. “I fear the worst.” Marie feigned surprise as a whirlwind of gasps laced through the crowd. “Since this quest is of a personal nature, I’m enlisting the help of these people to aid me in my mission.” The soldiers made no move to stifle their bellows of disgust, but knew better than to speak against their commander directly. Quite frankly, Marie couldn’t really see the difference. They seemed to fear Fallon more than they respected her, and they made no effort to mask it.

  In all of their history, Milités had
never
accepted outside help. They considered themselves above the fray, other planets having always been at the mercy of their aid, and never thankful for it. Commonly derogatorily referred to as
Militia Mites
, they valued order above all else, having universal jurisdiction and their own idea of bureaucracy that they forcibly inflicted on others for their own good.

  They did what they could to promote justice and peace, but not everyone agreed with their ideals, which resulted in the birth of the rebels, referred to by Milités as
extremists
. The rebels became the voice of the people, insisting they be allowed to settle disputes their own way.

  The rebels originally believed that the tongue is more powerful than the fist, which Milités proved wrong time and time again, often imprisoning and persecuting those who stood against them; those who they’d initially set out to protect. Eventually the rebels began to retaliate with bloodshed of their own, and an endless war stoked by boundless pride ensued, with no clear enemies to date. It was a vastly imperfect system, one that Fallon and Cayden fought from the inside.

  “Permission to speak,” a nattily-dressed dignitary rose to his feet and shot off an obligatory salute. “Cayden is one of us. One of our rulers. Why are we being excluded from this mission? Do you not trust the very men that you yourself have trained to bring him home?”

  “These are special circumstances. The matter is highly classified.”

  “Lady Fallon, if the information is classified, why are you trusting outsiders with it, and not your own men?”

  “Are you questioning my orders?” The officer stiffened at Fallon’s question, and shoved himself back into his seat without another word.

  Questioning orders on Milités was a serious offense. It took little more than a fellow officer’s suspicion to prompt an investigation that looked into every detail of that soldier’s life. If they’d had too many dealings with the extremists, regardless of the nature of said dealings, they were to be considered a sympathizer and quickly discarded,
if
they were lucky enough meet with leniency from their peers.

  More often than not, friendly dealings with the rebels was an offense punishable by death, which is exactly why Fallon couldn’t tell the others where Cayden was at the moment, nor the details of her impending mission. At this point, it would guarantee mutiny, impeachment, and if she wasn’t an heir of Quinque, death.

  “Let me be clear. This is not a discussion or a vote. This is merely a courtesy to keep you abreast of my movements, so that you might take the proper precautions on the off-chance that I don’t return.” The soldiers looked aghast at this. “I’ll keep you informed of my movements as I go. You’re dismissed.” The others left just as upset as when they had arrived, but Raeph lingered behind, listening intently as the others spoke.

  “That was strange,” Alex gently stroked the stubble ghosting the sharp line of his jaw, deep in thought.

  “They need to be prepared. I may not return.” Fallon descended the throne in a series of showy leaps, impressively executed. “It’s possible we all might perish,” she said with unnerving flippancy.

  “Girl,
what
are you talking about? Perish from
what
?” Bria snapped her fingers for emphasis.

  “You guys don’t know what we’re supposed to do either?” Marie’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “
You
found us! No one told us anything beyond a vague description of your objective. The way it was presented, we didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Laylia said dryly, glaring at Fallon.

  “When Gustav gave me the Agrísta, I was told to locate all of my siblings, and that they,” Marie quickly corrected herself, “
you,
would know what to do.”

  “Not all of you are here,” Raeph reminded. “You’re missing a sibling.”

  “Marcel.” Alex sighed, burying his face in his hands. He didn’t want to subject Marie to that vile creature any more than he had to. Seeing as they would eventually have to return to the castle, and Marcel was the final sibling, he knew he didn’t have much of a choice.

  “You mean to ask
him
for help? He’s a traitor!” Marie gaped.

  “He’s disgusting,” Laylia hissed through clenched teeth. “Have you seen his prized lair?” A guttural rumble lingered at the back of her throat as her eyes glossed over.

  “Yes.” Marie paused, remembering the night of the fire. “I destroyed it,” she said softly, trying to erase Tajana’s face from her memory.

  “Did you really?” Laylia gasped. “That’s wonderful,” she laughed darkly to herself, but memories of Marcel quickly stifled any remnants of joy. “Do you know what it’s made of?” The room went unnaturally quiet, and her whisper soared through the air as if she were screaming. “The red water that pulses through the room, it’s blood from all the virgins he took against their will, not that he turns his nose up at more
experienced
women, mind you. He isn’t picky. He’s an equal opportunity sadist, but he prefers the horror that accompanies stolen innocence.” She flinched suddenly, succumbing to an involuntary shudder. “The next room,” she held herself against the chill sharpening its nails along her spine.

  “The Floor of Faces,” Marie whispered.

  “Marcel calls it the
Family Room
. That’s what becomes of his victims and their families, forced to watch as he does unspeakable things to their loved ones, trapping their souls in rotted tapestry. He takes away their right to die, and destroys their will to live.” Laylia pinned her eyes shut with a firm hand to smother the rush of hot tears pulsing beneath her lids. The explosive energy forged a new path and escaped in a strangled bellow.

  “Magic isn’t all fun and games. It has a dark side, too,” Cerin murmured sympathetically.

  “Laylia,” Fallon spoke in a soft voice as she sank to her knees before her younger sister. She knew enough not to touch her when she was like this. Laylia always fell into a living nightmare at the mere mention of Marcel, which was evident in her complete physical disconnect.

  Laylia had suffered for years at their brother’s hand. Cerin and Fallon were long gone, partaking of youth’s spoils while Laylia was left behind with no one to protect hers as she fell victim to Marcel’s unnatural thoughts. At the time, no one knew the depth of Marcel’s depravity. They simply thought him an eccentric child. Little did they know, his soul harbored a darkness that shattered the bounds of their imagination, gamboling through forbidden terrain with aberrant glee.

  The guilt they bore was too heavy a burden, and they distributed the crushing weight elsewhere to allay their screaming consciences, never giving them a moment’s peace. Fallon masked her anger with a hatred of magic and donned a stone-casing, while Cerin adopted a sense of apathy and robbed himself of meaningful relationships. Neither of them knew how to deal with what Marcel had done to their innocent little sister, mutating her into the soulless woman that appeared before them today.

  “We don’t need Marcel, just his blood. When all of this is finished,
you
can be the one to drive the blade through his cold, black heart.” Fallon’s words seemed to bring Laylia some semblance of solace, for she suddenly jerked, as if abruptly waking up from a dream.

  “Tell me what I have to do,” she whispered, trembling as a lash of cold skittered along her alabaster skin and raised a trail of gooseflesh.

  “I’ll tell you everything I know about the Agrísta, which isn’t much,” Fallon sighed. “It’s said to be made from the blood of the direct descendants of Quinque, and therefore can only be opened with our blood,” she began pacing the room. “I believe that’s why Marcel tried to kill Cerin. He’ll do whatever Cailene asks of him, so long as she gives him free reign and provides protection. If even one of us is dead, the Agrísta cannot be opened. What I don’t understand is why she hasn’t simply killed Marcel. For the purpose of our cause, it’s a good thing she hasn’t.”

  “Cailene’s arrogant. Marcel’s more useful to her alive, and she can’t see any reason why he’d betray her. It’s rather foolish, really, though I’ve never considered Cailene to be particularly bright, just ruthless. She can’t fathom the idea of us getting close enough to do any real damage,” said Cerin.

  “Ask yourselves this: Why now?” Raeph called out, easing the tightness in Laylia’s shoulders with a change of subject. Fallon was so consumed with thoughts of Cayden and their task at hand, she had completely forgotten he was there, which was evident in her startled response. “If what you know of the Agrísta is true, then it must’ve been around for a while. Why is Cailene coming after you
now
? What makes
now
such a crucial time? If preventing you from opening the Agrísta is so important, why hasn’t Cailene been shadowing your every move?”