PUNA’S ATTENTION FIXES ON CARA, who somehow managed to provoke another argument with a performer who doesn’t speak English. Cara’s apparently so talented at conflict, even linguistic barriers can’t hinder her. I clutch the access card and inch toward the door.
Fifteen minutes. That’s how long I have to find Dámiul and convince him to come with me. There’s no time to be afraid.
I tap the card against the pad by the door, and it slides open. As Jaerin instructed, I tap it again before it opens all the way, then slip out through the crack as it starts closing again.
The door shuts, and I find myself alone in a long, white corridor. There’s something menacing about its pristine appearance. I feel exposed, like a million eyes are watching me. In a way, they are, since tiny cameras line the walls. But they can’t see me. Jaerin’s contact blinded them—for now.
According to Jaerin, all the guards are either out in the auditorium with the prisoners or standing by the doors to the outside. I shouldn’t run into any. If I do, I’m to pretend I got lost like the Ka’risil simpleton I’m meant to be. Since devices preventing the Adryil from using their telepathy are embedded within the walls of the facility, anyone I run into won’t be able to read my mind. At least not without either shutting down the devices, as they did in the backstage area so the Keepers could keep an eye on the Ka’risil, or using machines like the crown-like device the white-haired man used on Dámiul.
I speed down the corridor, passing several doors. Each has a large, rectangular window in it, through which I glimpse the classrooms the prisoners are reeducated in. Adryil letters splash across the fronts of many of these group rooms. I don’t recognize enough to read them, but Jaerin told me what kind of messages they display. Here, cooperation, conformity, and compliance are rewarded, and individuality is seen as a disease. On Adrye, uniqueness is a trait only valued in products and property—like the Ka’risil.
I turn a corner, recalling the layout I spent all week memorizing. I was afraid I’d panic again, but I seem to have passed the point of fear.
After winding through a few more corridors and using the access card to bypass a handful of gates, I reach the hallway at the end of which my destination lies. I see it ahead: the door at the end, to my right. Dámiul’s probably there already.
My steps speed up, and the next thing I know, I’m running. Through the window in the door, I glimpse the back of a boy with black hair. It’s him; I know it. I tap the card against the security pad and rush inside.
“Dámiul!” I run to him. He turns to face me, and I freeze.
I’m looking at a stranger. Dámiul’s eyes are as blue as ever, but the intensity that once took my breath away is gone. He blinks, as though waiting for me to continue.
“Dámiul, it’s me, Iris.” I walk cautiously around the metal table, approaching him.
He watches me blankly, but otherwise doesn’t react. Even if he doesn’t recognize me, I expected to see some measure of confusion. Shouldn’t he at least ask me who I am, or what I, a Ka’risil, am doing here?
They’ve even taken his ability to question away from him, leaving me with a tantalizing shell. At Papilio, I had all of him except his physical presence. He kept secrets, but his fundamental being was with me. I sensed so much when I was with him, even though he was just a trick of light, a creation of technology.
Now, I sense nothing. If I wanted to, I could finally feel the warmth of his touch, but it would be no different than laying my hand on a handsome statue.
I can help him remember who he is. I just have to get him out of here first. “Come with me.” I motion for him to approach. “I’ll explain everything later.”
Dámiul doesn’t move. “Zeth ut inyana enyil lorst.” I understand the statement: State your name and number.
Did the mind-wipe take his memory of English? “Zeth onayil Iris. En bektát fith ona razan.” My name is Iris. You must come with me.
Dámiul blinks, but otherwise remains still. “Ona fenst nur. Zeth ut inyana enyil taen dira nur.” I cannot. Your name and number are not correct.
He speaks like a machine, needing an access card to activate. There’s nothing—nothing—in his voice or his expressions.
I clench my jaw, willing my tears to stay behind my eyes. Is this what they’ve reduced him to? Dámiul, whose eyes once burned with energy, whose voice could carry both the power of conviction and the softness of compassion, who smiled defiantly in the face of torment. Have they destroyed him for good?
No, I won’t believe it. Maybe I can coax him into following me. Once we’re someplace safe, I can spend all the time I need helping him remember. My Adryil vocabulary is too limited to express much, so I repeat the words for, “You must come with me.”
His eyes remain fixed on me, but convey no reaction. I reach out and take his hand in mine. I don’t feel like I’m touching another person; I might as well be holding a language tablet. I give him a gentle tug. “Dámiul, ona en shraïn, fith ona razan.” Dámiul, I beg you, come with me. My eyes brim, and I wipe the tears away before they fall.
Dámiul blinks, and for the first time, a hint of emotion flickers through his gaze. “Zeth ut inyana enyil taen dira nur.” Your name and number are not correct. His eyebrows come together, as if he’s confused. “Ona fathrad idur yaerid.” I should sound the alarm. His tone wavers with uncertainty.
I tug his hand again and keep my pleading gaze on his. “Ona en shraïn.” I beg you.
Dámiul looks down at my hand, which still holds his, and the confusion on his face deepens. “You’re the Ka’risil who performed the viola solo.”
He remembers English! Hope ignites within me. In my own language, I can say so much more than my stilted knowledge of Adryil could express. “Yes, that’s me.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I don’t have time to explain, but you have to come with me.”
“The law says I should alert the guards. Noncompliance is immoral.” He sounds as if he’s quoting words he doesn’t believe.
I wish I could destroy the devices blocking his telepathy so I could tell him to look inside my mind and see my memories of who he is. If I knew where they were, I would try. “Please, trust me. I know you.”
“But I don’t know you.”
“Yes, you do.” I squeeze his hand and take a step closer. “You know you do.”
“I have never met any Ka’risil before.” Dámiul draws back, but his hand remains in mine.
“They’ve taken the memories from you. But please, believe me…” I trail off. If he sees me as a stranger, then he has no reason to listen to a word I say. Yet he hasn’t yanked his hand away—some part of him must remember me. Maybe a prompt will help bring him back. “Do you remember the song I played?”
Dámiul looks at the ground. “That melody… I’ve heard it before.”
“That’s right.” I manage a smile, hope quavering in my heart. “I played it for you at Papilio. Ever since we met, each time I’ve played it, it’s been for you.”
“Papilio…” Dámiul brings up his hand, and mine with it. For several seconds, he stares at our interlocking fingers.
My mind flashes back to the Wintertime Masquerade and how much I longed to hold his hand like I am now. My eyes sting, and a tear escapes.
Dámiul’s eyebrows tilt with sympathy. “Why are you so sad?” He reaches toward me.
I let him brush my tears away, keeping my eyes on his. The Dámiul I know is in there—I can sense him returning to me. They took his memories, but they can’t erase who he is inside. Even in this brainwashed state, he’s choosing to speak to me instead of sounding the alarm. He’s defying them.
“Because I remember you,” I say. “But they’ve taken me from your mind.”
He knits his eyebrows. “We were friends, weren’t we?”
I nod. “You danced with me once.” Hoping a hint will help bring back the memories, I place my hand on his shoulder. “We stood like this, except I would have been a telepathic vision to you.” I feel Dámiul’s hand on my waist, and my breath catches in my throat, both from his touch and the idea that the memory might be stirring in his mind.
Dámiul presses his lips together, and I know he must be struggling to remember more.
“There were stars and snowflakes,” I say. “You created them with the holoprojectors.”
“There was a song.” Dámiul’s voice is a whisper. “Played by a solo clarinet.”
Hope ignites in my heart. “Yes, that’s right.” I hesitate, then softly hum the melody.
Dámiul brightens, and I can tell he recognizes it. “You wore a silver mask. I remember wondering why you would cover such a beautiful face. You told me…” He trails off.
I take a step closer. “‘Just dance with me.’”
The life has returned to him, and I can scarcely contain the deluge of joy and longing racing through me. I want to babble on and on about everything we shared, to quote our conversations and describe our interactions, but Atikéa warned me that doing something like that would overwhelm and confuse him. Only he can recover the memories in his head, and no amount of insisting can force them to return. So I hold my tongue, waiting.
Dámiul’s eyes widen, as though a window has opened before him, and he’s seeing light for the first time after being trapped in a dark room for weeks. His hand tightens around mine, and his mouth falls open. “Iris!”
A flurry of emotions crosses his face—confusion, joy, anxiety, shock. I can almost hear his thoughts whirling. His gaze locks onto mine, blazing like the blue-hot fires I know so well.
My tears of sorrow turn to tears of happiness, and I smile through them. In that one exclamation, he’s told me everything I need to know. “Hello, Dámiul.”
Dámiul puts his hand on my cheek, and he stares into my eyes in disbelief. “Am I hallucinating again?”
“No.” I put my hand over his. “I’m really here.” My heart threatens to burst from the overwhelming excitement. At last, after everything, he’s really here with me. Unable to help myself, I throw my arms around him. “I knew you’d remember me.”
His arms encircle my waist, drawing me closer. Suddenly, I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing. There’s only him and me, sharing the warmth we were once denied. I feel as if the sun has split open the ceiling above us, and in my mind, I hear the swelling of a thousand-piece orchestra—the soaring string melodies, the brass accents, the great choir shimmering above it all. If this were an opera, now would be the moment the prince and princess were finally reunited, holding each other’s hands on the stage and singing a devastatingly beautiful duet.
Dámiul grabs my shoulders and pushes back with alarm. “How are you here?”
“I came for you.” I use both hands to wipe my cheeks. A sense of urgency hits me, and I recall that time is short. “We have to go. Jaerin’s waiting outside.”
“Jaerin?” Dámiul furrows his brow.
“Your brother.” There must still be gaps in his memories. Maybe my presence only recovered the ones of me.
“My brother… He’s the one who attacked the transport, isn’t he?” Fury clouds his expression, and I can almost hear him say, How could I have forgotten my own brother?
“Yes. We’re going to get you out of here. Now, let’s go!” I grab his hand and run to the door, then tap the access card against the security pad.
The door slides open. I freeze in terror, unable to believe what stands before me.
Two security bots tower in the doorway, massive and threatening, seeming to stare down at me with the angry red lights flashing across their domed heads.