MY MIND IS BLANK. COMPLETELY blank. It’s just me and the darkness—nothing else. I should go to my closet and wrap my red scarf around my head. It would look particularly nice if I stuck some feathers in it as well. Maybe I can pluck some from my yellow boa—what? I don’t even own a red scarf, much less a feather boa! That thought isn’t mine.
The urge to create an absurd headdress fades, and I grimace at the fact that I even considered it.
Dámiul lifts the corner of his mouth. “Well done. I think we’re ready to move on to subtler suggestions.”
“That wasn’t so bad.” I sink into my chair, and heaviness weighs down on my shoulders. “I never thought it’d be so exhausting, though.”
“It gets easier with time.”
I glance at the time on my monitor. It’s well past the hour I said I’d give Dámiul. But we’ve come so far since yesterday, and I don’t want him to leave just yet. “How long did it take you to learn?”
“I’m still learning.” Dámiul closes his eyes, and a holographic chair appears beside mine. He takes a seat. “It’s one of those things you have to keep working at, or you’ll lose what you have.”
“I guess it’s a bit like the Arts.”
“Yes, except the Arts are about beauty, and this is about defending something you shouldn’t have to defend.” Darkness clings to both his voice and the look in his eyes.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
I gaze at his face. In the short amount of time I’ve spent with him, I’ve seen so much rage and intent, determination and curiosity, and behind it all, a deep well of melancholy. I’ve never known anyone whose expressions and tones could hold so much while saying so little.
He glances at me, and his eyebrows come together with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s just… I don’t know anything about you.”
“There’s not much to know.”
I should drop my questions. There’s nothing interesting about someone so ordinary, even if he’s Adryil. The mind training is far more important, and I should concentrate on that.
No, those aren’t my thoughts. I throw Dámiul an annoyed look. “Nice try.”
He gives me a slight grin. “You’re a fast learner.” He pauses. “Someday, I’ll tell you more about my life on Adrye, but right now, it’s more important that we continue your training. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep communicating like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“My government’s sending me away. I don’t know exactly when, but it won’t be long. Before I go, I want to know that you’re safe.”
“What?” I feel as if the floor dropped beneath me, sending me tumbling down a rabbit hole of confusion. “Where are you going? When will you be back?”
“I don’t know if I’ll return.” His jaw tightens. “And I’m afraid I can’t say where I’m going.”
I glance at his black jacket, the one so reminiscent of a military uniform. “Are you in the army? Are they sending you to war?”
“Please, Iris, I can’t talk about it.” His voice is hard, but not with anger. It sounds more akin to fear, or maybe pain. “I don’t want to lie to you, but I can’t tell you any more. My government doesn’t want certain information reaching Earthlings like you, and they’re not kind to those who know things they shouldn’t.”
And they’d punish the person who spilled their secrets. I bite the inside of my cheek. My best guess is that Dámiul is part of some kind of classified government program, and that they’re going to send him on a dangerous assignment. When people break the law on Earth, our government sends them to work in the most perilous parts of the world and do the jobs no one else wants. I wonder if that’s what’s happening to Dámiul, if he’s being sent away because he trespassed on Earthling property. But that’s hardly a crime worth a death sentence. Even the harshest government wouldn’t do that, would they?
I tell myself I’m jumping to conclusions, making dire leaps of logic that barely make sense. Of course he’s not talking about dying. Maybe he just means he’s going to be assigned to a deep space exploration ship, like the kind that discovered Earth, and that the journey through the unknown reaches of the universe could take the rest of his life.
I feel like I’m plummeting through the endless questions, and my heart is heavy with disappointment. Though I barely dare think it, let alone speak it, it wasn’t lost on me that if I make it to Adrye, I might see Dámiul in person someday.
Dámiul’s firm expression makes it clear that I won’t get any answers out of him, at least not today. And if telling me his secrets would get him in trouble, then I don’t want to press him.
“All right.” I sigh in resignation. “Then answer this: why me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hundreds of Artists have been sent to Adrye over the years, and more go each day. What about everyone else? Why are you so worried about training me to guard my mind?”
Dámiul leans back in his holographic chair. “Because by giving you the Zexa device, I put you in danger.”
I recall what he said about how just by talking to him, I’m breaking interstellar laws. If I’m right about what his government’s doing to him for trespassing, then I hate to think about what could happen to me. Still, it’s too late for regret. “You didn’t endanger me. I did that myself.”
“Even so, I see in you something too precious to be destroyed. If the worst should happen, I can’t protect you, so I’m teaching you to protect yourself.”
His eyes blaze, drawing me in. I don’t need him to show me his thoughts to know he means what he says. My mind lingers on the word “precious,” and I warn myself not to read anything into it. Every life is precious. And without free will, there is no life.
Dámiul breaks his gaze, glancing at the window. “As for the others… The more people know about me, the more likely it is that the authorities will discover my presence. They’d scour the population and punish all who knew I was here. And I could never return.” He turns back to me. “I know I’ve said it before, but please, you can’t tell anyone about me.”
I nod. Before Dámiul left yesterday, he warned me to keep quiet about his visits. I wanted to make an exception for Milo, but Dámiul was adamant. That I have to hide something from my closest friend doesn’t feel right, especially since it meant I had to lie and tell Milo that I’d given up on understanding the Adryil device. “I promised I wouldn’t.”
Dámiul leans forward. “Not even your friend Milo.”
I give him an irritated look. “Not even him. Don’t you trust me?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to doubt you.” Dámiul tilts his head. “But he was the only one you specifically wanted to tell, and you don’t seem happy about keeping this from him.”
“I’m not. But I keep my promises.” I brush a stray hair out of my face. “It’s just that this is something he’d want to know, and I don’t like lying to him.”
Dámiul furrows his brow. “Is he your lover?”
A laugh bursts from my lips. “My lover—of course not! He’s like my brother!”
Suspicion creeps into Dámiul’s expression, which surprises and annoys me. Why would he think I’d lie about Milo? Unless… Could he possibly be jealous?
“I promise, we’re just friends.” For some reason, those words remind me that I’ll probably never know what it’s like to share a life with someone. A familiar ache presses against my heart, and I look away. “Though that’s probably the closest thing to love I’ll ever find. I’m nearly invisible around here.”
“Then everyone here is a fool. I can see you perfectly well.”
His smile, so full of sincerity, sends a pang through my heart, and I look away. It won’t do me any good to dwell on these thoughts.
“Anyway.” I turn back to him, looking to change the subject. “Let’s continue the training.”