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The rooms themselves are pleasant enough, I suppose, with a clean, neatly pressed bed with clothes folded neatly on top; a small bathroom with shower and toilet, along with a cabinet with various necessities; and a small area with two chairs and a table, a chess board laid out and halfway through a game. Briefly, I wonder who was playing, but I brush the thought off. Instead, I go to the bed and hold up the clothing, examining the patch on the right breast pocket. They are a dull blue-gray and remind me of army uniforms. The patch reads:
WAR
Mark XVI
Class III
And below that, a line in some language that I can’t quite recognize. I eventually realize that it is Anglais, the archaic version we had the option of taking in school, not the type spoken in religious circles and in private, human conversations. I stare at it and guess that it reads something like, “The Head to think, the Body to move, the People to fight.”
“Now why,” I ask myself in a low voice, “Would they be using Anglais on their uniforms?” I change quickly, glad to discard my sweaty, stinky garments, only to find the fabric of the uniform stiff and itchy on my skin. I resist the urge to scratch and instead examine myself in a full-length mirror. Just as I decide that I look well enough for having been kidnapped and dragged halfway across the globe, Sarah’s bright voice comes from the doorway.
“Anna! The Meet is about to begin! Come quickly or you’ll be late!”
Wincing at the overly cheerful note in her voice, I look at myself one last time and march out the door to meet Sarah, dressed in the same clothing as before but looking even more bland and composed than usual. “Ready?” she asks brightly, and I nod.
She leads me to a large, iron-fence-encased building, through a gate watched by two guards armed with unfamiliar weapons, and through heavy wood doors that boom shut after we pass through. I have the impression of being swallowed whole by some gigantic beast, and shudder.
We walk through a few more sets of large doors before we reach a large chamber where we stop. Sarah motions to a bench and I sit down as she goes to talk to one of the stony faced guards. I look around the room. Taine sits at the opposite side of the room, his pale face grim and impassive. His emerald eyes are inscrutable. I do not see Keearh or the werewolf, but the Dryad and Aliah are seated with one woman each. Aliah has the same blank-eyed stare that I remember from the walk here, but the Dryad’s eyes are blazing, and her folded hands clench and unclench in her lap.
We wait in uneasy silence until, suddenly, a voice ripples through the room, bellowing, “All supplicants may now enter the Hall. All supplicants, now enter the Hall.” It is crisp, clear, and female, but something about it sounds just a little off. Taine seems to think so too. He twitches and frowns around the room. I look down and pretend to be busy with my shoelace as Sarah comes over. The others are also being pulled to their feet.
“Line up,” says Sarah briskly. “Move alone, there’s a good fellow, Anna, you here behind the gentleman, enter at once…” I tune out the droning of her instructions and keep my eyes closely on Taine’s back. He doesn’t move, though I can see the tension in his shoulders. The doors open. We file in.
Immediately, I am dazzled by the color. In this muted grey landscape, the explosion of blues and golds and purples is eye-popping. Banners adorn every corner, gilt ornaments stand in every nook and cranny, and at the head of the hall…
An enormous throne, like something out of the Dark Ages, hulks on a burnished dais made of what looks like silver. The throne itself is made of wood, but above it, five heads stick from the wall, gruesome trophies. I hear the intake of breath hiss through Taine’s teeth. My eyes fly to the heads, flinch from the screaming Kaer face with its ice-blond hair, to the Selkie with her dark hair and large, dark glass eyes, to the Dryad with her mouth twisted in quiet rage, her green eyes still narrowed and brown hair cascading around her frozen face, to the Vampire, face still and cold, to the Werewolf, snarling in rage, dark, short hair masking the elongated ears of her kind.
I look away, feeling my gorge rise, and find my eyes falling on the figure in the throne, the figure at this opulent display of wealth and power. He is middling height, from what I can tell, with a mop of brown hair and a plainish face. He does not look frightening, nor powerful. I frown. The man to the left of him, the man who spoke to me earlier, speaks.
“The Head welcomes the offering. Let the other offerings be brought in.”
Offering. I blanch. That doesn’t sound good.
The floor opens in front of us and two cages rise slowly out of the floor, hauled out by two burly humans. The floor closes and the cages clang to the ground. Keearh’s eyes are still fixed on the ground, but the Werewolf grips the bars and snarls, the sound echoing in the suddenly quiet hall. She’s fully human now, her clothes torn and blood matting in a few places. “You will pay,” she says in a low, growling voice. “You will pay for this. You cannot keep us caged, you will not…”
The man waves his hand. A whip snaps through the air and slices another rip in her tattered shirt. She hisses, but falls silent. I can feel the rage radiating from her, though, and I flinch back slightly.
The man on the throne speaks, and his voice is high and tremulous. I want to laugh, but I smother it quickly, afraid of what they might do to me. Perhaps I could be executed. I shiver and listen. “Announce them, Adam” he says. “State their name and use.”
The man – Adam – clears his throat and motions to another man. One of them hauls Aliah forward. “Aliah, Selkie,” Adam says. A man next to him scribbles rapidly. “Formerly an ambassador. Very pretty, probably…skilled.” The man on the throne eyes her and beckons her closer. When she doesn’t move, a soldier shoves her forward. She nearly stumbles, but the man I presume to be the Head catches her and holds her chin, examining her. I see Taine twitch, but he doesn’t move any more than that.
“I will take her,” he says, and motions to a woman standing quietly, with her head down. She comes forward and leads Aliah away by the arm. She doesn’t resist.
Adam beckons toward Keearh, next. The cage is wrenched open and he is thrown forward. He falls to his knees and remains there, his eyes closed, his face tight with humiliation and pain. His wings flare slightly, but as the man with the whip moves, he folds them. I hear a soft cry from the right and look over to see the Dryad looking away. “Keearh, Kaer,” says Adam’s bored voice. “Warrior. Savage, wild, but slightly tamed with help.” He looks to his left with everyone else, and I see Keira, eyes downcast and wings folded, standing demurely at the edge of the hall. Everyone moves a little away from her. Keearh looks up, his eyes flicker slightly, and he closes them again. I see his shoulders tense a little more.
The Head taps his finger against his lips. “Keep him,” he says, “Take him to the training stations. He can be…tamed properly…there.”
“No,” I hear Taine’s voice say. “No, Keearh, don’t let them…”
But he doesn’t fight as a man clips a chain to the collar around his neck and leads him out like a dog. I feel Taine slump. Just as he reaches the door, the werewolf screams, “You are a disgrace! Your mother was a sparrow, your father a human bastard and you are worse than either of them!”
Everyone freezes. Taine stares at the cage as if she’s gone mad. Keearh, however, looks up, his eyes flying to the werewolf. He snarls. She grins. “Go on,” she says in a softer voice. “Come and get me, sparrow. I can take you.”
Adam looks at the Head. The Head nods. He nods to a young man who opens the door to the werewolf’s cage just as the other removes Keearh’s lead. He lunges at her, but she dodges under his guard, crying out insults and crowing that he is a coward, a bastard, and worse. Taine is shaking his head and I can feel anger radiating from him. Keearh snarls wildly and leaps, ungracefully, but the werewolf seizes his shoulders in elongated claws and screams into his face, “Your family was traitors to the Kaer! They shame the line, your brother serves humans, your sister mates with them…” He has been reaching for her, screaming his defiance, but at her last words his voice stops as suddenly as if he’s been struck dumb. He goes limp. She falls on top of him, screaming her rage, beating his chest, but his eyes are dull again, and he doesn’t move, submitting to her abuse.
Seconds later, Taine lunges for her, only to be held back, barely, by a guard, while the Dryad, shrieking, throws herself onto the werewolf’s back, her nails searching for her eyes.
“ENOUGH!” Adam bellows. Silence falls. Taine is dragged back and the Dryad pulled up. Her face bleeding from furrows raked by the Dryad’s nails, the werewolf looks down at the crumpled form of Keearh. She spits on him, even as two men hold her elbows and try to pull her back. “Die, scum,” she says in a deadly soft voice. “Die, and do us all a favor.”
Several attempts are made to haul Keearh to his feet, but he is a dead weight. Even the lash does not make him rise. Finally, he is carried out by a tall, burly, man. The introductions continued with the werewolf. Her mouth is bloody as she bares her teeth in a rictus grin at the Head. “Viviane,” Adam says. “Werewolf. Formerly head of secret police. Talented in battle, strategy, espionage.”
“Take her downstairs,” says the man. “After a few more days there, I have no doubt she’ll be ready to cooperate.” Strangely, Viviane doesn’t fight as they shove her back into the cage and lower her into the floor. Instead, she turns and stares at Taine, their eyes boring into each other, full of rage and something else entirely.
“Deirdre,” Adam says as the Dryad is pushed forward. “Dancer, actress. Strong, clever, versed in the use of hand-to-hand combat.”
“Put her with the dancers, then,” the Head instructs in a whine. “Must I do everything myself? She can be trained properly, I have faith.”
Taine steps forward, shaking off the men who try to hold him, and stands tall and proud, a man facing his execution rather than a slave on the block. “Taine, Vampire. Formerly spymaster. Versed in the ways of butlery, courtier manners, and service.”
“That one,” says the Head softly, “Will serve me.”
Taine nods politely, and opens his mouth. His fangs flash, and several people draw back, but he merely asks, “Sir, if I may ask, who told you where we were located? I thought myself very…adept at hiding my tracks. Next time, I will be more careful.” His smile has a hint of bite in it. No one, I think, but me, notices the certainty in his voice that there will be a next time.
Adam answers this question. “Ah,” he says. “Are you looking at the woman next to you? No, she is not your rat. I am afraid I cannot put our real informant at risk…suffice it to say they are not here right now. Rather, they are somewhere where they will be of the most use to us. Unfortunately, the woman next to you has no idea what is going on.”
Taine’s eyes flick to me. I try to keep my face still. A ghost of a cold smile flickers on his lips before he turns back, and bows. “Thank you,” he says, simply, and allows himself to be led away. I am left alone. I step forward slowly to face the Head. He tilts his head and examines me as if I am an exotic morsel.
“Explain to me again why this one is here?” he says in a mildly irritated tone.
I can hear Adam’s scowl in his voice. “I have not yet received an adequate explanation for that, your Honor. Rest assured that I will have one, and soon.”
“Well, she can’t go now,” he says, frowning. I look down, not liking the greed in his piggish eyes. “She shall have to remain. For now, she can remain in the barracks and have the run of the encampment, unless she proves…unreliable. Then, I presume, you know what to do.”
Adam nods curtly to Sarah, who shows me out of the room. I am promptly abandoned. At a loss, I stand in the middle of a flat, dirt ground with people scurrying past me every so often until finally I decide to go down and see where the werewolf was sent. Viviane, I remind myself. She has a name. It is strange, calling Others by names, even if they are strange ones.
I find a path going down, parallel to the hulking heap of concrete I just left. I take that way and find myself standing at a metal door. The sign reads: CAUTION: DANGEROUS ANIMALS. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. I grimace a little and open the door, carefully. A hiss of hot air greets me. As I step in and quietly shut the door behind me, a wave of sweat breaks out over my skin, and it’s only partly because of the heat.
