The House of Grey- Volume 5 (3 page)

Cyann’s gaze wandered towards the mirror and her own reflection.“I guess I haven’t really answered your question, have I? You want to know what I see in him. I see a boy…who is really a man. One of the strongest I have ever met.”

“That doesn’t really explain why you all of a sudden stopped spending time with him, or why you started in the first place. Nor does it shed any light on the real reason you’re with the Diamond.” Boston seemed unable to contain himself. “What does everyone see in that brat? So tell me this, if he’s so strong and you admire him so much, why isn’t he here? I would think you would want to share your dance, your artistic vision with someone like him. So answer me, why the sudden change?”

Cyann actually let out a laugh this time. Monson had heard it before and it made him cringe. He felt its cruel, mocking edge.

“Why isn’t he here? You mean besides the obvious?”

Boston held his tongue. It was apparent that he did not know what the “obvious” was.

“Monson probably doesn’t dance, Boston. I couldn’t ask him to help me with this and we all know how rhythmically challenged Damion is. I did what I had to. I had to pick someone I knew could dance and wouldn’t be afraid of me. I would have thought that was plain to see.”

Boston flushed at her words. Obviously, he was picturing something more dramatic. He seemed to wrestle with the implications of her words. Then, narrowing his eyes again, he said, “OK, I’ll give you that, but what about all the other stuff? You haven’t answered any of those questions.”

“I don’t know what it is you’re thinking, Boston, but you’re obviously envisioning something much more mysterious than the truth. We became friends by accident…really it was because my sister thought he was interesting and I wanted to be with her.”

He looked skeptical. She raised her brow in question.

“You don’t believe me? No…I don’t suppose you do, as it’s not the absolute truth and I’ve never been a very good liar.” She studied his face. “I finally decided that it was time to step out. I thought that if he can still smile after everything that’s happened to him, then maybe I should try a little harder. He gave me some advice on how to do this. We aren’t as close as we were because I was asked to leave him alone by someone whose position I have to respect…because I know Monson would do the same.”

“You’re right, you aren’t a very good liar.”

Cyann hesitated for a second while her head twisted upward in a strange gesture. For the first time she looked ruffled. Finally, she answered.

“He’s not here...because he scares me.”

Boston looked like he wanted to ask more but Cyann turned from him. Monson could now see her face for some reason, even though the light hadn’t changed. Perhaps he was trying a bit harder. At that very moment, Cyann looked so much like a girl to him. He did not want to say weak, because that was not the word. It was more like vulnerable or uncertain. He wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He just wondered.

As Cyann and Boston returned to their starting positions for their dance, Monson marveled to himself, utterly confused. What a trip. Seriously, he did not know whether to be happy or sad. Cyann’s words just keep repeating themselves in his head and he did not know what to think about them. It sounded like she cared for him, but was afraid. Afraid?
Afraid of what?
What could he possibly have done to make her afraid?

He answered his own question with two words.

Baroty Bridge.

Could Cyann know how dangerous he was? Maybe that was it. He shook his head. No, something about that statement missed the mark. Cyann would not want to be around someone like him if she knew what he had done. Then what? What was she scared of? Monson switched gears, focusing on the other revelation. Who had asked Cyann to stay away from him?

Someone whose position she has to respect? What does that even mean? Who, and what position? What do they know to even have asked her to leave me alone? 

He looked at Casey and Artorius, their own confusion obvious.

“Your guess is as good as
mine.
” Casey stared across the room to Cyann, who was beginning her routine. “I’m as confused as you are. She isn’t making any sense at all; well, except the part about Indigo and you—that’s pretty obvious.”

“I just don’t get it!” said Monson, his frustration reflected in his voice. Casey quickly put a finger up to his lips. Monson nodded. After weeks of wondering and trying to reconcile himself to the situation, he finally knew why Cyann was not talking to him, but he was not any closer to understanding.

A particularly loud boom of music interrupted the conversation. The two again completed the entire piece, though the ending was only slightly less shaky. The dance had suffered, as neither Cyann nor Boston were as sharp as before, and
their
emotional connection was even more tenuous.

The changes made a real difference in the quality of the performance.

Monson was having his own problems. For him, it was like Cyann’s words had stripped away a portion of his consciousness, exposing the raw part of his psyche that he neither comprehended nor wanted to comprehend. He felt like his inner self was suddenly naked, on display for everyone to see.

Was he someone to be feared? Was this your average idiotic high school drama or something more real, more sinister? He had to ask that question in light of all he had experienced recently. He had to at least consider the possibility that Cyann had known about him all along. He watched her closely, noting her every turn, her every contour. He wondered idly if there was anything that could help him
understand
the conundrum that was Cyann Harrison.

“Monson, are you OK?” whispered Artorius with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Before either Casey or Artorius could inquire further, the music ended. Boston spoke up. “Why don’t we call it for this morning?”

“Yeah, OK. Meet me here this afternoon.”

Boston headed to the corner to gather his stuff when—

“Boston?”

“Yes.”

“One more thing….”

“What?”

“It would irritate me a great deal if anyone was to hear about what we talked about. Really irritate me.”

Her voice was as calm as ever but cold.
Very cold.

“Don’t worry, Cyann.” Boston bounced on his feet, fully recovered from his bout of humility. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Good.”

After a few minutes spent gathering personal items and organizing themselves, both Cyann and Boston left, not really together, but not exactly apart. Casey, Monson and Artorius remained stationary just in case they came back. They waited for more than five minutes, finally speaking only when they were sure that Cyann and Boston were truly gone.

Casey rounded on Monson, despite it being very clear that he was unsure what to say.

“You’re quite the enigma, Grey.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Cyann and Taris—if it’s not one,
it’s
both. I’ve never seen such an odd love triangle.”

Monson’s incredulity boiled from within him but abruptly fizzled. He started to laugh. He started to laugh, and it was a while before he stopped. His thoughts meandered.

“Love triangle? Yeah right, Casey. It is so not like that.”

Casey sneered and turned. “What do you think, Arthur?”

Artorius yawned. “Definitely a love triangle. It’s easy to see what the author of this story is doing.”

Casey followed suit. “Don’t yawn, dude. So the question is: What kind of a love triangle? Equal or lopsided?”

Artorius considered this. “Oh, equal of course–too early in the game to make any real headway. Especially when the main character is an idiot.”

“Which are you going to ship? I’m thinking Green.”

“No way! I’m calling for a Harem ending.”

“That never happens, dude.”

“I’m telling you, Grey could pull it off.”

Monson rolled his eyes and stood moving towards the stairs.

Casey and Artorius protested. “Dude! We were kidding!”

Artorius added. “We’re definitely rooting for a definitive ending. Open-ended stuff is so passé.” 

Monson ignored them and entered the hallway, closely followed by a scrambling Casey and Artorius. None of them talked as they moved through the halls. It was some time before Artorius broke the silence.

“OK Grey, all joking aside, really, what did you do?”

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Monson knew immediately what he was referring to. Cyann. Never had he seen or heard her say anything like that. Her habitual cool, calm demeanor had been so shaken though her dance movements seemed so honest and reflective. There was a story in those movements and words; a story that only Cyann knew.

“What do you mean?”

“Cyann Harrison—scared?” Casey sighed in a thoroughly exasperated way. “What would it take to bottle and sell you to all the lonely men out there?”

Monson rolled his eyes again. He found he did that a lot when in the company of Casey.

“Did you know about the—” Artorius struggled to find the word, instead opting to daintily flutter his fingertips to indicate dancing.

“I had no idea,” said Monson, shaking his head. “I didn’t know that Cyann danced, let alone that she was that good. Most of the time she just swings that stick of hers.”

“It was probably for her showcase,” said Casey simply. “It’s interesting that she would choose dance as part of it.”

“What showcase?” Artorius stumbled, almost tripping over some of the junk in the hall.

“The Imperial Showcase.” Casey rolled his eyes as he looked at the two of them. “All the Augustana candidates have to put on a talent showcase at the Solstice. It’s all part of the fun.”

“It sounds almost like some sort of beauty contest,” said Monson, half-joking.

“Pretty much.”

“Wait—you’re not kidding?” Monson was incredulous.

“Let me assure you I understand your indignation, ‘tis a terrible travesty.” Casey matched Monson’s tone. “If I was going to hold a beauty contest at least I’d do it properly and have a swimsuit competition. Best flipping part.”

Monson broke into laughter again. It made him slightly light-headed. Artorius looked very pleased at the thought of a swimsuit contest. Casey merely smiled.

The boys continued to walk around The GM’s outer halls for a time. It would be at least an hour until the kitchens opened and breakfast was served. Finally, they decided to go and lounge in the Inner Gardens.

It was a beautiful day as only Washington State could deliver. Spring had definitely come. Constant rain had provided for lush greens and invigorated earth, which gave off the impression of new life. Though the gloom of the seemingly unending rain was depressing, it made it
all the
better when the sun came out.

Today was such a day. The sky was clear, clearer than Monson had seen it in a long time. It was also warm and surprisingly dry. The three boys settled behind one of the hedges that lined the walkway, which were tall and dense enough that they could sit right off the path and not be seen. Monson lay down on the grass, not much inclined to conversation. He placed an arm across his eyes and felt himself sink, soft turf cradling his weary body. The lack of sleep was catching up with him; he felt it now.

The spring air pranced around them, the breeze whistling as it passed through the shrubbery. Monson heard Artorius and Casey whispering in tones too low for him to pick up exactly what they were saying. He adjusted his shoulders and back, again breathing deeply as his body finally found its groove and relaxed, allowing the gentle sounds of the outdoors to envelop him.

Monson knew a relaxed body, interestingly enough, was often the scene of a guilty mind. He tried to quiet his thoughts, but every time he thrust one subject from his consciousness, another appeared ready and eager to take its place. Finally, he gave in, allowing pictures, words and analysis to burst through in an absolute cacophony of color, sound and reflection.

Taris and Cyann, magic and memory, power and
prophecy
, knowledge and control; every subject assaulted him, cycling through his mind eye’s, each as incomprehensible as the last and just as frustrating as the first. His emotions lurched as he began to sink deeper into his consciousness. He saw his memories play before his eyes as if a movie reel had flipped on in his head. He saw a mountain of reddish-blonde hair flicker in the light as a small hand caught his. The grip of that hand was peculiar; it felt less like a hand than an instrument or tool. He sensed the tool’s precision and efficiency. He felt the act of that hand has it gripped his.
An act that had a purpose and an end.
Yet to ascertain and understand that end or purpose required an impossible leap. Next he saw the graceful steps of a dark-haired, blue-eyed figure. He had a hard time seeing her properly as she wrapped in the rented fabric of enigma. She moved with fluidity, as if the floor, air and everything around her moved, changed or otherwise transformed just for her. The picture wavered once more and Monson was faced with an image of himself, but this, too, was not as it seemed. The image was disjointed and raw, like its base features had been assembled from different sources. It made him think of a collage, a cut-and-paste conglomeration of hundreds of other images. Monson felt weakened at the site of this person…who he knew was himself. Despair crept over him and started to tighten its grip. Why was the only question that he co
uld ask..
.