in it save for a fox trotting purposefully toward the shelter of a clump of scrubby vegetation at the back of a damp parking lot, and a few rooks cawing at each other in the branches of a blasted tree.
Satisfied, Aryel turned her attention to the roof on which she stood. She’d spotted the entrance as she swept down: a door being pushed open and a figure just inside. She could hardly blame whoever it was for not coming out to meet her in these conditions. She advanced to the far end of the row of tanks, saw a uniformed guard peering out and beckoning to her, and darted across the gravel-strewn surface.
The guard—norm, male, middle-aged—had thought to bring a towel, which she accepted gratefully, pushing back the hood of her bodysuit to wipe her face and a few sodden locks of hair. The rest of her was dry; the bodysuit, a variation on the gillung model, was adapted to repel water and keep her warm aloft. She shook her wings vigorously, leaving behind a trail of droplets as she followed the guard down several flights of concrete steps.
She was conducted first to the governor’s office, then a senior custodial officer and staff psychologist led her down another corridor, unlocked a door and stood aside to let her in. The door hissed closed behind her and she heard the soft thump of the bolts sliding home.
The room was plainly furnished: drab carpet, light panel in the ceiling, a stand against the wall bearing a water bottle and cups, a table with an inset tablet screen and a few chairs.
The woman sitting in one of them looked up. “Well,” she drawled, “ this is an honor.”
Aryel moved to a chair opposite and sat down, hooding her wings a little to fit over the back. She rested her hands on the table before her. “Hello, Zavcka,” she said. “Is it?”
A flicker of sardonic amusement passed over the woman’s face. She was classically beautiful, with sharply angled cheekbones and a strong, patrician jaw, but the lines were deeper now, and there was a rasp to her voice that she did not trouble to hide. “Not really, no.”
“In that case, thank you for agreeing to see me.”
Zavcka Klist briefly drummed long, elegant fingers against the table before she folded her hands together in mocking imitation of Aryel’s pose. “I was curious,” she said. “This isn’t the kind of environment you’re used to these days, is it?” She indicated the bare roomwith a tilt of her chin. “I couldn’t fathom why you would want to visit me here, after all this time.”
Aryel watched her quietly for several seconds before responding, “Will I have the option of visiting you elsewhere?”
Zavcka stared at her for a heartbeat, then threw back her head and barked out a harsh laugh. “You know, that is a consideration. When I’m back in my own home, will I be inclined to entertain requests for audience?” She chuckled again at the absurdity of the idea. Her fingers were trembling slightly. “From you?”
“I don’t know. Will you?”
“I suppose it depends on the reason for your visit.” She rapped her knuckles softly against the table, laced her fingers together, leaned forward. “Why are you here, Aryel?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“I expect it concerns my impending departure from this glorious abode.” Her voice dripped scorn. “I shouldn’t be surprised that they told you. What do you want?”
“They told me,” Aryel replied evenly, “because I represent those of your victims who remain alive. You have done damage, Zavcka. There are people out in the world whom you have hurt. You’re about to regain a measure of freedom and we would like to know what you’re planning to do with it.”
She was watching closely, and thought that for the first time Zavcka looked ever so slightly shaken. The lips thinned into a tight line, fingers rubbed at knuckles, then clenched into fists. She wondered if it was bravado she was hearing in the ragged timbre of Zavcka’s voice.
“I’m
Satisfied, Aryel turned her attention to the roof on which she stood. She’d spotted the entrance as she swept down: a door being pushed open and a figure just inside. She could hardly blame whoever it was for not coming out to meet her in these conditions. She advanced to the far end of the row of tanks, saw a uniformed guard peering out and beckoning to her, and darted across the gravel-strewn surface.
The guard—norm, male, middle-aged—had thought to bring a towel, which she accepted gratefully, pushing back the hood of her bodysuit to wipe her face and a few sodden locks of hair. The rest of her was dry; the bodysuit, a variation on the gillung model, was adapted to repel water and keep her warm aloft. She shook her wings vigorously, leaving behind a trail of droplets as she followed the guard down several flights of concrete steps.
She was conducted first to the governor’s office, then a senior custodial officer and staff psychologist led her down another corridor, unlocked a door and stood aside to let her in. The door hissed closed behind her and she heard the soft thump of the bolts sliding home.
The room was plainly furnished: drab carpet, light panel in the ceiling, a stand against the wall bearing a water bottle and cups, a table with an inset tablet screen and a few chairs.
The woman sitting in one of them looked up. “Well,” she drawled, “ this is an honor.”
Aryel moved to a chair opposite and sat down, hooding her wings a little to fit over the back. She rested her hands on the table before her. “Hello, Zavcka,” she said. “Is it?”
A flicker of sardonic amusement passed over the woman’s face. She was classically beautiful, with sharply angled cheekbones and a strong, patrician jaw, but the lines were deeper now, and there was a rasp to her voice that she did not trouble to hide. “Not really, no.”
“In that case, thank you for agreeing to see me.”
Zavcka Klist briefly drummed long, elegant fingers against the table before she folded her hands together in mocking imitation of Aryel’s pose. “I was curious,” she said. “This isn’t the kind of environment you’re used to these days, is it?” She indicated the bare roomwith a tilt of her chin. “I couldn’t fathom why you would want to visit me here, after all this time.”
Aryel watched her quietly for several seconds before responding, “Will I have the option of visiting you elsewhere?”
Zavcka stared at her for a heartbeat, then threw back her head and barked out a harsh laugh. “You know, that is a consideration. When I’m back in my own home, will I be inclined to entertain requests for audience?” She chuckled again at the absurdity of the idea. Her fingers were trembling slightly. “From you?”
“I don’t know. Will you?”
“I suppose it depends on the reason for your visit.” She rapped her knuckles softly against the table, laced her fingers together, leaned forward. “Why are you here, Aryel?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
“I expect it concerns my impending departure from this glorious abode.” Her voice dripped scorn. “I shouldn’t be surprised that they told you. What do you want?”
“They told me,” Aryel replied evenly, “because I represent those of your victims who remain alive. You have done damage, Zavcka. There are people out in the world whom you have hurt. You’re about to regain a measure of freedom and we would like to know what you’re planning to do with it.”
She was watching closely, and thought that for the first time Zavcka looked ever so slightly shaken. The lips thinned into a tight line, fingers rubbed at knuckles, then clenched into fists. She wondered if it was bravado she was hearing in the ragged timbre of Zavcka’s voice.
“I’m
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