Shatter 1: Paint the Shadows

Chapter Three

                                                                                               Talvier

Glowering, Talvier made his way down the three flights of stairs of the hostel's structure. He let his hand slide down the cool iron handrail as his satchel bounced at his waist with every step. He loathed two things: one, having a Shalnin in his quarters. Two, taking orders from Kwayliet. Maybe it was because he was in a rage that he could not understand how any of the others had agreed to let their enemy reside in their home—or rather, hotel. Sure a war could break out if the Shalnin was caught, but their country could survive the war just as they have been doing since years. Besides, the Shalnin might as well be a spy. In which case, a war was sure to break out and moreover, Lemsire would be at a disadvantage. His country could afford another war. They could win if they tried.

Could they? A voice inside him asked.

His hair stood on its ends as he froze. His anger seeped away, followed by immediate guilt as he let his memory reel back to his parents who now, were on a mission with the other seniors of the capital. His mother had lovely golden hair that fell up to her chest and slate colored eyes. She had lost her right eye during the battle between the countries. His father was a warfare mastermind who bore chestnut hair and blue eyes, who had lost his both legs in a bombing.

He leaned against the railing now, feeling a tinge of discomfort run down his spine as his stomach twisted into knots. Without the cloud of rage that blocked his mind, he could finally think clearly. Forcing his legs to move, he descended the last flight of stairs. He passed through a corridor carpeted by turquoise woolen rugs and ivory painted walls. Lamps hung along the ceiling, their ochre light gilding the hall. It was a huge dining room with tables and chairs set along the walls. Maids in black gowns and white aprons rushed across the hall, carrying blankets, trays of food, pitchers containing all sorts of drinks and even the daily supplies of vegetables that were delivered to the guest house.

Talvier passed his greetings on to as many employees as he could, walking through the hall first, then the reception which was bustling with tourists from all over the continent and finally walked out of the fancy glass doors of the grand building. It was only because their parents had high posts in military that he and his friends were allowed to live in such luxury.

Sunlight shone through this specs as he lifted a hand to shield his face. The warmth immediately took him over after spending so long inside the air conditioned walls of the hotel. He didn't take any pleasure in leaving his room but sometimes maybe the outdoors did some good to the likes of him too. He pushed his glasses back and dissolved into the crowd.

He heaved a deep breath, letting his worries seep away and gave the situation another thought. So, in short, there's a Shalnin at my place. And that was the part that...confused him? Angered him? He didn't know anymore. He didn't know what to feel. And some part of him too, was terrified of a thought of the war battlefront. Maybe they could go with Kwayliet's plan—except she hadn't thought through it at all. What she insisted on doing was too risky. If he was given even a single night, he could have made a foolproof plan.

Maybe I could, He considered. He wasn't given a night to strategize, but that didn't mean he couldn't. Perhaps he could do it tonight? It wouldn't hurt to have a couple backups up his sleeve either.

He walked down the lane, hearing the rustle of voices surrounding him; the calls of vendors, the chit chats of the townspeople, the chirping of birds and somewhere, music faintly playing. He could never get tired of this tune. It was the song of his hometown, free of war, free of suffering. Free. And somewhere in that thought, his heart sank. He looked around to the faces near him: young, old, poor, rich...happy. These people too, had suffered the warfront, lost their kins, and still mourn for them. Not one among the crowd would be interested in letting their children or parents stand at battle again.