by Ann Aguirre
“Before, I had the half-hearted thought of luring a new suitor, though it seems callous. Now I must do this, but I also have another imperative.”
“What’s that?”
The arena was filling, and the setup on the field for the last two events was nearly complete. Fortunately, Snaps was more interested in the obstacle course being placed than their conversation. A moment this tense wouldn’t be improved by a dog’s observations.
“You said Ryzven hinted at wanting a second nest-guardian, yes?”
That was the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you joking? Why—”
“Because he is responsible for the death of my Chosen. If I succeed in getting close to him, I will destroy him utterly.” They spoke with such brittle, icy composure that Beryl’s bad feeling got worse.
This sounded like a suicide mission, and it seemed as if Kurr didn’t much care if they went to hell, as long as they took Ryzven with them. And while Beryl could understand the desire to get revenge, she couldn’t stand seeing them suffer.
“That’s not—”
“Stop,” Kurr said sharply. “I will not heed warnings or advice. If this can be done, I will do it. There is no guarantee that I can draw his eye, as he seems partial to small, soft creatures, but I hold high standing in the rankings, and if I judge by what you’ve said, he is the type who cares about personal prestige. I can give him that.”
Beryl lowered her head, fighting tears along with a bone-deep fear for her friend. “I wish I hadn’t told you.”
“Regret is useless. If you had made another choice, grief and despair might have devoured me. Now, I am filled with wrath, and it will sustain me, one way or another.”
She let out a shaky breath. “If you’re determined, I’ll do what I can do to support you. If he invites us to another of his terrible parties, I’ll get you an invitation.”
I can’t believe they were eating live, sentient beings. They looked so much like the Worms from Men in Black.
“You are a true friend.”
“There was a famous comedian on my world. I guess one of his sayings applies here. ‘When you’re in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, Damn, that was fun.’”
“I’m not certain that this idiom has translated correctly, but I appreciate your offer to do crime for me, Beryl Bowman.” Three fronds swept out and encircled Beryl’s shoulder in a delicate touch.
Across the arena, the seats filled with spectators and Chosen, but oddly, Beryl noticed that Ryzven wasn’t in his usual spot. Maybe the alien equivalent of animal control had done him some damage? She would love it if his reputation got smeared like chocolate pudding on a toddler’s face. That infraction probably wouldn’t be enough to topple Ryzven from his pedestal, however. Zylar had said it would be impossible for Ryzven to prove he was behind the report, but her uneasiness intensified.
Between Kurr’s dangerous plan and the way Zylar had gone after Ryzven on the low, there was so much that could go wrong. Everything was unfamiliar here, and the prospect of being forcibly separated from Zylar made her break out in a cold sweat. How the hell would I even cope? It was disturbing on every level how unsuited she was to fend for herself out here.
I need to get started on those reading lessons, even if this Choosing crap is exhausting. I can’t depend on Zylar forever.
“You’re squeezing me too tight,” said Snaps. “My eyeballs are gonna pop out.”
“Eep, sorry.” Quickly she eased back on the headlock she’d put on Snaps and tried to steady her nerves, but she had to clench her hands to hide their trembling.
Searching the stands, she found Zylar in his usual spot. Some of the tremors receded when he raised a claw in a greeting he’d learned from her. Lifting her hand to wave back, she took a deep breath, another, until her pounding heart settled. Snaps stood on her lap and licked her cheek.
“Don’t be scared. Or sad. You smell scared and sad. Are you?” He licked her again.
Smiling, she scratched between his ears. “A little. I’m better now.”
“Because you fear for me, you smell this way?” Kurr asked.
Beryl had no idea how to answer that. “I mean…maybe? Especially if my scent changed after I told you what went down with Ryzven and you unveiled your master plan.”
“Then should I comfort you?” Kurr asked. “How would I do this?”
Before she could reply, the host said, “The second round will be completed today! What excitement is store for us with today’s competition? Let’s not waste time, and instead, go right to the action…after I review the standings.”
She tuned out while he posted the tallied results and only perked up when she saw that Zylar was solidly in the center of the pack—not high enough to earn envy for his position, but not low enough to fear they wouldn’t receive approval if they performed well together in the final round. When the host called Zylar’s name, she jumped up and cheered at the top of her lungs, even urged Snaps to make a bunch of racket. The other intended stared at her, but she didn’t give a damn.
Eventually she sat back down and gathered Snaps close. The final part of the second round went smoothly without Ryzven whining to officials to make shit more “interesting,” or whatever he’d said to get Arleb killed. There was a physical sparring challenge and a problem-solving competition, where Zylar came in second.
My Chosen is so damn smart.
It was probably weird to feel so proud of that. In the end, Zylar finished in the top third, safe and sound, while Kurr sat silently beside Beryl, doubtless plotting their intricate revenge. After the final scores posted, the Chosen who had lost their partners early on swamped Kurr. Six or seven Barathi, some with exceptionally bright colors, eddied around the Greenspirit like an alien ocean. Beryl lingered, wondering if she should offer a hand, but Kurr fluttered some fronds in a gesture that she took to be a farewell, confirmed by their next words.
“I will get acquainted with my suitors,” they said gently. “While I regret Arleb’s loss, I must think of the future. This is the path I have chosen.”
That had to be part of their strategy, a way of drawing Ryzven’s eye. If he saw that Kurr was in great demand, it might well pique his interest.
What came next? Beryl didn’t dare imagine.
[ 16 ]
After one fleeting rest day that gave Zylar a taste of what life would be like with Beryl once they passed the Choosing, the final phase began.
The silence from Ryzven was unnerving.
Through private gossip, he knew Ryzven had been formally reprimanded which was why he hadn’t attended the last two contests in the prior round. The flavork had to be seething. Yet Zylar heard nothing.
Odd and unsettling.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing hearts.
Never before had he come this far, waiting to be confirmed by his intended. The Chosen stood in a straight line, sharply at attention while the intended nest-guardians faced them from across the arena. In the center, the host played to the audience.
“Are you ready? Now we will find out whether old alliances hold fast, or if new matches have been made in secret. We’ll start with our top-ranking intended. Beryl Bowman of Aerth, who is your Chosen?”
Zylar tensed. All their promises hung on this moment. If she opted to betray him and select another, one of the unmatched Chosen, only drone life awaited.
She won’t fail me. She will not.
Beryl stepped out of formation and called out, “Zylar of Kith B’alak.”
It took a few seconds for the translators to confirm her primitive preposition, then the host flourished a limb in his direction. “Congratulations, Zylar! You embody the axiom that persistence ultimately prevails! Fifth time lucky, join your intended!”
He thought that was an unnecessary insult, but he kept his gaze high and strode toward the circle to meet Beryl. She reached for his claw with her soft grabber, and the spectators reacted
in audible fashion when he completed the hold.
Zylar’s hearts eased, the faint fear softening to incredulous pleasure. Finally, he had been Chosen.
She kept her promise. He wanted to show even greater affection than the clasp of their extremities, but respect for propriety kept him still. When Beryl showed her teeth, he churred.
She is so very precious.
Beryl had told him of Kurr’s reckless plan, but he didn’t see how it could come to fruition. Though he sympathized, Ryzven wasn’t someone who could be easily destroyed, or jealous rivals would have come for him long ago. He certainly hadn’t retained his power through kindness and generosity.
The host called Kurr next. “Though you have suffered a grievous loss, you may Choose another. Will you quit the contest or will you—”
“I Choose Catyr of Kith Ka’mat.”
“Fascinating! Our Greenspirit elects to be pragmatic and thus will stay the course. And you, Catyr?”
A bright blue-patterned Barathi came forward, radiating pleasure and relief. His intended had died to the Destroyer early on, so Kurr’s favor must feel like a miracle.
“I accept. We will move forward together.”
The pair joined Beryl and Zylar in the center. Thus, the event continued as intended, and the Chosen confirmed their bonds. At the end, there were several Chosen left without potential partners, and they trudged from the arena with a despondent aura that Zylar remembered all too well.
This is how it feels to stand on the other side.
“Our first contest is a game of chance,” the host went on. “Luck is a part of life. It allows some to rise, while others remain firmly in the dust. Let’s test our teams now! Who are fortune’s favorites?” He went on to explain the rules.
Zylar bent to catch Beryl’s soft question. “We just…pick a number?”
“Essentially, yes. Prizes are random, each coded to a different digit. The highest-value reward provides congruent ranking.” He paused. “You should choose for us, Terrible One. My luck was dreadful until I abducted you, and that was a mix-up, not something I achieved on purpose. Any luck I have comes from you.”
“That is…”
The signal sounded. “Begin!”
“…so sweet!” The pause came as she tossed the words over her shoulder, already sprinting toward her target.
Another intended tried to intercept, attempting to siphon Beryl’s luck, but she put on a burst of speed, deceptively fast for her small size, and she snatched up the code just before her rival. Zylar churred as Beryl did one of her strange battle dances. Much of it involved shaking her back end and waving her limbs around.
“You can’t beat me! I’m ______” The translator didn’t know what Beryl was saying, but Zylar could fill it in.
She bounded back to him. “Now what?”
“We take this to the officials over there and find out what we’ve won. Once all the couples have selected a prize, the results will be tallied.”
“That’s pretty quick. Will we do another contest today?”
“It’s likely. They sometimes combine shorter events. Otherwise the Choosing would take entirely too long.”
“Makes sense. Let’s go find out how we did.”
Zylar led the way, adroitly stepping around those who would inhibit them. A few even tried to snatch the code from Beryl’s grabbers, but he hissed, shielding her with his whole body. Before, he had been less aggressive, less sure of his ability to attract and keep such a magnificent nest-guardian, but she was slowly boosting his self-confidence, filling him with surety of his own worth.
I deserve her. I deserve to be with her.
Once Beryl turned over their code, they waited. She gazed toward the exit. “I wish Snaps could be here, but there’s nobody to watch him. You think he’s okay alone?”
“I regret leaving our nestling unattended, but I do not believe he will come to harm. There are only a few more days. If we can endure the tests a bit longer, then we can begin our life together.”
“You think we’ll get approved?”
“I see no reason why not, if our ranks are good.”
“What about Ryzven?”
“Don’t think of him. He can’t hurt us.”
That was bravado, most likely, and from the way Beryl tilted her head, she suspected as much.
“You’re a bad liar,” she said.
“It is not a skill much in demand.”
“I’m glad about that. It’s better if you’re honest, even if the situation is difficult.”
“We’ve surmounted everything so far. We can achieve anything together.”
She squeezed his claw without speaking.
Not too much longer, and the host announced the results. “Kurr and Catyr take the top prize, a collection of priceless gems mined on…” A few more names followed, and then, “At number five, Beryl and Zylar achieve respectable placement with rare seeds, imported from the Farshine Nebula!”
“Pretty good,” Beryl noted.
“You may not have gleaned this from the explanation earlier, but we keep the prizes we choose. They are considered ceremonial gifts, put toward the life we build once the Choosing ends.”
“Oh wow. So we’ve got seeds to plant later? Snaps will be so excited about having more tiny green dirt dogs to guard.”
“He will be a fine elder nestling,” Zylar said.
“I hope so.” From Beryl’s expression, something was bothering her, confirmed by her next question. “Do you think Kurr has given up on their plan? They even Chose someone else.”
He considered. “I am uncertain. This may be a strategic move. They also took first in the joint competition, reinforcing their allure. It’s possible they hope to attract Ryzven before the final stage is complete.”
“But they Chose Catyr—”
“Do you truly think that such a small matter would stop Ryzven?”
Beryl huffed, a sound that approximated a Barathi hiss. “No. He’s a dirty ______ and I bet he’d find some way to get what he wants, no matter who he has to hurt.”
“The correct assessment.”
Soon after, the next test began. Strategic thinking this time, where they had to compete against another team. Those lots were chosen at random, and Zylar took the lead, as Beryl had no idea about this Barathi game. They beat their first two sets of challengers and were defeated around the middle of the tournament, not exceptional, but safe.
Zylar didn’t care if they excelled. He only wanted to score well enough to receive the Matriarch’s blessing and get past all of this for good. Five times was too many, and with each step they took toward the end, his fear grew, sometimes to the point that he couldn’t breathe.
Losing now would be worse than ever before. It might mean the end of him.
Not because life as a drone was so awful, but because life without Beryl was a prospect so bleak that both his hearts ached, merely thinking of the possibility.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, as they left the arena together.
That was how good she’d grown at reading his moods, even though there were no visual cues that she could recognize. But her heart knew both of his.
“Nothing,” he lied.
Her eyes were steady and soft, such a bright color in her squishy face. She knew, again, but she let the fiction stand.
“Snaps is waiting. Let’s go home.”
Beryl could tell that Zylar was worried, likely about Ryzven, and possibly about Kurr as well. It was especially troubling when there was nothing she could do. Being helpless sucked.
That did remind her of one issue, however, that could be addressed. “Would you teach me to read Barathi?” she asked, as they headed for their quarters.
Funny, how this weird world had come to feel like home.
“It would be my pleasure.” He didn’t call her primitive or suggest she wasn’t capable of learning.
Negging just wasn’t part of Zylar’s personality. In being with him, she’d already received more
praise and appreciation than she had in her whole life on Earth. Before she met him, nobody except Snaps thought she was anything special.
As they reached the lift, his comm lit up and sounded with the chime for an incoming message. Beryl glanced over, but she couldn’t read what was on the display. Zylar stilled, his nictitating membrane fluttering, surprise or distress, maybe.
“What happened?” she asked.
“I am instructed to go to Technical. If you’re concerned about Snaps, you can return without me. I’ll follow presently.” Something in his tone alarmed her.
This had to be about Helix. “It’s bad news, right? Snaps will be fine. He had his food cube this morning, he has water, and he knows what square to pee on. I’d rather go with you if that’s all right.”
“Yes,” he said. “I always prefer your company, Terrible One.”
“Then come on. Let’s find out what the damage is.”
She remembered where the Technical Department was, so she led the way when he hesitated. Whatever the issue, they’d face it together. Mostly, she feared him losing the AI who had been his only friend.
The same supercilious Barathi greeted them on arrival. “You’ve come to reclaim the restored version of Helix?”
Surprised, Beryl turned to Zylar. “Restored? That’s fantastic news! They got Helix back for you.”
“Partly,” Zylar said. “The truth is, they deleted the corrupted code and reverted Helix to a prior version. All memories of our trip to Aerth have been permanently lost.”
Oh. That revelation knocked her back, and her breath went. I can never go home again. I’m really stuck here. No visits. No cheeseburgers. She squatted and wrapped her arms around her knees, head down. For a few seconds, she fought tears because she didn’t want to hurt Zylar, but this…this was confirmation that her old life was lost forever.
Zylar knelt beside her and touched a claw to her hair, gentle as a butterfly landing on a flower. “I’m sorry. I cannot truly fathom how you feel, but please know—”