by Delia Roan
“So what happened?”
“War.” Olex paused to cough.
Mel knelt beside her. “You don’t look so good. Want to take a break? I can stir the food.”
She shook her head. “Not much story left. Geran threw its resources into funding our army. We hired Sykorians as soldiers and miners. They’re cheap labor. But we made no dent against Cadam. They were too rich, too powerful. Geran grew poorer and poorer, bankrupting ourselves to avenge Cadam’s callousness.”
The next coughing fit had Olex gasping for breath. “I think I better lie down.”
Mel helped her to her feet. “Which tent?”
The old woman pointed. “There.” Her sleeve fell back and Mel spotted a seeping wound on her forearm.
They staggered together to the tent and slipped inside. Zayef looked up in surprise as they entered. She stroked the forehead of a young Ennoi boy. She stood up and took Olex from Mel, leading the old woman to a nearby cot. Ketug lay on a second cot, his breathing shallow and harsh.
The boy’s lashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes to stare at Mel.
She gave him a half-smile and waved. “Hi,” she whispered.
The boy said nothing, but his eyelids closed again.
“My son, Eien,” Kayef said, taking her place beside the boy. She brushed his hair aside.
“He looks like you,” Mel said. “I mean the nose and the eyes. Not so much the color…” She closed her mouth, embarrassed.
“He is still immature. When he matures, he will settle into his colors.” Kayef stroked his face, and smiled fondly. “And if the moon is willing, someday he will bear horns like his father and mother. A sign that he is favored among Ennoi.”
Kayef met Mel’s eyes. Her pale yellow eyes glimmered. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for what you have done for my son.”
Mel’s shoulders rose, and she tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “No problem. I mean, you’re welcome.”
“We are so grateful,” Kayef whispered.
“Anyone would do the same.”
Kayef shook her head. “No. Not anyone. We asked for help. We did not receive it. These trying times leave little room for a good heart to flourish.”
A good heart.
Mel smiled weakly. “I should go check on the stew.”
Outside, the cool air refreshed her. She stirred the thickening broth and stared at the ruins around.
A good heart.
A good heart who lied to her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JAHLE
Everything hurt and his thoughts sloshed like mud. Since sitting down, the bones in his body seemed to have fused together. When he squirmed, his stiffening legs protested, as if they were encased in rock.
I should leave before it is too late…
He already knew it was too late. His body knew what his mind refused to accept, and it prepared for the change galloping down on him. He had to leave before the Water People realized what was happening.
Before Mel asks questions and learns truths she should not know.
Yet his heart refused to cooperate. The idea of walking away from Mel, from his Avowed, filled him with a dread he could not name. He was a coward. The idea of living without her seemed direr than doing the right thing.
I was never good at doing what I should.
With the time passing, Dogan must know by now that Melissa escaped and Jahle betrayed him. How much time before Dogan sent his soldiers to find them? For all its vastness, only certain areas of Geran were still livable. Better to not be here. Better to split up. Better to lead them astray so Mel could be safe.
Everything hurts.
A voice snapped him out of his self-pity. “Here.”
He cracked open an eye. Mel stood before him, holding a glowing lantern with one hand and a bowl in the other. The scent of food made his stomach growl. The roil of hunger in his belly made him close his eyes again. But it wasn’t hunger for the soup.
I want her.
“Take it,” Mel said, her voice stern. She forced the bowl into his lap, and curled his fingers around it. “You need to eat.”
He stared down at the brown mush. “Did they give you this?”
“No, I kinda helped myself. Everyone ate and went to bed, so I figured what harm could it do?” She set the lantern down and sat beside him. “Besides, they shouldn’t treat the guy who saved them like crap.”
With a trembling hand, he raised a spoonful to his lips. The heat from the thick soup burned all the way down his chest. His stomach churned, but he forced himself to eat.
“Zayef worked some voodoo on it with real spices,” Mel said. “It’s almost edible.”
The food revived him. Or maybe it was simply Mel’s presence. When he scraped the last mouthful from the bowl, he thanked her.
“Oh, don’t thank me just yet,” Mel replied. “We still have to have that conversation.”
Excellent. Let her hate me, too.
“Not here,” he said, rising to his feet. “There is somewhere I need to visit.”
As they wandered through the ruined buildings, Jahle knew he was stalling. It didn’t matter if the Water People heard his words; they hated him already. But for a while, he wanted to keep Mel’s favor. For a while, he could pretend they were simply a couple out on an after dinner stroll, heading home to their cozy bed.
“Here,” Jahle said, stopping in front of a stone structure.
Mel peered up at the high building before them. “What is this place? It looks like an ant hill.”
“The City of the Dead,” Jahle replied.
“Dead like you, or dead like dead?”
“The Ennoi who have passed are interned here.”
“A cemetery?”
“A mausoleum. A sanctuary.” He paused. “A temple.”
She hesitated, but followed when he started the long trek up the outer stairs. She said nothing. Her eyes flicked all around. She peered in the doorways they passed as they ascended, but Jahle didn’t stop until they reached the top of the staircase.
Jahle stepped inside and paused. Mel entered, lifting the lantern so the long walkways lined with doors were illuminated. She peered down the open center. Nothing to see but darkness. Nothing to hear but the wind howling outside.
For a moment, Jahle smelled old incense, and the fruit, flowers, and bread left as offerings for loved ones. The memory faded, replaced by the thick scent of dirt.
She whistled. “This is some place.”
He winced at the loudness of her voice. The Ennoi always maintained silence in the City.
Am I even Ennoi anymore?
Jahle pointed. “See the plaques on the wall?” Out of respect for the old traditions, he kept his voice low, his lips barely moved. “Each represents a passed loved one. The lower tiers are for commoners. This tier is for royalty.”
“Royalty. Right. Forgot about the whole prince thing,” she muttered. “So why are we here?”
“To pay my respects to my family.”
He led them to a series of plaques. “My father,” he said, pointing to the first. “My mother beside him. The oldest was Mikkil, who would be king after my father. Then Roana, my sister. Her Avowed, Wosho, lies beside her. Trinni came after Dogan.”
“And you last?”
“I was an afterthought. The Garden People called me a late harvest fruit. My parents were quite surprised by my arrival. I believe I shook up their comfortable lives.”
“The baby of the family always gets away with murder,” Mel mused. She eyed the plaques. “They’re filthy.”
Before Jahle could reply, she pulled off her sweatshirt and began wiping down the plaques. When she was done, they did not gleam, but the dust was gone, and the etchings of his family’s names stood out once more. Touched by her gesture, he bowed while she tied the filthy fabric around her waist. The thin shirt she wore underneath would not keep her warm.
“We w
ill be quick,” he said. “So you can return to the fire. May I request some privacy?”
“Of course,” Mel said. “I’ll be over there.”
He knelt on the floor and lowered his head, thinking about his family. Jahle wanted to pay his respects, but sitting here felt like a hollow gesture. The tombs before him were empty. His parents and siblings did not rest here. They were light-years away, lost in the far reaches of space.
Quit stalling. Talk to her.
Frustrated, he stood and walked to where Mel poked around the mausoleum, lifting the lantern to examine the torn tapestries and delicate tiles covering the walls.
“Huh, this place must have been gorgeous at one time,” she remarked. She picked up a shard of pottery from the floor and wiped away the grime to reveal a brilliant purple finish. Her fingers traced over the pattern. “Flowers?”
“Tersun lilies. Official flower of Geran. They grew all over, before the war,” Jahle said. “Which is why you are here.”
She dropped the shard and wiped her hand on the fabric around her waist. “Zayef told me about the war. What does a war that started generations ago have to do with me?”
“Not you. Your sister.”
“Jen?” Her eyebrows shot upward. “She moonlighting as a Horseman of the Apocalypse behind my back?”
“I do not understand,” he said with a shrug. “But it is in truth not about your sister.”
“Then why us?”
“My brother has a vendetta against the Cadam Ennoi, and specifically their leader, Kovos.”
“Why?”
He closed his eyes. “Years ago, my father planned to end our feud with Cadam by bombing their leader’s home. My mother talked him out of it. Yet, somehow, ships from Geran manned by Sykorian mercenaries, carried out the mission. They attacked Braddrak, killing innocents.”
“Was your family behind it?”
“Of course not. Father was quick to temper, just like Dogan, but Mother always made him see sense.”
“So who did it?”
He shrugged. “Cadam has more enemies than just Geran. We were the ones blamed. They attacked us in retaliation. Leveled the city. Destroyed our way of life. The only blessing is that they saw fit to warn us first. Our people evacuated the city.”
“This has what to do with Jenna?”
“Rumor had it that Kovos would announce his betrothal to the Ennoi Haron heir, increasing his power over the Ennoi tenfold. Dogan could not stand the idea. Years ago, Dogan had a Sykorian bodyguard who informed him Kovos once promised his heart to a human.”
“Jenna? But she was a kid.”
“An Ennoi’s word is unshakable, but an Ennoi prince’s word is absolute. Dogan used the information he received from the Sykorian and found your sister. It took vast amounts of money, but he found her. He took her to use against Kovos.”
“Because if he was already promised to Jenna, he couldn’t marry this other chick.”
“It is a delicate time. Kovos brings peace to the Ennoi, but it is a tentative one.”
“So Jen is a weapon, and I’m… what? Insurance so she will behave?”
“Yes,” Jahle replied.
She closed her eyes, and then squeezed them shut. She shook her head. “This is too freaking much.” She walked away, and Jahle slouched against the wall.
“Listen,” Mel held up her finger. “Why is it so quiet?”
Jahle tipped his head. “The wind stopped.” He sprang to his feet. “Come, quickly.”
Despite the confusion on her face, she followed him without question. The stairs to the roof were intact, though he had to open the door with brute force. He leaped over the debris which barricaded it, and pulled her onto the rooftop viewing area.
“Look,” he said, pointing up to the open ceiling of the cavern.
Mel craned her neck, and her jaw dropped. The night sky, full of stars, shone down at them. A million pinpricks of light blazed in the darkness.
“Oh, wow,” Mel breathed. “I’ve never seen so many stars. What happened to the dust storm?”
“It will return. Sometimes calm spots appear.”
“Like the eye of a hurricane,” she muttered to herself. Her mouth remained parted after she spoke. The plumpness of her lower lip entranced Jahle, the way the stars captivated her.
“This is wonderful,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, untangling himself from her spell.
The viewing furniture remained. Some industrious temple guardian had covered them in sheets of plastic before the city’s evacuation. Jahle pulled the sheets off a divan, sending dust and debris sliding to the floor. A rodent had chewed on the corner of the bench, but otherwise, it was clean and whole.
“Lie down and you will not strain your neck,” he said.
Mel glanced in his direction, and stumbled to the divan, keeping her eyes locked on the sky. She placed the lantern on the floor beside the leg of the bench, then tucked it underneath so its light dimmed. She lay back, her legs dangling off the edge, and crossed her hands over her belly. Her hair splayed out.
She tapped the embroidered surface. “Come lie down.”
He hesitated, but lowered himself down with a grunt. His body ached. He needed rest. His arm brushed Mel’s, but she didn’t flinch away. The coolness of her bare arms seemed to tame the fever raging over him.
If he focused on the stars, maybe he could take comfort from her presence without losing himself. He took a steadying breath and stared upwards, trying to ignore the words that crept into his brain.
Those flecks of light are what remains of your family’s bodies.
Sadness wound itself around his heart. He pictured their faces. His father and mother. Mikkil, his oldest brother, who aged before his time, worn down by the heaviness of the crown. Trinni, his youngest sister, who always had a crescent of grime under her nails from working the gardens. Suitors followed her like insects to nectar.
Roana’s face, with her gentle smile. His oldest sister took her responsibilities as chief medical officer seriously. She would always tut when he scraped his knees through carelessness. He knew she would chide him for his morose thoughts tonight.
You are ruining a perfect moment, she might say, in her soft voice. You are with your Avowed. Be thankful.
He cleared his throat. “It… it is lovely, is it not? The stars.”
Beside him, he felt Mel shrug. “It’s gorgeous, but…”
“But?”
“It makes me feel lonely.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Lonely?”
“I mean, sure, it makes me aware I’m an insignificant speck in the vastness of space, blah blah blah.” She sighed. “But it also makes me think about how far away I am from everyone I’ve ever loved. I wish Jen was here. Then this whole mess wouldn’t seem so bad.”
The concept resonated within Jahle. Without Roana, the world seemed darker, the stars further away. He surprised himself by reached out and grabbing her hand. Her fingers stiffened for an instant, and then curled around his. His heart leaped.
“Yes,” he said. “It is easier to bear loneliness with someone else.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
MELISSA
It’s stupid to have a crush on an alien.
As her palm grew sweaty under Jahle’s hot hand, she acknowledged the fact that her whole dating life, Mel had fallen for the wrong guy at the wrong time. She could rattle off a list of inappropriate crushes, starting with Mr. Carson in fifth grade, and ending at Perfect Paul whose only sin was imagining a white-picket-fence life with Mel. Or rather, with his ideal vision of Mel: a woman who needed him.
This is no different.
She could never be that girl for Paul. She could never be an Ennoi girl for Jahle. The weird shunning, the adherence to honor… No, she didn’t understand those concepts.
However, she did understand kindness. Only a compassionate man would risk his life to save others. Who, even when burdened
with a stranger, would keep her safe. Who, when the very people who needed him most shunned him, kept his head high and kept helping. The kind of man who would hold her hand when she confessed her loneliness.
A good heart.
A fist closed around her chest. Oh. He is the right guy. But, oh, this is the wrong time!
Her hand tightened around his. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick.
He made a grumble of inquiry.
“For keeping me safe. For helping. For being… you.”
“I could do no less.”
He sat up, and her arm cooled as his warmth moved away. The grasp on her hand didn’t loosen though. She ran a finger over his knuckles, feeling the silkiness of his skin. As she moved her finger higher, his skin grew textured, bumpy but smooth, like a snake. At this distance, she became aware of his scent. It reminded her of fall leaves and pleasure of being awash in gold and red.
The loneliness in her chest threatened to drown her in sorrow.
“You should go,” Jahle said. “The sky is beginning to cloud over. The storm returns. You should return to the Water People.”
He made to untangle his hand and stand, but she held on. He looked at her hand in confusion.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “I want to stay.”
The lantern cast harsh shadows across his face. It was clear he intended to argue, but she wouldn’t give him the opportunity. She hooked her leg around his knee, pinning him to the side of the bench. With his strength, it would be easy for him to break her hold, but he froze, locked in place by the contact.
“Please,” she said. “Not yet.”
Uncertainty filled his every gesture. His body trembled, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. He seemed to be arguing with himself because he shook his head slightly. Slowly, as if in a trance, he bent down and pulled the lantern out from underneath the bench. Holding it high, he towered above her.
His eyes moved over her body, and Mel became aware of the thinness of her T-shirt. Her cheeks grew hot. No bra, because she had shed it the second she had returned from her disastrous date. Not to mention the ugly haircut, the scabs on her palms, or the fact that she had been wearing the same clothes for almost a week now.