by Ava Jae
When she finally leaves, Deimos is scowling. He runs his hand over my arm, where she was touching, like brushing away the residue of her fingers. Which I don’t mind—that whole interaction felt gross—but even though Deimos didn’t say a thing it seems to have instantly soured his mood.
“You okay?” I ask.
“She shouldn’t have touched you,” he mutters, running his hand over my arm one last time.
Before I can answer—or process—Riza interrupts with a smile and brings us to the table at the front of the room, the only horizontal table and the last one before the section of dancers and drummers. Riza has us sit next to her off the center of the table and Mal bobs his head to the music as Deimos and I talk to Riza and her husband, whose name I forget.
I’m not sure how long we talk and pick at food, but the whole time Deimos has his leg pressed against mine, and sometimes he rests his hand on mine and twines our fingers together for anyone to see. And it’s a relief to be able to let him casually announce our—whatever we have—with quiet touches and glances and smiles. Everything with Kora was so hidden, so much denying and resisting and hating myself for wanting her despite all the shit she put me through.
But this feels so much better. This feels like breathing easy, as inevitable as falling asleep under the stars once was. And a part of me thrills at knowing Deimos wants our thing to be obvious to everyone, at seeing him unafraid to hold my hand or touch my back or stand and sit closer than friends ever would.
I honestly never thought I would get this. Someone like him wanting to be with someone like me. It always seemed like a fantasy for someone else, someone Sepharon or human but not both. But I’m here. This is real. He’s real. And stars, it feels so good to be wanted.
After a bit, someone whispers something to Riza and she nods, stands, gestures for the drummers to quiet, and announces it’s time for the ceremony to begin.
Time to watch two Sepharon men get married.
Fuck. Even the thought of it makes me smile.
Weddings with nomads were always a modest thing. I mean, we didn’t have a whole lot to begin with, so that was a big reason why, but we’d also break out the few luxuries we did have: our oldest, most carefully aged brews, an extra helping of meat for everyone—sometimes, if we were really lucky, someone would get their hands on some candy sold in the nearby cities through trade.
Before Day’s wedding, he went out with a bunch of his soldiers and they hunted down a kazim—or sandcat, as we called them. He didn’t tell anyone besides the people going with him—because if anyone had known, we obviously would’ve talked him out of it since it was dangerous as fuck—but he went out with a hunting party before the suns came up and came back midday dragging two adult cats behind them. I don’t know how they did it without losing anyone, but somehow they returned with only a couple scrapes and bruises. Nol was horrified and told him off and Jessa cried because, let’s be honest, he could have died pulling a stunt like that, but the next set at the wedding, no one cared about the danger because damn.
We ate really fucken well at his wedding.
But the ceremony itself was a simple thing. The couple would walk hand-in-hand around a fire seven times while vowing their love and devotion to each other. Then four people closest to them—two chosen by each person—would bless them in some way, with gifts, or a promise, or reassurance. At the end, the four people would form a circle around the couple while the couple kissed, making it official.
The whole thing never took long—I guess we were always pretty eager to get to the fun part after of eating and dancing and getting seriously drunk. It was simple, and sweet, and quick, and then we’d party all night as the couple disappeared together to spend their first night together.
Nomad weddings, apparently, are nothing like Sepharon weddings.
The dining hall, I guess, isn’t elaborate enough of a venue, so we all go outside to a section behind the palace that’s basically the biggest garden I’ve ever seen in my life—and that’s saying something since Elja and Asheron’s royal gardens are nothing to smirk at. The garden is about the size of the dining hall we were just in, and there are rows of cushions set out on the carved stones set up as a floor. The suns are setting, and glowing white flowers light a path down the center as everyone files in and sits in a row. Riza leads Deimos, Mal, and me to the front row, and I start to sit on my knees but Deimos nudges me and nods to Riza—she’s sitting cross-legged on the cushion.
Thank the stars. I fucken hate sitting on my knees.
The trees surrounding the garden are tall, with dark purple, blue, and bright red trunks. Their leaves are white, gold, and orange, and they’re weird shaped, kinda like a palm with star-like edges. Mountains paint the horizon ahead of us, bright white and blue against the deepening purple, blue, and pink sky. And though the suns haven’t set yet, the moons are bright tonight, three out of four visible.
It’s a nice spot. I get why they wanted to have the ceremony out here rather than in the palace. It’s freer out here—and undeniably Daïvi.
Mal shivers next to me. “It’s kinduv cold out here,” he whispers.
I nod. I hadn’t noticed it much when we arrived initially since it was still pretty warm, but now that the suns are setting, the temperature is definitely dropping with them. I can’t imagine it gets too cold here this time of cycle, but it’s not the southern heat we’re used to, either.
“Do you want me to get something?” I whisper back.
Mal snorts. “No, I was just saying. I can handle it—it’s not that bad.”
I smirk, even as he crosses his arms over his chest and rubs his arms, just a little. But he’s right. He’ll be fine.
Two men walk down the center aisle—not Daven and Zek, but Riza’s husband and another guy I’d guess might be Zek’s dad. They step to the cleared section ahead of us, surrounded by elaborately set up flowers of all sizes and colors, then turn around and face us.
“Thank you so much for joining us, everyone,” Riza’s husband says. “Uma and I are delighted—and honored—to present to you our sons, who will be declaring their love and promising themselves to each other in front of their friends, family, honored guests, and of course, Kala.”
Whoops and cheers break out in the crowd and I can’t help but grin. The Daïvi are so energized and alive—I love it.
“I always joked with Zek he should marry up to increase his station,” Uma says. “But when Zek told us he’d begun courting Avra-kaï Daven, his mother and I didn’t believe him.”
Snickers and laughter fills the air as Uma grins. “In fact, his mother and I were so sure it was just a fantasy, we teased him mercilessly about his Avra-kaï boyfriend until Zek arrived unannounced with Daven at his side. His mother was so shocked she fainted when she opened the door—fortunately I was there to catch her.” He laughs with the crowd as Riza’s husband—whose name I really need to learn—snickers next to him.
“Zek has always been a very respectable and hardworking young man, in the time that I’ve known him,” Riza’s husband says. “Riza and I are honored—and ecstatic—to welcome such an upstanding and genuine man to our family. We’re also relieved the politics haven’t scared him away yet—and after tonight, he’ll be stuck with us.” He winks as the crowd laughs louder. I smirk. In a way, I can kinduv relate to Zek—I may not have gotten pulled into the politics through a wedding, but the whole royalty thing is foreign to me, too. I don’t know that I’ll get a chance to talk to him today, but I might like to.
“In any case”—Riza’s husband waves his hand, gesturing for Zek and Daven to come forward—”Let’s get started, shall we? Come on over, my sons.”
Zek and Daven walk down the center aisle hand-in-hand, grinning as people sitting along the aisle throw flower petals and leaves at them. They look so fucken happy together, faces flushed, laughter in their eyes as petals catch on their clothes and cover the aisle. It’s sweet, seeing them like this, like nothing in the world could steal
the light from their smiles.
I’ve never felt that kinduv happiness.
When they finish walking down the aisle, they step in front of their dads and face us. Avra Riza and another woman—Zek’s mom, probably—walk up to the guys and kiss both of their cheeks.
Then Riza holds her hand out and Zek’s mom gives her a—
Whoa, wait, is that a knife?
It’s a knife.
I glance at Deimos, but he’s watching calmly, like this is no big deal, and like knives at weddings are totally normal so I guess in Sepharon culture they are. Mal taps my arm and I lean close to him.
“I don’t think I’m seeing right,” he whispers. “What is she holding?”
I hesitate, then whisper back, “A knife.”
Mal arches an eyebrow, then mutters “never mind” and leans away again.
Both guys turn up their left hands, palms up, and Riza slices each of their hands. They barely even flinch. Then Zek and Daven clasp their left arms together—Daven holding his arm on top, to the crook of Zek’s elbow, Zek holding his arm firmly against Daven’s, gripping Daven’s elbow with his bloody hand. Almost like they’re going to shake, except they don’t—instead, Riza pulls two long silky strips of fabric, one blue, one white—Daïvi’s colors—and wraps their arms together.
Oh wait. This is familiar.
This is kinduv like what Kora did when I took a blood oath to protect her.
“I, Daven Rin Sejo da Daïvi, take you, Zek Amar da Daïvi, as my chosen husband. I swear on our blood I will care for you and love you on our best sets and our worst sets, on the sets we’re at our happiest and sets we can’t find anything to agree on. I swear to be by your side and lift you up for all the segments of my life, and to be the best version of myself possible. I swear this in front of Kala, in front of our family, in front of our friends, as I declare you, Zek, the love of my life and partner of my soul. I love you and I will always love you.”
Someone sniffles next to me. Deimos flushes when I glance at him, and he rubs his teary eyes. “Quiet,” he whispers with another sniffle. “That was beautiful.”
I smile and slide my arm around his waist, pulling him closer. He leans against me, ever so slightly.
“I, Zek Amar da Daïvi, take you, Daven Rin Sejo da Daïvi, as my chosen husband. I swear on our blood to make you laugh, to make you smile, to do everything in my power to make you feel as loved, wanted, and happy as you make me. I swear to be your ear when you need to vent, to be your mouth when you can’t say what you need to say, to be your eyes when you need someone to look out for you. I swear this in front of Kala, in front of our family, in front of our friends, as I—” Zek’s voice cracks. He pauses and presses his fist to his smiling mouth as he takes a deep breath and blinks his glinting eyes. “As I declare you, Daven, the love of my life and partner of my soul. I love you and I will always love you.”
Deimos isn’t the only one sniffling anymore—along with teary-eyed people in the crowd, Zek’s mom is outright sobbing in front of everyone as she hugs her husband, but she’s smiling, too.
A guy walks over to Zek and Daven, holding one of those tattoo ring things. He unwraps the cloth around Zek and Daven’s arms, but the about-to-be-husbands don’t unclasp their arms. Instead, the guy clasps the ring around both of their arms and holds it in place as the edges light up and it starts marking them.
I guess it makes sense the Sepharon would get markings for this, too. I wonder what it’ll look like when they pull apart.
After a few mos, the ring stops glowing and the guy pulls it off. Daven and Zek slide their hands down each other’s arms until they’re holding hands and have a bloody, purple streak over their skin, then they hold their clasped hands over their heads and everyone bursts into cheers and applause.
And just like that, Daven and Zek are married.
Deimos slips his hand into mine again, squeezes tight, and traces my mark with his thumb. And with Daven and Zek holding their bleeding hands together and grinning, Zek laughing through his tears, with Deimos holding my hand tight and sitting so close I can smell the sweet spice of his skin, something deep inside me aches.
I never let myself want this before. I never let myself imagine what it might be like to swear myself to someone and promise to spend our lives together. I never let that be even a fantasy, not for me, because I never believed it could be. It was impossible, so there wasn’t any point in wanting it.
But now I do. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
And it’s terrifying.
14
Kora
Though Uljen and I sit with the other royalty at the evening meal—as is expected, because I’m Avra again and Uljen is my lead advisor—I make a point to sit nowhere near Eros. Partially because the center of the table is reserved for those close to Avra Riza and partially because I want to enjoy my food before I confront him in private.
Because I have to confront him. Unfortunately.
Still, knowing what I have to do makes it hard to pay attention to the conversation and laughter and smiles. This is a happy event—as it should be, and I am happy for Daven and Zek, truly—but Eros still wants to execute my brother in Asheron and I can’t let this opportunity in person to try to make him see reason slide. He can refuse to take my glass calls however much he wants—and so far he’s ignored my calls twice—but he can’t ignore a confrontation in person. And I won’t let something as vital as my brother’s life go without a fight.
“You seem tense,” Uljen whispers to me. “People are noticing. Try to smile a little, sha?”
I glare at him. “Did you really just tell me to smile?”
“I …” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, jostling some strands out of his tie. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you look ready to murder someone at a celebratory dinner party.”
I take a deep breath and relax my shoulders. I glance at Uljen and I’m still not smiling, but it must be at least a little better because he laughs quietly and shakes his head.
Come to think of it, that probably means I look worse. But his exasperated laugh is contagious and tugs the corners of my lips into a small—very small—smile. Better than nothing.
Eventually, the meal ends, and Daven and Zek thank everyone for celebrating with them and welcome everyone to stay or go as they please as the festivities continue for the rest of the night. Most people go back to dancing or chatting or partaking in more drinks and herbs—or all three. Eros gets up with Deimos and Mal and they walk somewhat aimlessly around the room, talking as Mal bobs his head to the drums and Deimos gestures animatedly.
I suppose that’s as good as it’s going to get. It’s loud enough in this room that few will be able to overhear what we’re speaking about, anyway.
My stomach is a fist when I approach him. My lungs are stone and my hands are brittle leaves ready to break. I’m not sure how to even begin to convince him to change his mind, but I need to figure it out, and I need to figure it out now.
I can’t let him take Dima.
“Eros,” I say by way of greeting. “Deimos, Mal, good to see you.”
“Hi, Kora.” Mal smiles.
Deimos and Eros look distinctly less pleased to see me, but Deimos at least fakes the smile well. “Evening, el Avra.” His use of el Avra, rather than my name, is deliberate. It’s a step back into formality, a reminder that our relationship is no longer something as simple and carefree as friendship.
That’s not new information, but it still plucks a twinge of sadness inside me nevertheless.
“I’m going to skip the formalities, as I suspect they won’t be heard or appreciated anyway,” I say. “I need to talk to you about Dima, Eros. I know you believe your trying my brother in Asheron is the best thing for everyone, but my people—”
“I’m not doing this,” Eros cuts in. “If you want to talk business, you can wait until I get back to the capital.”
I scowl. “Naï, I can’t. This isn’t someth
ing we can just push off, Eros. My brother’s life isn’t a bargaining chip for us to dangle whenever it suits us best. He must be tried in Vejla, where he will get a fair hearing and Eljans will decide what to—where are you going?”
Eros has turned his back to me and is headed for the door, his hand on Mal’s shoulder.
Heat burns like a fire licking at my heart. He’s ignoring me. That kafran bastard is actually just walking away like I’m not speaking to him. I step forward. “Where are you going? We’re not done discussing—”
“Kora.” Deimos steps toward me and Uljen moves forward, arms crossed over his chest, almost like he’s trying to protect me. Which is unnecessary because Deimos would never hurt me, but also—is Uljen getting protective of me? He’s my advisor, not my bodyguard, so that’s not his job and yet … I think I like it.
Deimos eyes Uljen and I touch Uljen’s arm. “It’s fine,” I say. “Deimos isn’t a threat.”
Uljen purses his lips and doesn’t move back but nods.
“Now isn’t the time,” Deimos says. “As Eros said, if you’d like to discuss something political with him, it’ll have to wait until we return to Asheron, which I assure you won’t be long.”
“My brother’s life isn’t political,” I seethe.
“But what happens to him, and where it happens to him, is.” Deimos shrugs. “The answer isn’t changing. Enjoy the rest of your night.”
And just like that he turns around and follows Eros and Mal out.
I clench my fists and bite my tongue. I could scream and rage and demand we speak now—but it wouldn’t do any good. Eros has made up his mind. And making a scene here won’t help my position.
“Are you all right?” Uljen asks carefully.
“Naï,” I say. Then, with a sigh, “Sha.”
Uljen grimaces but nods. “You’re doing the right thing. I think Eros will cave, even if only to avoid a war. The last thing he wants right now is more conflict. I’m sure he’s already overwhelmed with the responsibilities of his new role, not to mention the crisis with the nanites and sickness.”