by Ava Jae
“Well, this is me.” Uljen nods to the door leading to his room. “I had a really good time.” He pauses. “Thank you for dancing with me.”
I smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Naturally.” His gaze dips to my lips before bouncing back to meet mine. My heart pounds as I step toward him, closing the space between us.
And when my lips taste his, he sighs.
Uljen and I are about the same height, which is different, but makes lining up a lot easier. I lean against him as my hands slide down his hard sides and I run my mouth over the stubble on his jaw. Uljen tilts his head back as I slowly work my way over his scarred cheek, then down his neck. Uljen’s skin tastes like a smoky, sweet herb. Every catch of his breath makes my heart pound harder, makes me want more.
I don’t want to think about Eros, about Dima, about the responsibilities and difficult decisions waiting for me at home.
Right now, more than anything, I want—naï, need—to lose myself. And Uljen makes it so, so easy.
“Kora,” Uljen whispers, his voice strained. “Is this a good idea?”
I pause and lean back, running my fingers over his collarbones. “Probably not.” Uljen looks at me, and I lift a shoulder. “I just don’t particularly care at the moment. I’m tired of holding back.”
Even in the blue-tinted light, the purple flush warming Uljen’s skin is clear. He runs his tongue over his lips and looks me over but doesn’t move.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is a terrible idea. Maybe this is too much, too soon. Just because he danced with me doesn’t mean he wants—this, whatever this is.
I stand up straight and force a smile. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want to do so … good night.”
I turn away and take a steadying breath, ignoring the prickle of a flush in my cheeks. That was—embarrassing. Maybe, if I’m fortunate, we’ll both be able to pretend that never happened. Kala, I hope I didn’t just completely mess—
A hand grips my shoulder—I turn—and Uljen’s mouth crashes into mine as he grips my hips and lifts me. My gasp catches in my throat. I wrap my legs around his waist as he holds me tight, his mouth insistent, demanding on mine. He walks and doors slide open and closed behind us, and moments later my back hits a plush, rocking bed.
I yank off Uljen’s shirt as he fumbles with unwrapping me out of mine. “Kala, why is this so complicated?” he asks with a breathy laugh.
I laugh and help him untie my top until his weight settles on top of me, skin to skin. Then Uljen slows. The hunger abates to something else, something tempered and rhythmic as he kisses my lips, my neck, his hands sliding down my stomach and into my skirt as he kisses my breasts.
I focus on the moment. On the heat waking in my legs, my stomach, my face and pooling between my legs. On his touches, his desert-tinted smell, the feel of his mouth on my skin. I focus on the now, because I can’t lose myself in the past, I won’t, not this time, not with Uljen.
His prosthetic leg touches my calf and my heart stutters—it’s colder than I expected. But it’s an anchor. A reminder this is Uljen, not Eros, not Midos.
I’m here, and I’m present, and this feels wonderful and there’s something freeing in knowing this means nothing at all. Uljen and I aren’t in a relationship. There aren’t expectations. And even if we were, it would be permitted.
I have nothing to worry about. I can just enjoy this.
Uljen’s skin is hot and slick against mine, his breaths heavy against my neck when he abruptly pulls back.
“Something wrong?” I breathe.
He shakes his head. “Naï, just … are you sure?”
Does he know I’ve never done this before?
Do I want him to?
“Sha,” I say carefully. “I’m sure. Are you?”
His low laugh sends a thrill through me. “Sha, I’m sure. But I’ve …” He smiles weakly. “I’ve never done this before.”
I blink. “You—really?”
Even in the dim moonlight, his flush darkens his face. But still, he says, “Really.”
I truly wasn’t expecting that. Uljen is handsome, and older than me, albeit not by much, and I just assumed—
Well. I assumed.
“Okay,” I say. “Well as long as you know how not to impregnate me—”
“Ah, sha, that’s … we learn that in schooling.”
“Then it doesn’t bother me.” I pause. “I haven’t before either. As we’re being honest.”
His eyes widen. “You … really?”
I laugh. “Is that so shocking?”
“Well, sha. You’re beautiful and powerful. I assumed you could have anyone you wanted, whenever you wanted.”
“Sha, well, that would require trusting people enough to let them into my bed.”
Uljen nods and gently brushes hair out of my face. “And you trust me?”
“I trust you not to try to kill me, which is trust enough for now.”
Uljen smirks. “I suspect even if I tried, you’re likely more than capable of defending yourself against me.”
“That’s because you’re smart.” I sit up just enough to kiss him. “Now are we going to continue or talk all night instead?”
Uljen kisses me with a grin like a twist of shadow.
“Mamae, what is sex like?”
Mamae smiles and sits on the edge of my bed, patting the blanket beside her. I lie next to her as she leans back on her elbows and sighs. “Well, that depends who it’s with. With yourself, it can be personal, exploratory. A way to learn what you like and what you don’t. A way to get to know yourself. With someone you’re attracted to, it can be fun and feel nice—a way to relax and be vulnerable with someone else. Sometimes sex is entertainment, just a way to satisfy a craving, like eating a sweet. Sometimes sex ends up awkward and disappointing, but you learn something—even if it’s just not to have sex with that person again.”
She laughs, and I snicker.
“And sometimes, my love … sometimes you’ll have sex with someone you care deeply about, and sex is a way to open up to them. To be completely vulnerable and give all of yourselves to each other. That kind of sex is a way to show your love and a way to get to know each other in a personal way you’ll never forget. That kind of sex is my favorite.” Mamae grins.
I smile. “Is that what it’s like for you and father?”
Mamae’s grin fades into something tighter—flatter—like the way she tries to smile when people compliment Dima and ignore me right in front of us. “I think that’s enough questions for one night, my love.”
Sex with Uljen is like kindling a fire. Every touch, every movement stokes the flames from sparks to embers to a deeply burning flame. Sex with Uljen is also a little awkward, with neither of us really knowing what we’re doing and just doing what feels good.
But it does feel good. And warm. And the pressure of his body on mine as we move together, again, again, is calming in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Is this okay?” Uljen whispers, and my throat is too tight to answer so I nod and hold him tight as his lips find mine, and he moves, and I move, until the fire burns out and we cool, breathless in the dark.
17
Kora
I wake in my own guest bed with aching muscles I didn’t know existed and the knowledge of what we did sitting like a boulder on my chest.
I sigh and sit up, running my hand through my loose hair.
I had sex with Uljen, my advisor, and it was his first time. And mine too. But I went in knowing it was just for fun and didn’t mean a thing and he—
Well. I shouldn’t assume it meant anything to him, either. It’s probably fine. We were just acting on an impulse. That’s all it was.
It’s fine.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting a smile play over my lips.
I had sex. And I don’t feel any different—am I supposed to feel different?—but for o
nce I didn’t let fear or distrust get in the way and it was actually … nice. Quick. But nice nevertheless.
I wish I had a female friend to talk to about it. I miss the laughter of private conversations Anja and I once had late into the night. The understanding of one woman to another. The knowing smiles and grimaces, the way Anja always knew what to say to make me feel less alone.
I miss her so dearly.
What would Anja have said? She probably would’ve thought sleeping with Uljen was a terrible idea, but I don’t think so. I think it’ll be okay.
After washing and getting dressed, it’s time to head over to the dining room for the morning meal before heading back to Elja. And to my surprise, Uljen is waiting for me in the hall.
And his wide eyes as he looks at me send my stomach spiraling to my toes.
“What’s wrong?” I say quickly. “Did something happen in Elja? Kafra, I forgot to check my glass this morning—what’s happening?”
“What? Oh, naï, everything is fine in Elja.” Uljen shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong, I just—we, you know, should probably talk.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Talk?”
Uljen nods, then glances at the guards standing several paces down the hall and lowers his voice. “You know. About last night.”
Something inside me twists. Maybe it was naïve to assume last night would mean as little to Uljen as it did to me. “It was just some fun, Uljen. We didn’t agree to marry.”
Uljen’s face purples and he laughs a little. “I-I’m aware. I just thought we might want to … establish expectations?”
“I don’t have any expectations.” Uljen bites his lip so I place my hand on his shoulder. “Trust me. Everything is fine. And if it made you uncomfortable, then we don’t have to do it again, okay? But you have nothing to worry about.”
Uljen blinks. “Again?”
“We have no obligations. Let’s just get back to Elja, sha? We have a lot of work to do.”
I walk away with his gaze prickling my back and his panicked eyes burned into my mind.
Kala, I hope I didn’t make a terrible mistake.
To say that the hovercraft ride back to Elja is awkward is an understatement. Uljen is silent the entire ride over, drumming his fingers on the windowsill as he avoids my gaze. But I’d rather his silence than him trying to make something of what we did last night, so I don’t push him.
When we arrive back on the palace grounds, Jarek is waiting for us at the landing strip, wearing his characteristic grimace. Kala knows that man doesn’t smile half as much as he should.
“Avra Kora.” Jarek bows, glances at Uljen, and nods at him. “I’m afraid I … must speak to you before you enter the palace.”
I frown. I’d checked the feeds over the morning meal and throughout the hovercraft trip back to Elja, and there was no new information about Vejla. The sickness has stayed in Asheron so far, and Eljans feel taken care of with the filter masks and boosters. For once, things are actually quiet in the Eljan city.
So why does Jarek look like he’s about to give me terrible news?
Oh naï. My eyes widen. “Is it Dima? Is he okay?”
“Dima’s fine,” Jarek says quickly. “This has nothing to do with him, but unfortunately there’s been … an incident.”
“Incident?” I frown. “Nothing was reported on the feeds.”
“Naï, not yet. I haven’t allowed any guides in the throne room yet. I’ve ordered silence from the staff and guard until you returned.”
My stomach churns. Whatever this is, it’s sounding more serious by the moment. When Jarek doesn’t continue, I step forward. “Well? Are you going to tell me or watch me sweat under the suns?”
“It’s …” Jarek grimaces. “The servants. There’s been a … protest.”
That’s … not the news I was expecting. I frown. “What are they protesting?”
“I think …” He sighs. “It’s better if you see it for yourself.”
I step past him and march into the palace, my heart in my throat as I step over the rough tile, every breath bringing me closer to the throne room, where the doors are closed and eight guards stand shoulder-to-shoulder, blockading the entrance, as though the closed doors and usual four guards weren’t enough.
“Avra.” The guards bow and part, clearing the way without my having to ask.
I stand in front of the heavy double doors, my heart thrumming in my chest. Whatever is in there, it has to be something truly serious for all of this build up, for all of this protection.
Part of me almost doesn’t want to know. Part of me wishes I could rewind to last night when everything was warm, and nice, and the only thing that mattered was feeling good.
But whatever this is, I can’t turn away from it.
This is my responsibility.
I am Avra.
I push the doors open. Inside are the servants, as expected, but they’re all sitting. Side by side, holding hands, facing the doors—facing me. There are so many of them they fill the large room—I honestly hadn’t realized we had so many on the palace grounds.
And as their gazes settle over me in the silence, as the pressure in the room settles over me, the woman closest to me says, “No more.”
And then, like a wave, the others repeat it, the same two words: no more. Again, and again, their voices building, louder, an endless chorus until those words are the air, until their voices drown out my drumming pulse, until every repetition is a cry, is a shout, and those words thunder and clap and roar.
NO MORE.
PART II
18
Eros
You’d think not sleeping would get easier. You’d think your body would get used to the routine of uselessly staring at your bedroom’s shadow-painted mosaicked ceiling for six segs before rolling out of bed, your veins full of lead and your eyes endlessly throbbing in your skull. Or you’d think, at the very least, you’d shut down eventually and sleep more than a seg at a time and wake up—maybe not refreshed, but at least feeling a little better.
But no. Not even close.
Still, I’ve been productive. Kinduv. I recorded a launching message for People Speak, which is what we’re calling the message system the people can access to make their wishes known. Deimos put together a team to filter through the messages—they’ll write up daily reports sharing trends and general feelings, and Deimos will go through the most important messages himself before passing it over to me. I think it’ll help. At least I’ll get a sense of what people are thinking, if they use it.
I also handled the thing with Dima—or rather, let Kora handle it, telling the people I trusted the Eljan government to try him fairly which, honestly, was a lie. But that doesn’t matter. I had too much to worry about already without fighting over this with Kora. And yeah, maybe it didn’t look great on me—but Deimos pointed out it looked worse for Kora to publicly fight with me over it, so. It’s over.
Two less things to think about. A mountain left to tackle.
The Remnant. The plague. The nanites. Too many problems without solutions and somehow I’m supposed to just—handle it.
Deimos rolls over, throws his arm over my chest, and buries his face into the crook of my neck, mumbling into my skin. “Did you sleep at all?”
I close my eyes and soak in this moment. This warmth of his skin on mine and the heat of him breathing on me. It settles the forever buzz behind my heart, vibrating in my chest, for just a couple breaths. Just enough that I can fill my lungs for an instant without feeling like someone is sitting on my chest.
“Sure.” I don’t bother trying to sound convincing. Deimos knows the truth.
He sighs, propping himself up on one elbow. “It’s not healthy. No wonder you’re having so much trouble with the stress of your position. How long has it been since you’ve had a full night’s rest?”
I think back. The sets have all kinduv blurred together—probably at least in part from the not sleeping thing—so it’s hard to count back. “I
’m not sure. The night before Kora’s lifecycle celebration, I guess.”
Deimos groans. “That was the beginning of the term. Do you know what set it is?”
“Not really.”
“The forty-fifth of Okona. You haven’t slept in nearly a full term.”
The nomads do dates differently than the Sepharon—we separate the year into seasons, rather than terms—so it’s hard for me to really parse out what that’s supposed to mean. But I guess it sounds like a lot. Especially since I’m pretty sure they have fifty sets a term or something. That’s a lot of not sleeping.
Makes sense, though. It definitely feels like I haven’t slept in forever.
“Come.” Deimos rolls out of bed and stretches his arms over his head. His pants hang low on his hips and the mismatched markings on his arms continue down his chest, following the curve of his muscles and emphasizing the V-cut disappearing into his waistband.
Deimos smirks and lowers his arms. “I’m well aware I’m quite the specimen to look at, but I really think we should get you to a medic, shae?”
I blink. “Medic? I’m not sick.”
“Naï, you’re not sick, but you will be if you don’t sleep.”
I shake my head. “The medics have enough to worry about trying to figure out a cure for the kafran plague. I don’t want to distract them from—”
“Eros.” Deimos kneels on the bed next to me. “You’re ken Sira. I appreciate your concern for the people, but there are plenty of medics and you’re important too, shae? Look at it this way: you can’t do your best as a leader if you aren’t well. You need to take care of yourself, too.”
We’ve had this conversation before—several times, since Deimos took to sleeping in my bed roughly ten sets ago and it became impossible to hide that I’m not actually sleeping. The first night I blamed it on nerves—which wasn’t totally wrong since Deimos was sleeping in my bed, and even though we weren’t really doing much of anything besides kissing, I still had an impossibly attractive guy in my bed and the knowledge that one set probably soon we’d be doing more than kissing and I had literally no clue what to do with a guy—