by Ava Jae
I grit my teeth and stare at my toes. Iro licks my knee and I grimace—his tongue is like slimy sandrock.
“How do you like your clothes?” Kora asks.
“They’re comfortable,” I mutter. My fingers squeeze into my knee until my skin stops sizzling and the band cools. The woman then unclasps my arm and Kora nods.
“Thank you, Mijna. Have the servants I specified been gathered?”
“Sha, el Avra,” the woman says with an airy voice.
“Wonderful. Flush the nanites from their bloodstream immediately and see to it that they are released. I’ve already informed Jarek and the others of this order.”
Mijna bows and steps out of the room. I examine my arm. I still can’t read any of it, but the weird black crescent letters follow the contours of light markings swooping over my skin. Which is great, because I really wanted to bring attention to my almost-Sepharon skin.
I force myself to look away and turn to Kora. “Thank you. For keeping your word.”
“I expect you to hold me to my words, as I will hold you to yours.” Her gaze rolls over me. “I take it you’ve noticed you are not wearing the uniform of a warrior.”
“I hadn’t really expected army clothes, all things considered.”
She nods. “You must understand it is imperative that all others believe you to be my personal servant, and nothing more. It is essential for your safety, as well as mine.”
“That’s fine.”
“Good. I feared you may be insulted.”
I snort. “I’m not that fragile.”
She smiles. “I had hoped as much. Thank you, Eros.”
My new job requires shadowing Kora incessantly, and Iro, it seems, feels the need to join us just about everywhere. No one pays him much mind though, so I guess it’s a regular thing. When we first left her room, I got more than a couple lingering stares from guards and a few raised eyebrows at the new line inscribed on my arm. But it seems the black text was more necessary than I thought, because no one questions me after looking at my arm.
The first day is mostly uneventful—Kora goes to her personal training room where she works out until I’m exhausted just watching, then returns to her room and eats a quiet lunch of colorful imported fruits and orange meats dripping with a blue glaze. She shares her food with her personal servant Anja, who doesn’t wear the uniform servant clothes, either. Instead, she has a long sheer green skirt that’s see-through below the knees and a blue top made out of the same kinduv thin material, but wrapped around her body several times and knotted at her waist. It looks nice against her dark skin, I guess, but to be honest, I’m more interested in their food. My mouth waters and my stomach grumbles as I watch them eat. When’s the last time I’ve had a decent meal? It feels like a lifetime ago….
They chat idly over their food about her brother and some kinduv celebration over fifty sets—or, a term, as they call it—away. After they’ve finished, Kora hands me a bowl full of chopped fruit and meat, then walks to the bathroom to bathe and change.
I eat quickly out of habit, but I try to slow down because the food is incredible. I’ve never had fruit before, and the pink juice is sweet and sour and the pulp is slightly chewy and entirely amazing.
When I pick up the meat with my fingers, Anja wrinkles her nose and hands me two stick-like silver utensils with short twin tines at the end. I have no idea how to use them, so I stab the meat with it and eat it off the end. Anja looks disgusted, but I don’t care because the meat is tender, and salty, and sweet, and easily the best thing I’ve ever eaten.
Maybe I should be insulted that I get the scraps, but these scraps are way too delicious to be blazed about. I suck the blue glaze off my fingers and Anja snatches the bowl out of my hand and shoves a square of fabric at me. I wipe my hands and she takes that, too, shaking her head.
After eating, Anja gives me two metal spheres covered in some sortuv thin, slightly sticky dark blue material. Sephari letters light up under the material at my touch. I have no idea what it says, but after messing with it, I find I can adjust the weight of each ball with a few taps. I use them to work out until Kora emerges. She steps out of the bathroom in a short towel and a scarf tightly wrapped around her left arm and shoulder. That’s it. The edge of the towel dangles several inches above her knee and the light markings of her skin swirl around her leg and up into the towel, and there’s black text weaving up the inner part of her thigh and into—
Kora clears her throat. Stares at me pointedly. Arches an eyebrow. Suns above, I’m staring. Stop staring! I rip my attention to the window, ignoring the heat of the suns on my face.
There’s a garden outside. A ridiculously elaborate garden with more flowers and plants than I’ve seen my whole life. Who even needs a garden this big? Stars, who has time to take care of a garden this big? How does it even survive in this heat?
And what does she voiding have written on her inner thigh?
After she changes, I have the joy of watching her read. For hours. I entertain myself with an extra workout, then inane, pointless tasks, like counting the books on the bookshelves (1,287) and the trees visible from the window (18) and the number of handles in the room (16). I even pet the blazing cat, who seems to have developed a liking to me, and often takes turns rubbing against me, then Kora. I try ignoring him at first, but he nudges my hand incessantly until I give in and rub the base of his ears. Nol would’ve loved this—he always said if we showed respect to the wild, we would receive respect in return.
Though that advice didn’t help the half-dozen people we lost to wildcat attacks over the years.
“Why is he so gentle?” I finally ask. “The only wildcats I’ve ever heard about were bloodthirsty carnivores.”
Kora glances up at me from her book. “What did you call him?”
I hesitate. “We call them wildcats.”
She furrows her brow. “Your people are strange.”
“Well, what do you call them, then?”
“Kazim,” she says. “And as a cub, he was injected with nanites that made him docile.”
Frowning, I say, “He’s brain damaged?”
“Naï. He just doesn’t have aggressive impulses.” She goes back to her book and flips the page, effectively ending the conversation.
But since I’m bored out of my mind, I ask another question that’s been nagging at me. “Why do you have all these books when you can use your glass?” I nod at the discarded screen on her desk. “I thought you could read on those.”
She doesn’t look up from the pages. “Sha, but I prefer something a little more tangible.”
I frown and turn to the bookshelves lining the walls. I can’t read Sephari, and my written English is pretty shaky, but even if I did know how to read well, I can’t imagine I’d ever have the time to read all these books. “Have you read all of these?”
“Not yet. But I intend to.”
Anja knocks on the door and informs us that supper is prepared. Kora thanks her and tucks her book away.
Then she turns to me and sighs. “My brother and Jarek will be present at supper, and they will not be pleased to see you. You are not to say a word unless I instruct you otherwise. Is that understood?”
I nod.
“When I enter the room, you are to pull my cushion out for me—I sit at the apex of the table—and serve me water from the pitcher. Then you will stand against the wall behind me.”
“Okay.”
She nods. Pauses. “Don’t let my brother intimidate you. He has no power over you anymore.”
“Your brother doesn’t intimidate me.”
“Good.” She steps out of her room and I follow.
The moment we enter the expansive dining hall, Dima and Jarek stand. But their eyes aren’t on Kora as she strides confidently toward her seat—they’re on me.
I step in front of Kora and pull out her cushion from under the hovering table for her, like she instructed. She sits on her heels and I take the stone pitcher and fill her
glass with purple water, then return the pitcher to the table and step against the wall as Iro lies down beside Kora. Dima and Jarek are still standing when Kora takes a sip and arches an eyebrow at them.
“I take it the two of you will be standing as you eat, then?”
“What is that?” Dima snaps, the full force of his glare leveled on me. I meet his eyes, but keep my face expressionless.
“His name is Eros,” she says coolly. “I believe you two have already been acquainted.”
Dima scowls, but Jarek kneels at the table. Dima follows suit, kneeling next to him, but he looks like he’s just smelled something rancid.
“He’s a half-blood,” Dima grits out. His hands are squeezed into fists as nearly identical servants flood the room with enough platters of steaming food to feed a couple camps. But while Dima does little to hide his distaste, Jarek sits calmly beside him, his face blank and his posture upright but relaxed. But I know a front of apathy when I see it. I’ve practiced it myself way too often to miss it.
“He is,” Kora says as a servant fills her plate with dark meats, spotted vegetables, and striped fruits—a little from every platter.
“I assume you’ve reason to keep him,” Jarek says smoothly.
“I had need of a second personal servant to take over when Anja is occupied with her side work.”
“He’s a boy,” Dima says.
“Really? I hadn’t noticed. That would explain his lack of breasts.”
I smirk for just a mo, then force it off my face.
“Don’t be disrespectful, Kora,” Dima says. “You seem to forget who you’re speaking to.”
“Naï, brother, I think you forget who you’re speaking to. Last I checked, I was still Avra and deserving of your utmost respect.”
Dima glares, but Jarek gives him a look and her brother takes a breath. Exhales. Relaxes his hands. “Were there not enough female pureblooded servants to take care of your needs? Surely you could have chosen one of the women from the outpost you recently raided before you decided to release them all.”
Kora chews her food slowly. Takes a long drink. “I chose Eros, so I had little use for those slaves.”
“Kala’s grace, Kora. You’re on a first-name basis with the half-blood?”
Kora tries to shrug, but the movement is stiff. She cuts a square of meat and keeps her eyes focused on her plate.
“You truly couldn’t find a way to use the new servants?” Jarek asks carefully.
“I saw little need to keep extra servants. The effort alone to train the lot of them, assign separate tasks, and feed and clothe them wasn’t worth the unnecessary added labor.”
“And yet you just claimed to have need of a second personal servant,” Dima says.
“I had a need and I filled it. I didn’t need hoards of women to fill the position.”
“Or perhaps you seek fulfillment of a different need,” her brother says with a wicked glint in his eye. “One that a woman could not fill.”
Kora chokes on her food as Dima levels his gaze on her. She gulps down water and slams her glass down. “That is disgusting.”
Heat rushes to my face and I resist the urge to scowl.
“I thought it a logical jump, considering your insistence that this particular male half-blood is the only one who could serve your ‘needs.’”
Someone’s utensil scrapes against their plate, and a grating screech sends chills down my spine. Dima jumps slightly and glances at Jarek with an arched eyebrow, so I guess the bulky soldier is the offender. Jarek glances back at him and lifts a shoulder before he resumes eating.
“Clearly, I don’t use my servants the same way you do,” Kora says stiffly.
“Well, perhaps if you did, there would be an heir to the throne—albeit an illegitimate one. Or do the council’s guidance and the people’s demands mean nothing to you?”
Jarek frowns slightly and Kora goes very still. I can’t see her face, but I can imagine the look she must be giving him. But her brother jumps in again before she can respond. “Speaking of which, do you know why the people were rioting earlier?”
A pause. “I saw the feed.”
“They want a man on the throne, Kora,” Dima says smugly. “Not that I can blame them. They have little confidence in your ability to rule, or right to do so.”
“I was born with the right,” Kora snaps. “Had Kala wanted you on the throne, you would have been born before me.”
I expect Dima to lose all composure at that, but instead he just smiles, cuts into his meat, and brings it to his lips. “Perhaps” is all he says, but the gleam in his eyes echoes something more.
I snap awake, shivering and dripping with sweat. Kicking off the cover of my bedroll, I stand. Cool air calms my heart as I push the echo of screams and crackling flames into the deep recesses of my mind. The moons filter white light through the translucent curtain over the large window, and Iro lays curled up at its base, his tail twitching as he sleeps.
I get up and walk over to the window, leaning against the sill. I try to breathe in outside air—there isn’t glass or a screen to block it—but all I get is cold, processed air. Leaning farther out the window, I stick my head outside. As I pass through the opening, warmth surrounds my skin and fills my lungs. It feels a little odd—my shoulders and the rest of my body are cool, while my head takes in the desert air—but the unprocessed oxygen is calming.
When my pulse returns to normal, I lean back inside and inspect the window. The only sign of any kinduv barrier is a thin line of sand running down the center of the sill. I extend my fingers past the line and the outside warmth surrounds my fingertips. So whatever barrier is used to keep the cool air inside also blocks out the sand, but allows larger objects to pass through.
I’m no scientist, but I’m willing to bet it has something to do with nanites.
Mystery solved, I run a hand over my fuzzy scalp and turn back to my bedroll—I should get some sleep while I can.
A soft moan rolls through the night and I squint through the darkness. Kora seems to be asleep, but she’s twisted in tossed sheets and hugging her knees to her chest. I take a few hesitant steps forward—she’s trembling, and whimpers carry through the quiet. I frown and nudge her shoulder, but she doesn’t wake. The light of the moons catches her wet cheeks. Maybe I should let her handle this on her own. We all have personal demons, and we have to face them, one way or another.
But the whimpers and tears don’t stop. I can’t leave her like that.
I sit on the edge of her bed and ignore the way it dips slightly under my weight. Now is not the time. I gently tap her cheek, then take her shoulder and keep my voice low. “Kora, wake up. You’re having a—”
She gasps and sits up, her eyes wide as she pulls the covers to her shoulders. It doesn’t cover much—the thin material does nothing to hide the perfect curve of her breasts or the smooth line of her bare shoulder. I hadn’t even realized she was sleeping naked. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—I mean, I only kept my pants just in case I had to get up quickly in the middle of the night.
“Sorry,” I mutter, ignoring the warmth spreading through my veins. “You were having a nightmare and I just—”
“You’re touching me,” she whispers, staring at my hand on her shoulder.
I drop my hand to my lap. Take a breath. “Sorry. I was trying to wake you, you seemed like … forget it.” I stand and turn away, but her fingers clasp around mine. A flash of heat races through me, and my breath catches. I glance back. Tears are streaming down her cheeks as she stares at me.
“Could you … stay? For a few minutes?”
My gaze drops to the small twin bumps of her nipples beneath the sheet. I gulp. Stare at her face, not her breasts or the silvery moonlight painting her smooth collarbone and the curve of her neck. She wants me to stay? While she’s….
Okay, I need to relax. It’s not like I’ve never seen a naked woman before. And besides, she’s mostly covered … by a ridiculously thin sheet.
Her fingers squeeze mine just slightly. She must really need some company if she’s asking me to stay. I can handle it. I’m not fourteen. This isn’t a big deal.
I sit on the edge of her bed again.
She pulls her hand away and pulls her knees to her chest, which is good because, between the sheet and her legs, most everything is covered. See? No big deal.
“Did I wake you?”
I shake my head. “I was having nightmares of my own.” A pause. I hadn’t really meant to admit that. I bite my lip and she nods.
“How do you do it?” she whispers.
“Do what?”
“You say you have the dreams as well, and yet you don’t seem bothered.”
I smile weakly. “I’ve been trained to internalize emotion.”
“From the military?”
I nod. Kora scoots to the side and glances at the now empty spot on the bed. I take the silent invitation and shift closer to her. Our arms are just barely touching through the sheet and the almost-contact buzzes on my skin. I want to move closer. Without fabric separating us. I want to trace her collarbone and feel her breasts and taste her tattoos. I want our skin together, our—
Stop. She killed my family. I’m not attracted to her—she’s Sepharon, and a murderer and the embodiment of everything I’ve ever fought against and this needs to stop.
“Do you miss it?” she asks. “Your home?”
I hesitate. “I miss my family and the open air and endless sands. But the camp itself?” I shrug.
Kora looks down for several moments, then takes a breath and turns her gaze back to me. “I am truly sorry. About your family. If I could go back I would … do things differently.”
My eyes sting and I focus on her desk on the other side of the room. I don’t say anything. Her apology means nothing because we can’t go back, we can’t do things differently, we can’t return the lives we’ve taken or take back the pain we’ve caused. There’s nothing to say.