Beyond the Red

by Ava Jae

  It’s not perfect. The streets are cleaner and the vandalism has stopped for now, but the city needs renovation—new buildings to replace the old and new businesses to bring more people in and help lift the depressed areas.

  Unfortunately renovation isn’t free, and due to the depression of the cities, the territory stores aren’t exactly overflowing with wealth. We need wealthy donors, and Anja suggested the perfect way to bring them in—the upcoming lifecycle celebration for Dima and me. She’s taken it upon herself to arrange all the details, and in the meantime, I have one more task to focus on.

  Father once told me the strongest testament of the stability of a monarch is an heir. He said it was a message to the people that ken Avra will continue in history, that their legacy will reign on when they are no longer on the throne.

  He said until an Avra proves they are there to stay, the people will see them as weak.

  I’ll admit I didn’t believe him at the time—or the council, who echoed his message long after his passing. It seemed to me there’d be more important things to do than find a mate and have children, but the words of the silver-haired man in Vejla have echoed in my head since they were spoken, and I see now Father and the council were right.

  I need to find a mate. And soon.

  I had Anja devise a list of eligible men, but unfortunately I don’t exactly have divine choices.

  Out of the eight territory rulers, I am one of two who are unmarried, so most of my options are ken Avra-kaï of the other nations and their male relatives. Which seems all well and good until you consider that not only am I the only unmarried female Avra, I also happen to be the youngest of the rulers—with exception to newly appointed Kalan d’Inara, who is fifteen, unmarried, and though technically now an adult, still acts like a child.

  To be considered, the potential mate must be an unrelated adult—that is, at least fifteen—male of royal lineage, within ten cycles of my age. The blood relation isn’t a problem—every one of the nine royalties come from different families—but I can count on two hands the number of eligible men who are within ten cycles of my nearly eighteen.

  Dima once said I’m too critical, that I’ll die lonely and celibate if I’m not careful. But he seems to forget the first boy I trusted enough to get close to, Midos, nearly put a poisoned blade through my heart on the night we would have been together. Forgive me for not being eager to risk repeating that particular nightmare.

  The eligible men Anja has drawn up for consideration are, of course, nothing like Midos. To start, they’re not assassins, and even better, they aren’t one of my brother’s former friends. In hindsight, seeing one of Dima’s friends was a horrendous idea to begin with, only worsened when Dima put a blade through his chest when the boy tried to kill me.

  Naturally, he blames me for that, too. As if it were my fault Midos turned out to be an assassin.

  But these men are royalty, with little reason to hurt me. Unless they support my brother. But I really will die celibate and alone if I fear for my life every time a man comes near me. I can be cautious without being unreasonable.

  I glance at Eros, who is standing guard beside the door. Come to think of it, he is the first boy I’ve allowed close to me since Midos’s attempt on my life. And maybe this makes me foolish, but Eros seems so different from the men of the Eljan court I’m so accustomed to tolerating. He agreed to protect me only to save himself and receive a better standard of living in return—but that reasoning alone is more honest than any of those who have lied to me directly in an attempt to circumvent me.

  And when we went to Vejla together, he only proved my intuition was right; when the burst bomb exploded, his first instinct was not to save himself, but to protect me.

  Eros catches me watching and arches an eyebrow at me. I need to focus.

  There are eight men on the list, but four of them I eliminated immediately—Avra Kalan d’Inara and Avra-kaï Korin da Sekka’l, who are both fifteen and, though technically eligible, I refuse to consider, and ken Avrae-kjo from Sekka’l and Ona, who were raised to be extraordinarily chauvinistic. That leaves me with Avra-kaï Daven da Daïvi and the three eligible Avrae-kjo d’A’Sharo: Sulten, Orik, and Deimos. Unfortunately the royalty of A’Sharo are extremely withdrawn from the rest of the territories, so while I had Anja send a summons to meet them, I’m not entirely surprised I haven’t yet heard anything in return.

  Which leaves me with Daven.

  Unlike A’Sharo’s kjo, Daven answered the summons yesterday—or rather, his sister Avra Riza did, to say she’d be sending her brother for consideration immediately. Immediately, as it turns out, means today. He’ll arrive at any moment, and I’m a collection of nerves and nausea and doubts—what if my plan doesn’t work? What if nothing I do matters and finding a mate is a waste of time and the people hate me anyway? What if Daven is horrible or something happens and I have to beg the court d’A’Sharo to answer my summons or else consider one of the terrible kjo of Sekka’l or Ona?

  I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and recite what I know about Daven. Riza is seventeen cycles my senior and has several sisters, as is custom in the only matriarchal territory on Safara.

  A man raised in Daïvi might not be so bad to choose as a mate—at least he’d respect me, unlike ken Avrae-kjo of Sekka’l or Ona. Daven is the Commander of the Daïvi Division of Arms—which I’ll admit doesn’t actually soothe me, because if I get stuck mated with a man who is anything like my brother, I may literally die of misery.

  I open my eyes, drum my fingers on my desk and look at Eros again. “I hope this isn’t a terrible mistake.”

  He offers me the whisper of a smile. “You don’t have to decide today.”

  Naï, I don’t, but I do have to make a decision quickly. If I don’t regain the confidence of my people soon, I’ll lose the little bit of control I have left. Vejla is on a precipice, and if it tumbles over the edge, I’ll have failed. Dima will take my place and violence will be the way of the Eljans.

  I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.

  I trace the light chain connecting the ring at the top of my ear with the dark purple gem at the bottom. What would Mamae say, if she were here? Would she have approved of my decision to find a mate so quickly? Would she have thought it necessary?

  I suppose it doesn’t matter, because she isn’t here and I’ll never know.

  Two knocks on the door, then a voice calls out. “El Avra, may I present Avra-kaï Daven da Daïvi, responding to your summons.”

  I stand, pull back my shoulders, and nod at Eros. He pulls open the door. Four men enter the room—one of my guard and three men I don’t recognize, dressed in the blue silks of the Daïvi. They all step before my desk and kneel—my guard with his arm pressed against his chest and the Daïvi men with their heads bowed low and their fists held over their stomachs.

  I stand. “You may rise.” My guard bows out of the room and I’m left with Eros watching from the corner, Iro cleaning his paws beside him, and three colossal men. Though Dima isn’t here, they would easily tower over my brother, and I’d always considered him tall. All three wear military-like uniforms—blue with white trim and silver buttons—but the tallest of them has black markings running down his arms, blazoning the creed of Daïvi royals—a creed that I will never place on my arms, even if we are to be united: with spilled blood comes honor.

  Daven.

  As much as I hate to admit it, he’s not an unattractive man. He certainly has the body of a soldier, and his eyes have pleasant green centers, a thick ring of hazel, and dark blue borders. It’s a combination I haven’t seen before, and I catch myself staring.

  “Thank you for coming,” I say with a smile.

  “Thank you for your invitation, ol Avra,” Daven answers. But I barely hear his words because … his voice.

  The pitch is lighter than mine.

  Eros’s eyes widen for a breath before he neutralizes his expression. I open my mouth. I need words. “Sha,” I say s
tupidly. “Of course. Um. Sit. Sha, would you like to take a seat?”

  “Thank you,” he says airily, and kneels on the embroidered pillows in front of my desk as his guards stand at his attention.

  My stomach clenches and roils nauseatingly. This will never do. Even if Daven is absolutely pleasant and suitable otherwise, there isn’t a chance in the Void that the stringent Eljan people would respect his authority—which is something that my mate, who would rule beside me as Avra-ko, requires. If I don’t hear back from the kjo d’A’Sharo….

  Kala, please don’t make me choose a mate who would look at me like the sand under his feet.

  We talk about meaningless drivel—the journey from the Northern lands, his thoughts of Elja, political nonsense, and the state of his sister’s rule. After speaking with him for quite some time, I realize with no small amount of disappointment that it’s a shame about his voice, because he seems like a perfectly kind, level-headed, and respectable man otherwise—and certainly no task on the eyes. If he were able to command the necessary respect from the Eljans, he’d be a great candidate.

  I tell Daven I’ll contact him at the end of twenty-seven sunsets with my decision, but I insist he stay for dinner—it would be rude of me not to offer after he came all this way.

  Daven gives Eros a particularly nice smile on his way out, and I very nearly lose my carefully controlled composure right then.

  When the doors have long since closed behind the kaï and his guards, Eros abandons his formal bodyguard mask and arches an eyebrow. “He winked at me!”

  I sit on the edge of my desk and groan. “Kala hates me.”

  Eros laughs and steps in front of me. “At least he was nice. It was your first meeting, Kora. You have other options.”

  I grimace. “Only if they respond. Otherwise I’ll have to contact the courts of Sekka’l and Ona.”

  “It’ll work out.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Call it a feeling. You’re powerful and not exactly unattractive. Someone will respond.”

  My face warms at the compliment; Eros must notice because his lips twitch into a smile.

  “Well….” I smile. “It would seem Daven found you attractive if he winked at you.”

  “Last I checked, I’m not the one looking for a mate.”

  “You’d make a great match. Though he stands significantly taller than you. Then again, you know what they say about tall men.” I grin, and Eros’s face reddens, but his smile still matches mine.

  “Actually, I think he might be friendly with one of his guards,” he says after a moment. “They stood really close to each other and when the kaï winked at me, his guard looked extremely unhappy. I just wonder why he bothered to come if he’s already with someone.”

  “He probably had to, just like I had to see him. I knew I couldn’t be the only royal coerced into this marriage nonsense.”

  “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like you’ll be unable to have kids anytime soon.”

  “It’s not about that at all.” I stand and turn to the window. “I’m the first female Avra to rule Elja in seven generations, and no one believes I’ll last. My people want to see a man on the throne, and if it’s not my mate, it’ll be my brother.”

  Unsurprisingly, Dima and Jarek don’t make an appearance at supper. One of Dima’s men sends his apologies with some message about being caught up with “military matters,” so I’m left to enjoy Daven’s company alone. Eros and the Daïvi guards watch from the doorways, and now that he’s mentioned it, I do notice that the one of the kaï’s guards spears Eros with a couple glares.

  The conversation itself is uneventful except for one notable difference: Daven actually has me laughing throughout the course.

  For that reason alone, I nearly ask the kaï to stay an additional night.

  Before preparing for the night’s rest, I stop by Daven’s guest room to wish him a good journey before he leaves in the early morning, as is custom. Usually, this would be Dima’s job, but as he couldn’t be bothered to attend dinner, I take care of it myself.

  Eros’s footsteps echo as we walk across the textured floors, through the twisting hallways to the guest suites. As we near the room, the Daïvi warrior standing guard beside the carved white stone door bows low with his fist held over his stomach. One soldier. The other must be inside. We step beside him and I nod at Eros, who knocks twice and moves behind me.

  Murmuring voices filter through the heavy door, and a moment later it slides open. To my surprise, Daven, not his friendly guard, stands in the doorway.

  “El Avra,” he says with a bow and a smile. “What an honor. Please, come in.”

  I blink at his choice of words. When greeting royals from other territories, the customary phrase is ol Avra—your majesty. For him to use el and call me his Avra is a gesture of great respect.

  “Thank you,” I say softly. The corners of my lips inch northward as he steps out of the way, and I enter with Eros close behind me. The glaring guard from earlier is sitting at a silver desk floating beside the northern wall, his eyes glued to a glass propped up before him, streaming some sort of political broadcast, by the sound of it. He glances over just long enough to bow his head, then returns his attention to the screen.

  Both men have removed the upper halves of their uniforms and lounge in silky blue and white pants. Daven’s torso is more ink than skin, but his guard doesn’t have many more black markings than Eros.

  I turn to Daven. “Everything is to your liking, I hope?”

  He nods. “Sha. Your hospitality has been most welcoming.”

  He moves behind the inattentive guard and reaches over his shoulder to wave his hand over the screen, turning it off. The guard glances up at him and Daven takes his shoulders firmly and smiles at me. “Please forgive Zek. He was raised beyond the walls of the royal court and has not yet learned all of our customs.”

  Zek flushes and lowers his eyes.

  “Of course.” I’m not entirely sure what to make of Daven’s undisguised affection. Or is touching not as taboo in Daïvi culture? I don’t remember, but I would think he’d try to be more careful, considering he’s visiting Elja under the pretense of being a suitor.

  But there’s something in the intensity of Daven’s gaze. Unspoken words are in his tense fingers and clear eyes. A vulnerability shielded from me upon our initial introduction and dinner.

  He doesn’t speak, but the message in his gaze is clear enough: he’s asking me not to choose him.

  I smile softly. “I won’t take much of your time. It was wonderful to become acquainted with you, Avra-kaï, but you should know that I’ll be choosing another suitor.”

  His shoulders relax and his whole body shifts in a silent exhale. Zek closes his eyes, the echo of a smile washing over his lips. I’ve made the right decision.

  “I understand,” Daven says.

  I wish him a safe journey and turn to leave as Eros opens the door.

  “Avra, if I may?”

  I glance back at the kaï. “Sha?”

  Daven smiles. “For what it’s worth, my sister and the people of Daïvi support you.”

  My breath hitches in my throat, stealing my words. I can only hope he sees the gratitude in my smile as I bow and leave the room.

  I dream, sometimes, of the morning of my coronation, caught somewhere between a memory and a nightmare.

  It begins, as always, in the waiting room three stories above the annex of the Temple d’Elja. Pale uniformed servants rush around me endlessly, fixing my makeup, checking my hair, tightening the red ceremonial ribbons around my arms. Despite the activity in the room, they work in near silence, trading only the occasional whispered words. Sitting on a mountain of cushions, I stare at the tiled ceiling and carved stone walls. I focus on breathing and not vomiting. Inhale through my mouth, exhale through my nose. I rub my fingers over the silky fabric of the pillows, tracing the swirling embroidered designs in the red fabric.

  Was
Father this nervous when he took the throne at the beginning of his fifteenth cycle, so long ago? I can’t imagine him as anything less imposing than the disapproving glare he leveled on me this morning. The nerves are another sign of my weakness, I’m sure.

  Someone knocks and I spin to the door as Mamae enters, her long brown hair flowing behind her. Tears spring to my eyes at the sight of her, and she rushes over and waves the servants away.

  “Leave us,” she says. They obey at once. Mamae caresses my cheeks and brushes away the hot tears with her thumbs. As she looks into my eyes, for a breath, it’s almost like looking into a mirror—we have the same green to blue to purple eyes, deep golden brown skin, and smooth, curved markings. I’d always been told I looked like a dark-haired version of my mother.

  “What is it, my beauty?” Mamae says softly. “Why do you cry in your time of celebration?”

  “Dima and Father are angry,” I whisper. “They say I don’t belong on the throne.”

  Mamae sighs. “My dear Kora.” She kisses my glistening cheeks and smiles. “Do you know what I did when I learned I was carrying twins, not just the son your father promised me?”

  I sniffle. “Naï.”

  “I prayed to Kala for a daughter every sunrise until you were born. You are my miracle, Kora, and I thank Kala for you every night before my dreams.”

  I shake my head. “Dima should have been born first. Then Father wouldn’t be so angry and Dima wouldn’t hate me.”

  Mamae presses her lips to my forehead. “Your brother’s jealousy is fueled by your father, but he doesn’t hate you. You’ll see, my beauty. Your brother will stand by your side in the end.”

  I bite my lip and glance out the window. We’re too high up to see the street, but the roar of the gathering crowd in and around the temple is an ever-present rumble.

  Mamae takes my hands. “Something still troubles you.”

  “I’m afraid,” I admit, turning back to her. “Elja hasn’t had a female Avra in seven generations. Father says—”