Beyond the Red

by Ava Jae

  Mirror-like hovercraft race through the sky above us, and people mill about in the streets as we move slowly through the crowd. Children smile and point, and men nod respectfully to the caravan as dozens of reflective orb-guides zip through the air and bob around the ports, trying to get the best viewing angle for recording.

  Everything is newer here—the whole city is brimming with the most up-to-date technology in all of Safara, from the orb-guides several models newer than the ones we have in Vejla, to the hovercraft, which are a rarity in Elja, to Serek’s impressively updated transport—down to the embedded digital display in the windows—and countless other luxuries I’ve yet to see.

  We pass through the city and the road begins to climb. That’s when I see it—the Palace of Sirae, sitting majestically at the top of a natural overlook. The walls shimmer and reflect the suns’ rays in bursts of color, giving the entire complex the appearance of semi-transparency, as if it isn’t actually there. Like a desert mirage. Tall spires tower high into the sky and elaborate fountains dot the complex.

  This may very well be the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen.

  “What do you think?” Serek asks softly; his lips are a breath away from my ear. Heat rushes to my cheeks—Eros is watching us from the other side of the row—and I’m glad my face is turned to the window.

  “It’s incredible,” I say.

  His smile moves against my cheek. “I’ve grown up here, and it still leaves me breathless upon returning. Asheron or’jeve.”

  “Sha,” I breathe. Asheron’s greeting is one I won’t soon forget.

  We glide to a stop in front of the largest building in the complex—the one I was able to see from the bottom of the hill. Black and gold-clad soldiers open the door and I step out. The guards wear black sleeveless shirts with high collars, gold trim running down the off-center left seal, and long ankle-length black matte cloth tied tightly around their waists called ulae—a traditional uniform worn by Ona’s military men since before the Great War.

  Serek and Eros stay back in the transport for a few moments, muttering something I can’t hear, until Serek steps out, tucks something into his pocket and flashes me a smile. Eros moves silently in place at my side, but when I catch a flash of his fingers as he clasps his hands tightly together at his back, I understand the holdup in the car—Serek took his ring for safekeeping. Eros glances at me, and presses his lips tightly together, but his stiff posture and the set of his jaw says everything I need to know. He’s nervous. And rightfully so.

  He has stepped from a court that despised him for his blood, to a court that would kill him in an instant for his birthright. And I have put him here.

  “Come,” Serek says. “I must explain your innocence to my brother before he makes assumptions about why I have brought you here.”

  I’ve taken all of two steps into the polished halls of the palace before a group of guards shift toward me with the steel of orders in their eyes. Eros takes half a step in front of me and Serek moves in front of us both.

  “I would have an audience with my brother before you carry out your orders,” he says confidently. “I will escort these two myself.”

  The guards don’t hesitate—they bow their heads, step back in unison, and Serek passes, motioning us to follow. My gut twists as we move deeper into the halls. I’m tempted to be distracted by the elaborate display inside—by the inscribed statues and weapons hung ceremoniously upon the walls, by the flags of the territories and the beautifully polished floors. But for every moment I appreciate the beauty, I’m overwhelmed with ten beats of terror.

  Every guard here watches me like I’m a prisoner with a pardon. Like I’m someone who doesn’t—and never will—belong.

  This is how Eros must feel everywhere he goes. This is how people look at him, from territory to territory, and even, according to Eros, among the people he was raised with. I take in their sharp glances and the tightness of their posture and I store it away. If Eros can move through life freely, dealing with this all the time, I can suppress my discomfort for a few moments.

  I miss a step when we enter the throne room. For a split second, I forget why we’re here—my sense of awe leaves me speechless. The room is at least ten times the size of the one at home, both in length and width. This singular room is larger than most of the common homes, I would imagine, with black and gold flags draped on the walls, beautifully carved stone statues of kazim or rippling polished bands with the histories carved into them, and enough guards lining the wall to populate a small city. Eros nudges me and I fall back into step with Serek. We cross the lengthy procession up to a beautiful, intricately carved throne made of some kind of thick glass, where a man dressed in silky black is watching us.

  We stop just five measures from the foot of his throne, and I’m surprised by how little Roma looks like Serek. Where Serek is tall and lean, Roma is a mountain of muscle. Serek’s eyes are warm with a thin band of gold; Roma’s are nearly black with thick golden centers. Serek wears his status with the humility of one who sees his birthright as a blessing; Roma wears it like my brother—like he was born with it all along and the throne never belonged to anyone else. He wears it like a badge, like a crown, like an elaborate robe gilded in gold. And he analyzes us with a calculating curiosity that reminds me far too much of my father.

  Serek drops to one knee at the foot of the throne, his head bowed low and his right arm balanced like a board on his knee. Eros and I mimic him, and I suppress a chill as Roma’s dark eyes take me in. But he glances at me for only a moment before turning to his brother.

  “I’m assuming there’s a reason these two were not immediately escorted underground.”

  “Sha, el Sira,” Serek says, but he still doesn’t look up.

  “Then rise, brother, and speak.” Serek stands and explains everything—from the attempts on my life, to the incident at the ball, to having to run, Eros’s capture, and Dima taking my place. He says Eros was tortured for six sunsets, but didn’t give up my location. He says Eros protected me and even gave himself up so I could escape.

  My cheeks burn with shame remembering the look in Eros’s eyes as he’d said the same in the desert. I’d suspected what Dima had done to Eros before, but I’d been too afraid to ask. How will I ever be able to face him again?

  Why did he protect me? He could have so easily given me up—stronger men than he have crumbled under the horrors of interrogation. He could have let them take me from the start and escaped. And yet he stayed behind for my sake, and I thanked him by kissing him in the desert and then pretending he didn’t exist.

  My stomach churns.

  Serek ends with our engagement, and my gut sinks lower. He says he’s certain of my innocence, that it was all a ploy to get Dima on the throne, and he wishes to take me as his mate and keep me safe here, at the capital, far from Dima’s reach.

  Silence follows Serek’s final words. I dare a glance up at ken Sira, but to my surprise, his eyes aren’t set on Serek or me.

  They’re on Eros.

  “Interesting,” he finally says. He taps his fingers on the arm of the throne and watches Eros in silence for a long moment. “Eros, they call you?”

  Eros looks up. Nods once and lowers his eyes to the floor. “Sha, el Sira.”

  “Rise, Eros.”

  He does, and stands at his full height. I am now the only one kneeling, and it’s difficult to keep my eyes lowered and see what is happening at the same time.

  “Have you been a servant of Elja’s court for long?” Roma asks.

  Eros shakes his head. “A little over a term, el Sira.”

  “And yet you devote yourself so wholly to a ruler you barely know?”

  Eros glances at me, then back to Roma. “She’s been kind to me, and I believe in her innocence. It would’ve been dishonorable to let her suffer for a false accusation.”

  Roma nods. “This is true, but honor is not the way of your people. Am I incorrect?”

  He hesitates. “I’
m not sure I understand.”

  “I know the look of a boy bred into servitude. You say you have been a servant of Elja’s court for just over a term, but judging by your physique and the way you hold yourself, I’m assuming you were not a servant before entering Elja’s court. In fact, I see a warrior in you. Am I incorrect?”

  If Roma’s disturbingly accurate assumption bothers Eros, he doesn’t show it. He nods once and says, “You speak the truth, el Sira.”

  “Then you would not identify yourself as Sepharon, but as human. Correct?”

  Eros inhales deeply through his nose, then steels his gaze. “I am neither, el Sira.”

  Roma arches an eyebrow. “Naï? Your blood is not purely human, that much is clear, but I’m speaking in manners of loyalty, not genetics.”

  “Nevertheless, I am neither. The people of the deserts don’t accept me as their own, and I expect equal treatment from the Sepharon courts. I am no one.” He’s standing stiff as a board, but it isn’t strength holding his posture. His voice trembles slightly. He blinks several times and my heart breaks for him. I want to tell him it’s not true. I want to take his hands and assure him he is so much more than rebel or Sepharon.

  But I keep my eyes low and my mouth closed.

  “I see.” Roma sits back and turns his gaze on me. “Rise,” he says, and I finally stand.

  “What do you think of this half-blood?” he asks.

  I fight the urge to look at Eros. “He saved my life, and I would be honored to have him continue to serve me. In the short time he has been in my service, he has shown me more loyalty and strength than the entirety of my former guard, el Sira.”

  “Then you trust him?”

  “Entirely.”

  Roma nods and stands. He’s not as tall as Serek, but he seems more imposing. Confidence and absolute power rolls off him like thunder before a storm. “I don’t usually allow humans or half-bloods within my court, but I will make an exception. He is to remain your servant, and you are to monitor him. Is that understood?”

  Eros and I nod, and Serek smiles softly.

  “As for your innocence …” Roma’s eyes trail back to his brother. “You are certain the new Avra d’Elja is behind this attack?”

  “Absolutely,” Serek says, and I close my eyes. Oh, Dima. Even now, after his betrayal seems undeniable, I wish there was another explanation. An answer that didn’t make my brother a traitor.

  “You realize this would mean breaking the peace of the territories for the first time in generations. Such an act could not go unpunished, and unless he gives himself up willingly, it would mean war.”

  “I understand, el Sira,” Serek says.

  I bite my lip. Elja has always been well known for its exceptionally trained army, but Asheron’s sheer numbers alone would decimate them. How many will die because of my brother’s ambition?

  And Dima. He will be executed when the war is over. The back of my throat stings and my vision blurs—I focus on my reflection in the polished black stone at my feet.

  “So be it. I bless this union and expect further news of this engagement to be made public shortly.” He pauses. “After her innocence is established, that is.”

  Serek nods and bows low. Eros and I follow suit. “Thank you, brother,” he says. “I am certain Kala will bless your wisdom.”

  Roma nods curtly and Serek turns and motions for us to follow. And so we leave the halls of ken Sira, with his eyes on our backs and his words ringing in my ears.

  Serek wastes no time. He brings us straight to Kora’s new room—a room three times the size of her old enormous bedroom, with flowers, silks, miniature golden or gem-carved statues, intricately carved walls, and more pillows than an orgy house would need strewn over every inch of the place. She falls back on a hovering bed large enough for six or seven people and Serek asks her if the room is to her liking. They laugh about something and I move beside the door and watch the sheer curtains around the bed blow in the gentle breeze.

  They act like everything is fine. Like a war isn’t looming on the horizon and all that matters is their ill-timed marriage and whether the fucken bed is comfortable.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Serek kisses her cheek. “I have to get something, but I’ll return shortly. Just stay here.”

  “Okay,” Kora says with a stupid little smile. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. Serek kisses her again—this time on the lips—and leaves the room. The door closes behind him and silence follows—a heavy, uncomfortable air like the unconversation in the desert. Once again, Kora avoids my gaze and turns away from me. Once again, she intends to pretend that I don’t exist, that I’m not here, that nothing happened between us in the ruins.

  I’m sick of being treated like her toy. Like someone not worthy of any sortuv explanation.

  “Are we not going to talk about what happened?” I finally say.

  She doesn’t turn to face me. “There isn’t anything to talk about.”

  I snort. “Naï, of course not. Nothing at all.”

  She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. After a long beat of silence, she stands and faces me. “I’m sorry, Eros. For everything.”

  I scowl. “I don’t want or need your apology.”

  “I’ve hurt you.”

  I clench my fists. Stare at the wall above her head. “You must think me weak if you believe you’ve unraveled me with a single kiss. Or maybe you think yourself miraculously special.”

  She frowns. “I didn’t say that. I just … it shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry for initiating it—I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Me neither.” My words sound sharp. I hope they cut.

  Kora looks at me for a long moment. “I’m marrying Serek.”

  “So I’ve gathered.”

  She bites her lip. Starts to step toward me, then steps back. “Thank you for protecting me. It was very brave of you, and you didn’t have to—”

  “It wasn’t for you.” I lower the full force of my gaze on her. “Telling your brother where you were meant betraying the location of my people. Unlike you, I don’t want the blood of hundreds on my hands.”

  Her gaze falls. “Nevertheless, thank you,” she whispers. “Regardless of your motivation, I am in your debt.”

  It’s a lie and we both know it. She’ll never be in my debt—she’s royalty and I’m a half-blood slave. She’ll marry the second most powerful man on the planet, and I’ll live forever in their shadow, serving the very people who slaughtered mine, the very people who would kill me given any opportunity.

  I would leave at first light, but I don’t have a people anymore. I have nowhere to run to, nowhere to go. If I came across humans in the desert, they would kill me. If I ran into guards in the city, they would stop my heart with a phaser pulse. Sepharon in the streets would beat me to death, or watch me starve, or parade my broken body through the streets.

  I have nothing. I am nothing. If I want to live, it’ll have to be here, serving a royalty I’d love to see burn to the ground.

  The back of my hand itches and I rub the tiny light scar etched into my skin. Yet another reason I’ll never be in her debt. Her gaze follows my hand and she purses her lips.

  A knock at the door, and Serek enters, carrying a wrapped square of some kind and a small octagonal glass. He pulls out a chair from the desk set to the side of the room and motions to it. “Please sit, Eros.”

  I sit, like a good little pet.

  Serek unwraps the package—it’s a clear, circular gel with tiny points like dull teeth on one side. He motions for my arm, and I consider questioning him, but what’s the point? He’ll get what he wants either way, and I don’t have the right to say a word about it because I’m a slave. Captured and marked like an animal.

  I was stupid to think one kiss might have changed that.

  I give him my arm. He flips it wrist-up and wipes the crook of my elbow with the inside of the wrapping—some kinduv sanitizer, I guess—and presses the patch into place. I
t stings, but the pain is nothing. Like several bug bites at once in a concentrated area. Serek turns to the glass and begins tapping on the surface. He grimaces and sighs.

  “Well?” Kora moves toward him.

  “It matches up. Eros is Asha’s son.”

  The air in my lungs goes cold. It doesn’t matter, I repeat over and over again until I can breathe.

  Kora’s eyes are wide and she stares at me like the news should mean something. As if it matters that my father should be sitting on the throne. As if my birthright would somehow mean something in a Sepharon court. No, I take that back—it would mean something—that I would have to be executed immediately, before word leaked to the public. Because suns and stars forbid a fucken half-blood would have right to the throne. I shouldn’t even be alive—I’m diluting their perfect race with my disgusting human blood. To have me on a throne would be blasphemous.

  Good thing I have no interest in going anywhere near that ridiculous throne of glass.

  They’re still waiting for a reaction, so I stand and rip the patch off my arm. Pinpricks of blood rise to the surface, and I press down with my free hand. “It doesn’t matter,” I repeat, aloud this time. “No one can ever know, and I’m not about to ask to be executed, so you can guarantee I’ll never tell anyone.” I look at them. “I’m assuming you won’t, either.”

  Serek sits and slides the glass on the table. Scrubs his face with his hands. “This isn’t right. The laws of birthright stand for a reason.”

  I roll my eyes. “Laws of birthright don’t matter when you’re a half-blood. We don’t have rights to anything. We don’t even have the right to live.”