The Proem: Book 0.5 of The Nome Chronicles

by F. F. John

  “You know you’re useless at lying to me, right?” Bel says with an amused huff and I’m dragged from my thoughts again. “I’ll be patient for a change. You’re going to tell me what’s on your mind eventually.” Her tone is cool rest-assured. For good reason. I’ve never been able to keep a secret from Bel for too long. She always finds out or if I’m to be honest, I always end up telling her everything. Sometimes I wonder if this reality is a result of how close we are, or a contributor to our closeness.

  Whatever the case, the fact that our mothers were also best friends likely has much to do with it. That and the fact they were pregnant with us at the same time. At the time, Bel was Aunty Tari’s fourth pregnancy and with her youngest child already five years old, she was tired and dreading having to stay awake with a newborn. She came up with a post-pregnancy suggestion - hand her baby over to my mother to raise alongside myself. Bel and I were intended to live as sisters but life changed the script, when my mother died.

  Clamping my mouth shut, so as not to mistakenly mention Invier, I focus on Kilali’s hair. It’s blond highlights and honey lowlights fall over her shoulders. She’s sitting right in front of me and is flanked by her brothers. They, in turn, are behind father, Aunty Tari and Uncle Eustace. Through the corner of my eye, I see Bel’s mouth open but no words come out because a trumpet blares and we all rise to our feet.

  I pivot to see Dren standing inside of the hall’s tall doors. Wearing a white suit with gold accents on his collar and around his buttons, he proceeds down a wide aisle to the throne. Gait confident and determined. Not far behind him is his mother, Titane Temine Kriel. Unlike the last time I saw her, which was at her husband’s funeral, she walks with her head high. Also in white, she smiles, greeting people as she follows her son deeper into the hall.

  The coronation goes quickly, with Nome Kriel’s Master, Ryan Tiehg, reciting lines that Dren repeats. Then the Council’s Arbiter, Titan Goran Cyra, reads some words from the Pact, which is the document of laws that controls most of our lives as nome members.

  Dren’s little brother, Doge Diye Kriel, walks into the hall lugging his nome’s scepter with both hands. He can’t be older than 12 but does a good job bringing the scepter down the aisle. The average nome scepter can easily weigh upward of thirty pounds as they are made from asteroid-mined osmite, which is prized for its durability and luster. Diye hands the scepter to his brother who climbs up the steps to sit on his throne and the crowd erupts into applause. His mother says a few words and the ceremony comes to an end.

  The Mezans, my father and I file out of the hall with the rest of the guests. The grounds outside the building have been transformed into a garden oasis, with bright-hued flowers surrounding circular tables. Hover lights sit in the air at varying intervals between each other and as children zoom by, they ascend out of the way before returning to their set location.

  Our group is led to its table by a tall host wearing a white suit with a gold bow tie. Before we can sit down Olia appears with warm hugs for her parents and my father, who pats her on the back. She barely acknowledges her siblings or I before engaging her mother in what appears to be a tense discussion.

  “What’s up with those two?” I ask, smoothing out the white table cloth.

  Priye already has a drink in hand and tilts it in Kilali’s direction. “They’re trying to find you a mate, dear sister.”

  Kilali’s eyes fill with alarm and her brows pinch. “I’ve told mom and dad to leave me be. I don’t want to be paired with anyone until I’m at least 24, just like Olia.” She jerks out of her seat, shoving Priye in the process. He bumps into Dan, who spills half his drink on his black pants.

  “That was a waste of perfectly fine bourbon,” Dan grumbles, slapping at his drenched pants with a napkin from the table.

  Kilali marches up to her mother and sister. Without the slightest pause, she delves into their conversation. Olia’s initial reaction is to pout before saying something with a scowl on her face. Their mother grabs them both by the arm and marches them away.

  “I don’t want to be anywhere near that war of words.” Priye says, taking a champagne flute from a waiter and giving it to Bel.

  “Same here.” Dan concurs as he takes a sip of his bourbon.

  “What’s the big deal with being paired at 24 years old?” I ask.

  “Mom recently made a comment that Kilali needs to get paired and it caused a major argument. Daddy intervened and the end result was an agreement that Kilali can wait until her 24th birthday before being paired with someone.” Bel says. “She also got them to agree that she prefers to be paired with someone of her choice not just someone with an acceptable pedigree.” She slides a vibrant orange plumeria out of a ball of flowers in front of her. The flower ball acts as a cutlery holder, with the tail ends of a fork, knife and spoon pointing to the sky.

  “What happens if any of you meet someone and want to be paired before you turn twenty-four?” I ask as Bel sniffs the blossom deeply.

  “That’s fine.” Priye says. “Mom and dad don’t mind that at all. Kilali simply didn’t want a lot of pressure to be paired and married until she’s ready.”

  “Something tells me you’ll never be ready, Pree.” I tease and he winks at me. Unlike the Mezans, I have no problem with being paired once I reach the age of majority at seventeen. Luckily for us in the twenty-fifth century, individuals can refuse to be paired if they don’t want to be and I would never agree to be paired with anyone I can’t stand. There was once a time when people had no choice but to be paired with whomever was selected for them by their parents. Then, relationships between the nomes were very dangerous, with families killing each other to gain access to lucrative businesses and wealth. Pairings allowed families to find nonviolent ways to align with each other. No longer burdened with the threat of attack from other nomes, we can now take our time to be paired and find love, the way Olia did with Hogan.

  Aunty Tari, Olia and Kilali return to the table more relaxed than they were when they left. Whatever problem drove them off must now be resolved. I can’t wait to hear the details.

  “Everything okay, ladies?” Priye asks with a cheeky smirk, beating me to the punch.

  Aunty Tari gives him a warning glare not wanting a return to the unpleasantness of before.

  “The coronation was lovely.” She says instead and Olia nods in agreement.

  “It was much better than the last event Nome Kriel hosted. The Titan’s funeral was so depressing.” Olia says.

  Kilali scoffs and gives her older sister a sidelong glance. “That’s because it was a funeral.”

  “Not all funerals are like that.” Olia says, her words charged with a rising irritation.

  “Personally, I was surprised to see how sad Titane Temin was at that funeral. I thought she couldn’t stand her husband.” Aunty Tari says. Her statement has the desired effect of distracting the warring sisters as they turn to her.

  “Why would you think that?” Priye asks.

  “Hadn’t he wanted a partite relationship between himself, the Titane and Dogenne Haithen at some point?” Olia asks, speaking much louder than she should and she’s shushed by her mother. She ignores the cautionary message, continuing, “I’d kill Hogan if he ever tried that.”

  “Yes, I’d heard that as well, but I never knew if it was true or not.” Kilali says, in a moderate tone that shouldn’t carry to any nearby tables.

  I remember Titan Amsen Kriel’s funeral over two months ago and sour. Like every other final rites ceremony I’ve attended, the Titan was wrapped from head to toe in a golden fabric, leaving only his face exposed. The death wrap featured his nome’s insignia in a repeating pattern that looked like bloody palm prints from afar. An officiant spoke the necessary words over him and his body was then placed in a see-through coffin and carried by six pall-bearers - one of them being his son, Dren - to a metallic funeral pyre. The coffin was placed at the top and we all stood in silence. His wife, Titane Temin, who had been so strong thr
oughout the rites screamed in grief when the fire engulfed his corporal remains. Dren held her tight, whispering words of comfort to her but she remained there sobbing long after the last of us left the family to mourn in peace.

  Final rites ceremonies are the worst ones to go to. Maybe it’s because they remind me of my mother. I didn’t attend her ceremony as I was a newborn, but I always wonder what it was like. My mother died shortly after having me from a rare disease and it’s always haunted me knowing that in order for me to be born, she had to die.

  Uncle Eustace turns away from his quiet conversation with Father. “Really? We’re at his son’s coronation, let’s not blemish the man’s name in death.”

  My father smooths his mustache and taps Uncle Eustace, drawing him back into their discussion.

  “Ignore Daddy,” Olia chuckles. “What else do people do at these sorts of gatherings? Gossip of course! I was young at the time, but it was such a huge scandal.” She comes closer to where the rest of us are seated and leans in between Dan and Priye. “Titan Amsen was married to Titane Temin but was also in a relationship with Dogenne Haithen Singer. He wanted a partite relationship that would bring Haithen into the union but the Titane refused and threatened to divorce him. That would have left his nome lesser off as she was of the higher-ranked Nome Vesta. Unwilling to sacrifice his business success, he broke up with Dogenne Haithen and she eventually entered into a partite union with Titane Quarton Yetun and Titan Motande Yetun.”

  “It was all such a foul mess.” Aunty Tari adds and we turn to look at Nome Yetun’s table. The Titane holds court and her audience is preoccupied with whatever tale she’s sharing. Titan Motande holds Lady Haithen’s hand, soon bringing it to his lips for a kiss. They seem like a normal trio.

  “I would definitely kill Hogan if he tried that with me.” Olia repeats quietly.

  At that moment, I see Invier at a table just beyond Nome Yetun’s. His penetrating stare catches me off guard. How long has he been watching me? I hope I wasn’t doing anything too silly during that time. Tucking some wayward curls behind an ear, I offer a small smile that is promptly returned. Beside him is his mother, who I recognize from Sadarls. Today, she wears a dark red gown and matching fan, which she flaps with a bored expression. Seated on Invier’s right is his father, Titan Floran. Now that I see them together, I realize I should have known Invier was a Floran as he resembles his father. They both have the same high forehead, thin nose and full lips. A girl seated by his mother is familiar. Song Floran. I’ve met her a few times but we have no friends in common. I’ll be sure to find a way to learn more about her brother from her somehow.

  “Excuse me, everyone.” I say, standing. “I’m off to the ladies’ room.”

  “Want me to come with you?” Bel asks. She frowns when I shake my head, clearly confused because I never bother to go anywhere without her whenever she’s around.

  I let out a laugh that I pray sounds relaxed. “I know you think you have to take care of me, but I was born two days before you, remember?”

  Her features relax and Dan passes her a flute of champagne. The golden liquid sloshes in its glass.

  “Okay, Neat.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “Gosh, you’re so bossy, Bel.” Priye complains and a banter begins between the two of them.

  I ease away from the table and through the corner of my eyes, I notice that Invier is also moving through the room.

  My heart leaps to my throat and I find it hard to breathe. Calm down, Neith. He’s just a boy. A cute one, but still just a boy like any other. Besides, he’s from the lowest-ranked Nome so he’ll only be good for some brief fun. And, he might prove to be dull in the next few minutes.

  As I try to lower my expectations, I veer away from the tents and stroll into the cool, evening air. Waiters and guests shuttle past me. Smiling politely at passersby, while making my way toward a garden on my left.

  The crunching sound of pebbles beneath feet alert me to his presence and it’s thrilling to have him follow me quietly. We pass several trees without uttering a word. Finally, I stop underneath a sweet-smelling plumeria tree with orange flowers. He comes to a stop beside me and we both look up at the slow-rising moon.

  “Have you ever visited the Lunar colonies?” I ask.

  “I went for a mediation exercise and found the place to be so different from anything I know. It was a great experience.” His voice conveys his awe.

  Pulling my eyes from the sky, I watch him, noticing how well-proportioned his ears are on his head.

  What a silly thought, but Endal made me realize I don’t like guys with small ears as they are an indication of other small body parts. I chuckle quietly but Invier notices and smiles at me with a question on his handsome face.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I reply. “Do you know my name yet?”

  His smile broadens. “Hello, Neith Reffour.”

  The sound of my name on his lips is almost too much for me to bear.

  “You look stunning this evening and it seems you found the perfect shoes for your dress, after all.”

  Focus, Neith. I try to take my advice but stare with what I fear is a wacky expression. Think about anything other than his face. My shoes. Yes, the shoes. I had to get them made and … he’s so gorgeous.

  I’m still staring at him when he says, “It’s your turn to say hello.”

  I cover my face, utterly flummoxed by my lack of poise.

  Firm hands pry mine away and their warmth spark tingles in nerves I didn’t know I had. Heat travels up parkways in my hands and up my arms, soon spreading all over my body. I can’t take my eyes off his.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize and start coughing in an attempt to cover up how silly I must look.

  “Being a scioness must be a tough job, but you don’t have to be anything other than your true self when you’re with me.”

  His words sound like a soft song that coat my heart. All I want to do is crush his lips to mine. But, I won’t. I need to at least pretend to have some sense when I’m in his presence.

  Sadly, I’m failing at that task as my mind wanders back to his hands and I imagine them caressing the rest of me. The trails of heat they would leave wherever they pass.

  The look in his eyes suggests he’s thinking the same thing. His eyes narrow slightly and he takes a steadying breath. Maybe he can feel the heat as well. I hope so because it wouldn’t be good if I’m the only one who’s insides are roiling.

  He lets go of my hands but watches them briefly before staring at his and I get my confirmation. Invier felt it too.

  “That was a first,” I confess and he looks at me. The moonlight casts shadows across his face, hollowing the space beneath his cheekbones.

  “Same for me.” His voice is light, but full of sincerity.

  I want that feeling again and so, I take his hand in mine. There it is: the familiar heat. I hope the moon helps to hide the giddy grin his touch sparks. We walk to a grassy clearing and sit side by side, swapping tales of our childhood, the people in our life, silly stories and more.

  It’s not until I hear the crystal-clear voice of one of my favorite singers that I remember where I’m supposed to be.

  “Oh my, how am I going to explain being away for so long?” I spring to my feet while he calmly extends to his full height.

  “Tell them you were with me.”

  “No way.” I dust any dirt or grass off the back of my dress and thank the stars above that I wore black tonight. “I’d never hear the end of it from Dan or Pree. Bel would be even worse. And father-”

  He shuts me up with the kiss I’d wanted earlier. It’s better than I ever imagined. My knees buckle as I take in the soothing smell of coconuts and an underlying musk. His scent is intoxicating but not overpowering and makes me think of a beach. What would he look like in swim trunks? My hands roam on his chest and I confirm that it’s solid in all the right places. When he pulls away, my eyes stay cl
osed until he cups my cheek and says, “Let’s go back.”

  We walk hand in hand and never cross paths with anyone on our way. Everyone must be focused on the singer, Cawat Yost. Her voice is heavenly and enough to stop everyone in place. And it would have done that to me if not for someone else making my heart flutter.