Into the Black

by Ava Jae

  I hate it.

  The scrape of utensils on plates grates against my ears. Despite the protests in the street, despite the worldwide footage of riots—both put down and active—on every screen in the palace, despite the unbearable heat, and wilting crops, and the serrated edges of panic coating the edge of every word, we are eating a feast for royalty.

  Today’s meal: keta-mel, an A’Sharan special, a stew of sorts cooked overnight with three different meats, loads of vegetables, and a thick, spicy broth served on a flat wrap over a layer of rice. This is a surprising choice, as I would have assumed Serek’s favorite evening meal would be of Ona origin, but evidently not. I suppose it makes sense: his mamae was A’Sharan. With the keta-mel, there’s azuka, six different vegetable sides, and a host of various desserts, one to represent Serek’s favorite from each nation.

  All in all, it’s more food than any of us can ever hope to eat; every dish is rich, celebratory, pretending the world isn’t crumbling around us. And I understand it’s to honor Serek, as is tradition, but if I’m being honest with myself, I expect they’d have an equally lavish meal prepared either way.

  The men laugh riotously at a joke Oniks d’A’Sharo—Deimos and Sulten’s father—made. I’ve stopped listening; the whole meal has tasted like blood and glass, every joke a knife down my center. Safara is teetering on the edge of a precipice, but no one here seems concerned about the plunge.

  Well. Maybe not no one. Aleija and Jule have barely touched their plates, and while Deimos is on his second glass of azuka, he hasn’t laughed at a single joke or so much as smiled during the whole event. His gaze meets mine, and he grimaces and drinks another deep gulp.

  Sulten claps his little brother on the back, his face red with laughter and drink. “Deimos, tell them about our visit to Ela’Tik two cycles ago; you recount it best.”

  Deimos shrugs away from his brother. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Not in the mood! Please.” He smirks and leans conspiratorially over the table to the still-snickering regents. “Little Deimos is the most theatrical of our family—if you ever want a good story—”

  “Truly,” Deimos says loudly, cutting Sulten off. “There won’t be any stories from me tonight. In fact, I don’t anticipate any stories at all until we’ve restored some peace and order to our panicked people. Also, I don’t appreciate the insinuation I’m theatrical because—as most here know—I’m lijara and prefer men.”

  The room goes quiet and Sulten flushes. I’m not sure how many royals already knew about Deimos’s sexuality, but it’s news to me, at least.

  Ejren is the first to break the silence. “It is an over-characterization of lijarae men.”

  “It is,” Deimos agrees. “And I won’t sit quietly while my own brother perpetuates it.”

  “That’s not—” Sulten takes a breath and sighs, lowering his voice. “I apologize.”

  Deimos nods stiffly. “Good.”

  “You’re right,” Aleija adds. “This display of shared humor seems inappropriate, given our dire circumstances.”

  “They’re hardly dire,” Tamus d’Ona, one of the elders on the Emergency Council, says. “When former Sira Ashen arrives, we’ll begin the selection process for the next Sira. All will return to normal shortly—there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Nothing to worry about?” I say. “Have you forgotten about the riots in our territories? The people are afraid—and they should be. We need to prepare for a famine in the Southern nations—our crops will die without the aid of the nanites, and we’ll need resources shipped from other nations until we can determine an effective, alternate solution to nanite-aided desert farming.”

  Aleija nods. “Daïvi is already stockpiling surplus to send to those in need. What about the rest of the central and northern nations?”

  The youngest on the Emergency Council—Hala d’Inara—shakes his head. “These would be legitimate concerns if we didn’t hope to restore the nanites with the installation of the new Sira, but that’s not the case. It’ll take some time, of course, but Asheron’s best technicians are already working on the restoration and building of a new supply of nanites—”

  “It took fifty cycles to build the nanites up to the comprehensive network we had in place the first time around,” Deimos says. “We don’t have fifty cycles to wait around while people starve.”

  Hala waves his hand and Sulten laughs. “Don’t worry so much, little eran. Everything will be taken care of soon.”

  My stomach churns; I push my untouched plate away and walk out. Down the hall, turning again and again, the empty patter of bare feet on smooth stone, one breath and one step after another until I slip into the warm night air, ignoring the rhythm of guards behind me. The quiet hum of the not-so-distant marketplace carries through the darkness. Smooth, golden glow lights marking the edge of the higher security area—where only approved royals can enter—hover like stars above the white sand.

  But as beautiful and calm as it is out here, the edges of panic wrap around my heart and bury deeply into my chest. My breath shivers on my lips. Eros is running out of time, and he isn’t here, and he needs to be here.

  “Maybe he isn’t coming,” I whisper; the words taste like sand on my tongue.

  “I’m starting to wonder the same,” a voice says behind me.

  I gasp and spin around, heart hammering as Deimos raises both hands.

  “Sorry for startling you.” He smiles weakly and lowers his hands. “I sometimes forget how good I am at tailing people unnoticed.”

  “It’s fine,” I say softly. “You don’t mean me any harm.”

  Deimos nods and runs a hand through his thick hair. “I’d half-expected Eros to be here with you when I arrived, but I suppose the desert’s a big place.”

  I grimace. “To be true, I was hoping he’d be here before anyone arrived, as well. Assuming he reached his people, his journey was less than a set’s ride into the desert … but I understand why he wouldn’t have come immediately.”

  “Even so … seems worrisome he isn’t here yet.”

  I glance at him. “Shouldn’t be worrisome to you—I imagine it’d be good news, given you and your brother are campaigning for the throne.”

  Deimos’s face contorts like he just bit into something disgusting. “I’m not campaigning for the throne.”

  “Naï? Then why are you here?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “To support Sulten, and … other reasons.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Other reasons?”

  “I may have been a bit curious about the man a’da Kala Sira-kaï Serek declared the true inheritor of the throne.” He uses the shortened version of the honorific—the A’Sharan people tend to shorten and mash words together as part of their dialect.

  “Ah.” I frown. “Well … with Kala’s grace, you’ll get to meet him.”

  “Suppose it won’t matter anymore if I don’t meet him soon.”

  I glance at him. “Why do you say that?”

  Deimos shakes his head. “If he doesn’t arrive to claim his place quickly, he’ll have nothing to come back to. It’ll be too late.”

  I bite my lip. “That’s true. I just … hope nothing’s wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “It’s possible he isn’t here because he doesn’t want to be—we didn’t exactly give him a lot of motivation to return to Asheron—”

  Deimos laughs. “What, the chance to rule the world isn’t enough motivation?”

  “Eros didn’t want power.” I sigh. “And even if he did, I can hardly blame him for not trusting us. We tried to execute him in Jol’s Arena—his head was literally on the block when the explosions happened that allowed for his escape.”

  “Shae, I watched the streaming.” Shae, another A’Sharan variation, this one a casual version of sha.

  I nod. “Before that, he and I were framed for ana da Kala Serek’s attempted assassination—Eros risked his life to save mine and allowed my brother’s guards to catch him so I
could escape. He was tortured for sets and never gave me up; ana da Kala Serek stepped in and pulled Eros out of my brother’s interrogation. And before that I …” I sigh. My stomach sinks. “It’s … not something I’m proud of, but before that I ordered a raid on the village he lived in. Much of his family was killed, and he was made a slave during the ordeal. And all of that was before the nanite attack that must have affected his surviving family and … I understand why he may not want to return.”

  Saying it out loud, it feels even worse. And that doesn’t even account for all the crimes Eros has suffered—doesn’t even mention the way I treated him, the way he saved my life in the desert and I …

  I’m so sorry, Eros.

  Deimos whistles. “That’s a lot to account for.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s a wonder you expect him to return at all.”

  I bite my lip. “Eros is an honorable person. He knows we need him, and he could do a lot of good for his people, too, if he claimed his position … but maybe that’s not enough. As he told it, his people didn’t treat him well either.”

  “He may still want to fight for his family,” Deimos says.

  “Assuming they survived the nanite attack … maybe.” I turn away from the city. “But if that were the case, he would be here by now unless something happened to him.”

  Deimos looks at the city with me, standing at my side. The blue and white and gold glow of night flowers in the museum’s garden ahead of us spots the shadows with beautiful light. The endless hum of the bustling complex washes over the breeze. After a pause, Deimos says, “You’ll never know if something did happen to him. I doubt anyone knows where to start looking for him, even if they wanted to.”

  “No one is going to look for him,” I say. “It’s in their best interest for him to disappear. As far as they’re concerned, if he doesn’t arrive, it just means he wasn’t meant for the throne after all.”

  “Which is exactly what they want.”

  I nod. “It makes the decision easy—they don’t have to consider him if he isn’t here.”

  Deimos quirks his lip. “Sounds like someone should look for him.”

  “Someone should,” I agree. “Someone who knows what’s at stake if he’s overlooked.”

  He glances at me with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Someone who knows where to start looking to begin with.”

  “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

  Eros’s taste is on my tongue, his hands setting fire to my skin, his body pressed hard against mine. My back digs into the rough sandstone exterior of the building behind us, my fingers grip his muscled back as my legs pull him closer, closer, nowhere near close enough.

  The world is fuzzy, blazing, dark, sharp as glass. He kisses down my neck, pulls my bottom lip into his mouth, kisses, and touches, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do, for all the pain about to come. I’m so sorry for everything that’s my fault and everything that isn’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—

  Eros is standing a few paces away, his back to me. Enjos is silent around us; the marks of the temple pressed into my back burn me to the core.

  I try to scream I’m sorry but instead I say, “Eros, we shouldn’t stay here.”

  He turns and frowns and shakes his head—and shakes his head—and shakes his head—like a glitch in a recording, again, and again, until I blink and—

  He’s several paces closer. His mouth is painted with sand the color of rebel blood, and his hands are wet with actual blood, and he says, “Sorry. I thought I saw—never mind.”

  “I thought I saw—never mind.”

  “I thought I saw—never mind.”

  What did you see? I want to ask. Why are you apologizing? That word is mine. Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You have nothing to apologize for, why are you—

  What did you see, Eros?

  What did you see?

  But I say nothing, and the world fills with sand—sand in my mouth, sand in my nose, sand in my lungs, and I can’t breathe, and the world presses heavier, and heavier, and heavier against my shoulders, crushing me into the dirt, and I don’t fight.

  I don’t fight for escape because I don’t deserve it.

  The echo of the dream lingers on my tongue and whispers over my skin as I look at my supplies.

  A bottle with a cold-water generator in the cap (though the cold part doesn’t work without nanites); light wraps to protect me from the suns; enough travel food for three people for eight sets, not that I expect to need anywhere near that much but I’m never going into the desert unprepared again; nutrient mixes for the water; a glass to keep connected; three changes of clothing; refresher spray to keep me clean; a seeing glass to scan the desert. Now I’ll just need a bike and facemask to protect me from the spray of the sands when moving at full speed.

  It’s doable. I don’t technically have access to the Sirae transportation, but I should be able to convince someone to let me borrow a sand bike, which will be made easier by the fact that no one wants me here. And with Kala’s grace, I’ll be able to figure out how to drive one without using my injured wrist.

  I seal my pack and hoist it over my shoulder. Today is the set former Sira Ashen is due to arrive as well as Serek’s funeral on the accelerated schedule. The decision to leave today isn’t an easy one; just the thought of missing Serek’s funeral pricks my eyes with new tears, but I can’t put this off any more. And maybe I’m making a mistake by not being here—maybe I’ll regret leaving on the set the most important man in this decision makes his entrance—but none of it will matter if Eros isn’t here anyway.

  It’s possible Eros doesn’t want to return. He could have decided he’s had enough, which is his right. But maybe he hasn’t, and maybe something is wrong, and maybe he needs help. I don’t know which it is, but I’m not going to sit around and hope someone else answers the question for me. I’m not going to wait for an act of Kala anymore. I’m not going to wait until I’m out of hope, and options, and end up on the street.

  I may very well regret this decision, but at least I’m making a move.

  It takes me a while to find the garage—the palace grounds are huge, and it’s only after searching for close to a segment that I remember to access a map on my glass with my authorization. Which I should have done in the first place.

  I approach the entrance to the large, underground garage, which, of course, is guarded by six men—as if the two following me around everywhere weren’t enough. I wipe sweat off my forehead and force a smile as I near the scowling guards, all six of which eye me suspiciously before glancing at the guards behind me. One I recognize from the tower aftermath; he’s one of the men I stunned and was the first to wake and find Serek. There isn’t a chance he hasn’t told the story to the others, so I suppose I can only hope he hasn’t held a grudge.

  “Ora’denja,” I say lightly—our customary morning greeting. “Ordinarily I’d use my own transportation, but as I traveled here with ana da Kala Sira-kaï Serek, I don’t have any.”

  “Naï,” the guard says.

  I blink. “I haven’t asked—”

  “You don’t need to ask. The answer is naï.”

  The heat of the twin suns drips down my back and sinks under my skin. I swallow my irritation. “And how am I supposed to leave the palace grounds without transportation?”

  “I don’t know,” the guard answers. “And I don’t care. That’s your complication—not mine.”

  “My compli—” I stop myself, swallow the boiling words, straighten my shoulders, force a breath, and calm my tone. Control—I can control my emotions. “If you’re worried I won’t return, the—”

  “The answer isn’t changing, no matter how many ways or how many times you ask. Naï. Or, how is it the redbloods say it? Perhaps you’d understand that better, as you seem to like them so much—I think it goes no.”

  “You kafrek sko—”

  “Wow!” someone laughs behind me. “Kora, there
you are, I was looking all over for you.” Deimos steps next to me and smiles at the guards. “Silen, Tomae, Alden, good to see you all—and I don’t think I’ve been acquainted with you three?”

  I stare at Deimos—how does he know their names already? Could he really have introduced himself to half the guard in the short time he’s been here?

  Then again, he is impressively charismatic …

  “Kea, Rimo, and Bjule,” the guard I was arguing with—Silen—answers.

  “Good to meet you all,” Deimos answers with a charming smile. “I’m Deimos Zielo Azani Avra-kaï d’A’Sharo.” The men nod at each other and Deimos smiles at me. “Looks like we’re ready to go.” He gestures to his own bag slung over his shoulder and looks at the guards. “We’d like to access my bike, thank you.”

  Silen blinks, glances at me, then looks at Deimos and nods. “Certainly, ol Avra-kaï.”

  And just like that, they move out of the way. Unbelievable.

  “Thank you,” Deimos says brightly. We step between the guards and walk down the smooth tunnel in silence until the guards are well out of earshot.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss. “Why do you have a pack with you? How did you know I’d be here?”

  “Well, I believe we are headed into the desert to find Eros and bring him back to Asheron. My pack is full of supplies, of course—we don’t want to go into the desert unprepared. And I knew you’d be here because I’m not dense and it was obvious after speaking to you last night that you’d go looking for him.”

  “You can’t have known that,” I snap. “I didn’t even know until this morning.”

  “And yet, here we are.”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “I know it’s hard to believe someone as handsome and charming as me could also be so intelligent—”

  “—Deimos—”

  “—but don’t let this dreamy body fool you. I’m quite possible and in fact completely handsome and real.”

  “You already said handsome.”

  “Why, thank you for noticing, sha I am.”

  I open and close my mouth then settle for shaking my head. Deimos snickers and smiles at me. “Don’t worry, this will be fun. And besides, you could use my help.”