Into the Black
Page 9
“And the guy?” Rani gestures to the screens. “We haven’t monitored him before.”
“I don’t know him.”
She crosses her arms and frowns at the screens.
“What do you want us to do?” a woman in an armored uniform asks. “Do you want us to take them out?”
My heart jolts. I may be blazed at Kora, but that doesn’t mean I want her dead. “Take them out? You’re not going to—they’re looking for me.”
“I’m sure they are,” Rani answers. “But they’ve come too close, and if they find you, they find us.”
“Then let me go. I don’t need to be here.”
“That’s not happening until you agree to our terms.”
My chest goes tight. Kora’s right here, and my way to Asheron is breaths away. I’ll lose it if I miss this chance. I can’t stay a prisoner. “I can’t help you if you keep me here.”
“So you’re agreeing to help us?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “No, but—”
“Then there’s no discussion. If I let you go without your agreement, we’re just as stuck as if we’d kept you here. At least with you here, there’s a chance you’ll develop some sense and agree before it’s too late.”
Develop some sense? I swallow back the raging words I want to say and take a deep, steadying breath. “Then at least let me talk to them. They don’t have to come down here—I can go to them.”
“And reveal our location?”
“They tracked me all the way here; I doubt they’re going to just give up now.”
Rani purses her lips. “They might if they don’t find anything. They might think it was a dead end.”
“Commander, the male is doing something.”
We look at the screen. The guy has put on a red and black sand bike helmet and pulled the visor down, looking at the sand beneath his feet. “Oh.” He laughs. “Oh, that’s clever.” Rani stiffens as the guy gestures to Kora. “Go get your helmet and turn on the settings I showed you.”
Kora does, then stands next to him, staring at the sand beneath their feet. For a long mo they’re both quiet, then Kora pulls off the helmet and looks around. “If they’re hiding underground, there must be cameras somewhere.”
Murmurs wash over the room and Rani grimaces.
“They can see us?” Shaw frowns. “Those must be some fancy helmets.”
“Probably,” the guy on the screen says, answering Kora. “Which means they’re likely watching us. Maybe even listening … I wonder if they speak Sephari.”
“The military sect of Eros’s camp did, so assume they do,” Kora says.
“Let me talk to them,” I say again, turning to Rani. “They know we’re here, and they’re here for me. Let me talk to them.”
Rani bites her lip and crosses her arms over her chest, watching the screens. Kora straightens her shoulders. “I know you can hear us—and we’re not leaving until we have Eros.”
“How did you know?” Deimos asks as we wait for the rebels to emerge. The suns beat down on us, and the angle of the abandoned temple’s shadows leave us completely exposed. I try to look at the building as little as possible—I don’t want to remember the rough surface on my back, or Eros’s fingers scattering embers over my skin.
I especially don’t want to remember what I did to him after.
I shake my head, not quite daring to believe we’ve actually found him until I see him for myself. Alive. I wipe sticky, sweaty hair from my face. “When Eros and I were last here, he said he thought he saw … something. At first, I thought maybe he would come back to see what it was, and then when we found the explosion marks … ” I shake my head. “If I’m truly being honest, I just didn’t have any other ideas.”
Deimos raises his eyebrows and nods. “That was … not much to go on. Are you religious?”
I glance at him and shrug. I’m not sure how to even begin to answer that question. I’d have to know what I believed first.
“Because religious types would probably say that’s so little to go on, Kala must have led you here.”
“And what would you say?”
Deimos smiles and looks at the abandoned temple. “I’ll reserve my judgment until after we’re back in Asheron with Eros in one piece.”
We don’t have to wait long before the rebels emerge with Eros and one of the redblood boys from his camp who found me in the desert not so long ago. Relief washes over me like a much-needed rain; he’s alive, and as far as I can tell, unharmed—at least, not fatally harmed. A large, deep bruise mottles the right side of his bare chest, but I have a feeling that happened long before he came here—during the explosion at the arena, maybe, or in his escape afterward.
Regardless, he’s alive, and even though his face is hard and his expression unreadable, it’s so good to see him here.
We found him.
A tall woman with skin as dark as Jarek and black hair shaved close to her skull steps beside Eros, her posture strong and confident. She’s the one I address first. “Eros needs to return to Asheron. The council is selecting replacements for him as we speak—if we don’t hurry, he’ll lose his spot on the throne.”
“Eros is free to go as soon as he agrees to support us wholeheartedly when he takes the throne,” she answers in fluent Sephari.
I frown at Eros; he says something in their language to the woman. She hesitates and answers; he rolls his eyes and gestures to the people who emerged with them—people armed with phasers and likely a host of other weapons.
She sighs, says something that sounds like fai, and then Eros and the boy close the distance between us as the redbloods stay back.
“Hello,” Deimos says cheerily. “Good to finally meet you.”
Eros arches an eyebrow at him and looks at me. “Friend of yours?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” I answer.
Deimos places his hand over his heart. “That wounds me. And after all we’ve been through together!” He turns to the boy and smiles. “I’m Deimos. What’s your name?”
The boy doesn’t look at him, but mutters, “Mal.”
“Great name.”
A faint smile echoes over Eros’s lips—until he turns to me. And then his smile drops and his expression shutters into something hard and angled. His voice is flat when he asks, “What happened to your wrist?”
I purse my lips. “Roma. I’m fine. It’ll take several more sets to heal, but I’ll survive.”
Eros nods. His eyes are still sharp as a knife blade. “They want me to overthrow the monarchy in place and replace it with something … representative. With humans ruling alongside Sepharon.”
I stare.
“Bold,” Deimos says, and Eros snorts.
“Bold is a word for it. Suicidal is another.”
“Do they not realize the Sepharon would never let you do something so drastic?” I ask. “I mean, as Sira, your word is law, but not if the people depose you.”
“I did try to get that across, but they seem less concerned about that than they are about my leaving without an agreement.”
“So agree,” Deimos says.
We both stare at him.
“Agree?” I say, my voice a little louder than intended. I step closer to them and quiet my tone. “He can’t agree to something so foolish. Can you imagine what an overthrow of the world government would cause? Especially now, with everything as fragile as it is?”
“It’d be chaos,” Deimos says quietly. “I’m not saying Eros has to do it. But if all they need is Eros’s word that he’ll work with them … well, honor isn’t the redblood way, so if he gives his word, we can go and figure the rest out later. We don’t have time to play negotiator with them; even if we leave now, I’m not sure we’ll get back to Asheron in time.”
“And you’re speaking from what experience, exactly?” Eros asks.
“Ah, right, of course, my apologies.” Deimos rests his hand over his heart. “I’m one of the d’A’Sharo kjo. So, like Kora, I was raised in pol
itics.”
Eros frowns, so I add, “He seems reasonably competent, so far. Though I’m … not sure I agree that’s a good idea.”
“Reasonably competent.” Deimos grins. “A bit unenthusiastic, but acceptable, for now.”
Eros hesitantly nods. “Well … he’s right.”
“Of course I am,” Deimos says, and Eros narrows his eyes at him. Deimos smiles back like a child caught stealing sweets. “My apologies, please continue.”
Eros shakes his head, but for just a breath he can’t hide his faint smile. “We can’t stay here if we want to change anything. But they were the ones who blew up the Arena to save me—going back on my word with a group capable of that kind of destruction wouldn’t end well.”
“It wouldn’t,” Deimos agrees, “but we just need time to come up with a way to handle it. For now, giving your word allows us that time.”
Eros furrows his brow and glances at me.
My throat thickens; the prospect of giving your word without intending to keep it goes against every fiber of my being. But we’re running out of time—we may already be too late—and Eros … Eros seems eager to get back to Asheron. To claim his rightful place. Even if I suspect he’s angry at me.
I should be relieved, but this isn’t right. Your word is your honor, and I never expected Eros to be anything more than reluctant to take such a position of power. But maybe I’m twisting something out of nothing. Maybe I’m worrying too much because I’ve lost the ability to believe things can go right.
Not everything has to be such a struggle. Maybe, for once, this can be easy, and we can return to Asheron with our Sira-to-be before the suns set.
“Okay,” I say. “Do what you have to, Eros. Just … be careful.”
Eros turns back to the rebels. “If you let Mal and me leave right now, and you swear not to follow us, I’ll work with you if I take the throne.”
The woman lifts both eyebrows; evidently, she was not expecting Eros to agree any more than I was. “You’ll support us as Sira,” she says.
“I’ll do everything I can to get fair treatment for humans.”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s not quite what I said—”
“Your aim is to make us equals,” Eros says. “To create a balance so humans and Sepharon can coexist peacefully and on the same societal level. We want the same thing, and I swear to work with you to try to get there.”
“Okay,” she says. “But I want you to swear to support us. To help us. I want your word you won’t turn your back on us—and if you do, I want you to understand we will rip this world apart and make your life a daily torment until we destroy you. I’d hate to have to do it, but you wouldn’t betray us without consequences.”
Your word is your honor. I glance at Eros. Something like pain flashes across his face—just for a breath, just for a blink. The look he gave me when I turned away from him again and again, when I pushed him away after what we shared here. But he doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t say naï.
Instead, he nods and says, “I understand. You have my word.”
“Former Sira Ashen has arrived, and he brought a relative with him: Lejv d’Ona, apparently a cousin of Sirae Asha, Roma, and a’da Kala Serek. Also, the night of silence is tonight, to honor his passing.” The bedroom door closes behind Deimos—the bedroom Mal and I will be sharing, the bedroom that is too large, and even despite the oppressive heat, way too luxurious for either one of us.
Well. Maybe not either one of us. Mal sure seems to be enjoying the layer of pillows on the floating bed. But between the massive, pillow-topped bed, the painted walls, the sheer curtains rustling in front of the window, the decorative statues, a giant glass floating over the north wall twice as long as I am tall, a bookshelf I won’t touch, and the plush throw rugs scattered across the deep, stone floor, I’m drowning in luxury. And it’s all for me—some thin guy who looked like he smelled something rotten when he looked at me, assigned me this room when I arrived with Kora. That he was so obviously unhappy to see me kinduv makes me wonder if this is supposed to be a lesser room compared to some of the others.
“A cousin,” Kora says. “So Lejv has a legitimate claim.”
Deimos nods. “He does, though if Eros is who a’da Kala Serek says he is—”
“He is.”
“—then Eros’s claim is superior.”
I’m not sure what he keeps saying before Serek—“a” doesn’t mean anything on its own, as far as I know, and “da” means “from,” but from Kala doesn’t make sense in context. I’m too tired to try to figure it out. I sit next to Mal and brush his overgrown, fiery hair out of his face. He’s exhausted, and asleep—finally—and he has to be terrified here, in a place where people like him are usually slaves or prisoners. But he’s safe. Eight sets ago, I never would have imagined it was possible for any member of my family to be here—in the Sepharon world capital, in the palace, asleep on a bed meant for royals, safe.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” I whisper.
“So we verify again, that’s not a problem,” Kora says. Just her voice sets me on edge, skimming over the surface of my broiling blood. Does she realize how much she hurt me when she turned her back on me in the desert? She might as well have told me I’m worth as little as people before her made me believe. Does she even care? “In fact, Niro told me they were already in the process of confirming Eros’s claim.”
“It doesn’t look like they’ve made any formal announcement yet,” Deimos says. “Which means they’ve probably already verified it’s true and just don’t want to bring attention to it.”
Every muscle in my body is heavy—I want to sink next to Mal and sleep and sleep and never wake up. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s rest—before Dima’s dungeon, maybe. Which was how long ago? Seven sets? More? And to think I kept my mouth shut for her while her brother tortured me.
“So then we need to talk to the Council,” Kora says. “Have they gathered yet?”
“Sulten said they’re gathered now,” Deimos answers. “Everyone expects them to announce they’ve chosen Lejv as the primary candidate.”
I need to sleep, but there’s little point in trying—not unless I want to watch Jessa and Aren and Nia and Day and Nol and Esta die again, and again, and again. Not unless I want to hear those screams, not unless I want to dream of the white room, dream of not dreaming and needing to dream, and the pain, and full-bodied exhaustion—
“Eros.” I jump—my heart races and everything inside me screams move—but it’s just Kora. Standing in front of me, arching an eyebrow. She must have just said something. Did she ask something?
“I don’t—what?”
“The Emergency Council has gathered; we need to speak to them together to stake your claim to the throne officially, now that you’re here.”
She’s really not going to apologize. She probably doesn’t even think she did anything wrong. I swallow fire and press my palms against my thighs. Harder. Forget her. Focus on the conversation. Apologies don’t matter right now—these blazing politics do. “The who?”
“The Emergency Council—they’re the remaining former Avrae and Sira. They came down from Dura Kol to oversee the installation of the new Sira.”
Her words gloss over me, fuzzy and out of focus. Drowned out by the part of me that hates what she did to me. Emergency Council. Former rulers—and Sira? Focus. “So … Serek and Roma’s father?”
“Your grandfather, sha,” Kora says. “He’s a hard man; I don’t expect he’ll be happy to see you.”
Because stars forbid my Sepharon blood relatives didn’t actively hate me down to my cells. “Of course not,” I mumble.
“But not like he can do anything to you,” Deimos says. “We’ve already figured if they haven’t announced anything about the genetic check, it’s because they confirmed what a’da Kala Serek said, which means they have to consider your claim seriously.”
“So they hate me, and I’m in their way.”
Get used to it—as if it were that easy. But of course, it would be, for her. My mind swims with words, with images of thrones and riots, of guards marching toward me and the complete blackness of the dungeons below. Of that fucken throne room with all that gold and black and me.
This is what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to campaign for a throne I don’t want—I’m supposed to throw myself into proving to everyone I’m the best one for the job, and I’m supposed to believe it.
But I don’t believe it. I came here for Mal, and pretending this is what I want might be too much. Maybe it would’ve been better for everyone if I’d died in that arena.
“I think …” Deimos says softly, glancing at Kora. “Maybe he needs some rest. He’s had a long couple of sets.”
Day would think I’m such a traitor being here. I glance at Mal—does he think I’ve betrayed them by coming here? By becoming one of them?
I’m not completely one of them, but I have to take on the part of me that is, and I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready—I don’t want to forget who I am; I don’t want to become someone I’m not. But I’m both. I’ve always been both; I just don’t really know what that means.
Kora is arguing with Deimos. Because of course she is. “He can rest when we’re done speaking to the Council. They need to know he’s here, Deimos. They need to know he intends to hold on to his claim and fight for it.”
Deimos sighs. “Right, and I agree—but maybe it’d be better if you approached them first yourself—”
“Better?”
“For Eros. He just—he doesn’t seem like he’s ready to go in there set to kill, you know? And if they see him washed out like this …”
“He’ll be fine. Right? Eros?” Kora looks at me expectantly—always fucken expecting something from me—and I just—I can’t focus on this. I can’t focus on any of this.