Into the Black

by Ava Jae

  “Even with all that, it won’t be enough. I need four supporters on the Council to get a full majority—which I’m probably not going to get.”

  “You may not … but that might not matter. The people can lend their support one way or the other, as well, which the Council members take into consideration when making their decision. And as I mentioned before, there’s still the priest element, which is more unpredictable—sometimes they get involved with political affairs, sometimes they don’t. The priests can use various methods of choosing a Sira, and if they think Kala is particularly invested in this decision, then their involvement could change everything because Kala overrules all.”

  “Seeing how I’m not exactly religious, I’m not sure their involvement would help me.”

  Kora sighs. “Well if it comes to that, Deimos and I will coach you. But for now, let’s just worry about getting as much support from the candidates and Council as we can.”

  My head throbs. I close my eyes and squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Even if everything goes perfectly, this is all sounds impossible, Kora.”

  “The odds are against you, sha, but—”

  “It’s not impossible, blah, blah, blah, sha, you’ve said that a million times.”

  Her voice goes tight. “I don’t know what else you expect me to say, given how you seem determined to be completely negative about all of this.”

  I scowl and open my eyes. “The more you explain everything, the more it sounds like I don’t have a chance in the Void. Do you really expect me to be confident and happy about all of this?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “My life is on the line here and so is Mal’s. Trying to claim my birthright is literally my only chance for us both to survive the next cycle, but when that chance looks more and more like it’s not a blazing chance at all, you can’t blame me for not being positive about it.”

  Kora leans forward and massages her temples. “I know, Eros, but I don’t need you to be positive. I just need you to stop focusing on how impossible this all seems and focus on the information I’m giving you—the information you’ll need to stay afloat tonight when the royals expect you to be able to converse like you know what you’re doing.”

  I snort. “Pretty sure the royals expect me to crash and burn.”

  “Then prove them wrong. Show them you deserve to be here—show them you’re a force to be taken seriously.”

  Heat races through me, setting my nerves on fire. My heart pounds as I sit up, my hands shaking on the soft fibers of the throw rug. “But I’m not, am I? I don’t know what I’m blazing doing here—I wasn’t raised in the Sepharon courts like you were—I barely even know what people in Asheron eat for the morning meal, let alone what they want from a ruler!”

  “Which is exactly why I’m here!” Kora runs her hands through her hair and sighs heavily. “Eros, why do you think I’m sitting here trying to teach you? You’re not alone, and we’re not expecting you to know everything—you just need to focus and try to absorb as much of this as you can.”

  “Right. Absorb everything I need to be able to pass off looking like I’m not completely over my head tonight in three segs.” My head throbs as I stand and cross the room. “I’m taking a walk. I need some air.”

  “Eros—”

  The door slides shut behind me. My bare feet slap against the hard floor as I walk down the long hallway leading outdoors. My head feels like someone is pressing against it on all sides—like if I hear any more about these fucken Sepharon politics, or who expects what, or how I’ve basically lost before I’ve even begun, my skull might just cave in on itself.

  The truth is obvious: I can’t do this, and staying here is suicide.

  Doors whoosh open in front of me, and I nearly walk straight into two people coming in as I go out—Deimos and Mal. Deimos steps out of the way and pulls Mal with him as he reaches out and grabs my shoulder. Mal gasps and stumbles a little before smacking back into Deimos.

  “Whoa, there—what’s going on?” Deimos asks. “Shouldn’t you be with Kora?”

  “I need a break,” I say stiffly.

  Mal frowns and squints at me. “Are you okay?”

  If I were being honest I’d say no. I’d say I’m not okay, none of this is okay, the only thing playing politics will do is delay the inevitable—my execution and … what will they do to Mal? I don’t know. I don’t want to know.

  Instead, I lighten my voice and say, “I’m good.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, like biting into the inner not-poisonous-but-still-disgusting rind of a prickleplant. “How was your tour?”

  Mal shrugs. “It was cool. I couldn’t see a lot, but they have a lot of good food out there and everything smelled good.”

  Deimos smirks. “I may have introduced him to his newest addiction, kelo. I’m afraid there’s no going back now.”

  Stars know what kelo is, but I force a thin smile anyway. “I’m glad you two had a good time.”

  The doors slide open and closed behind me. “Eros.”

  I don’t have to turn around to recognize Kora’s tired voice. My stomach clenches. I close my eyes and inhale the hot, dry air.

  “You know,” Deimos says, “Mal, if you’re okay with this, I think Eros could use some kelo himself and room to breathe. Could you go with Kora and wait for us to get back?”

  I open my eyes as Mal shrugs. “I’m tired and kinduv want to lie down, anyway.”

  Deimos smiles. “Kora?”

  “Sure,” she says softly. “Just—please don’t take long. We’re running out of time.”

  Her words clench around my lungs. Running out of time—running out of hope—breathe, breathe, just breathe.

  Deimos throws his arm around my shoulders—it takes everything in me not to flinch even as my face warms at his nearness—and winks at Kora. “We’ll be back in a flash.” He pulls me down the stone steps dusted with gritty sand. I guess I should’ve worn those shoes—unlike the red Eljan sand, this desert here has been kinduv grating on my skin. But we’re out over the cool white waves, and Deimos still has his arm over my shoulders, and he smells sweet and spicy, and all I can think is this is a mistake.

  Coming here was such a big mistake.

  “So,” Deimos says after we walk several mos in silence. “You look like you’re two breaths away from a meltdown. I take it the panic is setting in.”

  “I don’t think I can do this.” We walk into the marketplace, bustling with people despite the tense, nervous energy in the air. The harsh sand presses into the soles of my feet. The lilt of the Sephari here I hadn’t noticed before—slightly faster than the Eljan accent I’m used to and clipped at the edges—surrounds me and whispers what I already know.

  I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged here.

  “Of course you don’t,” Deimos says. “I’d question your sanity if you were confident about all of this.”

  I frown at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what it sounds like.” He gestures to the marketplace around us, the stalls and shops. “Aside from when you were running for your life, you’ve never been here, shae? You weren’t raised with Sepharon, you don’t know the politics or the people. You’re probably the least qualified person on the planet to be the next Sira.”

  A crash to my left—someone dropped a vendor’s bowl—and my heart is in my throat. The vendor yells at the culprit and the shouting builds, and builds, and I close my eyes and take a shaky breath and this has nothing to do with me. Bite my lip. Force my eyes open. Face Deimos.

  “If this is supposed to be making me feel better, it’s not working.”

  He laughs. “Well I’m not done. What I’m saying is it’s natural for you to be panicking right about now because you’re a sensible person and you recognize you haven’t been adequately prepared for this. And it’s okay—no one’s expecting you to know everything you’ll need to rule today.”

  “So then why am I doing this? Why would anyone thin
k making me Sira is a good idea when I don’t even think supporting me is a good idea?”

  He shrugs. “You tell me.”

  “What?”

  “Why are you doing this? Why should anyone support you? Why did a rebel group of redbloods go out of their way to abduct you on your way to claiming your birthright here in Asheron? Why does anyone want you on the throne?”

  “Right now, only humans and you two want me to be Sira.”

  “Shae, so tell us why. Why are the … humans counting on you? What does Kora see in you? Why am I choosing to support you over my brother or anyone else who tries to make a claim?”

  Good question. And it feels odd to answer. After living my life until now only visible enough to get shoved and spit on, part of me doesn’t believe people will want to back me. That some already do. “The humans are hoping I can make a difference for them. That they’ll be able to peacefully coexist with the Sepharon and won’t be treated as slaves.”

  “Good. Keep going.”

  “They want equality, and they think I can get it for them. But—”

  “Naï, naï—you have enough naysayers and doubters without piling on your own. Tell me why anyone should support you.”

  I take a deep breath. Let the hot air settle over my skin and sink into my bones. “Because … people like me shouldn’t be executed at birth. Because no one should be bought or sold like an animal. Because we all have families, and dreams, and personalities, and we deserve to be treated like people. Because no one should have to run their whole lives just for the illusion of freedom. Because no one should have to live in fear that one day someone will come, destroy their homes, and rip apart their families.”

  Deimos smiles. “Good—you’ve got the redb—human support. Now tell me why the Sepharon should support you.”

  I frown. Why would any Sepharon support me? I represent everything so many of them don’t want—not only peaceful coexistence between two species, but acceptance and unity. Most Sepharon don’t think I deserve to live, so why in the world would any of them want me—or anyone like me—in power?

  “Maybe I’ll give you a hint,” Deimos says. “We’re not all skoi. Many of us know buying and selling people—human or not—is wrong. Did you know the servant class in A’Sharo is paid? It’s not perfect, obviously—not enough people in power have shared the anti-slavery sentiment to abolish it completely, but we are moving forward. The pay is a living wage, and the servants have rights to shelter, protection from abuse, and fair compensation. There are Sepharon out there who would support what you stand for. Many are just waiting for someone to push us over and abolish it outright.”

  I nod. “So you’re saying … you think some Sepharon would actually be happy to see me in power.”

  Deimos nods. “Many Sepharon—especially our generation—agree we’re way overdue for a change. You might be exactly the change we need as long as you’re ready to take on the responsibility.”

  I run a hand through my sweaty hair. “Equality,” I say. “That’s my stance.”

  Deimos nods. “Equality and birthright. You’d be surprised the number of people who would support you even if they disagree with everything you say simply because you’re Sira Asha’s son and that’s the way it’s always been.” He blinks and straightens his shoulders. “Actually, maybe that’d help you—have you ever seen recordings of your father in power?”

  “Um, naï.”

  Deimos smiles. “His reign wasn’t as long as it should have been, but he was a very popular Sira. I honestly think Safara would look drastically different if he hadn’t been killed all those cycles ago. He spoke about tolerance and changing things for the better—some even say he was in the process of abolishing the law demanding the killing of half-blood babies when he was murdered. Which in retrospect makes sense as he knew you were about to be born.”

  I frown. “I didn’t … no one told me that.”

  Deimos nods. “If we maneuver carefully, maybe we can get Sira Asha’s supporters to stand behind you, too. Your messages are more alike than you might think. But you need to take the first step—and that means going to the meal tonight and establishing yourself as a real candidate for the throne. Without that, you might as well grab Mal and start running.”

  I glance at him. “You really think I can do this?”

  “I may not know you very well yet, Eros, but I know a force to be reckoned with when I see it. And you, mana eran, are a force.”

  Mana eran—my brother. My mouth moves into a grimace or a smile—I’m not sure which. But somehow, impossibly, with Deimos’s words ringing in my ears, I start to believe him. The odds are against me, of course they are, but maybe this is more than the crash of fate stumbling over reality.

  Maybe, just maybe, I was meant to be here all along.

  “So,” I say, as Mal clambers onto Eros’s bed and sprawls out over the plush layer of pillows. “Is there anything I can get you? Food, drink, glass for entertainment …”

  “Naï,” he starts to say then cuts off and sits up abruptly. “Wait. Glass? Is that those … all-in-one things with everything on it?”

  I smile, pick up a glass off the bedside table, and sit next to him, placing it on his lap. “Is that a good place for you to see it?”

  He hesitates, and then stretches his legs out in front of him and pushes the tablet until it rests against his knees. “That’s better.”

  “Okay.” I rest my palm against the glass and it lights up.

  “Welcome, guest.”

  Mal’s eyebrows practically shoot into his bright rust hair. “It can talk?”

  I laugh. “It can do all sorts of things. Here.” I swipe away the numbers game whoever used it last was playing and tap open the newsfeed, which displays a map of Safara. “This allows you to watch the world feeds—you can pull it up from any territory or station.”

  “So you can just … see what’s happening around the world whenever you want just by touching one of the territories?”

  I nod. “And it’s always running. So, for example, if I touch Elja …” I tap my territory and the screen fills with rectangles, each depicting a different newsfeed with images all around the territory. “Then you just choose which feed you’d like to watch.”

  Mal taps one in the center and the image fills the screen. “Huh,” he says, and I smile until I look at the feed he’s chosen.

  It’s not just any feed—it’s what’s going on in Vejla.

  And what’s going on in Vejla looks chillingly like a riot.

  Shops and homes are on fire; people have taken to the streets with handwritten signs and stormed up to the palace gates—gates that are no longer nanite sealed, gates that are no longer impenetrable. Instead, Dima has stationed his men in front of the gate, holding back the horde with shields, phasers, and charged batons.

  Mal frowns at the glass. “That doesn’t look good …”

  I swipe my fingers alongside the edge of the glass, raising the volume. A light voice fills the room: “With more than a hundred dissenters imprisoned and a new tax imposed upon Eljans across the territory—a tax the impoverished people of the territory can’t afford—Vejlans have taken to the streets to protest their young new ruler, who it seems was less prepared for the position than Eljans had hoped.”

  My stomach churns at the images, the screaming, my home tumbling into chaos again, but this time there’s nothing I can do. I failed to prevent this while I had the chance.

  Vejla is burning, and all I can do is watch.

  I swipe my shaking hand over the screen, shutting down the feed and opening the central menu again. Mal must sense I’m upset despite my attempts to swallow the tightness in my throat and the stinging in my eyes, because he pushes the glass away and smiles weakly at me.

  “So,” he says, “while we’re waiting for Eros and Deimos to come back, could you show me around the palace? I only know how to get outside and where our washroom is, but if I’m going to be staying here, it’d be good to know how
to get around so I don’t depend on someone being my guide all the time.”

  “Of course.” My voice is tight and strained. I clear my throat, stand, and force a smile. “Let’s get you acquainted with your new home.”

  The words aren’t quite right—I know that as soon as I say it and Mal’s smile slips away. My error is obvious: this isn’t Mal’s home, and even if Eros manages to miraculously win the bid, it may never truly be home to him. Not in a palace where he is the first human to walk these halls freely.

  But the words are out and Mal doesn’t try to correct me; instead, with my hand on his shoulder, we step into the hall, flashing false smiles to the guards and tucking reality away into the darkest places of our minds.

  A place where reality will stay, untouched, for a little while longer.

  “So, I can’t walk in there shirtless, but draping this nonsense over my shoulders somehow makes it okay?” I hold up the scrap of black and gold fabric Deimos handed me out of my clothing room—ignoring that I have a blazing room dedicated just to hold clothes.

  “You don’t drape it over your shoulders,” Deimos calls from the clothing room. “There are arm holes, see?”

  “But it has no sleeves. And obviously isn’t meant to close over my chest because there’s practically no fabric.”

  Deimos pokes his head around the corner of the doorway and smirks as I glower at the shirt—if you can call it that. “Sha, well, I never said Ona fashion was sensible, just that I knew what they expected from you.” He looks at Kora and Mal, sitting on my bed behind me. “Is he always such an infant over clothes?”

  “I’m not an infant.”

  Kora and Mal laugh. “He didn’t protest as much in Elja,” she says, “but I also didn’t ask him to wear a shirt or shoes.”

  “Ah, sha, how could I forget? Everyone walks around half-naked in Elja.”

  Kora snorts. “As if you don’t enjoy the view when you visit.”

  Deimos grins. “Well, I never said I minded your strange clothing customs.”

  I roll my eyes. “Are you two done flirting?”