Into the Black

by Ava Jae

Kora smirks. “More importantly, you impressed Tamus. I didn’t expect him to take so easily to you, but it looks like you remind him of Asha. He was smiling when you finished and said you weren’t backing down.”

  “Oh, shae, I saw that,” Deimos says. “You may actually get him on your side.”

  “I hope so,” I say. “It’ll be hard, though, since he’s so close to Ashen. He might back Lejv just out of loyalty to his friend.”

  “He might, but he might not if he thinks Ashen is making a mistake by refusing to acknowledge you,” Kora says.

  Deimos nods. “Loyalty is important, but loyalty to your Sira comes first—and if we get Tamus to believe you’re meant to inherit the throne, he might back you against Ashen and Lejv.”

  “That’s a big if,” I say.

  “It is,” Kora says. “And before the dinner, I wouldn’t have thought it realistically possible. But now we might have a chance with Tamus—and doubly so if we get Simos and Ejren on our side.”

  “So maybe it’s not hopeless,” I say. “It’s better than what we were imagining earlier, at least.”

  “Shae, we didn’t give you enough credit.” Deimos laughs. “Kafra, you were amazing out there.”

  My face warms again, and Kora smiles. “You really were. I’m proud of you.”

  It’s a strange thing to be here, in the grandest palace on the planet, among friends. I’ve been so used to isolation, so used to everyone hating me, that having two people with no obligation to like me backing me anyway …

  It’s more than I ever expected, and it feels unreal, but it’s not. It’s here. It’s now.

  I might actually have a chance at this.

  “So what do we actually know about Lejv?” I ask. “Besides that he has Ashen’s support by virtue of not being me.”

  “Well, he’s a’ da Kala Serek’s cousin, as you know,” Deimos says. “So his claim is legitimate, albeit not nearly as strong as yours. He was raised in politics and was formerly an Ona ambassador, so he’s well-versed in”—Deimos waves his hand—“all of this.”

  Kora nods. “We can’t say for certain what his campaign promises will be, but as Ashen is supporting him, I imagine it’ll be along the traditional line—prioritization of restoring the nanites, which you should do as well, Eros; continued separation of redblood and Sepharon—”

  “Is he like Roma?” I interrupt. “Do we have any idea what his ruling style might be like?”

  Kora and Deimos glance at each other.

  “The little interaction I’ve had with him gives me the impression he’s stringent,” Deimos says. “Very rule-oriented. I imagine he won’t try to carve sand with new law proposals.”

  I nod. All of that is expected, really—I wouldn’t expect a traditionalist like Ashen to support someone risky. “And do we know where he stands on the nanite attack?”

  Kora looks at the ceiling and shakes her head as she sighs. “If he’s the same as everyone else, then he condemns it, but he won’t try to make reparations with the redbloods. As far as they’re concerned, it’s unfortunate and someone should be punished, but they don’t feel the need to go as far as make amends.”

  I scowl as heat creeps up my neck. “Of course not. Because that would mean acknowledging we deserve to live in peace to begin with.”

  Kora sighs and stretches her arms over her head. “Sha, well, unfortunately I don’t believe that stance is a surprise to anyone here.”

  That’s true, but it doesn’t make me less blazed to hear it. I glower at the mosaicked wall.

  “But as well as tonight went, we still need a strategy,” she continues. “Even with Tamus on your side—which isn’t a guarantee—you’re not going to get a majority on the Council. If we want to bolster your chances, Eros, you need the people behind you.”

  I shake my head. “You really think the people are going to support a half-blood?”

  “If you go out there like you just did at dinner, they just might,” Deimos says. “It won’t be easy, per say, but if you show them just how much you are like your father, I think you’ve got a good chance.”

  “Go out there?” I glance at Kora. “Go out where?”

  “Deimos and I were speaking earlier and … we think you should go out into the city and make an appeal to the people in person.”

  A trickle of ice slides down my throat and into my stomach. Oh.

  Deimos nods. “They all know your name thanks to Serek, but most of them have never seen you or anyone like you. You’re just a name to them—show them you’re a real person, and more, you’re ready and able to take your rightful place on the throne.”

  I run a hand through my hair. “Plenty of them saw me when I was nearly executed in the arena.”

  “Well, shae, but you on your knees in front of the chopping block isn’t the lasting impression we want them to have.”

  “And even then,” Kora adds, “most of them only saw your image on a glass—seeing you in person, how you walk, and speak, and hearing your voice—that’s what we want them to remember. That will show them you’re more than just an image on a glass or a name in the air.”

  Deimos nods. “You could be their next ruler. Show them you’re willing to reach out to them and you won’t just shut yourself away in the capitol like so many Sirae before you have.”

  I bite my lip. “But what’s the point of appealing to the people if they don’t make the decision? Having their support isn’t going to help me much if the Council decides they don’t care.”

  “The people don’t make the decision,” Kora agrees, “but they do influence it. Rally them behind you, and the Council will take notice and factor it into their decision.”

  “Exactly,” Deimos says. “And if you don’t, Lejv will, and the last thing we want is to give the Council another reason to choose him.”

  My stomach churns at the thought of going into the city, in front of thousands of Sepharon who cheered at my execution, in front of so many who think I’m worth less than the sand under their feet. And now I have to face them and pretend that isn’t the truth, pretend there’s actually some chance they would back me as their future ruler, pretend just the thought of speaking to a crowd of thousands—tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands?—isn’t utterly terrifying.

  “Do we … have to start with a giant speech?” I shift as my skin prickles. “Couldn’t we start with something smaller like …”

  Kora and Deimos look at me expectantly. I have no idea where I was going with that.

  “Like … I dunno,” I mumble.

  Deimos smiles kindly. “Ordinarily we could consider starting with small groups on the street, or something of the like. But Lejv isn’t going to start small, and we need to expose you to as many people as possible—especially since, as you said, people around the planet only associate you with … well …”

  “Your near-execution,” Kora finishes. “We’re not going to erase that image with small groups on the street. We need to introduce you as someone powerful to take seriously.”

  I pick at a pillow as my stomach crawls to my toes. This is my life now. If I’m going all in with this—and I have to, I am—then this is what it means. And if I actually manage to get picked as Sira, I’ll have to get used to these kinds of public addresses. I can’t get by with trying to be invisible, not anymore. Now I need to make people pay attention.

  Now I need to make them remember me.

  “Okay.” My voice shakes as I speak—I take a breath and look at them both, Deimos leaning against the wall across from my bed and Kora sitting several lengths away, gently touching the silky sheets. “I guess I’ll—I mean, I don’t know what I’m going to say …”

  “I’ll put something together for you,” Deimos says. “But just think about what you’d like to get across. You did really well just improvising today, and it’s important you say what you want to say.”

  I try to smile, but it feels like a grimace. “Right. Sure.”

  “We want to go tomorrow morning,”
Kora says. “Before Lejv beats us to it.”

  Tomorrow morning. I have to be ready to talk to a city, in person, with some kinduv enlightening speech tomorrow morning.

  Sure.

  “Great,” I mumble.

  “I know it seems like a lot at once,” Kora says, “but we have faith in you, Eros. You can do this.”

  I don’t answer. There isn’t much to say, besides wishing I had a fraction of their confidence, which isn’t what they want to hear right now.

  Deimos pushes off against the wall and straightens. “I’m going to get materials prepared. See you in the morning, Eros.”

  “Shae,” I say, tasting his A’Sharo slang equivalent for yeah. I think he notices, because he smiles before he leaves.

  Then it’s just Kora and me with Mal’s soft snores behind us, and I don’t know what to say.

  “I suppose I should let you rest.” Kora stands and smiles weakly at me. “It’s okay to be nervous, by the way. I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

  I look at her. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

  “Probably not—but you’ll never feel ready, not really. I never felt ready—or wanted, or even remotely qualified—either. But it doesn’t matter. You push through it and you do what you must. That’s all anyone can ever expect of you.”

  I don’t say what we’re both thinking: she never felt wanted as a ruler because she wasn’t, and she ruled anyway until they ousted her. Until they nearly killed a Sira-kaï just to frame her for his murder and get her off the throne.

  Even if I manage to take the throne despite the hate, despite so many not wanting me there, I won’t be safe. Neither of us will ever be safe.

  Instead, I say, “I’m sorry.” Part of me revolts against the words—but she is trying, and I haven’t been. And like it or not, what she did doesn’t make it okay for me to be a jerk.

  Kora blinks. “Sorry? For what?”

  I glance out my balcony, where the sheer curtains blow in a gentle, warm night breeze. “I haven’t exactly been … the easiest to work with lately.”

  She smiles softly and sits next to me. “Naï, you haven’t, but I can’t blame you given everything, either. You’ve been through a lot, and I’m at fault for some of it, so I wasn’t expecting a warm reception anyway.”

  I grimace. “It’s more than that, too. I mean, sha, I was—and am—pretty blazed at you so that hasn’t helped, but …” I shake my head. “I haven’t been able to sleep much, either. I just keep remembering everything, and every time I close my eyes, something I want to bury resurfaces and I just …” I sigh and run my hands over my face. “That and all the stress with everything else has kinduv fucked with my mood and ability to deal with everything, so I’m sorry for snapping at you and being a jerk in general.”

  Kora rests her hand on my knee. “I’m sorry things have been so difficult for you. If you ever need someone to talk to about it …”

  I don’t say anything. Because the truth is, I can’t trust her with that part of myself again. No amount of apologies will change that.

  She stands, but I take her hand before she can walk away. I shouldn’t be doing this. But her skin is smooth and warm, and this gentle touch is just … nice.

  Then I pull her closer, slide my hands to her hips, and she straddles me, and we’re kissing.

  This isn’t like last time—hungry and desperate, clinging so hard it hurt, kissing until our lips ached and breaths came in gasps—this is quiet, slow. This is knowing nothing can come out of this kiss because my nephew is sleeping just a few paces behind me, but not wanting anything to come out of it anyway. This is the touch of lips to lips, the brush of her fingers over my cheeks, her slightly sweet taste sliding over my tongue. This is forgetting, just for a mo, and feeling.

  Kora leans forward, and her weight settles on me. She slowly runs her hands up my sides, scattering barely-there sparks over my skin. But something churns in the space between my lungs, and this kiss …

  I don’t know.

  It’s not the same.

  It echoes what we had, but we’re reaching. It feels like trying to force what we felt before, like going through the motions and holding on just a little longer, just a little longer to see if it comes back. And it’s not like I don’t like it, it’s not like I don’t react to her mouth on mine and her weight grinding into my lap, but it’s—emptier. Impersonal. I could be kissing anyone right now and it’d be the same.

  It feels like I have to forget she made me open up and then turned away. Like I have to ignore that she reminded me, again, I was beneath her. That I was good enough to mess around with, but not royal enough for her to stick around. And yeah, she apologized, she was scared too and didn’t mean to make me hurt, didn’t know how deeply that betrayal went.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  We break away at the same time, our mouths slipping apart, and as she looks at me, I know she feels it, too. Something broke between us, and I’m not sure how to fix it. Maybe we lashed out at each other too much, maybe we’ve just seen more than we can handle and hurt each other too many times. Maybe when she turned away again, it was the end, because as much as I’d like to, I can’t forget how awful she made me feel. I can’t trust her to never turn her back on me again.

  Or maybe it’s not anyone’s fault, but it’s not the same because we aren’t the same. Not anymore.

  Kora slides off my lap and smiles weakly. “Good night, Eros.”

  She turns away and walks out of my room, and I could stop her with a word or a wait or a touch, but I don’t.

  I let her go.

  I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Mal sleep and trying not to think—not about tomorrow; not about the kiss; not about what will happen if I lose this campaign; not about ashes mixing with smoke; not about Mal curled up with Aren in his arms; not about screams and explosions and fire; not about so much blood and bits of people scattered on the rubble; not about my cheek against hard, smooth rock and the hiss of shifting sand as the executioner lifts the blade; not about the slippery warmth of another man’s blood soaking my hands; not about wanting to sleep so fucken bad in that white, cold room; not about Day, or Nol, or Esta, or how everything could have been different if I didn’t live in a world where humans have less freedom and respect than animals and half-bloods are murdered at birth.

  I’m tired—so fucken tired. But closing my eyes means reliving everything again, and again, and again, and I can’t. I can’t.

  So I don’t.

  I slip into the hallway, my bare feet patting against the warm, slick stone. Guards lining the hall glance at me, but I’m not a prisoner here—and as I’m an official candidate now and Kora’s my official advisor, they’ve finally stopped following us. I don’t know if someone ordered that—seems unlikely Niro would have—or they just realized it doesn’t matter because guards are literally everywhere anyway, but I’m glad. I can do whatever I want without being followed.

  I lift my hand to knock on the door and it slides open automatically—unlocked. Deimos glances at me from his bed and blinks.

  “Oh, Eros, ej, come in.”

  I do. Deimos lifts the glass he had on his lap and waves the screen at me. “I was just looking up Sira Asha’s old speeches for inspiration—have you had the chance to search for them yet?”

  “Naï,” I answer. “And, um, I should add, before you write anything down—I can’t read.”

  “Right, shae, Kora mentioned that. It’s not a problem—I was just going to put together some clips for you to watch so we can discuss a plan, but this works even better.”

  I sit next to him and the bed bounces a little under my weight. Deimos places the glass on my lap and swipes two fingers over the image—a tall man with a thick ring of gold in his eyes, skin a touch lighter than mine, and thick, brown hair shaved close on the sides and back.

  Something warms inside me as I stare at the image. For the first time, I see why Serek thought Roma would recognize me immed
iately and why Tamus said I remind him of my father.

  Because even if Deimos hadn’t told me he was looking up Asha’s old speeches, I would have known who he was instantly.

  “Kafra,” I whisper. “I really do look like him.”

  Deimos laughs quietly. “It’s kind of incredible no one noticed before. I mean, your skin’s darker and marks are harder to see and your jaw’s a little narrower but … even before you speak, the resemblance is undeniable.”

  My eyes sting, which is ridiculous so I rub the sting away. I clear my throat.

  “Seems you hardly took after your mother at all, whoever she is,” he adds.

  Take after Rani? I shake my head. “Naï, I don’t look much like her. If she hadn’t told me we were related, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  Deimos arches an eyebrow. “You didn’t know you were related to your mother?”

  “She didn’t raise me. I only just met her … right before you and Kora picked me up.”

  Deimos’s eyes widen. “She lives with those underground redbloods?”

  I grimace. “More accurately, she leads them.”

  His mouth drops open then snaps closed. He frowns. “Oh, her. Huh … you’re right, I wouldn’t have guessed either. Obviously. Though I suppose it explains your handsome coloring.”

  My face warms as I glance at him. Did he just … is he calling me handsome?

  Deimos grins. “Don’t look so shocked. You are undeniably attractive.”

  Now my face is on fire, and I’m smiling before I can stop it, but he’s—he’s flirting with me. He’s definitely flirting with me. “Um—thanks.” I just stuttered. What’s wrong with me? I turn to the glass. “So … how do we start this thing?”

  Deimos laughs. “Right, sorry. Here.” He waves his hand over the glass and Asha’s voice fills the room as the image moves. I can’t tell exactly where this is recorded, but it’s outside somewhere, and there’s a line of golden statues of stacked letters behind him. Asha looks over what I’m guessing is some kinduv crowd and then speaks.

  “Tradition is the backbone of our community—it’s what brings us together as a people, what unites us in times of hardship and strife. We uphold tradition with every prayer to Kala, with every celebration, with every coronation, and funeral, and birth. It’s on our bodies and in our souls, it builds our towns and grows our cities, it weaves us together as a united people of many cultures and backgrounds and makes us strong.