by Ava Jae
“Are you in need of assistance?” it chirps.
“How long has Lejv been up there?” he asks.
“Twenty moments,” it responds. “Would you like to view the recording?”
Deimos frowns and releases the orb-guide. “Not now.”
The orb-guide spins and flies away just as the crowd bursts into applause and cheers. Eros turns away, running his hand through his newly trimmed hair. I tug on the wrap covering my burn scars. More than anything, I want to shout my frustration, but Eros is spiraling—it’s in the tension in his shoulders, in the way he shakes his head as he paces a path into the dusty rooftop.
“So now what?” he asks. “That was our plan, wasn’t it? Get out there before Lejv does—except he got there first, and now we’re fucked.”
“Kafra,” Deimos hisses again.
“We’ll just have to come up with another plan,” I say, carefully keeping my voice steady. “Lejv got there first, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make your own appeal later.”
“Right,” Eros says, “after half the city has cheered at his rally and decided to support him.”
“The people can still make their own decision—”
“Eros is right,” Deimos says tightly. “The key to this plan was to get there first so he could make an impression before they’ve seen anyone else. It’s going to be a much harder battle now that they’ve heard—and evidently love—Lejv.”
“Harder, sha,” I say, “but not impossible.”
Deimos shrugs. “Nothing’s impossible, but this is a massive setback we can’t afford.”
And I want to say he’s wrong. I want to say we’ll make do and find another way to garner support from the people, but the truth is I can’t say that, not genuinely.
The truth is, with so much stacked against us from the start, I don’t know how we’ll come back from this.
We wander.
I don’t know where we’re going—I don’t know if any of us do—but I get the impression Asheron isn’t too dangerous because no one seems concerned. Or they figure we can take care of ourselves, which we can. I’m not armed, but Deimos probably is, and …
And it doesn’t matter, anyway. Most of the city is somewhere long behind us, cheering for Lejv and pledging their support.
What am I doing here? Why did I ever think I had a chance—as though anyone would ever support a half-blood on the throne, regardless of my birthright, regardless of my charismatic father, regardless of the blazing world prince declaring me the inheritor.
None of that matters, because no one will ever see past the too-light markings on my skin. My not-round, not-really-notched-and-pointed ears. My impossible-to-hide not-human, not-Sepharon genetics. I can’t pretend to be one of them, not completely, not really, because I’m not. It took me nearly two decades to figure out I’m not one of the humans, either. I’m something else entirely, and only one of me exists.
I’m not one of anyone.
We wander deeper and deeper into the city—or maybe farther away. I’m not sure how far this city goes, but I imagine it’s larger than we’d ever be able to walk in a set, given the whole capital of the world thing. It doesn’t matter. With the silence so thick between us, we’d stroll right out of the city just to get away from the sinking sense of failure.
Eventually, the city changes. The streets are still polished here—absurdly so; our reflections glint back at us in the black rock beneath our feet. But the buildings change from gleaming, newly updated shops and shiny floating stalls to what I’m pretty sure are homes. Dull, rectangular buildings climb high into the air, like massive pillars with evenly spaced holes for windows. Here, the people aren’t wearing the latest flashy fashion statement—they’re dressed better than Vejla’s poor, for sure, but their clothes are well-worn, sometimes too big or small, sagging and frayed at the edges. People wear their hair longer here—there are more beards on one street than I’d seen my entire stay at the Eljan palace.
And then there’s us. Freshly trimmed, dressed in Ona’s—and for Deimos, A’Sharo’s—finest. Even without my gold eyes and even without Kora and Deimos’s markings declaring them royalty, it’s obvious we don’t belong here.
And yet, no one looks as us threateningly or with disgust or dislike. No one shouts at us to leave or glares as we walk by.
Instead, we get curious glances. Murmurs of conversation follow us—a few bursts of quiet laughter—my name slipping quietly from their lips, flashes of hesitant smiles.
I’ve literally never had a Sepharon I didn’t know smile at me. And I’m not sure if it’s because Kora’s here—or, more likely, maybe, Deimos?—but the soft smiles and nods as we pass are undeniable.
And then a man steps out of a building ahead of us, walks past the small group of kids and adults alike sitting on the steps of the entrance, and steps right to the edge of the street, watching us approach with his arms crossed over his chest. His skin is dark, so I almost don’t notice it at first, but when Deimos says, “Huh. Interesting,” next to me, I look again.
My steps slow. The man’s arms are bare—no markings of any kind, no lighter paths of skin every Sepharon is born with, no swirls or lines they call Kala’s mark. His ears are round, but his eyes aren’t a cloudy gray.
He’s human, and as far as I can tell, he’s free. Living in the Sepharon capital of the world.
I stop and take a closer look at the crowd—most of them are Sepharon, as I expected and assumed—but the man who caught my attention isn’t the only clear-eyed human watching us. I spot a woman, too, holding a small human child against her hip. A teenage girl leaning against a human man I assume is her father. They’re here, living among the Sepharon at the edge of a city not so long ago ruled by a man who ordered their execution.
“I didn’t realize …” Kora starts quietly, then hesitates. “Actually, I guess this makes sense—Serek and I heard screaming from the city when … when the nanites were activated.”
I grimace. “What’s your name?” I ask the man we spotted first.
“Bjeren,” he answers and I arch an eyebrow. He doesn’t just live among the Sepharon—he has a Sepharon name.
“And you’re free?” The words are out of my mouth before I consider how he might take it. Bjeren’s eyes narrow. “I’m not questioning it or threatening your way of life,” I add quickly. “I just—I had no idea humans lived freely in Sepharon cities anywhere.”
“We do. Quietly,” Bjeren answers. “It only works in areas where our Sepharon neighbors are accepting, but we’re here—and not just in Asheron. The northern territories have a lot more of us. The Sepharon there are more widely welcoming in the right cities.”
“And … intermarriage?” Kora asks carefully.
Bjeren purses his lips. “Too dangerous anywhere. Especially for any kids that’d come out of it.” He looks at me. “But I don’t need to explain that.”
I shake my head and glance around. “You shouldn’t have to hide. Any of you. But it’s good to see some humans living here peacefully. I honestly … I never imagined this was already happening.”
Bjeren nods. “Sepharon rulers would like us to think it can’t happen. It’s easier to pretend we’re lesser and that humans and Sepharon are incompatible when there’s no proof of us living peaceably.”
“And they know we won’t bring attention to it, because the spotlight is too dangerous,” the mother with the baby adds. “So we don’t talk about it, and they pretend we don’t exist and nothing changes.”
“Until they tried to kill us.” Bjeren scowls. “I’m not going to sit here quietly next time they decide murdering us is the best option.”
A Sepharon man near Bjeren rests his hand on his shoulder. “Sira Roma’s actions were horrific, and many of us support our human brothers. We’ve had enough inequality and injustice, but nothing’s going to change if we stay silent. We have to say enough.”
A shout of approval across the street encourages another and another. More people come
out of their buildings, lining the street on either side, filling in slowly around us.
“And I’m with you, too,” I say. I take a breath and look around at the thickening crowd—mostly Sepharon, but human faces, too, watching me with intensity in their gazes and hope on their lips. Seeing them like this—humans and Sepharon side by side, it’s incredible. And seeing them look at me with something like expectation fills me with energy. I pull my shoulders back and look at Bjeren, at the Sepharon man standing at his side. “I can’t promise any of you I’m going to win this campaign—Sira Ashen’s choice, Lejv, is on the other side of the city as we speak, promising to take the throne with thousands of Sepharon swearing to back him. The Council recognizes I’m Sira Asha’s son—that my birthright is on the throne—but they don’t care. They don’t want a half-blood in the capital and I can’t change that.
“But I can promise every one of you I’m going to fight. For you. For my human nephew who lost his whole family—my brother and his wife and most of their children—to Sepharon violence. I’ll fight to make sure that attempt at blazing genocide never happens again. I’ll fight so you can live freely and loudly together, so you can love who you love and start families fearlessly. I’ll fight so you never have to look over your shoulder again, so you never have to worry about Sepharon soldiers knocking on your doors to tear you away from freedom and your families. I’ll fight so every one of us lives at peace, so we stand together equally.
“We’re a divided world, and we’re ripping each other apart—but we can be stronger if we stand together. I believe that with everything I am, and I think you do, too.”
A cheer like a roar rips through the crowd, surrounding us in a wave. Those orb-camera things whip around us—when did they get here? How long have they been recording? But with the voices of human and Sepharon people falling over me like rain, with Bjeren’s smile and the nod of approval from the Sepharon man at his side, I can’t stop the smile that washes over my mouth and the lightness bubbling up in my chest.
A feeling I’d almost forgotten; a feeling I’d long given up on; a feeling that tastes like hope.
“Kafra, that was amazing,” Deimos says with a laugh as we enter the palace. “You might have a shot at this, Eros.”
“Might.” I wipe sweat off my forehead, but even the built-up oppressive heat indoors isn’t enough to leech away my smile.
“It’s not quite what we planned,” Kora says, “and it won’t get you as much initial support as we’d hoped, but … this might actually be better than what we thought we needed.”
I glance at her. “Really?”
She nods. “If what Bjeren said was true about others like them out there, you may already have more supporters than we accounted for. That’s good—the guide footage the Council will review to determine the will of the people will show that. We’ll just have to make sure they don’t ignore it.”
“That’s true,” Deimos says, “but enough strategy for one set, shae? We should celebrate. I, for one, want to see what happens when the two of you get spectacularly intoxicated.”
My face warms—the last time I got drunk, I ended up laying a camp girl who hated me for it for as long as I knew her afterward. Until Aryana was cremated with so many others after the nanite attack.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
Deimos blinks at me with false innocence. “Naï? Why ever not?”
I shove him lightly, and he laughs.
“I’ve never been spectacularly intoxicated,” Kora says thoughtfully. “But I may have to agree with Eros here.”
“You two suck the fun out of everything.”
We laugh and turn the corner into the hall where our rooms—and Mal—are waiting. But when we walk around the bend, Mal isn’t leaning against the wall between my and Kora’s rooms. Instead, we find a mountain of a Sepharon man I know all too well. A man who sets my heart racing and turns my blood to ice. And the cold—the burning—the pain and screaming—he nearly killed me. I never expected to have to face him again, but here he is.
Jarek.
“What are you doing here?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I haven’t seen my brother’s partner—the man who is surely the new Avra’s second, who has stood at my brother’s side since they were boys—since the night I ran from Elja.
And now he’s here. And Dima isn’t. Or at least, he isn’t in the hall with Jarek.
Deimos stiffens next to Eros. “Should I call the guards?”
“Naï,” I say quickly. “It’s fine, I’ll handle him. You two check on Mal.”
Jarek frowns at Eros and Deimos. “I just need to speak to Kora.”
“Whatever you want to say to her, you can say to us,” Eros answers stiffly. He looks ill—pale, and are his fists shaking?
“Eros, it’s fine,” I cut in. “I can handle him. Please—take care of your nephew. Jarek and I will be in my room.”
“Kora—”
“He’s not an assassin, Eros,” I say, exasperated, though it’s nice that he actually seems to care. “And you’re no longer my bodyguard. I’m fine.”
Eros scowls, but walks to his room and doesn’t look back when the door slides open before him. Deimos frowns and glances at me. “If you need anything, you know where to find us.”
“Thank you, Deimos.”
He nods and follows after Eros.
My heart pounds and my stomach churns as I enter my room. Jarek can’t be here to hurt me, as he and Dima have everything they wanted and I don’t pose a threat, not anymore. It wouldn’t make sense for him to come all this way to go after me when I was leaving them alone.
Which means something must be wrong. Or maybe everything is wrong. I saw the riots in Vejla on the feed myself … has something happened to Dima?
As soon as the doors close behind him, I face Jarek. “Is Dima okay? What’s happening?”
Jarek grimaces. “I … assume you’ve seen Eljan coverage off the feed.”
“Not as much as I would like, but I have seen some.”
“Then you know about the riots.”
“I saw a glimpse of that, sha. How long has that been going on now?”
Jarek sighs. “It started in earnest a few sets ago. I’m sure you’ve heard of the arrests Dima ordered.”
I take a breath and nod. “I did.”
“That’s not the worst of it. The cities of the north have started a movement and are threatening to break from the territory—so Dima increased the military presence there, and violence against the guard has escalated. We’re on the brink of civil war, Kora. I’m not sure how much longer Dima will be able to hold off further escalation. Not to mention, the guard is barely holding off the mob. Fortunately, I don’t think the people yet realize how easily they could break through the gate with the nanite reinforcement gone.”
My heart stills for a breath. I hadn’t read that this morning, though it had crossed my mind. “Kafra,” I whisper.
Jarek nods. “Then there’s the matter of what will happen when the new Sira is chosen.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Dima conspired with Roma, and it was his … bending of the truth that led to the nanite attack. It’s public knowledge Dima supported Roma fully, which means when the new Sira is chosen, with Roma no longer around to be punished …”
Something cold slinks down my throat and coats my heart, spreading through my veins with every pump. “You think the new Sira will punish Dima in his stead.”
Jarek nods. “They would’ve punished him either way, but I … even if Eros isn’t chosen as Sira, Dima is as good as dead for supporting Roma and catalyzing the attack. The people will demand retribution—and they’ll get it.”
I sink onto my bed; tears sting my eyes and talons scrape the back of my throat.
For all Dima has done to me—for turning his back on me again and again, nearly murdering Serek and framing me for it to take my place on the throne—it should be easy to turn aw
ay from this and tell Jarek to deal with it on his own. It should be easy to say he deserves whatever comes to him, whether imprisonment or execution. It should be a simple thing to turn away at my brother’s weakest moment.
But even with everything he’s done to me, I can’t hate him. Dima was dangerously cruel, but he’s my brother. And as much as I wish I didn’t, as simple as it would make this if it weren’t true, I still love him. I can’t just leave him to die—but what does he expect me to do? He imprisoned peaceful protestors and those who rightfully spoke up against genocide. Elja was fragile and fracturing when I had to run—now my brother is smothering them.
I look at Jarek. “What exactly are you asking?”
“Return to Elja with me. I know you have little reason to trust me after everything, but I swear on my life I’ll keep you safe. You can’t help Dima from here, but in Elja …”
I take a slow breath, fighting against my racing heart. Return to Elja with Jarek—who supported my near-arrest to begin with. To somehow save Dima. Who tried to kill me. I choose my words carefully: “I can’t help either of you if I’m powerless.”
Jarek bites his lip and nods. “I know. But I’m not asking you to return as Dima’s sister—I’m asking you to return as Elja’s Avra. As Avra, you could reinstate order and protect Dima from the people before they break through … and I hope from whatever the new Sira demands.”
My throat tightens. “I’m not Avra anymore—Dima is.”
“He is, but I’m certain after everything that’s happened under Dima’s command, the people—and Elja’s council—will approve your reinstatement. I think they’ll agree you’re more suited for the role than one of your militaristic cousins. And I—” Jarek’s voice breaks, and he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “I will support you, as well, with the backing of Elja’s military behind me.”
Jarek is offering me everything I wanted just a few terms ago—support from my people, support from my military, support from the council who whispered behind my back and probably plotted against me alongside Dima. A few terms ago, their promised support would have made me happier than I’ve ever been—it would have lifted every worry and erased every hurt from being rejected as Avra again, and again, and again.