Into the Black

by Ava Jae

  Dima looks at Jarek. “You … brought her here?”

  “As I said,” Jarek answers, “we’d be better off discussing this when you’re sober.”

  “What—kafra!” Dima yanks away from Jarek. “Are you—is she here to—is this a coup?”

  Jarek grimaces. “We’ll discuss this when you’re sober.”

  “We will not because she—guards!”

  My shoulders stiffen and my heart slams against my chest. Jarek won’t let them arrest me again … will he? Was it a mistake to trust him?

  But Jarek glances at me and shakes his head. Pounding feet of the summoned guards do not follow the call—no one bursts into the room. Come to think of it, most of Dima’s guards are likely outside trying to contain the crowd, anyway.

  Dima is shaking as Jarek stands in front of him, hands raised to try to calm him, not that it seems to be working. Dima’s gaze darts from his boyfriend to me and back again, face red and … I know that look all too well.

  Terror.

  “Dima,” I say softly. “You’re my brother, and despite everything, I love you. I want what’s best for you and our people … and we can discuss it more when you can think clearly. For now, nothing has changed except I’m here.” I look at Jarek. “I’m assuming I’m free to go where I please?”

  “The guards won’t bother you,” Jarek says. “They’re aware you’re—”

  “Naï,” Dima spits, turning on me. He begins crossing the distance between us, but I stand firm. “I won’t stand for this. I didn’t spend my entire life in your shadow just to—”

  “Dima,” Jarek cautions.

  My brother spins to face Jarek. “Don’t you even speak to me! How dare you bring her back here? You think I don’t see what this is? You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?” Dima pivots around—his fist—I duck, step back just enough as my brother staggers forward.

  Then I kick him in the temple. Hard.

  Dima hits the ground and doesn’t get back up. Jarek rushes to my brother’s side as I stand over him, shaking with adrenaline, with the echo of what I’ve just done coursing through my veins.

  “He’s fine,” Jarek sighs. “Just unconscious.”

  I nod and take a shivering breath. “He isn’t going to just give up his position.”

  “He will,” Jarek says. “When he’s sober, and when we talk to him together. He doesn’t have a choice, and he’ll realize that soon enough—with the nanite coating strengthening the gates destroyed, the guard can only hold back the mob outside for so long. And if the people get in here, we’re all dead.”

  “Stars, Deimos. There isn’t a fucken chance I’m going to remember all of this.”

  I lie on the floor, my palms pressed firmly against my closed eyes, trying to push back the edges of a brainblaze wrapping around my skull. Sands and stars know how long we’ve been locked in my room while Deimos explains the tenants, and message of Kala, and this religious rule and that restriction, and who the priests are, and how they’re seen by the general religious public, and more information than I can take in.

  And I’m supposed to learn everything in two sets. I’m supposed to be able to pretend I’m a devout follower, that I believe in their god, that I think some deity put us here and left us to our own devices, which apparently is a good thing even though as far as I’m concerned we’ve fucked things up royally, but never mind that.

  Devout follower of an unfamiliar religion. A religion I don’t believe in. And somehow, devotion is going to be used as some judge of my character, as some marker of whether I’m meant to rule. Because Kala would never put a heathen on the throne, stars, no.

  “This is ridiculous.” I sit up. “And it has nothing to do with being a ruler. How is knowing the stories of Kala’s eight prophets going to help me be a good Sira?”

  “It’s not.” Deimos shrugs. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is the people think you’re a follower so you can set a good example.”

  “I don’t see how being religious automatically makes me a good example of anything except how to be religious.”

  Deimos runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not disagreeing with you, but that’s the way it is. The Sepharon have always been a religious people, and when Jol created the unified monarchy system, this religion was established as The One Way. That’s just how it is.”

  “I’m not going to be able to learn enough of this in two sets to pretend to be a devout follower.”

  “I can help.” Mal walks over, running his hand along the wall until he moves to the center of the room and sits next to Deimos, who’s sitting across from me. “It’s easy to remember if you just do memory tricks with it.”

  Deimos arches an eyebrow. “Memory tricks?”

  “Ma … I learned a while ago. Like, you said the eight prophets are Telos, Henna, Alura, Nidos, Kenja, Mika, Ora, and Malkus, right?”

  Deimos grins. “Impressive.” He looks at me. “He’s good at this.”

  “Great,” I say. “If only he could take the test for me.”

  Mal snickers. “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that even if I could, but you know how the kids at the Remnant base called their mas mom?”

  “Uh … did they?”

  He nods. “I heard them. Anyway, thank mom.” He says the last two words in English and Deimos stares at me.

  “What does that mean?” Deimos asks.

  “Thank mamae,” I translate, then look at Mal. “I don’t get it. What do you mean thank mom?”

  “That’s what the prophet’s name spell out: Telos, Henna, Alura, Nidos, Kenja …”

  “Mika, Ora, Malkus,” I finish. “Huh.”

  “Oh,” Deimos says. “That’s … pretty clever.”

  Mal grins. “You can do that for the tenants, too, probably, but I don’t think it’ll spell out an English word …”

  “We can probably do it with Sephari words, too,” Deimos says thoughtfully. “Though if you don’t know how to read Sephari, will you be able to memorize that, Eros?”

  “If it’s basic like Mal’s English one was, maybe … but then again I don’t even know the Sephari alphabet. At least I know that much in English.” I shake my head. “Okay, but hold on, now I’m going to have to memorize nonsense words and religious facts?”

  “The nonsense words will help you remember the religious facts,” Mal says. “Trust me. It’s how I remembered all of da’s rules at camp.”

  I smile softly. Day did have a fuckton of rules.

  And so we work together—first establishing the main things I need to memorize to pass on a basic level, then how to arrange them into easy-to-memorize English and Sephari words—after Mal helps Deimos work out the English letter equivalent of the words. Rather than take a break and join everyone for dinner, we get food sent up to the room, and Deimos reads aloud passages of their holy book (the Jorva—I need to remember that) as Mal and I eat the rice and meat stew in a rolled-up wrap the way Deimos shows us.

  The passages are interesting, at least—it’s not just a rule book like I expected; it’s full of stories of the prophets, and given that it’s a holy book, there’s a lot more sex and violence than I expected. When Deimos starts reading about Malkus getting it on with his boyfriend, I nearly choke on my food.

  “Hold on. There’s lijarit sex in the Jorva and yet half of the Sepharon think the lijarae are wrong?”

  “Shae.” Deimos smirks. “We call that hypocrisy. Also, there’s a whole sect of Sepharon who believe Malkus’s sections were added in afterward and he’s not really a prophet—which is skola, but shae. They argue he shouldn’t be counted because he was the last of the prophets, but everyone knows they only take an issue with it because accepting Malkus’s passages means accepting the lijarae.”

  “And … the priests that are here? What do they think?”

  “Depends who you talk to, but the High Priest, Arodin, is the only one who matters and he’ll be interviewing you himself.”

  “Okay. And does he accept Malkus�
�s passages?”

  “Given he has a husband himself, I think it’s safe to assume sha.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “The High Priest has a husband, and there’s a whole sect of Sepharon who think it’s wrong but who accept him as their priest anyway?”

  “Remember what I said about hypocrisy?” Deimos laughs. “There’s a whole realm of religious politics we’re not going to get into, but let’s just say the High Priest’s time in his position has not been uneventful. There are plenty who’d love to see him replaced with someone else.”

  “Someone not lijara.”

  “Naturally.” Deimos shrugs. “But it doesn’t matter, because Arodin is who we have so bigots have to accept it.”

  I smirk, and Deimos keeps reading. And for a time, with Mal lying next to me, eyes closed as he listens to Deimos read, with delicious food and a quiet night, and even with the edges of that stubborn brainblaze buried behind my eyes, something settles inside me. Something cooling my nerves and breathing into my lungs, deep and steady.

  For a time, I’m not afraid. And it’s nice to be able to breathe again.

  When we finally step out for the informal evening meal, two men are waiting in the hall, and they smile as I walk over with Deimos and Mal. Ejren says something to Simos, who nods as we approach.

  “Eros,” Simos says, “it’s good to see you. Would you mind sparing us some time?”

  Deimos nods and smiles at me. “Mal and I will get food and bring it back to the room, shae?”

  I hesitate, then nod. “Shae, but keep an eye on him.”

  “Of course.” Deimos guides Mal down the hall with his hand on Mal’s shoulder, leaving the three of us alone.

  “Studying up?” Simos smiles.

  I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Understatement, but sha, you could say that.”

  Ejren nods. “We’d assumed you didn’t learn much about our faith when living with the nomads.”

  “But I wouldn’t worry about it excessively,” Simos adds. “Lejv isn’t known for his renowned faith, either.”

  I smile weakly. “Good.”

  Simos nods. “At any rate, we’ve spoken with Aleija and Jule, and we wanted you to know you have us behind you. I can’t promise my father will follow suit, but we’ll certainly work on him.”

  I sigh and smile—that gives me four definite backers. It’s nowhere near a majority, but it’s a start. And honestly, it’s more than I would have guessed I’d ever get a few sets ago. “Thank you. I appreciate your support.”

  “Of course.” Ejren smiles. “It’ll be good to see some positive change, for once.”

  It takes several sets for my brother to sober up and finally, finally agree to meet me, and during that time, I reacquaint myself with home. I walk into my room, left untouched since the moment I ran, and for a breath I can see it as it was the night I had to leave. With Eros by the opened garden doors, a knife in his hand and something hard and fierce in his eyes. With Iro by my side, his fur bristling as the guards advanced. With Jarek watching dispassionately as Dima ordered my arrest, as my brother betrayed me in the worst way possible.

  Did Jarek know it was a setup, or did he believe I’d attempted to kill Serek? If he was unaware, was he angry when he learned the truth? Or has he learned the truth? Does he still believe I attempted to murder the man I’d agreed to marry? Did he cross the deserts anyway with that lie established as truth in his mind, believing there was no other way to save Dima?

  I never thought to ask on the journey over what he believed of the events that took place. It hadn’t even occurred to me he didn’t know the truth by now, even though it hasn’t been long since the night I had to run. Seventeen—naï, twenty sets. Not even half a term.

  My brother has been Avra for less than a term and the territory has all but crumbled around him already.

  But even if I were to ask Jarek, would I believe him? How am I supposed to trust either of them? And what happened to Anja? I’d expected to see her by now—I wanted to hear her account of what happened, to know how deeply this betrayal went. Did Anja know what she was giving me when she painted my lips with poison and handed me the antidote? Or did my brother use her innocence to get his way?

  Where is she? Why isn’t she here?

  I run my hand over the smooth sheets on my bed. My earring from Mamae is waiting for me where I left it, on my bedside table the night of my lifecycle celebration. Life was so different last time I sat here, terrified my betrothed had just died right in front of me. The world was different, Eros was different, and so was I. It may not have been so long since that night, but we’ve experienced so much since then.

  I feel like I’ve aged ten cycles.

  But for as different as I am, as much as I’ve learned, and hurt, and survived—a part of me is still the same. A part of me is still scared about what will happen when I become Avra again. Now that they’ve had a taste of my brother, will my people still despise me? Maybe they’ll want a new ruling family altogether. Maybe they’ll blame me for my brother’s failure, for his ever taking the position to begin with.

  And yet, as nervous as I am to see how they’ll react, I can face it this time. I can face them. I’ve defended myself against raiders and survived in the desert without resources. I’ve stood up to arrogant Asheron officials, faced former Sirae and royalty of the world, brought Eros back to Asheron from rebels, and walked into the city with the future Sira at my side and smiled proudly as he spoke to the people there with more power than even he realizes.

  And now I’ve faced my brother again—the man who nearly had me killed and threw me from my territory.

  I’ll face more dangers and struggle with new challenges yet. But this time, I’m ready for them. This time I’m stronger than I ever believed. This time I won’t let anyone get in my way.

  A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts. I almost laugh at my surprise—being asked permission for someone to enter the room is how it should have been when I was Avra here but rarely was the case in practice.

  Few people at the palace respected me enough for even such a small thing.

  “Come in,” I say, and the door slides open.

  Jarek smiles weakly at me from the doorway. “Dima’s sober. He’s ready to talk.”

  I sigh. “Is he really?”

  “I’ve … prepared him for the conversation. He’s not thrilled with either of us, naturally, but he’ll listen.”

  “Time to get this over with, then.”

  Jarek grimaces.

  My bare feet pat over the warm stone as the hot, dry air bakes my skin. My heart beats steadily as we weave through the halls, and up and down a set of stairs, and beyond the library and our personal training room, past so many doors opening into the courtyard outside or the palace complex streets, and back to my brother’s room. Smoke reaches into the horizon with shadowed fingers. A dull, distant roar hums endlessly, washing over the sands; the protests of the people beyond the gates. The protests that will only get worse if we do nothing.

  Now or never.

  Dima is sitting on floor cushions at a small circular table on the far side of his room, a glass resting in the center of the table. Jarek sits next to him, and I kneel across from them both, sitting on my heels for a little extra height.

  “Jarek tells me you want your position back,” Dima says dully. “As if I couldn’t have assumed as much myself.”

  “Actually,” I say, “I would have been happy to stay in Asheron and help Eros rather than return here unwanted. There are benefits to not ruling a fraught territory—freedom to do whatever I want, for example. And the companionship of my friends, rather than self-imposed isolation here. Had Jarek not asked me to return, I’m not certain I ever would have.”

  Dima purses his lips. Jarek frowns at me, but I continue. “I’m not here because I want to be, or because I’m lusting after your position—even though you stole that position from me. But I’d lost, and I’d accepted it and wasn’t going to fight it.�
�

  “Evidently that’s not the case,” Dima says bitterly, “as you’re here.”

  “Because you need help, Dima—and more importantly, our people need help. Because neither Jarek nor I want you executed—which is what will likely happen if you continue down this path.” I swipe my hand over the glass, waking it, then open the city feed and enlarge the footage of the palace gates.

  People screaming and throwing stones at the shielded guards holding the crowd back. Fires burning in the distance, clouding the purple sky with thick, black smoke. People chanting “out with the tyrant” as they scream and rail against the guards.

  Dima runs his hands over his face. The deep, purple shadows under his eyes, the thinning of his face—he looks exhausted. “They weren’t happy with your rule, either.”

  “They weren’t, naï, but at least partially because they thought you would be a better ruler as you’re a man.”

  “So you’re saying I failed.”

  I shake my head. “I’m saying you’ve gone down a dangerous path, but it’s not too late to reverse it.”

  “By declaring myself a failure and installing you in my stead.”

  I glance at Jarek. He nods and takes Dima’s hand.

  “By telling the people you’re stepping down from your temporary position as Avra, as the charges against me have been cleared and I’ve returned to Vejla,” I say.

  Dima frowns, but Jarek squeezes his hand. “The people won’t know you planned to keep the throne—we’ll tell them you never intended to make your position permanent; you just needed to take over while the investigation was underway.”

  Dima’s frown deepens. “There was a coronation. They won’t believe it.”

  “They will, because it’s not unprecedented. Historically, even our temporary rulers were crowned—traditionally in Elja, it was a requirement of anyone who served as Avra, even if only for a set.”