by Ava Jae
“So I lie,” Dima says flatly. “Not exactly honorable.”
I hold back the words I want to say: that what he did to me wasn’t honorable, either. “You don’t have to lie,” I answer. “We won’t talk about your intentions at all—just that you served as Avra while the charges against me were tackled and now that they’ve been cleared, I’ve returned to reclaim my position. All of which is true.”
My brother sighs and looks at the feed still playing on the glass.
“Besides,” I add, “you didn’t have a problem lying to Roma about Eros when it served your purposes.”
Dima looks away.
“About that …” Jarek says hesitantly. “When the new Sira is chosen—”
“I know,” Dima whispers. “My sets are numbered. I made a bad bet.”
“I’ll do everything in my power to protect you, but I’m not going to protect you from the inevitable trial. You should be tried,” I say. “You’ve done too much to avoid one. I will, however, do everything I can to make sure the outcome isn’t your execution. But first you need to return me the authority to be your shield. I can’t help you if I’m not Avra.”
“You probably can’t help me even if you are Avra.”
“Let me worry about that. With me reinstated, you at least have a chance—you won’t be able to defend yourself as a guilty man, especially one whose own people are protesting. But I wasn’t involved in your crime, and as Avra I can influence how it proceeds.”
Dima presses his face into his palms and takes a long, shuddering breath. “This is all I ever wanted,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. My heart breaks at his pain, even as part of me screams this is all his doing, he deserves every bit of misfortune. But deserving or not, my love for my brother won’t just go away—and as Jarek slips his arm around Dima’s waist and pulls him close, the words come to me.
“It’s not the only thing you ever wanted.” I nod to Jarek. “You have someone who loves you more than you even realize. Jarek would do anything for you, and no one can ever take that from you.”
Jarek smiles softly, but Dima shakes his head. “I can’t have him, either, not really. The people won’t accept us together here in Elja. As though they didn’t hate me enough already—I’ll be a total outcast if the Eljans ever learn about us.”
“It won’t be easy,” I concede, “not at first. But I will support you both wholeheartedly—and publicly when you’re ready—and the people will come around. Besides, our generation is much more accepting than the last—and we outnumber our elders.” I smile. “The world is changing, Dima, and we can be a part of it together. We each have a role to play and yours isn’t over.”
“But your role as Avra is over,” Jarek says. “Or, it should be. This will be better for everyone, including you.”
Dima runs his hands over his face—something he’s always done to try to stop himself from crying, even as a child. But he leans into Jarek, takes a shaky breath, and nods. “Okay,” he says hoarsely. “I’ll support you, Kora. You can take back the throne.”
A wave of relief washes over me like a cool rain. “Thank you, Dima.” I hesitate. “There’s one more issue we need to discuss.” Jarek frowns at me—I hadn’t discussed this with him, but I believe he’ll agree it’s necessary. “After we announce my reinstatement, I’ll be putting you under watch. You aren’t to leave the palace, not even to explore the grounds—both for your safety, and so the people know you’re being monitored and won’t run before your trial. I’m sure you can understand the necessity.”
Jarek grimaces and Dima stares at the floor. “So, I’ll be a prisoner.”
“You’ll be restricted,” I amend. “You have to lose some privileges, or the people will think I’m overlooking your crimes.”
Dima purses his lips, but nods. “So be it.” He hesitates. “And I’m … sorry. Truly, for everything. I could have gotten you executed and I—” He closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and looks at me again. “I would have gone through with it, had I had the opportunity. I’m so sorry.”
“I know.” And though the apology can’t erase what he did, though I’m not likely to ever trust him again, I won’t turn away from him either. Not even now.
For the first time as Avra, I have my brother’s support. And as we stand to prepare to head outside to address the people together, I can feel it in my bones.
This time will be different.
“I’d insist you eat something,” Deimos says, picking a pastry off my plate, “but seeing as you look like you might lose last night’s dinner at any moment, I’ll just help myself to your morning meal instead.”
I push my plate toward him and try not to glance at Lejv and his supporters at the other end of the courtyard. We’re standing outside the blindingly shiny, white Grand Temple, waiting for the black, gold-inscribed stone doors to open—which none of us can touch because we’re not rulers or priests (I guess I’ve retained some of Deimos’s religious lessons over the past three sets after all). We’re also waiting for the priests to emerge and come summon us. Summon me. And Lejv. Everyone else will wait out in the suns with the food and water.
I wish I could stay out here with them under the oppressive heat of the suns. I don’t even care we’ve gone well beyond the comfortable heat index to dangerous heat index, and I don’t care the sand is gritty and white and not like home. I just don’t fucken want to go in there.
But it doesn’t matter for a mo what I want, because I have to prove to religious fanatics I’m not a total heretic automatically unfit for the throne I’m trying to inherit.
My stomach churns. My hands are cold and shaky. Every breath shudders in and out of my lungs. And Deimos is right—I’m not so sure I’m going to make it through the set without emptying my stomach. I was surprised I’d even made it through our jog this morning without tossing up.
If Kora were here, she’d probably try to reassure me with stuff that isn’t actually reassuring, like how the priests don’t decide everything or … something. What is she doing right now? I hope she made it to Elja okay. I’m not sure I would’ve trusted Jarek to keep her safe from Dima, in her place. No, fuck that, I definitely wouldn’t have trusted Jarek in her place. But she made her own decision. She’s gone.
I’ll have to ask Deimos to show me how to check the feed for her later or something. After this is over. I need this to be finally over.
Stars, I’m so fucken nervous.
“Ej, Eros.” Deimos waves a hand in front of my face. “Relax, would you? You’re making the kid nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Mal says quickly. “I just don’t like this sand—it’s not as soft as the red desert … plus it’s kinduv hurting my eyes.”
I frown. “The sand is hurting your eyes?”
“It’s too bright.” He squints at me. “It’s like … washing out the little bit I can see.”
Deimos frowns. “Do you want to go inside? I can take you back to Eros’s rooms so you can relax.”
Mal snorts. “So I can be bored, you mean. I’m okay. I’ll just …” He glances at his chest, then smiles, takes off his shirt, and drapes it over his head so it shields some of his eyes but doesn’t block them completely. “There.” He laughs.
I rest my arm on his shoulders to pull him into a hug, but he groans and ducks out of the way. “Way too hot for that. Sorry.”
“I can help with that.” Deimos grabs a water cube off the table, holds it over Mal’s head, and presses the release so it splashes onto him.
My stomach clenches and my heart freezes—pain and screaming and no, no, stop. Stars, I have to get a grip—that water wasn’t even on me. Relax. Nothing is wrong. No pain, no screaming, no nothing. I’m fine. We’re fine. I slip my fingers under Aren’s bracelet and grip it and breathe.
Mal gasps and jumps out of the way, laughing. “Hey!” He pauses. “Wait, actually, do it again.”
I force a laugh. Deimos grins at me as he pours more water on Mal’s head. “There we go
. Finally, a smile.”
“Naï, don’t point it out.” Mal smirks. “You’ll scare it away.”
I snicker, and this time I don’t have to force it. “Blaze you both.”
“I still don’t understand what that means,” Deimos answers. “Blaze. Like a fire?”
I shrug. “Like the suns, I guess.”
“So you’re telling me to go into the suns?”
“Basically.”
“I like it.” Deimos grins. “So it’d be the equivalent of—”
“Maybe let’s not teach my nephew new Sephari swears just yet.”
“Awww.” Mal laughs. “Oh well, I already know the worst one, anyway.”
I smirk. “Sha, you’ve shown us.”
“Kafra,” Mal says. “It’s kinduv fun to say.”
Deimos snickers. “Shae, well, we are standing in front of the holiest temple on the planet, so maybe we shouldn’t say it here.”
“Kafra,” Mal whispers. “Kafra kafra.”
Deimos squirts him with more water, and Mal laughs again. I smile as Deimos turns to me, and even though I’m still so blazing nervous my insides are vibrating, the distraction is appreciated. I never thought I’d say this about a Sepharon—let alone a guy—but Deimos is … kinduv sweet. He goes out of his way to help me even with the ridiculous things, like pre-testing nerves. Even if it’s just to make me laugh, I’m glad he’s here; I’m more at ease with him by my side.
Until the men on the other side of the courtyard erupt with laughter, and I glance at the thick temple doors and want to hurl again.
I can do this. Maybe. Ugh.
“Aaaand I’m losing you again.” Deimos rests his hand on my shoulder. “Look, Eros, it’ll go well or it won’t. You’re understandably nervous, but it’s going to go the way it’s going to go, shae? And whether it goes well or disastrously, we’ll handle it together.”
I sigh. “I know.”
Deimos nods. “For what it’s worth, you’ve worked really hard, and you’re in the best position we could reasonably expect you to be in. The rest is up to Kala.”
I glance at him. “You believe in that stuff?”
He shrugs. “Enough. He did save you during your almost-execution.”
“Sure as sand that was the Remnant rebels.”
“Why can’t it be both?”
I shrug. “Just seems fake to give credit to things people do to a god you’ve never seen.”
“That’s fair,” Deimos says. “I guess it’s just a matter of how you view the world.”
“Maybe,” I sigh.
“But for the sake of today—”
“Better I pretend to believe otherwise. I know. Not that I see the point when it’s obviously unrealistic to assume I believe a religion humans are known not to believe in when I was raised by humans.”
“Shae, well …” Deimos kicks at some sand and sighs. “Even if you don’t convince them you believe it wholeheartedly, it might be enough just to show them you’re open to it and you’ve made the effort to learn about it.”
I look at him skeptically. “You really think that’s going to be enough?”
He shrugs.
“Nothing I say is going to be anywhere near enough, because it’s coming from me.”
Deimos frowns. “Maybe. But maybe not—the third tenant is—”
“Balance. Shae. I remember.”
He smiles. “And in a world where there are both Sepharon and—humans, what’s more balanced than someone who is both?”
“Somehow I doubt they’re going to see it that way.”
“You never know. No use in giving up before you’ve tried.”
I look at him. “I wouldn’t be here if I was giving up.”
“That’s true.” Deimos glances at something behind me and nods. “Well, here we are. Too late to back out now.”
I glance back—my stomach lurches and a rush of cold and then hot races over me. The temple doors are opening.
“Stars fortune,” Mal says quietly. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
“And praying Kala cuts you some slack.” Deimos smiles and pats me on the back. “You can do this. And no matter what happens—”
“We’ll get through it,” I finish quietly. “Shae. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. Just do your best.”
The four priests we saw the other set step out into the sunlight. Deimos said none of them are the High Priest—he’ll probably be waiting somewhere inside the temple. Which isn’t at all terrifying.
Deep breaths. I’ll be fine. Hopefully.
“Eros.” One of the priestesses nods at me. “Lejv.” She turns to my opponent, who must’ve walked over when the doors opened. “It is time.”
The Grand Temple is dark and cool inside. Lejv and I walk silently down the aisle between rows of pillow-like mats built into the floor, where people kneel during a service or prayers. Thin, slit-like windows let in slices of sunlight, but it’s not enough to light the enormous auditorium. I’m not sure why they like to keep it so dark in here. I don’t think that was part of what I’d learned …
Or maybe I’m already forgetting things. Which—not going to think about.
Our bare feet pat quietly against the smooth stone as we follow the four priests through the auditorium and past a long, gold statue made of writing I can’t read, but I’m pretty sure says Kala—it’s against their beliefs to depict their god because that’s considered idol worship, so they represent Kala with his name instead.
At least I’m remembering some things. Hopefully with three sets of cramming, the information that stuck will be enough to get me through this. Whatever this is.
Past the statue, the priests take us beyond a long, dark purple curtain—chillingly close to the color of Sepharon blood—that drapes from the ridiculously tall ceiling all the way down to the floor. The curtain is thick and heavy—so much so it takes two priests to pull the edge back enough for us to get through.
It hushes closed behind us with a low whoosh, like the kinduv forced exhale you get when someone punches you in the stomach.
Back here it’s even darker than the front room, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the shadows. It’s a smaller section of the room—maybe a sixth of the size of the much larger auditorium. A table floats against the west wall, eight bowls float against the northern wall, and there’s a closed door on the east wall. A book lies in the center of the table—I’m assuming their Jorva—alongside a metal bowl filled with what looks like herbs and dried flowers attached to a chain with a handle and eight neatly stacked cups.
The priest who said my name earlier takes two of the cups and passes them to one of the guys, who then takes the cups to the bowls and dips them into each bowl. Meanwhile, she lifts the handle portion of the bowl-chain thing as the other woman comes over with a match and crystal strike stick. She strikes the match and drops it into the bowl, where it burns the herbs and flowers inside.
The smoke is a weird blue-gray color, and as the priest wafts it toward us, it fills my head with a sweet, thick smell; my head buzzes. Then the priest with the cups comes over and hands one to me and one to Lejv.
“Drink,” he says.
I glance at the cup. The liquid inside is shiny and purple-gray, like water mixed with metal and … something chalky. I have no idea what this is, but Lejv tosses it back like he doesn’t want to taste it. The priest frowns at him and then looks at me expectantly.
I drink it slower. One of the tenants—the fifth, maybe?—is about savoring life so … I don’t know. The priest just seemed annoyed Lejv drank his so quickly, so I take my time. Whatever this stuff is doesn’t taste awful, thank the stars—it’s thick, but also weirdly slippery, so it’s not hard to swallow. It’s spicy and sweet and warms my throat on the way down, filling me with liquid heat.
I’m fucken glad it’s cool in here, or I’d be a disgusting, sweaty mess right now.
The priest nods and takes my cup and Lejv’s. All four of the prie
sts walk to the closed door, the woman with the burning herbs in the lead. Together, they press their hands against the door and it slides open. They gesture for us to follow, so we do.
Beyond the door are stairs and a dark corridor lit by burning sconces. The stairs go down, and down, and down, and the deeper we descend, the cooler it is. But since the corridor is so narrow, it also fills with the smoke from the burning incense, and combined with the warm drink we had, my head is buzzing a ton and I feel light, like with every step lower I might just float away.
I’m hyped. They got us fucken intoxicated before this interview test thing. Like, really, intoxicated, or at least I will be by the time we get to wherever we’re going because stars, that smoke stuff is really fucken strong. I kinduv want to laugh about it, but everyone’s being so serious and somber, so I screw my face up into my super serious face, which probably doesn’t even look super serious, but oh well, doing my best.
At least I’m not nervous anymore? Not even sure what I was nervous about to begin with. I mean, they started this whole thing by giving us a drink and filling us with relaxing smoke so how bad could it be?
Lejv giggles behind me. I bite my lip because his giggle is kinduv contagious and I have to force myself not to smile, but this is all super serious, so serious, so I’m not gonna laugh, I’m not.
I really do want to, though.
We go down, and down, and down, and down until we’ve descended into the core of the planet—except not really because then we’d be dead—but that’s how deep it feels we’ve gone until finally the stairs open into a room.
A large, dark room like a replica of the auditorium way way above us, except darker and fire-lit. There’s a curtain in this room, too. Smaller curtain, because the ceilings aren’t nearly as high in this room. But probably as heavy—at least, it looks as heavy.
Oh, and there’s a guy here, too.
He looks kinduv like a stick. Really tall, and really, really thin—like, dangerously thin. No hair, white markings all over his face and head and down his neck, into these thick, purple robes that look like he wrapped himself in a fancy blanket. It’s kinduv funny, but I don’t laugh. I’m good at not laughing. Way better than Lejv, who’s giggling again.