Into the Black

by Ava Jae

  Mal bites his lip and looks at Deimos. “What will happen if Uncle Eros loses?”

  Deimos sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m … not sure. But I’ll make certain Eros and you get out of Asheron safely, no matter what.”

  “So if we lose, we run,” Mal says.

  “Sha,” I say softly, and even I don’t find any of this funny or worth smiling about. Will the Remnant come after me for losing? I don’t want to find out. I can’t imagine they’d ever let Mal and me live in peace if we tried to go back to them—not that I’d ever really consider going back anyway.

  If we lose, we run.

  And if we don’t find somewhere safe quickly, we die.

  It’s been some time since I’ve stood before the council, but it feels different doing so with my brother at my side. The council is smaller than the Emergency Council in Asheron. The Emergency Council is meant to represent one from each territory and the capital, though with Invino, Sekka’l, and Elja’s representatives unavailable—by which I mean dead—there are six, instead of nine. Here, there are four men all old enough to be our parents or grandparents. I’m not entirely sure how four was chosen—perhaps because it’s half of the sacred eight?

  It doesn’t matter. There are four men and they all hate me, but for once in my life, I’m not afraid. Unlike the Emergency Council, the council here in Elja are just meant to guide—they can’t overrule an Avra’s decision.

  I just pray Dima keeps to his word and agrees to reinstate me as Avra without Jarek in the room.

  The original council meeting room is small, but with beautiful, floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed for a gorgeous view onto the palace grounds. The nanite screen kept out the sand and made it impossible to see into the room from the outside. But now the nanite screen is destroyed, and the room is unusable, a security risk, and probably filled with sand.

  We meet instead in a private room in the library. The room is a little too pristine and sterile for my liking—it’s a recent addition and built to match the modern minimalistic metal architecture that’s become popular in the cities. It feels out of place in the traditionally built palace, with its mosaicked walls and engraved doors, but the architecture of palace renovations is hardly my biggest concern.

  “Kora,” the eldest council member, Roek, says. His silvering hair is cut short and severe—like his personality. “How unexpected.” His voice mirrors his eyes—flat. Decidedly unimpressed. Depressingly, it reminds me of my father.

  “More unexpected, I think, to see the two of you standing here together,” Torven adds. Torven was father’s closest friend since childhood but paradoxically has always been the kindest to me out of all the council members. Which is to say he at least attempts to appear unbiased with his council.

  “It’s unexpected to me, as well.” Dima glances at me and lowers his gaze. “Though … overdue.”

  I nod. “With Jarek’s help, Dima and I have come to an agreement that we hope will help calm the riots.”

  “Have you now?” Roek’s voice is still flat, though he lifts an eyebrow. “Well, perhaps our two young rulers will act their position yet. Go on.”

  Dima flinches at the reprimand, but it doesn’t bother me. I’d heard far worse from the council during my short time as Avra.

  “I’ve … agreed to reinstate Kora as Avra,” Dima says. His voice is tight, shoulders stiff—saying the words aloud is probably physically painful for him. But he isn’t hesitating, at least, not yet. “We’ll tell the people my time as Avra was only meant to be temporary, while the investigation surrounding ana da Kala Serek’s attempted murder was completed.”

  The eyes of all four council members widen. Torven’s mouth even drops open a little. I bite back the smirk nipping at my lips.

  Torven is the first to recover. “While we’re on the matter, what was the conclusion of the investigation?” The way he’s looking at Dima, eyes steady and fingers drumming on the table, tells me he already knows the answer.

  The back of my neck prickles, hot. I glance at Dima as a purple flush creeps up his neck. If they know Dima set me up—would they actually hold him accountable? They aren’t usually permitted to interfere, but this was a criminal action. Against a Sira-kaï, no less.

  Do I want them to hold him accountable?

  “Kora … is innocent,” Dima says carefully.

  “Sha,” Torven says smoothly, “she is. Tell me, Dima, why is she innocent? What was the conclusion of the investigation?”

  He definitely knows. Dima glances at me, eyes sparked with panic, sweat glistening on his forehead, but I’m not saving him from this. I don’t know what the council will do, but I want to hear it from his own mouth. I didn’t know I needed to hear it until this moment, but watching him with the silence of the room smothering him, the need steels my fists and keeps me looking right back at him, strong, unblinking.

  I want to hear my brother admit he framed me.

  Dima takes a long, shivering breath and rolls his shoulders back before meeting Torven’s gaze again. “It was me. I made it appear Kora attacked the Sira-kaï, knowing our medics would be able to save him and the repercussions would mean Kora losing her position. I wanted to be Avra so I … I took what wasn’t owed to me.”

  Something releases in my chest. I close my eyes for just a breath, let his words sink into my bones. He admitted it. And not just to me, but to the council. I don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen, I don’t have to pretend it was acceptable, or forgivable. The truth is out and I can breathe.

  The council members nod. None of them look remotely surprised, which makes sense, given the investigative guard would have reported to them.

  “You realize you’ll have to answer for this alongside inciting the nanite attack with your deception,” Roek says. “There must be a trial, and when Kora is Avra again, she’ll have no choice but to hold it so you can answer to the people, and to Kala.”

  “I understand,” Dima says.

  Roek looks at me and I nod. “I understand as well.”

  “Good.” Roek looks at the others and they all nod. “Then we’re in agreement. Announce it to the people—but understand, Kora, you weren’t a particularly popular Avra, either. There’s a good chance they won’t be any happier to have you return than they are right now with Dima on the throne.”

  I purse my lips. “I know.”

  “And have you determined what you’ll say to convince them to give you a second chance?”

  “I have.”

  “Then so be it.” Roek folds his hands. “May Kala’s fortune smile on you both. We’ll be watching.”

  Dima, Jarek, and I walk beyond the red sands to the gates. Every step should be terrifying. Every step brings us closer to the screaming, to the people’s chanting, to their anger and pain and fear. But every step on the warm, white stones of the pathway, slightly chalky on the soles of my feet, brings me closer to a feeling I know too well.

  With every breath closer to the gate, I’m shedding my old skin—the scared girl I was had no place on the throne. She was too tied into her own grief to see the needs of the people; she was too terrified of betrayal to focus on what mattered.

  That girl died somewhere out there in the desert. That girl was never fit to rule, but she wasn’t truly me.

  The gates are still untouched, thanks to Dima’s men pushing back the crowd with their shields when the people surge too close. They carry buzz batons and wear helmets and red and white armor; it’s almost surreal seeing them so militarized.

  I’ve only seen our guard like this once—when the people were at these gates protesting my rule. But before that, they rarely needed to be ready for battle.

  Two guards are manning the gate, and their eyes widen as we approach. They bow, and I nod and say, “Open the gate.”

  The men stare at me then look at Dima. My brother nods. “Do as she says.”

  They do. The gates open almost silently, with the whisper-thin hiss of shifting sand, not audible at
first over the dull roar of the crowd. But as the gates open, the crowd quiets and the orb-guides whir to face us. Good—their recording should stream live to the rest of the territories.

  And then I step through with Dima and Jarek and the crowd explodes with voices again.

  “Avra!”

  “Traitor!”

  “Tyrant!”

  “How does it feel now, coward?”

  “Release our people!”

  I raise my hand and wait. Slowly, surely, the crowd quiets again, until all that’s left is the shift of bodies and whisper of breathing.

  And so I speak.

  “My name is Kora Mikale Nel d’Elja. You know me as your Avra, and you know after Sira-kaï Serek fell dangerously ill within my walls, an investigation prompted me to temporarily step down while my brother ruled in my stead. But my name has been cleared, and I have returned to my home, my people, and as of this moment, I am resuming my position as Avra.”

  The crowd murmurs, voices rising like a wave, but I raise my hand again and they quiet once more.

  “I understand many of you will have mixed feelings about this—I made many mistakes as Avra. I overlooked the pain of my people; I didn’t understand just how much so many of you are struggling to get by in the city that should be the most prosperous in the nation. But right now, Vejla is weak. As Avra, I will do everything within my power to make our home strong again, to restore it to the days of my grandfather, and his father, and his father before him.

  “It won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick, but I am here, and I’m listening. I see what I failed to see before, and I won’t let you suffer in silence anymore.”

  The crowd hums with murmurs again, but no one is outraged, at least. I take a deep breath and look at Dima. “I understand my brother imprisoned some citizens of Vejla during my absence. My first act as Avra again is to release those people. All of them.”

  This time the crowd isn’t quiet—cheers fill the air as they lift their fists and clap and shout in celebration. I smile, and my chest is light—this is the first time I’ve heard them actually support a decision I made. Not that I didn’t expect them to support it, but seeing them happy is incredible.

  I nod to Jarek. “Make certain they’re released immediately.”

  Jarek nods. “I’ll lead the men myself.”

  “Thank you.” I turn back to the crowd and let the smile linger on my lips. “My second act as Avra,” I say loudly, and the crowd quiets again. “Thank you. My biggest mistake as Avra before was losing sight of the people. I never want that to happen again, and to ensure it doesn’t, I want the people—you—to choose a representative who will work with me closely as my official advisor.”

  Gasps ripple through the crowd and Dima stiffens beside me. I didn’t mention this part of my plan to him—or the council for that matter—but the truth is, I didn’t have to. I am Avra now, and I don’t need to confer with anyone to make my decisions—certainly not my brother, who brought Vejla to its knees in the short time he was in power.

  But though I don’t doubt he thinks this is a terrible idea, Dima stays silent beside me.

  “You’ll have two sets to decide,” I say. “And I want it to be a mutual decision. Choose someone who you feel can best represent your needs, someone you can trust to bring what Vejla most needs to my attention. I will return this time in two sets to welcome your representative.

  “The decision is in your hands. Choose wisely.”

  And then I bow to them, and the crowd goes silent. This isn’t an arbitrary move—an Avra never bows to anyone “except the Sira,” and an Avra never bends. But those were the old ways, and the ways that made me overlook my people’s needs. Those were the ways that taught me I was above the people and should hold myself as such, but the truth is, I’m not.

  I’m not above them. I’m one of them, and sha, I was born into power, but we’re not so different. My people deserve respect, and with this bow, I’m showing them they have mine.

  When I straighten again, my heart skips a beat and my eyes sting. Because my people aren’t protesting, aren’t screaming, aren’t demanding someone rule in my stead.

  They’re bowing on their knees—the greatest show of respect.

  My vision blurs, but I smile and I don’t cry. And this time, with my people backing me, the change hums in the air.

  I wake with the world’s worst brainblaze, a churning stomach, and Mal hugging me in his sleep. I grimace against the early morning light and press a pillow over my face, blocking out the light, pushing into the dull throb behind my eyes.

  Not five mos later, the hiss of my doors sliding open cuts through the quiet, and Deimos’s laugh fills the room. “The suns are awake and so should you be!” he announces cheerily.

  “Shut up,” I mumble into my pillow.

  Mal shifts beside me and rolls away, muttering something that sounds like “five more mos.”

  “You can have all the mos you want, Mal,” Deimos says a little more gently. Then the pillow rips away from my face and he grins at me. “You, however, need to get ready for the set. Come with me. A wash will help with next set syndrome, and so will this.” He passes me a cream-colored square with black flecks in it.

  I sit up and frown at the square. It’s kinduv hard, but squishes slowly when I press on it. “What is this?”

  “Tenna. Chew it—trust me, it’ll help. And it doesn’t taste too terrible, either.”

  “Reassuring.” I pop it in my mouth and chew on it. It’s cold and sortuv spicy, but also sickly sweet. I’m not sure I like it, but as I chew, it softens in my mouth—and gets even sweeter, and spicier, and it gets this weird salty taste, and I definitely don’t like it.

  My lip curls as I resist the urge to spit it out. “This is awful.”

  Deimos snickers. “You’ll get used to it.”

  I stand and keep chewing even though I want to spit it out and chug something else to wash the flavor out of my mouth. But the coolness spreads down my throat and into my stomach, and up into my skull, calming the brainblaze already. As awful as it tastes, Deimos is right—it does seem to be working.

  “See? You look better already. Now let’s get you cleaned up, shae? You have to look presentable at the morning meal today.”

  I sigh. “We’re having the morning meal together?”

  “By request. I think the High Priest is going to talk about last night’s results and the decision from the interviews.”

  Oh. Great. I ignore the icy chill dripping into my gut. “Should I be packing already?”

  “Mal and I packed some things for you both after you passed out—in case you need to run. I think he’s starting to like it here—he even explored on his own a bit, so hopefully running won’t be necessary.”

  Mal’s been exploring the palace on his own? And he helped pack? I frown. “I should have helped.”

  “Don’t worry about it—it wasn’t difficult, as you two don’t own all that much. It was mostly just food, unperishable supplies, some water, and clothes that technically aren’t yours.”

  My frown deepens. “I don’t want to steal from the palace—it’ll just give them another reason to come after us.”

  “If it comes down to it, I’ll leave enough credits behind to cover the clothing before we leave. It’ll be fine.”

  I glance at him. “We?”

  Deimos blinks and smiles softly. “Well, shae, I’m not going to just abandon you if you don’t win this.”

  “Deimos—”

  “Naï, Eros, listen to me.” He places his hands on my shoulders and looks at me intently—something about the closeness and the intensity in his gaze fills me with heat. “I consider you a true friend, and I don’t just abandon my friends if they aren’t as successful as I’d hoped. I’m a bounty hunter; I can help you both get far away from here without leaving any tracks. And maybe I can’t take you to A’Sharo, but I do know places where you could lie low until everything calms down.”

  “You’d be unnec
essarily endangering yourself,” I say. “You really think they aren’t going to notice you disappeared the same time Mal and I did?”

  Deimos snorts. “Of course they’ll notice. But once you’re both safe, I’ll return home and tell anyone who asks that I escorted you out of the city—like the orb-guides will show—then we parted ways and I went on a job.”

  “You’d lie for me?”

  Deimos smiles and lowers his hands. “If I had to lie, I would—I’d do anything for you, Eros. But in this case, all I’d have to do to make it the truth is take a quick job on my way home.” He shrugs. “Simple enough.”

  I guess he has a point, but those words—I’d do anything for you—swirl warmly around my heart and stick in my mind. He probably doesn’t mean anything serious by it—I shouldn’t read into it—but still. It’s nice. “Smart.”

  “I like to think I am, sha. Handsome, too.”

  I smirk—but he’s not wrong. “And modest.”

  “Well, let’s not get out of hand.”

  I laugh. “Oh, before I forget, can you show me how to look up, like, video feeds of Kora? I think you can on the glass thing, right? I just want to make sure she made it to Elja okay.”

  Deimos nods. “I can show you how to work one later. I saw some footage before waking you, though—she had quite an impressive display this morning where she announced taking back the throne and told the people to select a representative to work with her.”

  I blink. A representative for the people? “She … really?”

  “Impressive, isn’t it? The people loved the idea—the riots have stopped and they even bowed to her. I think she’ll be fine.”

  I smile. It’s good to hear Kora’s doing as well as I know she can. She may be stubborn and a little irritating—well, a lot—but she takes her position seriously, and more importantly, she cares. She’s made some terrible decisions with serious consequences that can’t be overlooked, but it sounds like she’s finally progressing.

  Deimos pats my shoulder. “All right, with that update, we have enough time for a quick jog, then you really do need to clean up and make yourself presentable.”