Into the Black

by Ava Jae

  My breath shakes in my lungs, but my voice is steady. The people take in my words, but before they can respond, Uljen steps toward me and then faces the crowd. “Avra Kora is right,” he says, and it’s all I can do to smother the shock that’d be obvious on my face. “We don’t need to lose any more of our children. We can move forward together and build a stronger Elja—and I swear to you to always keep the people’s interests centered.”

  He raises his left fist to his right shoulder and bows—a military movement of highest respect. Was he once a guard? I don’t remember an Uljen—but then again, I didn’t know most of my guards’ names. If he was, I’m not surprised they released him after his injuries.

  The crowd returns the gesture, then someone shouts his name. Then another, and another, until the crowd thunders with his name, cheering as Uljen steps beside me and we enter the grounds together. My mind spins as the roar of the crowd washes over me; my heart still beats with terror. The cheering continues as the gates close behind us and we walk deeper and deeper into the complex. But all I can think about is that I nearly lost my sovereignty—again.

  Who is this man beside me? I know nothing about him, but he must be all too aware he—not I—is the reason the people didn’t revolt. He could have so easily had me ousted, or at least seriously threatened my rule, with just a turn of phrase. And something tells me that was exactly why he challenged me—to show me he could.

  When we’re far away enough that the cheering doesn’t drown out everything else, I turn to Uljen. “If you ever attempt that kind of public power play on me again, I’ll have you executed faster than you can say Avra.” Despite my shaking fists, my voice is steady.

  Uljen glances at me and nods. “Understood.”

  “Good. I’m happy to work with you to make Elja a better place, but I won’t stand for even a whisper of sabotage against me again.”

  “I expected as much, but when I was chosen, the people demanded I put forward the suggestion. I don’t think any of them expected you to agree, but I had to show them I was at least willing to try to fight for them.”

  I’m not sure I believe that, but I’ve made my point. If I’m going to work with him, we need to move forward, so I change the subject. “Were you once a guard here at the complex?”

  Uljen grimaces. “I was in training—I was sixteen when the rebels attacked your coronation.”

  Which means he’s a cycle older than me—Eros’s age. I nod. “I’m sorry you suffered.”

  Uljen shakes his head. “All of Elja suffered when the explosions went off. All of Elja suffers when any one of us suffers. But it wasn’t your fault, and you don’t have to apologize for it.”

  Heat nips down my chest and gathers around my heart. “It was my coronation that attracted the bombers.”

  “Sha, but that doesn’t make you responsible for someone else’s atrocious actions.” He shrugs and glances at me. “You have enough to answer for without adding the events of that set to your ledger.”

  I purse my lips but nod. As much as I’d rather not think about it—as much as I’d rather move on without looking at the past, I must acknowledge my mistakes if I’m to be a better Avra in the future. Uljen’s right. While plenty wasn’t my fault, including much of my own suffering, plenty also was.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask. “Thirsty?”

  Uljen laughs weakly. “I live in Vejla. What do you think?”

  His answer doesn’t surprise me, but it stings. Uljen was chosen by the people, so he must be relatively well known, but he was suffering alongside them—it’s a harrowing testament to my failures. I have so much to fix and make up for—but at least I’m starting to right my wrongs. “We have a lot of work to do. But we’ll do our best work when we’re at our best, so let’s eat and discuss.”

  Uljen agrees, so we do.

  I’d already asked the cooking staff to ration our portions the night before—we’re in a desert, and our crops were nanite-dependent and largely flash-grown. We need to prepare for the inevitable famine, so today’s meal isn’t a feast. Instead, the staff prepares us individual portions paired with ripe fruit that will probably be overripe soon—the fruit doesn’t last as long without the nanite-provided cooling system.

  Uljen listens to all of this in silence then lifts his ljuma and examines it. “How many do we have of these? Or any fruit, for that matter?”

  I hesitate. “I’m not sure, but I could ask the staff.”

  Uljen nods. “And how many staff do you have? How many people do you feed every day?”

  “The staff makes food for the guard, my brother and me, and themselves.” I hesitate. “They number at about forty, and I’m not certain about the guards’ numbers, but I could ask Jarek.”

  “You should.” Uljen bites into the ljuma and sighs as blue juice drips down his chin. He eats thoughtfully before looking at me. “These will only last a couple more sets before spoiling, and if you have as much as I suspect you do, I doubt you’ll finish the full supply before it rots, even with the staff and guard taking their fill.”

  “That may very well be true,” I say. “So, supposing you’re right, you’re suggesting we give it away, sha? How would you propose we do it?”

  He nods. “There’s no use in keeping food you can’t eat when it won’t keep. So you take note of the excess, make an announcement, and bring it to the city square where your men can distribute it in an orderly manner. Depending on how much you have, you ration it out so each family can get some.”

  I nod. “Good idea.” I gesture to server standing near the kitchen door. He comes over and I nod to the fruit. “I need an accounting of all our perishables, as well as how close it is to spoiling.”

  The server bows and disappears into the kitchen.

  “I’ll talk to Jarek about the number of men we’re feeding, too,” I say to Uljen.

  He smiles softly and nods. “Good. Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me, Uljen. I meant it when I said I wanted to be a better Avra—and I truly believe together we can better serve the people of Elja.”

  “I’ll admit I was skeptical how much you’d actually listen to me but …” He smiles and lifts a shoulder. “You might just be right.”

  Sitting in my garden later that set, the suns paint the violet sky with shades of pink and blooming, deep reds. Orange lights the underbellies of thick, white clouds, setting them ablaze.

  It is now the evening of Eros’s match. The set when he will duel his opponent to the death for the title of Sira. The set I will watch, a hundred leagues away, while my friend fights for his birthright. For the throne he should have had all along. For his life.

  Red bleeds into purple into orange. Morning light blossoms curl and turn away from the sunset, white and pink petals shuddering as they take in the fading light. It feels so wrong to be here when Eros is facing possibly the last segments of his life. I wish I could be there, speak to him in these moments before everything changes. I could contact him through the glass, I suppose, but if I’m being honest with myself, what Eros needs right now is to focus—not have me remind him how worried I am and how worried he should be in turn.

  Today, Eros will either die or become Sira. And all I can do is wait.

  “Quite the setting this evening.”

  I blink and meet the voice—Uljen leans against the decorative gate closing off the edge of my garden—a new addition erected in my absence. I’m not sure how I feel about it.

  “I apologize if I startled you.” He smiles. “I was walking the grounds and noticed you out here.”

  My skin prickles; after what he attempted this morning, I still don’t know what to make of him. But I need this partnership to work, so I nod. “It’s fine. You’re welcome to enter.”

  “Thank you.” He opens the gate and steps inside, then sits on an empty cushion next to me. “You seem distracted this evening.”

  “Just thinking about the match,” I answer. “In Asheron.”

  “Ah, sha,
for the throne. Concerned for Eros?”

  I sigh. “Eros is excellent at fighting … but I don’t know what to expect from Lejv. So many men have served in their respective guard—I wouldn’t be surprised if they were evenly matched.”

  “Evenly matched still bodes well for Eros, doesn’t it? If that’s the worst-case scenario, it seems as though you have little to worry about.”

  I smile weakly. “Perhaps … but Eros was attacked last night and now he’s injured. I’m not sure how serious his injuries are, but I imagine they’ll affect the way he fights.”

  Uljen purses his lips and rests his hands on his knees. “That’s unfortunate.” He hesitates. “There were rumors you two had a friendship. Is that accurate?”

  I hesitate—but I suppose it’s not damaging to admit, especially now that Eros could very well become Sira. “It is.”

  “Then it makes sense. You care for him, and it’s a dangerous situation. Only natural that you worry. You’ll be watching the feed when it begins shortly, sha?”

  I nod. “Nothing could keep me from it.”

  “I imagine most Safarans feel the same. We’ve never had an event of this global scale in our lifetime.”

  “That’s true.” Neither of us say what he’s probably thinking—that Eljans will be watching, but in this traditional territory, few will want to see him survive. He may be technically from Elja, but he’s a half-blood all the same. To the traditionalists, that’s all that matters—though maybe things are different with the younger generation. I hope so. I don’t know how Eljans will ever come to fully accept me if not even my generation is willing is try things differently. I sigh. “I pray things go as well as I want them to.”

  “And if they do? What then?”

  I frown and glance at him. “How do you mean?”

  “If Eros becomes Sira, how will affect us here in Elja? It’s well expected whoever takes the throne will seek reparations for Dima’s decisions as Avra, from lying to the Sira to instigating genocide. Even without the crimes he committed against the Eljans, most expect whoever is Sira will demand some sort of recourse. As he should.”

  I sigh and nod. “Sha, I expect something, as well. Particularly as … Dima didn’t treat Eros well while he was here, either.”

  “Ah.”

  “There may have been … torture involved.”

  Uljen’s eyes widen. “Then you don’t expect Eros will show him mercy.”

  I tilt my head as I craft my response. “I don’t know what to expect, to be true. Eros and I have a friendship, and I believe he’ll respect that … but I can’t expect him to overlook what Dima did, either. Those same crimes you speak of lead to his near-execution and the deaths of some of his family members. He has no reason to show my brother mercy.”

  Uljen nods. “As we’re speaking openly, I don’t believe your brother deserves mercy, regardless.”

  I weave my fingers together and purse my lips. He’s not wrong—what Dima did, the acts he instigated and the crimes against Eljans—he doesn’t deserve mercy. If he were anyone else, I would have locked him in the dungeons and prepared for his execution. But he’s not anyone else. He’s my brother—and the only family I have left. I haven’t lived a set on Safara my brother didn’t also share, and to lose him now would be devastating. Even with everything he’s done. Even with all the hurt he’s caused. Even with the ways he turned against me.

  “The people feel the same,” Uljen says. “His rule was short, but vicious. There were citizens brutalized in the street under his orders. Two boys barely of age were executed in the center square because they dared to shout at him during an address to the people. The people won’t forget what he did—and they’re not going to forgive, either. They want his head.”

  The heat of Uljen’s words tears open an ache deep between my lungs. “I know,” I whisper.

  “If you refuse them, you may risk them rising against you. You can’t show partiality just because he’s your brother. He can’t be treated differently than any other criminal.”

  I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose. The back of my throat tightens, but this isn’t the time, this isn’t the place, and I force myself to breathe. “I know. And I don’t intend to pardon him without trial. That would be … it wouldn’t be right.”

  Uljen nods. “So you intend to have a trial.”

  “I do. Here in Elja. But it’ll wait until the new Sira is crowned, because I’ll use it as a negotiating point. I imagine the new Sira, whoever it is, will want to speak about Dima and settle the matter quickly. By preparing for a trial here in Elja, we can ensure it is our people who settle the matter. After all …” I take a shaky breath. “Even after everything, he is Eljan. He deserves to be tried by his people.”

  “I agree,” Uljen says. “And I think the people will as well.”

  I sigh. “Good.”

  He nods and stands. “For what it’s worth, Kora, I’m sorry for all the hardship you’ve faced and will continue to endure in the coming sets. It can’t be easy to be separated from your friend on such a dangerous evening, nor will it be easy to prosecute your own brother.”

  “It’s not,” I answer. “Thank you.”

  Uljen nods, bows, and leaves the garden. I touch the morning flowers settling in for the night and breathe in their smooth, sweet scent as the suns slip toward the horizon.

  And I pray to Kala for safety, and mercy, and strength to Eros a hundred leagues away.

  Today, everything changes.

  In the end, Deimos doesn’t leave me to throw my life away on my own, as he called it. He and Mal stand on the edge of the courtyard, Deimos’s hands on Mal’s shoulders, watching me in silence. He went out of his way to tell me he was there for Mal, not because he’s changed his mind and wants to see me fight, but it doesn’t matter. He’s here, and Mal isn’t alone, and that’s all I care about.

  The courtyard is surrounded by people and orb-guides recording the whole thing. The royals stand on the edges, watching with grim faces as we wait for the High Priest to arrive with the weapons, and Lejv is laughing and chatting with his supporters as though this were the opening to a performance rather than a fight that’ll leave one of us dead.

  I guess they’re all sure which one of us won’t be leaving. I’m not convinced they’re wrong; a big part of me thinks they’re right.

  But this isn’t the first time I’ve prepared for slaughter. This isn’t the first time I’ve stood on the course white sands and felt the warmth of the suns on my shoulders and knew it might be my last. But what makes this time different is I have a chance. A terrible chance, granted, but a chance nevertheless. This time, if I go down, I’ll go down fighting.

  I’ll take that over resting my head on the chopping block and waiting for the sword to fall any set.

  The crowd parts in front of me, and the High Priest steps through carrying a black slab of smooth rock like a tray. On it are three weapons: a thin stick-looking thing about the length of my forearm, a knife with a silver handle, and a black, sharpened stake with a handle sticking out at a right angle. Lejv chooses the stick-thing and I take the only weapon I know how to use—the knife.

  I toss the knife in my hand as we move to opposite sides of the courtyard. It’s well-balanced, so if I had no other option, I could throw it, but given this is my only weapon, that would be a last resort.

  Then we face each other and the courtyard is deathly quiet. Lejv bows, as do I, and the priest says, “The rules are simple: one man will live to rule and the other will die. May Kala’s favor shine brightly on the man best suited for the throne.”

  Deep breath in, deep breath out. How am I going to do this? I’ve never had to fight while so injured before. But whatever they gave me is working—the pain is a distant hum.

  I can do this. I have to.

  “Begin.”

  Lejv whips his stick out and it extends, sliding open into a long staff that he smacks into place. My heart stills for a breath. Shit. I don’t know how
to fight with a staff, but if anyone should have grabbed a ranged weapon, it’s me. Lejv smiles because he knows it, too—not only am I injured, but it’s going to be twice as hard for me to get close enough to hurt him with a knife now that he’s armed with a staff.

  This mistake could be the last one I ever make.

  We circle each other slowly. My pulse throbs in my ears as I hold the knife ready and keep an eye on that fucken staff. I need to disarm him if I want a chance at winning. Lejv swings—I duck—the staff cuts the air just above my head. He swipes again and I jump out of the way—my ribs throb with the movement. Another slash—I lean out of range and warm air whooshes past my arm.

  A long-range weapon is only useful if I stay at a distance—I need to get closer.

  We keep circling. Sweat slips between my shoulder blades as I watch Lejv for tells. His mouth twitches—I move—the staff slams the sand beside me. I lunge forward, the staff slashes up—hot pain rams into my leg, just below my hip. I grunt and jerk out of the way, my leg smarting. That’ll bruise, but better my leg than my ribs again.

  Facing each other again. Breathing the hot, desert air in quick bursts. Lejv strikes for my head—I duck under and rush forward. Lejv spins and a flash of black races toward me—I throw myself back into the sand and block my face with my arms—

  Pain. My wrist screams and I’m not holding the knife and I’m in the sand and get up get up get up. I roll just as the staff slams into sand. Jerk up to my feet, take two quick steps back, out of range. Even the tiniest movement of my fingers sends flames up into my elbow. My knife hand is useless and my knife is in the sand, out of reach. I hold my injured wrist against my chest and bite back the pain. I’m hurt—again—and disarmed, and Lejv still has the fucken staff and I haven’t even been able to touch him.

  I need to get closer. It’s my only chance, but getting in range could be the end if I don’t move fast enough—and so far, I haven’t moved fast enough. Every quick movement rips into my ribs—a dull, deep tear—and it’s slowing me down. It’s slowing me down, and I can’t afford to be slow, not today, not here.