Such insolence against an Elder was incomprehensible to me. I had adored Elder Kharid, as had all who thrived beneath him, but there were others who led kingdoms I had held a distinct distaste for. Sevani was one. No matter my feelings or lack thereof for him or anyone else on the Council, however, it never would have even crossed my mind to behave disrespectfully or voice my disapproval. Albaterran citizens were entitled to their opinions as much as any Elder, of course, but there was an appropriate manner in which to conduct oneself when a Council decision needed to be changed. Vandalism was far from appropriate, as was the frequent lack of proper address and the ever-present sideways glance of contempt.
As I walked back and forth, back and forth, tracing three sides of my bed with my path, I fumed at the thought of those horrid black words plastered across the wall of a sacred building, but my anger was deeper than the desecration of the palace. I had had enough with the kickback from everyone, civilians and Elders alike. When my sword sank into Elder Kharid and drew from him the life so cherished by all blessed enough to know him, there was none who grieved as much as I did. He had been the kindest A’li-uud I had ever known, the wisest Elder I had ever met, and the most deserving of his position. For him to die was an unthinkable tragedy enough; for him to die by my hand was unbearable. After I was arrested for his murder, I believed it was my duty to rot in a cell for the remainder of my years. I needed to pay penance for the crime, even if it had been unintentional because the result was the same whether I meant to kill him or not: Kharid was dead. Only after the Council had cleared my charge and released me did I allow myself the time to clear my mind, approach the ordeal without the steely grip of sorrow, and heal. It took me a long time and a lot of data from those who worked on the Novain sun-sickness case to understand the Novai attacker would have killed him if I had merely stood by and watched rather than stepped in to assist. Vi’den insisted the Grand Circle took Elder Kharid from us for a reason, that his circle had come to a close to allow the beginning of another, and months later I finally allowed his assertion to sink into the crevices of my mind and speak to me. I had learned to accept I was not responsible for Kharid’s passing. The majority of the Council had accepted that as well, or I would not have been named Elder in Kharid’s place. Nevertheless, the masses were determined to view me as a murderer, and it was clear to me now there was nothing I could do to alter their perspectives.
I felt betrayed. I had been betrayed by the very people I had dedicated my life to protecting, the same people who had been happy to have me stand guard outside their homes and stroll the streets to dissuade swindlers and thieves from soiling the famous Ka-lik’et market. They had once believed there existed no more trustworthy warrior, no more devoted warrior, than me. In their shock and sadness for the unexpected and unnecessary loss of their beloved leader, however, I became their scapegoat, and it seemed there would be no retribution as long as they needed someone to blame.
My fingers curled into my palms, forming fists at my sides. I let out an involuntary roar, which echoed off the soaring ceiling above and reverberated back to me in harmony, and I swung an arm. My hand crashed into an urn poised delicately atop a simple column-style stand, and the pottery flew across the room before smashing against the magenta wall. Shattered bits rained to the floor with a tinkling tune much too cheerful for the circumstances. I glared at them, my breath heaving and ragged. Then, another roar escaped my mouth as I dug my fingers into my scalp and pulled on clumps of my hair.
Just like the urn, I was breaking apart into millions of pieces, and I knew not how to put myself back together.
Where the pottery had met the wall now taunted a small web of cracks extending outward from the middling point of impact. I had ruined the palace I revered, as I had ruined the Elder I revered. Perhaps my dissenters were right: I was not worthy of the throne in which I had been placed. The only place I was supposed to be was P’otes-tat Ulti, not as an Elder but as a prisoner serving a lifelong sentence for the death of the A’li-uud who deserved to wear this crown all along.
A hollow pit blossomed in my gut, and I tore my eyes from the cracked portion of the wall, aching from the sight of it. I turned my gaze instead to the left where a lengthy mirror in a gilded frame was mounted beside an armoire. The reflection staring back at me was more sickening to see than the damage I had caused.
Sunken, dull eyes of colorless white huddled beneath a brow of blue. Once set, determined lips drooped miserably at the corners, and a pointed chin ordinarily lifted with pride dipped toward a protruding collarbone in self-loathing. The high cheekbones were no longer commanding but peaky instead, and the cheeks beneath them curved inward to occupy the vacant space where words of power and purpose should have been. Skin kissed cobalt from the sun had blanched in the persistent darkness of the soul hiding behind.
I gaped at the sight of myself, hands loosening in my hair and mouth falling open an inch. No longer was I Zuran’s doppelganger; I had become a monster corrupted by the hatred saturating the kingdom and the enmity I felt from within.
It was time for a change.
Chapter Eighteen
Octavia
A little over a year ago, I was used to being woken up early. My phone would erupt into a series of deafening jingles on my nightstand promptly at seven-thirty, and I would begrudgingly cancel the alarm before rolling over again to catch a few more winks. Then, I’d be serenaded by the dings of incoming text messages from my co-dependent co-worker. She wanted to know if I remembered how many clients she had that day, and when her earliest was and if I could possibly take her five o’clock because her mother was in town or her boyfriend was taking her out, or she was just so overworked. I’d manage to drift back to sleep for a minute before the neighbor’s dog started yapping for its breakfast and the neighbor started yapping for it to shut up. By the time I finally dragged myself out of bed, the honks and squeaking brakes of commuters had begun, and I would seriously contemplate moving to the country.
After months on top of months without a phone or inconsiderate neighbors or passing vehicles, I’d gotten used to sleeping peacefully until the sunrise was over.
On this particular morning, however, I was jarred awake by a sequence of loud bangs, and I bolted upright in bed fully expecting to see my renovated-factory brick walls and flat-screen TV on the other side of the room. Instead, the sight I was met with was a curved clay wall and a mosaic of unidentifiable bead-like stones. A moment of panic washed over me before I remembered I wasn’t in my industrial apartment at all; I was in my comfy little hut-house in the middle of an alien desert on the planet Albaterra.
The banging had stopped long enough for me to gather my bearings, but it resumed again just as my drowsiness tugged insistently on my eyelids. I squinted at the small window to find only the slightest of sun rays filtering through, realized it was barely the break of dawn, and groaned. What was that noise? It sounded like someone was hammering, or like a construction crew was getting to work for the day.
“I am here with a message from Elder Venan!” The voice wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to me, but it was foreign enough that I froze. It sounded close, but not close enough that I was concerned someone had entered my house uninvited, so I slid my legs off the side of the bed and tossed the blankets aside.
Padding to the front door, I placed my eye toward the center before regaining my sanity. I didn’t have a peephole anymore, but the unceremonious awakening had apparently transported me back to my days on Earth. When I opened the door, I saw the same A’li-uud warrior who’d come into my salon to tell me Venan wanted to have dinner with me. He glanced at the t-shirt and cotton shorts I wore as pajamas before fixing his gaze determinedly on my eyes.
“I am here with a message from Elder Venan,” he repeated blandly.
“Yeah, I heard,” I replied, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and squinting slightly in the light of the blooming day. “Katil, isn’t it?”
He inclined his head with confirmation.
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br /> “It’s really early, you know,” I told him rather accusingly.
Honestly, I was irritated. My annoyance was with Venan, not Katil, but he was the one on my doorstep at the wee hours of the morning, and I probably didn’t have the guts to be as forthcoming with an Elder anyway. After what I had considered a great first date, I hadn’t heard a word or seen a thing from Venan. Now, at the crack of dawn, he was sending his honcho over to my house with a message? I thought it was more than a little rude, and, no matter how much Zuran insisted Venan liked me, my grogginess was unwilling to look past the fact that sleep trumped ambiguous messages from ambiguous kingdom leaders.
“I am only doing as Elder Venan has bidden,” Katil said stiffly. Judging by the look of disgruntlement on his humorless face, he wasn’t exactly pleased about the hour either. “Your presence is requested at the palace.”
“What, for dinner?” I asked, my stomach flipping in spite of itself.
His brow twitched as if he wanted to adopt an expression of sarcasm to indicate his disdain for a ridiculous question. “No,” he answered. He spoke as slowly as he clearly thought I was. “Now.”
“Now? It’s practically still dark!” I argued.
This time, Katil’s eyebrow did go up. “It is the desire of Elder Venan for you to report to the palace immediately. With your trade tools.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I said, staring at him blankly.
“Your trade tools,” he repeated. When I continued to look at him stupidly, he clarified, “The items you use for your work.”
“Oh.” I shook my head. “All that is at the salon.”
“We will go there first, then.” He made no effort to come inside, stepping back instead. “I will wait for you to ready yourself.”
Twenty minutes later, with my hair haphazardly thrown up into a high ponytail and my feet stuffed into my sneakers, I was trekking out of the colony with a bag of styling supplies in one hand and a clay mug of Albaterra’s version of coffee in the other. Katil strode silently by my side, his eyes pointed forward and his arms swinging almost imperceptibly with each step. He wasn’t exactly an ideal walking buddy because every attempt I made at small talk was met with a short one-word reply or a grunt, so I finally just became as silent as he was and let my brain take over. I had no idea why Venan wanted me to come to the palace at this time, and I definitely had no idea what he wanted with my styling stuff, but the most frustrating part was I couldn’t even put together a theory. He couldn’t possibly want me to do his hair because I’d never seen any A’li-uud with a hairstyle besides their natural long, straight sheet, and even if he did have a desire for a trim, there had to be some royal beautician who could do it for him.
When I’d arrived at the palace last time, Katil had shown me into the dining hall where Venan was ready to greet me. He wasn’t anywhere in sight this time. Katil brought me into the foyer and through the beautiful, massive archway on the right, which led to a grand parlor of sorts. After several more archways, I found myself at the base of an enormous staircase.
“Come,” he said.
I was starting to get nervous. Something felt off. The palace was extremely quiet, even at this time of day, and the only other signs of life I’d seen since entering had been immobile guards stationed at the front doors. Maybe Venan was sick in bed? But, if that were the case, he would’ve called for a doctor, not me.
“Are you sure you can’t tell me why I’m here?” I wheedled as we started up the stairs.
“I do not know why you are here,” he said for the third time. “Though, if I did, I would be obligated only to tell you what Elder Venan indicated I might.”
I withheld a grumble of discontent and continued following Katil until we reached the landing. I’d never been upstairs before—I’d never seen more of the palace’s luxurious inside than the dining room, come to think of it—and it was even more exquisite than the lower floor. Crystalline sconces lined the walls between doors featuring carvings of scenes likely from A’li-uud history. A sprawling runner of such a rich burgundy hue it reminded me of wine enticed me in both directions. An aroma I couldn’t place lingered in the air, so heady and powerful it filled my mind with glamorous, erotic images of Middle Eastern harems and mythical princes and gatherings of exotically-dressed rajahs and their queens. At the furthest end of the corridor to my left was a set of double doors as intricately carved as the singles nearer me. Draped above with ribbons cascading down on either side was the most exquisite silken curtain I had ever seen. I was sure it was the Elder’s bedroom, but Katil guided me in the opposite direction instead, toward a lonely door with dim lighting on either side.
“Isn’t that Venan’s room down there?” I asked quietly, pointing to the regally-adorned doors behind us.
Katil’s lips thinned, and he shook his head. “That was Elder Kharid’s chamber,” he responded tightly. “This is Elder Venan’s room.”
He lifted a hand and rapped his knuckles upon the door’s surface. I heard an odd clacking from behind it I recognized as the A’li-uud language, and Katil reached for the knob. The room that appeared before me was as elegant and colorful as the rest of the palace that I’d seen, but it was far from what I would’ve expected an Elder’s bedroom to look like. Simply-fashioned furniture in an array of bright colors was organized around the walls, which were tastefully outfitted with only the necessities, like a mirror and a few sconces. In the very center of the room stood Venan.
I knew instantly my instincts had been right: something was off. Even from my place on the threshold, I could feel the negativity billowing from him like smoke. He jerked his chin at Katil as a sign of dismissal, and the warrior left the room, closing the door behind him.
“What’s wrong?” I asked anxiously, taking a step toward Venan and studying his expression. I couldn’t figure out what exactly he was feeling, but it was undoubtedly graver than anything I’d seen him experience before.
He didn’t say hello - though, I hadn’t either - and didn’t move to shake my hand or hug me or greet me in any way indicative that we were more than strangers. He just looked at me, his eyes blazing. He was clearly in the midst of a storm I couldn’t begin to comprehend, but, when he spoke, his voice was as calm as if he’d just woken up from a refreshing nap.
“You are going to cut my hair.”
Chapter Nineteen
Venan
Even in my disturbed mental state, it did not escape my notice that Octavia looked as beautiful as ever. Perhaps she looked even more so, because the last two and only two times I had seen her had been in circumstances in which she dressed formally. There was no dress clinging to her delectable figure now. Strands of dark hair flew astray from her scalp, a plain white shirt hung loosely to her waist, and her shapely legs were hidden beneath a pair of light blue pants. Not a hint of unnatural color was painted onto her face, either. Somehow, though, she was still unspeakably gorgeous.
“You want me to cut your hair?” she repeated with noted uncertainty. She was staring at me with more boldness and more concern than she ever had, and I wondered just how much of my battle with insanity was plaguing my features.
“I do,” I said with a small nod. When she said nothing and merely continued to stare at me, I tilted my head to the side and questioned, “Are you unwilling to do so?”
“No,” she quickly replied, shaking her head a bit more rapidly than was necessary. I watched her tied tail of hair flick her cheeks from the enthusiastic movement. “That’s fine. I thought that might be why you wanted me to bring my things, but I figured you’d have some special barber to do that for you or something. Plus, I’ve never seen an A’li-uud with anything but long, straight hair.”
Uncrossing my hands, which were folded over one another before me, I stroked my fingers through my tresses for what would likely be the last time. “A’li-uud do not cut their hair,” I explained. “Our hair is a symbol of the years we have been blessed with on this generous planet. I, personally,
have never known any to shorten their hair, excepting for accidents such as fires. To do so is not unlawful, but it is widely considered an act of sacrilege.”
“But you want to do it anyway?” she asked, sounding infinitely more uncertain than she had a moment ago.
“I am grateful to have been given the gift of life, but there is much I wish to leave behind in my journey forward,” I said quietly. I averted my eyes from her to prevent her seeing the emotion within them as I admitted the detestable vulnerabilities I felt blanketing my heart. “What was once my dream has become a nightmare, and I am rapidly losing everything I have grown to know and love. The only solution I have is to begin again, and the first step is severing the past.”
She did not speak right away, and I lifted my gaze back to her to gauge her response to my explanation. Her pretty mouth, the same mouth I had longed to kiss when we were in close proximity, was twisted downward into a concerned frown.
“You are troubled,” I observed.
Octavia’s frown deepened. “Not exactly,” she said carefully. “I’m worried about you.”
In the whole of my life, the only person I had ever heard express such a sentiment was my mother after Ola’s transgression came to light and we forbade her from speaking to us again. To learn my sister was capable of such a treasonous act had injured my soul, and I had thrown myself into the militia to dull my mind and senses. For a short time, I was allowed to grieve so, but eventually, Mother came forward and told me she was concerned I was avoiding my feelings rather than facing them, which was certain only to lead to greater heartache in the not-so-distant future. At the time, I had considered her words meddlesome and dismissed her. Later, after my thoughts had cleared enough to allow some reason into the cracks, I realized she had been absolutely right, and I felt a new appreciation for her willingness to confront me as an act of love. Now, hearing Octavia say she was worried about me in the very same tone my mother had used, I felt an emotional surge deep within myself as powerful as a tidal wave.
Venan: A Paranormal Sci-Fi Alien Romance: Albaterra Mates Book 7 (The End) Page 9