Elected (The Elected Series Book 1)

by Rori Shay

  “Are you all right?” she asks.

  “Yes, just thinking about tonight,” I say without thinking at all.

  Her whole body slows as she’s deep in thought. When I don’t say anything more, she leans in close to my ear and whispers, “We can just sleep, Aloy. Just sleep is all.”

  I lean back so I can look at her, and we make the next turn together in our dance. I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief at her words. But, what does she truly desire, I wonder? To merely sleep? What has she been trained to do? And what will she expect from me? Does she desire me? And there is the question niggling in my head since I met Vienne... do I desire her?

  I ponder this last question, staring at her, as she twirls in front of me, the yellow, pink, and white of her robes hooking the twilight and throwing glimmering gold shadows across the ground. I sort of like the way she’s reached out to me so far. It feels like the love my mother used to give me as a child—comforting and unconditional. And Vienne truly is exquisite. That’s undeniable. Anyone in his right mind would want her.

  I do want to touch her, I realize. But it’s a desire more born from curiosity than lust. I covet her beauty. I want to protect her. Hold her. See what it feels like to be hugged. But do I want to kiss her passionately? That I don’t know.

  Vienne gives me a demure bow. “Are you ready, Aloy?” I nod at her, swallowing thickly. “Then let us say our goodbyes to the people.” Vienne pulls me with her across the wooden dance floor set up beneath fragrant pine boughs. It is only the second time in my life that I’ve stood on a dance floor, and the memory of the first instance burns in the back of my mind. I walk with Vienne under the canopy to where Tomlin sits with a group of guards. “Tomlin, we’re going home now.”

  He rises and kisses both of Vienne’s hands. Then he turns to me. “Elected, are you ready for the last ritual of the night?”

  At first, I think he means me and Vienne getting into bed together, and I blush. I’ve been obsessing over that aspect of our marriage too much, and it’s like Tomlin’s read my mind. But when he starts leading us to a nearby podium and gathering up a set of talkers, I realize he’s not referring to Vienne’s and my coupling. I’m expected to give the last speech of the night, blessing our people and the seeds we harvested today. Then, Vienne and I will be bound in one last ceremony before they allow us the privacy of our bedroom. I shudder at the thought of this one last public ritual. It’s barbaric really.

  I walk up to one of the talkers and look out to the crowd. I gather my thoughts, so I’m no longer worrying about Vienne’s and my night together. Now it’s about thanking my people. “Countrymen and women of East, thank you for joining us in celebration today.”

  There is a rumble of applause as people nearby answer back, and the people farther away hear my words a moment later from a talker. Their applause comes with a few seconds delay. I wait for it and then continue.

  “Vienne and I are so blessed to share this moment with you—the commencement of our marriage and start of our family. We will try our best to fulfill our duty to have many sons and daughters. Ones who will carry our country and species into the future for years to come. It’s unions such as these that propel our society forward and grant assurance that we prosper as a people!” There is more applause from the crowd. “If you would be so kind as to share one last ceremony with us, Vienne and I will now receive the ritual binding.”

  Instead of the metal bands people used to wear around their ring fingers, East Country prefers to “bind” a married couple with something more permanent. I’ve been dreading this particular ritual, but all married people endure it, so I tell myself to be strong.

  A wheelbarrow full of molten hot ash is being guided through the crowd toward us. I look over at Vienne to see how she’s faring with the ritual about to be administered. She seems serene, staring up at the few stars in the sky, concentrating on them instead of the hot metal making its way to her arm.

  A long, hot poker juts out of the top of the wheelbarrow. A metal worker picks up the poker and comes toward Vienne. It’s quite cruel they make the woman go first. But Vienne looks perfectly calm. A doctor walks up next to her and grasps hold of her right shoulder with one hand. He swabs her biceps with alcohol-soaked gauze.

  Then the metalworker holds up his poker, which was sitting in the pile of ash. He comes close to Vienne’s arm. The tip is almost white it’s so hot. I look away, not wanting to see the actual act, but the smell hits me. I swallow, trying to close off my nose from the sickening stench of burning flesh.

  I’m curious how it will look. Our brands will be identical. Each married couple is given an identical mark as their spouse, and no two in the country are alike. Often the metal is molded into hearts with arrows through them, a certain animal from past legends, or other symbols of love. I’ve told them I want our symbol to be a flower, and I’m anxious to see what my request will ultimately look like.

  There’s a silly superstition among my people: if you marry your true love and harm befalls him or her, you’ll feel their pain in the brand along your own arm. I instinctively put my hand up to my biceps as Vienne’s skin bubbles and turns black under the poker.

  When the “binding” is set, the metal worker puts the poker back inside the wheelbarrow and moves close to me.

  Please don’t let me faint, I beg to the heavens. Not now. Please don’t let a little hot poker do me in. I try to stay strong, taking Vienne’s lead to look upwards into the night sky.

  The doctor comes close to me, and before I know it, he’s prepared my arm as well. I suck in air, trying to catch my breath before the grotesque act. Then I feel the heat searing as the poker rests its burning head against my skin. It takes all my energy not to scream out, but I bite my bottom lip to stop myself. Once the act is complete, the whole party backs away from us.

  I stand inches from Vienne, and we grab our good hands, holding the inflamed arms out to our other side.

  “You ok?” I ask her under my breath.

  She just nods, as if opening her mouth in itself will elicit a scream. So I don’t push it. I just nod too.

  I try to smile toward the crowd, wondering how all the married couples in the audience put up with this same ritual, sometimes multiple times if they’ve been married more than once. My smile comes off as more of a grimace, and I know it’s time to go.

  We are helped onto two white horses, and we begin a slow canter back to the White House. When we’re a good distance away from the crowds, I dare to look over at Vienne. She’s already eyeing her wound, looking at the image they’ve burned onto us.

  “What is it?” I ask her.

  She doesn’t answer at first, so I start to look down at my arm to try to make out the image in the darkness. It’s hard to see, but I think I see something skinny and long etched horizontally across my biceps.

  “It can’t be,” Vienne says. “I thought you said we were going to have a flower.”

  “I did. What can’t be?”

  “It’s a...” She tries to get the words out.

  “A what? I can’t see it clearly. What is it? A heart?”

  “No, it’s a... long arrow.”

  15

  “A what!” I practically fall off the horse, wanting to get to the ground so I can see the blackened flesh in the light from the torches next to our front door. I twist the skin of my biceps so I can stare at the burn they’ve just embedded there. And, sure thing, the brand is in the perfect shape of a long arrow, its arm long and its tip sharp and triangular.

  “Damn it!” I curse.

  “Maybe it’s not what we think it is. Maybe it’s a special flower we don’t recognize.”

  “No, it’s surely a long arrow. How could they imprint that on us after the two assassination attempts on my life?”

  “Maybe it’s meant to be a sign of bravery. Just a misunderstanding? Let’s not think of it now. It’s been such a long day.”

  I look over at her face, weary behind her streaming blonde
locks of hair. And suddenly I forget my anger, realizing I need to care for Vienne now, not focus on myself. She’s right. We’ll take care of the brands later.

  I wrap an arm around her good shoulder and start to lead her into the house. A maid greets us in the front foyer, not quite sure where to lead us next. I’m not sure either. Am I taking Vienne to her quarters and leaving her there? Will she come to mine? Are we sleeping together or alone? How much of a farce do we need to uphold? I shudder thinking about the night ahead and what I’ll have to do with Vienne. At the same time, I can’t help feeling a little curious. Girls are taught about sex and reproduction, but throughout all my studies, no one told me a thing, shielding me from the topic in another exaggerated attempt to hide my gender.

  Vienne takes my hand in hers and leads me to her quarters on the left. I follow blindly, happy to have someone else making the decision.

  Entering her room, I’m struck by the strong smell of daisies. Vienne turns to me the second the door is shut and the maid is gone. “Let me help you,” she says, taking my arm out from underneath my brown and red robe.

  I jump back as if something hot has scalded me. “That’s okay. I can do it.” No one has ever helped me undress before. I’m not sure if this is what all married couples do or just what Vienne’s been taught.

  “Okay, anything you need.” Her words are quiet, as though she’s disappointed.

  I don’t want to offend Vienne, especially on our first night together, so I acquiesce and let her help me with my heavy robes.

  “Maybe if you could just pull this off.” I raise my right arm out to the side, leaning toward her. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I just want to be a good wife to you.”

  Vienne bends down in front of me, helping unlace the boots next. “You will be. You are,” I amend. I start to think maybe she’s been given strict instructions on how to be “a good wife” in bed. My stomach flips again, thinking about what she’s been taught to do to me and how I can stop Vienne without being rude.

  She smiles up at me. “Would you like to sleep here tonight?”

  “In here?” I look over at her bed, warm and inviting, its white comforter plump with massive amounts of feathers.

  “Yes, in here. With me. Husbands and wives typically sleep together in the same bed.” She sees I’m uncomfortable, so she tries to help me further. “It’s all right. We don’t have to do anything. We can just lie near each other. And talk maybe.”

  “Okay.” I try to sound assured even though my stomach quivers. What are the things she’s referring to exactly?

  Vienne sits on the edge of the bed and removes the top two layers of her flowing robes with one swift gesture. The yellow layer is all she has left.

  “Will you unknot the top of it? It’s customary.”

  “I remember.” I feel scandalous. Dirty. But innocent at the same time, as I truly have no idea what I’m doing in this area. I grab hold of the knot and tug. It unravels easily in my hand, causing the last layer to billow out and then disappear in a cloud on the mattress behind her.

  Vienne’s white skin is illuminated in front of me, pearly and smooth as the inside of a clamshell. She’s completely nude. Vienne lifts a section of her hair in both hands, raising her arms so her entire body is exposed in front of me. I see everything. The curve of her shoulders. The roundness of her chest. The flatness of her lean stomach. Vienne lies down on the bed and pulls me with her so we’re facing each another, nose to nose.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks.

  I don’t answer for a second and then say the first thing that crosses my mind. “You’re beautiful.”

  She gives a small smile and leans forward to kiss me. The touch of her lips is so soft and light, I hardly feel it. But the sensation lingers, sending shivers across my cheeks and around the back of my neck. It’s the first kiss I’ve ever received. It feels intimate. Like hot cocoa in the dead of winter. But, do I want more?

  Vienne leans back, watching me. “Does this make you nervous? Sleeping near me?”

  I wrinkle my brow, trying to figure out how best to answer her question. I decide to rely on honesty. “Yes, a little.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve heard it’s like this for all couples on their wedding night. It’s always new and scary.”

  “I’m not scared,” I say, lying.

  “Me neither. Just curious.”

  “What are you curious about?” I suddenly really want to know.

  “To see if I like you in that way.”

  She is so honest it hurts my heart. But, I want to hear more. “Like what way?”

  “Like if you were a real man. I’ve been wondering how it will be.”

  “Me too,” I admit.

  “Do you like girls?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you like boys, then?” These are the questions she could not possibly have gotten answered from Tomlin. So it’s the only thing she doesn’t already know about me.

  “Yes, I suppose so. They’re... interesting.”

  This causes her to pause, and then she says, “You like Griffin.”

  I splutter my answer, trying to erase the thought from her mind. “No! No... not Griffin.”

  “I’ve seen you look at him. It’s ok.”

  I try to calm myself. This is not the serene bedtime I’d hoped for. It’s leading down a dangerous path, and we’ve only just gotten married and into bed.

  Instead of answering her, I ask Vienne a question. “Do you like Griffin?”

  “Me?” She laughs. “No, of course not. I’m married to you. It’s my duty to like you.”

  I hate that she’s used the word duty. I want her to be proud of her new role. I want her to embrace it. Every aspect.

  I let the breath I didn’t realize I was holding escape through my nostrils. “Do you want me to...?” I don’t know what I’m even asking, but the words tumble out, skipping over each other like smooth stones I need to expel before they choke me. I force myself to look down at Vienne’s outstretched body and then scrunch my eyes closed as I say the next words. “What would make you happy?”

  I don’t hear an answer right away so I peer at Vienne from behind a half-raised eyelid. I expect her to be looking up toward the ceiling or absently twirling a lock of hair, but instead her head is cocked to the side as she gazes at me with a soft expression. For a second, it seems as if she’ll tell me exactly what I should do, but instead she just reaches a hand up to my face.

  My body inches away automatically, hating itself for bracing against the trace of Vienne’s fingertips, but flinching back nonetheless. Vienne’s hand stops in mid-air, but she takes a deep breath and reaches further. The back of her hand grazes my cheek, her pinky just barely brushing across my chin and over my lips. “For you to be comfortable,” she says.

  As soon as she says the words, I realize I don’t know how to feel like she does – perfectly relaxed in her own skin. Perhaps if I didn’t have to live as someone I’m not, always playing a role, all of this would be easier. After a long moment, I open my eyes to tell her this, but realize she’s eased onto her side, nestled close to me in the bed. Her back makes a crescent shape against my stomach. Vienne’s one arm holds mine across her, and in my confusion I hadn’t even felt her move it there.

  I listen to her easy breathing and rest my head deeper into one of her pillows. I sweep my hand through her golden locks like a comb, mesmerized by how it feels like spun silk through my fingers. If I can’t bring myself to let her touch me, at least I can reach to her. Vienne sighs, inching closer to me in the bed.

  Right when I think Vienne is falling asleep, though, she says, “Why couldn’t you rule as a woman, Aloy?”

  This is a hard question right before we’re nearly slumbering. It’s steeped in political turmoil and history. Too much to encourage a good night’s sleep, but I feel compelled to answer.

  “It’s not prejudice. When the Elected Accord was created there were many women i
n presidential roles. Actually, it was the women’s idea to have females focus on reproduction since the human population was so low. They thought that role was more important than any leadership position.”

  “Hmmmm.” Vienne’s face burrows into her pillow.

  I prop my head up with one arm, and my words bubble forward, trying to convey my own thoughts on the matter. “Even though the Elected is a man, the wife’s thoughts are very much taken into account. She gets to make many of the decisions. You can make all the decisions you want. I’ll listen to you.”

  “That’s nice of you. Thank you.” Vienne’s words are soft and drowsy, muffled by the pillow.

  As she drifts off to sleep finally, I whisper to myself, “You’d probably be a better leader than me anyway.”

  But, she doesn’t hear. She’s already breathing deeply, immersed in a dream.

  16

  The next morning, we have the joy of another day full of strong winter sun. It comes through the window in lush rays, electrifying the cream colored walls in a dazzle of rainbows. It’s a perfect way to lazily wake up next to my new wife.

  “You should always sleep next to me,” Vienne says, propping herself up on one elbow.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because that’s the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

  I realize the same goes for me. I slept soundly, not having woken in the middle of the night at all. I smile luxuriously in the healthy feeling of a good night’s sleep.

  “Agreed. Your room or mine tonight?”

  “Mine again. My bed is bigger.” Vienne laughs.

  “Okay.”

  “So now we’ve settled that, next we figure out how to get me pregnant.”

  This is a question to which I have not a single answer. I sit up on the bed with my back to her, starting to grab up clothing strewn on the floor.

  “Yes? And do you have any ideas?” I expect a resounding answer of no.