Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  “My visual appraisal is confirmed,” the First Priestess announces to me at last. “It is fortunate; the changes are mostly positive. Your limb muscles have grown, even though you are now dreadfully thin in other places. On the other hand, your chest has increased very slightly, which I attribute to normal development at your age. Given all this, I will inform Suval Denu and have a team sent to take your new measurements to amend the official record in The Book of Fashion. In the meantime, you are to maintain your spare diet to retain your present size for the Fitting of the Dresses and the Wedding Day. Afterwards you may eat to your content, especially once you start to breed.”

  Oh dear God. . . .

  Listening to her comments, I feel increasingly awkward. How much had my grueling physical exercise training over the last two months, critical stress, and the entire near-starvation experience in the Games to do with the changes in my body? And how much of it is normal growth and genetics?

  Meanwhile, the First Priestess Therutat continues, “Now we are going to go over what is required of you, as the future Imperial Consort, throughout the sequence of events leading up to the event of the Wedding. I trust your Bride Book was delivered to you safely, and you had the opportunity to review it?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I say, relieved to change the subject. “I looked at the list, and I hope I understood things correctly.”

  “We will make sure you do, Imperial Lady Gwen,” Therutat tells me firmly. “You will be prepared accordingly, have no doubt. Everything must be impeccable, and you will learn all that the Imperial Bride must know. Now, bring your Book to me, and we will study it together. Go at once!”

  Nervously I hurry back to the interior of the princely suite to my own bedroom, grab the scroll, and return to the front chamber.

  Therutat takes the scroll from me, unrolls it with gnarled fingers, and begins to recite each item in a dramatic voice. She pauses after each one and makes sure I understand the meaning. Then she makes me repeat it, over and over.

  “Your memory is commendable,” the Priestess says eventually after I surprise her and recite the entire list back to her—by heart. “Most Brides—noble and even Imperial ones—no matter how eager or well-informed in matters of Wedding tradition, have difficulty at this early stage.”

  “I like to study,” I say with a nervous smile.

  The old woman makes a little sound that is almost a snort. She still does not smile, only raises one thin, painted brow. “An admirable trait. And now, we will schedule the events, setting the dates for each activity, compiling a master Wedding Schedule for the coming days. The first event will demonstrate your ability as Hostess, as you receive the Ladies of the Court. Isulat—the calendar, please.”

  The young woman reaches inside her case and takes out a digital tablet—which surprises me again, since I’m expecting more old scrolls. She taps and scrolls through screens, then shows us a two-month calendar view displaying Green Ghost Moon and Red Amrevet, side-by-side.

  Therutat takes the tablet from Isulat and points to the highlighted date. “Today is Green Ghost Moon 3. You have thirty-two days until the Wedding on Red Amrevet 9. Time will fly by before you know it, and it is barely sufficient. Your personal schedule will, no doubt, be exceedingly full, but you must schedule these major events evenly, spreading them out with days to spare. The three days leading up to the Wedding are particularly important, and are reserved by tradition—the fasting and cleansing day right before the Wedding Day—” And she taps Red Amrevet 8, marking it. “The final Dress fitting must happen three days before, to give the seamstresses time to make adjustments—” She taps and marks Red Amrevet 6.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “And the intimate dea meal to mark the Joining of the two Families must happen two days before—” She selects and highlights Red Amrevet 7.

  All kinds of weird images come to mind as I try to imagine my relatives, Dad, George, the others, meeting Aeson’s parents and Manala over a “cozy” meal. My poor Dad in the same room as the Imperator? Holy lord!

  Would they even arrive here in time for any of this? Suddenly I realize that I don’t dare tell the Priestess the real details—the fact that my Dad and my older brother are somewhere out there, among the stars, hurtling through the cosmos on their way here. . . .

  My eyes widen at the bizarre thoughts, and I almost miss what Priestess Therutat is telling me.

  “Imperial Lady Gwen, are you paying attention?” the old woman says in a rising voice, making me start. “I require you to select the first event date. Choose the day to host the Ladies of the Court, and make it a few days from now. Well?”

  Feeling overwhelmed and intimidated, I frown, staring at the calendar display. I try to think of all that’s happening, all the secret global and universal crises unraveling behind the scenes—and here I have to deal with this nonsense. . . . I visualize hostile, judgmental young girls in fancy outfits surrounding me with fake smiles, and Lady Tirinea Fuorai first among them. . . . Ugh.

  “Venerable Therutat,” I say carefully. “May I have some time to think? I don’t know what—”

  The old woman makes a sound of frustration. “There’s nothing to think about, child. Your foolish distractions are over. Make your choice now. You have one primary duty before you now, and it is to be the Imperial Bride. It’s scandalous enough that you indulged your ridiculous whims and participated in the horrid Games, risking yourself, your life, your reputation—”

  A surge of anger flows through me. My lips part. . . . But then I swallow the affront and keep my mouth shut, because this woman doesn’t know my circumstances. Apparently, she thinks I’m a rash idiot, and who can blame her? She must judge me based on the public record, on what facts she has about me right now. . . .

  “Very well,” I interrupt, speaking in a cold, hard voice of my own. I remember in a flash of inspiration that, in just a few days from now, Gracie’s birthday is coming up. My little sister is going to be fourteen, based on the Earth calendar. If I am going to host some kind of stupid party with strangers, might as well make it mean something.

  I count the days in my mind, then point with my finger at the tablet calendar, and choose Green Ghost Moon 10.

  We spend at least twenty more minutes at this scheduling task, and Therutat is brutal. She gives me no time to think and forces me to make decisions on the spot. I end up simply letting her take the lead on the generalities and nod and agree. And then I suddenly “wake up” from my intimidated state and ask her, “What about the Earth customs? Am I allowed to have an Earth-style aspect to this Wedding?”

  “Such as what?” Therutat asks, almost in surprise.

  “Well,” I say. “On Earth, in most places, we usually exchange rings and say vows—promises to each other. The wedding dress is white. There’s family and friends to witness, and usually a priest or official presiding. There’s a big cake and the bride throws the bouquet—”

  “You may indulge these Gebi traditions to some extent,” Therutat interrupts me. “No harm in it, yes, very charming. Feel free to incorporate them into the Imperial traditions and festivities, if they mean something to you and your Imperial Bridegroom. As long as none of it interferes with the Imperial Atlantida ceremonies.”

  “Oh, good,” I say.

  “Bring this matter up with the different specialists you will be working with,” the First Priestess adds, “When it’s time to work on the specific details.”

  I exhale in some relief.

  We continue some more, and then, before Therutat leaves, she asks me blunt questions.

  “Imperial Lady Gwen, may I assume you have been chaste?”

  My breath slows down, and I feel my cheeks starting to heat up. “You mean—”

  Therutat looks at me sternly with her dark unblinking eyes. “I mean, have you refrained from indulging your physical, carnal desires with your young and handsome Imperial Bridegroom?”

  “Yes, of course!” I exclaim. “I mean no! That is, I have refr
ained—I—we’ve done nothing, Aeson and I, we’ve only kissed, held each other—”

  “Good,” the Priestess says sternly. “Maintain appropriate conduct. Furthermore, you must abstain from further physical contact with each other, to minimize temptation, and remain chaste until the Wedding. From now on, you are not to sleep in each other’s quarters, and you are not to share a bed—no matter how innocently, as I’m told—”

  “What?” I exclaim. “Who told you that? How do you know? You have no right—”

  “I have every right to command you to obey the rules, since nuptial matters are within my jurisdiction. My sacred order has served the Imperial Kassiopei Dynasty since the beginning of time. And I will oversee your proper joining of this divine line.”

  I frown, staring back at her, going hot and cold with embarrassment and indignation. But it gets worse.

  “I must ask you if you are an untouched virgin,” the old woman says, her gaze boring into mine. “While chastity is required going forward, it is understandable—considering your alien circumstances—if you may not be virginal. Nothing to be done about it, but the fact must be disclosed.”

  “You have my medical records,” I say, trembling in anger. “Check them. I’ve never—”

  “Very well.” For the first time Priestess Therutat interrupts me almost mercifully. “I will record that you are unsullied.”

  Unsullied. . . . Ugh, what an ugly term, I think.

  And then the interrogation is over.

  Chapter 25

  The encounter with the First Priestess Therutat leaves me emotionally wrung out, and I realize this is just the beginning of this very different kind of ordeal. She is like the Wedding Planner from Ceremonial Hell. . . . And I am her helpless charge.

  At least I don’t have to see her for every single aspect of the Wedding, only the organizational general portions. Thank goodness for small miracles.

  I recall that Aeson has his own version of this ordeal to look forward to, with the male Priest of Amrevet-Ra. However, it’s unlikely that he’s a similar kind of taskmaster. Truly, the “Venerable Therutat” is supposed to be one of a kind.

  It occurs to me, I’d forgotten to ask if she and this other priest will officiate the Wedding. In fact, it’s unclear if the Ceremony will include any official presiding over us, or if we will have vows or religious aspects.

  It’s official—I know nothing yet about what’s to come.

  Browbeaten thus by the Venerable Therutat, I explain to Aeson what happened. He sighs and gazes into my eyes with his lapis-blue ones, giving me a look that sends sweet chills throughout my body. Then he takes me in his arms, crushing me against him, in defiance of whatever tradition has been imposed on us. However, we keep our touches brief and, after careful goodnight kisses, we head to bed in our own bedchambers, with the workroom to separate us.

  The next morning, I wake up to the stupid, blinding, white glare of Hel’s light streaming from the four-point star window, right into my face. I’d forgotten to shut the curtains, and now I’m squinting and paying the price, having forgotten how it is to sleep in this bedroom instead of my own at home in Phoinios Heights.

  At home.

  Indeed, it’s been some time now that I’ve considered Aeson’s estate my own home—our home. What a strange good feeling it is, to have a sense of home.

  But now it’s after seventh hour of Ra, and the day is Green Ghost Moon 4. Gracie and Gordie must be at work, and so are my friends. . . . Gracie promised to call me at some point today, so that I can explain to her everything that’s going on—the countdown to the Wedding has begun for real.

  I get up, get dressed in a hurry—thinking about snooping, nosy Palace servants, and how I’ve managed to elude the arrival of my Imperial personal maid Aranit Liwei, who has an attitude and is likely to report on me now even more than ever—and I emerge in the workroom.

  A wonderful savory aroma of food hits me. . . . I find Aeson already up as usual, working at his desk with Keruvat and Oalla, over a freshly prepared eos bread service. Anu and Gennio are here too, and everyone is unusually quiet and extremely focused. The only sound is coming from the uniformed servants stationed at a side table near the wall—the clanging of kitchen utensils, and the frying sizzle of vegetables and grains in deep pans and on shallow griddles.

  Once again, I’m reminded of how much more intricate the meal rituals are at the Palace, compared to Aeson’s estate.

  “Nefero eos!” I greet everyone, and notice how Anu and Gennio both sit up immediately and give me formal courtly nods. Another example of the more formal atmosphere here—at home, Gennio would’ve smiled and waved, while Anu would’ve barely grunted in my direction.

  But here, Aeson smiles at me, abandoning his work.

  “Did you sleep well?” I ask him, then lean in closer and plant a firm kiss on his cheek, near the corner of his lips—again in defiance of whoever might be witnessing this.

  Oalla and Ker observe us in amusement. “So, it has begun, Imperial Lady Gwen,” Oalla says. “I’ve heard you had your first meeting with the Venerable Therutat.”

  I nod, rolling my eyes. “We’ve set the main Schedule.”

  “And I have my first meeting with the First Priest of Amrevet-Ra in about an hour,” Aeson says, raising his brows meaningfully.

  “My condolences, Kass,” Keruvat says. “Would you like me to assassinate you?”

  “Please, do.” Aeson nods. “I grant you an Imperial Pardon in advance.”

  “Or you can just give yourself a bad case of indigestion,” Oalla says, pointing to a large platter of eos medoi fruit pies, a dish of rich plum-colored gravy, another plate filled with scrambled vegetables in a cream sauce, and a bowl of savory dumplings. “Eat all of that and you might as well live on the toilet all day. Begin now.”

  Aeson chuckles, shaking his head.

  Then a bell-tone sounds from his monitor. By now I know that it indicates another incoming SPC data report.

  “No news from your Father? About that ark-ship?” I whisper near Aeson’s ear as he turns to look at the screen.

  “No, nothing today,” he replies, scrolling through the screens of data in the newly arrived report. And then he stops, lifting one finger up for everyone’s attention.

  “What?” Ker says.

  “Just in—new surface scans.”

  “You mean, of the ghost moon?” I say.

  Aeson nods at me, then glances at Keruvat and Oalla. “Yes, forwarding to you now.”

  Oalla rubs her hands eagerly. “Ooh! Please tell me they found something!”

  A few moments later, as all three of them peruse the data on their respective screens, Ker says, “Aha! They did.”

  “What?” I ask, looking over Aeson’s shoulder.

  In reply he points to a row of icons among the numbers and text, and taps to display an image of the moon surface, milky-pale and translucent. He pinches the screen to enlarge and zoom in, and then as the surreal rocky landscape grows in size, filling up the entire display, I see surface features take shape. Rocky valleys, hills, crevasses, flat homogeneous areas, plateaus. On one such plateau is a sprinkling of dark dots.

  “Okay, what is that?” I say.

  And then the image continues to zoom in, and the dark dots resolve into shadows. Next to them are bright gleaming dots, with an albedo that resembles a vaguely metallic shine. They look like oval seeds scattered on fabric. Among them are several larger round seeds, or beads, also metallic, gleaming dully.

  Oalla makes a sound of surprise. She must be looking at a similar image on her own display.

  “Zoom in even more, at maximum,” Ker says to her, looking over to her display. “There, can you see it now?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Oalla says, shaking her head. “This is just—unbelievable.”

  “These little shiny things,” I ask. “What are they?”

  “They’re ships,” Aeson replies softly. “My guess—they’re Original Colony ark-ships. It’s an ancient s
hip graveyard.”

  “Are you sure?” Ker asks after a moment of thoughtful silence. “I mean, how can we be certain? You really think they’re ours?”

  “The alternative is, they are alien vessels belonging to yet another civilization.” Aeson shakes his head with wonder.

  At this point my heart is racing wildly as I peer over his shoulder, staring at the weird metallic dots. Alien ships! Ancient ark-ships! Either possibility is stunning.

  “Well, time to do another proximity flyby,” Oalla says with a long exhalation of breath.

  “Sending Pilots to the coordinates now,” Aeson says, starting to key in code instructions. “It’s been tricky to maintain a surface sweep without an actual solid surface to work with, but now that we have a specific target to observe, they will refine their scope and do slow passes.”

  I consider what he’s saying, and imagine how weird it must be to approach a ghostly planetary body and try to gauge distances and other spatial parameters without atmospheric resistance, gravitational effects, or a solid mass to work with. Their shuttle instruments and sensors must be going completely haywire, trying to evaluate the imaginary object before them by means of non-existent three-dimensional properties.

  “The next step is to confirm, before making any of this public.” Oalla picks up a mug of lvikao and takes a thoughtful sip.

  “Yes. Disclose nothing to the IEC or my Father, until we are certain that these are ships, and they are ours.”

  “This changes everything, doesn’t it?” Ker muses, lowering his deep voice to a whisper, out of hearing range of the servants nearby. “First, the ancient uhm—object underneath the Stadion, now these. What a strange time we live in.”

  Aeson sighs. Rubs his eyes, his forehead, frowning; pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he looks up at me and says, “Gwen. . . .”