Beyond the Red

  Praise for Beyond the Red

  “Ava Jae’s Beyond the Red is a sand-swept fantasy of court politics, rebel attacks, and forbidden romance. While reading, I had flashes of Star Wars—a new planet, a fascinating culture, a fresh look on a ruler struggling to keep her power—and I had to know what happened next. Dangerous, exciting, and fast-paced, Beyond the Red is a story not to be missed.”

  —Francesca Zappia, author of Made You Up

  “Packed with political intrigue and smoldering romance, Beyond the Red left me craving more of Kora’s and Eros’s story and the unique, fascinating universe that Ava Jae has created.”

  —Sarah Harian, author of The Wicked We Have Done

  “Beyond the Red is a sweeping, compelling romance in a complicated and gritty world. Intrigue and heart on every page—I couldn’t put it down. I’ll be following Ava Jae to see what comes next!”

  —Kate Brauning, author of How We Fall

  “I loved this book! I couldn’t put it down! What a fantastic debut, perfect for fans of Firefly and Star Wars. Ava Jae’s Beyond the Red packs a punch, a total thrill ride that will keep readers turning the pages. I stayed up all night reading it. From page one, I was sucked in. Jae’s writing style is a perfect mix of stop and go, and her world comes to life within the first few pages. The action was power-packed, and the star-crossed romance had me begging for more by the end.”

  —Lindsay Cummings, author of The Murder Complex series

  “Ava Jae has built such an interesting world in Beyond the Red. With forbidden romance, gritty action, and thrilling danger, this debut is one to watch. And here’s hoping for a sequel!”

  —S. E. Green, award-winning author of the Killer Instinct series

  “I loved Beyond the Red! Ava Jae’s science fiction world-building is a perfect blend of a fantastic, foreign alien civilization and achingly human desires all packed into an explosive mix. I couldn’t help but root for crafty Kora as she navigated court politics, revolutions, and dangerous secrets. And Eros! His determination balanced with a sense of humor about his fate made him such a swoon-worthy love interest. The action started swiftly and didn’t let up. I can’t wait to read more from Jae!”

  —Lindsay Smith, author of Sekret and Dreamstrider

  “A thrilling blend of science fiction and fantasy, Beyond the Red sketches out an exciting new world full of romance and intrigue. I can’t wait for future installments!”

  —Kat Zhang, author of the Hybrid Chronicles series

  Copyright © 2016 by Ava Jae

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or info@skyhorsepublishing.com.

  Sky Pony® is a registered trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.

  Visit our website at www.skyponypress.com.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

  Cover design by Sarah Brody

  Map design by Kerri Frail

  Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-644-1

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-645-8

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my maker, with all the love You’ve given me.

  My brother just killed me. Again. I know, because I wake with a knife to my throat and the cool barrel of a phaser pressed against my forehead. Good morning to you, too.

  “Blazing suns, Day,” I murmur, rubbing the grogginess from my eyes. “If a Sepharon soldier manages to find camp while I’m sleeping, I accept I’m dead, okay? Now let me rest.”

  I’m ready for some kinduv snappy comment about how I’m dead twice now—when I’m too tired for Day’s drills, he sometimes mock-kills me in six or seven different ways before launching into his the aliens won’t let you rest spiel—but it doesn’t come. Maybe I should apologize for not taking him seriously, but it’s hard to be amped up all the time over such a distant threat. Most of us haven’t even seen a Sepharon, let alone come close enough to have to fight one, even if Day insists we’ll eventually have to.

  Still, the quiet is unlike him.

  I lower my hands and peer into the darkness of the tent. It must be earlier than I thought, because the suns haven’t risen yet. A shadowy figure cloaked in black stands over me. Silence twists through my chest. The hiss of shifting sand nearby sets my pulse racing. There are others here. And since when does Day wear a cloak?

  “Sit up, boy,” the figure says, and his light voice surprises me—he’s a kid, can’t be older than fourteen—and he’s calling me boy? He nudges the phaser. “Scream for help and I’ll cook your brain.”

  I sit up. Carefully. No sudden movements. My fingers are cold and my heart’s about to explode, but I force a slow exhale and swallow a bout of nausea. If this is some kinduv training exercise, Day’s gone way too far. As head of security, my brother’s obligated to be paranoid about raids from the Eljan Guard, but if they ever find us, they won’t sneak into my tent and hold me at phaserpoint—they’ll just raze the place to the ground.

  A thought worms into my mind and a shot of ice hits me in the stomach. What if this isn’t a drill?

  My eyes adjust, and I can make out the others—three figures cloaked in dark colors, curved black phasers in hand, standing near the entrance of my tent. They shift nervously, and one is digging the toes of his left foot into the red sand. Definitely not trained soldiers. Judging by their lack of height and use of English, they’re human, which means they’re probably from camp. So what do they think they’re doing?

  If they weren’t armed, I could take them out easily, but I’m not willing to risk a lucky shot to the chest with a phaser blast. The only way for me to escape this would be to turn their weapons against them. There’s no way I’d do that to a bunch of kids.

  “We should hurry,” one of the companions whispers, and the boy holding the phaser and knife outstretched nods and steps back.

  “Get up.”

  I slip off my bedroll and reach for my pants folded at my feet, but the hum of a charging phaser and the telltale red glow stops me in mid-reach. Red, not white. It’s actually set to kill, the little star-cursed idiots.

  “What are you reaching for?” the boy’s voice is high and tight. “I’ll kill you, I swear I’ll—”

  “I’m putting on pants,” I say calmly. “Unless you plan to parade me around camp naked?”

  A long pause. “Just hurry up.”

  I’ve barely thrown on a pair of shorts when the warm barrel of the phaser nudges my spine. “That’s enough,” he says. “Put these on.”

  He passes me two smooth metal cuffs.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

  “We don’t answer to half-blood bastards,” one of them says. It’s meant to be an insult, but the words roll harmlessly off my shoulders.

  “Put them on,” the boy behind me demands, pressing closer to me. I could refuse, but the heat of the charged phaser on my skin makes me think better of it, so I slide them on. They shrink to mold to my wrists, their edges glowing blue as the magnet activates. The boy pulls my hands behind my back and the cuffs snap together.
>
  “Move.”

  I duck out of the tent. A blast of warm wind slaps my face with chalky scarlet sand. Powder coats my tongue and absorbs the moisture in my throat, turning cold and muddy in my mouth. My foot catches on one of the tent supports, and without my hands to break the fall, I slam into sand, my tent crumpling behind me. Something hard presses into my thigh—the metal handle of the switchblade in my left pocket. One of them grabs my shoulder and yanks me to my feet—or tries, anyway, but he’s barely gone through his voice drop and I’m not exactly a small guy. I shift onto my knees, then stand. They prod me forward through the maze of sleeping tents, each marked with a circular family crest of varying designs and colors. I spit cool, bland sludge.

  I can see my captors more clearly under the light of the quadruple moon-dotted sky. The tallest is nearly a foot shorter than me. They wear matching black hoods with scarves covering their mouths and noses and long dark clothing to conceal their skin. Each of them carries several weapons—knives, phasers, and a club. Their movements are swift and silent, their heads ducked, as though they’re afraid of being seen as they keep me between them. They move with a synchronization that twists my stomach—I’m not the first person they’ve taken.

  As we move through camp, the hum of the phaser at my back keeps my mouth shut. I don’t doubt they’d use any opportunity to roast my organs with a well-placed pulse.

  It’s not long before camp is a circle of tents in a valley of crimson sand way behind us. Our destination—a sleek capsule-shaped transport with a flat base and trunk—rests on a dune up ahead. It’s camo’d, the color of the dark purple night sky, the paint shimmering slightly as it adjusts to its surroundings. Even the mirror-glass making up the front half of the port is ultra-reflective to help it blend. Camo’d ports are practically invisible when hovering a foot off the ground—and not exactly cheap transport considering the intensely expensive exterior and near-silent engine that lets it race over the sands with little noise.

  I arch an eyebrow. “Where’d you get the port?”

  “Shut up,” the boy at my back says. His voice I recognize. I can’t for the life of me remember his name, but I work with his sister, Aryana.

  She hates me. Like most people. Though for her it has to do more with too much brew and a messy lay in the sand she won’t talk about than it does my blood. Still.

  “It’s not like anyone will hear us out here,” I say. “And it sure as sand didn’t come from camp.” After a long silence, I add, “Do your mothers know what you’re doing?”

  “Shut up.”

  We reach the back of the port and one of the boys presses his palm against the horizontal seam between the doors. It opens with a hiss as the bottom door digs into the sand. The boy beside me gestures inside.

  “You still haven’t told me where you’re taking—”

  Sand explodes at my feet just as I register the screech of a phaser pulse. I gasp and stumble back, crashing into someone. The kid at my back gives me a hard shove as the trigger-happy boy soldier levels the phaser over my heart.

  “Shut your mouth and get inside. I’m not giving you a second warning.”

  I climb in with my heart in my throat and sand stinging my eyes. The doors come together like a closing eye and hum as the seal locks. The compartment goes black. Their footsteps whisper in the sand and thump as they climb into the front seat.

  I wait for my eyes to adjust. Someone to my right is sniffling, and the metal floor is cold on my bare feet. Breathing fills the empty silence, and I make out the whimpering form in the shadows.

  A kid. They’ve taken a kid.

  “Hey,” I sigh. “Are you okay?”

  The walls shudder as the engine hums to life and the port rises off the sand. The sniffling in the corner breaks into outright sobbing. I crouch and move near the huddled figure in the corner. My eyes have fully adjusted now; his cropped blond hair and shivering form emerge through the dark. He’s thin and small—maybe four or five years old.

  “My name is Eros,” I whisper. “What’s yours?”

  He quiets and peers up at me from between his arms. The shadows obscure most of his face, but—

  “Uncle Eros?”

  I tense as a flash of heat races through me, and for a split second I wish I’d beaten the stars out of those kids. Then his wide, terrified eyes fill with fresh tears, and I bury those emotions where he can’t see them.

  “Aren,” I breathe, scooting next to him. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

  He hugs me tightly. His little arms are covered in a fine layer of sand, and despite the heat, he shivers against me. “I’m scared,” he whispers.

  I lean forward and kiss the top of his head. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll protect you.”

  We sit like that in near silence, with only the hum of the transport and the occasional gust of wind against the walls. Heat prickles the back of my neck. In a couple hours, my family will wake to find Aren and me missing. Will they be relieved to know Aren isn’t alone, because I was taken too? Will they think us dead? I knocked over my tent so they’d see there was a struggle. If we’re lucky, Day will be able to follow our tracks to wherever they take us.

  I just hope he won’t be too late.

  The seconds drip into minutes slower than the setting suns during the season of endless days—but eventually we come to a stop, and the port lowers into the sand. Aren hugs me tighter as I shift in front of him, pressing his little body into the corner. He doesn’t protest, but his fingers dig into my skin.

  “Aren,” I say softly. “I need you to be brave for me, okay?”

  He shakes his head and whimpers into my side.

  I bite my lip. My heart races and sweat slips down my temple, but I try to sound calm. “Let’s play a game. I know you like games.”

  His grip loosens a smidge and he glances up at me. “A game?”

  “It’s called soldier, like your dad and me. Doesn’t that sound fun?” He hesitates and I continue before he can say no. “We’re going to pretend you’re a soldier tonight, so you’re going to have to be extra brave to win. Think you can do that?”

  Aren pauses, then nods. “Okay,” he whispers.

  “Good. There’s a special soldier tool in my pocket right next to your leg. I need you to take it out of my pocket and hide it in yours, then when I say so, slide it into my hand without letting the others see. Think you can do that?”

  His breath shivers as he exhales. “Yes. I think so.”

  “Okay. Take it out of my pocket.”

  Aren unseals my pocket and pulls the switchblade out. He looks at it for a mo, then drops it into his pants pocket and smiles at me. “I did it.”

  “That’s good. Now, when I say—”

  The doors pull apart and bright light floods the compartment. I squint away, unable to shield my face with my arms. All I see is the burning white shining into the van, and then a hand grabs my shoulder and rips me away from Aren. He screams and I twist back to face him.

  “It’s okay!” I shout. “Aren, don’t—”

  Another tug—the port’s floor disappears beneath me and the night topples sideways. Sand fills my mouth and nose, turning cold on my tongue. Heat and the salty taste of rust drips down my face as I spit saliva, muddy sand, and blood, and someone grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me to my feet. I squint through the tears washing the sand from my eyes and the blinding light from their torches. Seven shadowy figures. Four of them I expected—the boys that pulled Aren and me from the camp—but the other three tower over the boys, the tallest standing a foot and a half over the shortest kid. Dark hair trimmed to military perfection. Skin suns-bronzed like ours, but darker, with paths of lighter skin filled with black circle-like text, marking their bodies like elaborate maps. Towering forms stronger, faster, and born with better senses than any human. Trim white and red uniforms of the Eljan Guard.

  Fuck. They’re Sepharon soldiers.

  I guess Day was right about those drills after all.
<
br />   One of the boys places Aren next to me, and he clings to my side again, his cheeks stained with tears. No one pulls him away. I’m just relieved they didn’t cuff him.

  A quick glance around rewards me with nothing but endless sands. I’m not sure how far they took us from camp, but the cluster of tents, fire pit, livestock pen, and parked ports aren’t visible from here.

  “We brought two,” the tallest of the boys says in broken Seph-

  ari, hesitantly stepping toward the soldiers. “Like we agreed.”

  The center soldier snorts and steps toward us. “These are hardly quality workers.” He circles us, and his dark skin gleams in the light of the moons. The soldier glares with multi-toned eyes—rings of color after color. Aren shrinks into my side, but I meet the soldier’s eyes when he leers down at me. The corner of his lip quirks and he steps in front of me.

  “This one may do,” he says. “What is his age?”

  The boys glance at each other, so I speak for myself. “Eighteen.”

  He arches an eyebrow and nods at one of the other soldiers. The shortest one tosses him a light, and he shines it in my face. I grimace and try my best to keep eye contact. My eyes burn and tear up.

  But it’s not my eyes he’s looking at.

  The soldier brushes my shaggy dark hair out of the way and grabs my ear. I scowl but I don’t dare pull away—if he didn’t let go, I might lose an ear. It doesn’t last long, though—it only takes seconds to recognize my misshapen ears. Not quite long, pointed and notched like the alien Sepharon, nor short, smooth and round like the humans. The light moves to my chest, illuminating the faint maze-like lines of slightly lighter skin winding around my body. Not as prominent as the ones the Sepharon are born with, but definitely still there.

  Definitely not human.

  He shoves me away and turns on the boys. “A half-blood? You try to sell me a baby and a half-blood? How dare you insult us?”

  The boy stammers and stumbles back. I nudge Aren and nod. He stares at me blankly and my stomach plummets—he’s forgotten our game. But then he slides the smooth handle into my fingers and cool relief surges through me. I conceal the knife in my fists and pull my shoulders back.