Into the Black Read online

  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 © 2017 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.

  First Edition

  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 [email protected].

  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

  Names: Jae, Ava, author.

  Title: Into the Black / Ava Jae.

  Description: New York : Sky Pony Press, [2017] | Series: Beyond the red trilogy ; book 2 | Summary: When The Remnant abducts Eros, rightful heir to the world throne, ex-queen Kora tries to stave off those who would seize power, including a new charismatic candidate, Lejv.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017025332 (print) | LCCN 2017039129 (ebook) | ISBN 9781510722361 (hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781510722378 (ebook)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Science fiction. | Kings, queens, rulers, etc.--Fiction. | Inheritance and succession--Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.J384 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.J384 Int 2017 (print) | DDC [Fic]--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017025332

  Cover design by Sammy Yuen

  Map design by Kerri Frail

  Interior design by Joshua Barnaby

  Printed in the United States of America

  To the fighters, the resistors, the rebels

  holding on to hope and making their voices heard—

  this one’s for you.

  “In the end, we all become the same: dust, stars, and sand.”

  Those were the words Nol said to me when I was five as he bandaged my bruised ribs. I didn’t understand what he meant then, with my mouth tasting like sand mud—bitter, thick, and chalky—my tears drying on my red-dusted face, and my ears ringing with words gathering in the back of my throat like broken glass.

  Half-blood.

  Alien bitch.

  Mutt.

  But now as crackling orange flames lick up the pyre and the people I love burn to dust and sand and stars, it’s Nol’s words tattooed across my mind. It’s my nephew Aren’s face lighting up like a sunrise when his father and I came home from a patrol—it’s every moment we had together curling into smoke and reaching to the stars where I can’t follow.

  Mal shifts beside me as he sniffles and rubs his eyes again. He lowers his head until his rusty hair cover his eyes.

  “It’s—” My voice comes out tight and raspy. I clear my throat and try again. “It’s okay to cry. You don’t have to hold it in.”

  Mal squints at the pyre and doesn’t answer. I don’t push.

  Not so long ago, before Kora’s soldiers attacked our camp, there were 236 of us. Not so long ago, I had a mother and father, and a brother with a young, happy family.

  Kora’s raid brought our numbers down to just over one hundred. Now I count fifty-three. And of my family, Mal is the only one left.

  What happens now? What am I supposed to do with a kid, who at thirteen, just lost everyone and everything? I’m not his father. I’m as lost as he is.

  The crackle of flames fills my ears. My skin prickles with the weight of stares from the silent mourners. Their gazes flicker to me through the shadows of the burning pyre.

  Gray begins the funeral song. His low hum reaches through the stark, flame-casted shadows. Others join him, maybe half a dozen, their tones of sorrow and ache twisting together into a melody of pain. Of wanting. Of remembering. Tonight, we’re united in our sorrow, but tomorrow, with Serek’s echoing words—a dying world prince—broadcasted over the red, they’ll expect me to act.

  There is a man with royalty in his veins, a man whose birthright outweighs Roma’s.

  I know my birthright: my neck beneath an executioner’s blade. I know what my blood carries: a lifetime of scorn and hatred. I’m not royalty destined for the throne—I’m a guy exhausted to my bones; I’m ready to curl up in the sand and sleep until eternity takes me.

  Mal squeezes my hand. I squeeze lightly back. The flames burn and burn, dancing over people I loved.

  Eros, please return to Asheron.

  How can I return to a capital that cheered at my would-be execution? How can I face a girl who I trusted long enough to hurt me? Who kissed me before reminding me I’m not worth the sand beneath her feet?

  The territories—and your people—need you.

  Who are my people? I thought they were the people who spat in the sand as I walked by; the peers who pressed my face into the dirt with my arm pulled tight—too tight—behind my back, so close to snapping. I didn’t
scream, didn’t cry, but stars, I wanted to.

  Today those people whispered thank you as I washed up Mal and sat with him on a dune at the edge of camp, facing an endless desert horizon. They didn’t apologize. But for the first time, my name—not half-blood—slipped from their lips.

  The fire crackles and pops; the heat of the flames licks at my skin. The moon-dotted sky paints us in cool, silvery light as the funeral song’s hum settles on my shoulders. The smoke curls and rises into the deep purple night, blocking out swaths of stars.

  I join quietly, humming just loud enough for Mal to hear. This was always Nol’s job—carrying the tone for the family—but with everyone gone, it’s the least I can do. For everyone I’ve lost. For the only one I have left.

  Serek thought people would overlook the truth of my blood, the truth that I shouldn’t exist. Serek thought birthright would triumph over hatred, over generations of murder and slavery and the unchallenged belief that humans and Sepharon will never be equals. That mixing the two is akin to bestiality. That half-bloods like me don’t get to take a first breath.

  But people aren’t that forgiving. Hate isn’t forgotten overnight. Generations of half-bloods are an abomination can’t be erased with a few pretty words and a genetic test.

  Going back to Asheron would be brainless. Going back to Asheron intending to take my rightful place on the throne would be laughable—in that they’d laugh while dragging me back to their half-destroyed arena for the last time.

  I inhale deeply and focus on the song, on the snap of flame, on the pressure of Mal’s hand in mine. The truth is I’m not scared; I’m fucken terrified. The truth is I want to walk into the suns until the pain disintegrates into stardust, like me.

  Of course, doing that means leaving Mal, who has no one left. It means abandoning the mourners looking at me for hope of something better. And it means turning my back on Kora, who maybe deserves it even if I care when I don’t want to, and Serek, who literally used his dying breath to legitimize me.

  I have too many people’s lives on my shoulders.

  Mal presses his palms against his eyes and I put my arm on his shoulder. He keeps shaking his head, his dark orange hair glinting in the firelight, so like Jessa’s. He has her freckles, too, scattered across his light brown skin like thick grains of sand. I don’t tell him it’ll be okay. I don’t say they’ll be with him wherever the stars reach. I don’t pretend his hurt is anything less than agonizing.

  Nol would want me to go. He’d give me that thin, grim smile and tell me to try. He’d say my whole life had been leading to this moment, this impossible decision, this thing I never could have imagined happening. This thing I never would have wanted to happen.

  I touch the bracelet Aren gave me, not so long ago. It’s a protection bracelet, so nothing bad can happen to you when you wear it. My eyes sting and my vision blurs. Inhale, exhale. Breathe. The song ends, and only the pop of the flames fills the night for a beat, two, more. Then like a wave, the whispers wash over us, again and again.

  “Go to the stars.”

  “I love you.”

  “Go to the stars.”

  Mal pulls his hands away and blinks hard, squinting into the darkness. He blinks again and again, his body shaking as he—

  He’s shaking. “Hey,” I say softly. “Mal—”

  “I can’t see right.”

  His words come so quietly I’m not sure I heard right at first. I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something wrong with my eyes.” He turns to me, squinting, but though his amber eyes are clear, his gaze is unfocused. “I can sortuv see, but … it’s like … after what happened …” He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, takes a shaky breath, and makes a pained noise like—crying. He’s crying.

  Dammital.

  “Okay.” I crouch in front of him and touch his hands. “Okay. Don’t worry, I’m here. Look at me.”

  Mal sniffles, wipes his eyes, and squints at me through tears.

  “Can you see me?”

  “Yeah,” he croaks. “But you’re blurry, and I’m sleepy all the time and my head hurts. And everything around the edges is even blurrier and dark even during the day and there are black blotches …”

  My stomach sinks. Mal has never had vision problems—at least, Day never mentioned any, but maybe …

  It could be temporary, right? Based off the awful head pain everyone described, best I can guess is the nanites attacked people’s brains. So maybe he’s still recovering, or it’s from when he collapsed, or … or maybe it’s more serious.

  I won’t know unless Mal gets medical attention. And he’s not going to get the help he needs out here in the desert.

  Mal rubs his eyes again and again, then squints at me some more. Whether I want it or not, everything points back to Asheron.

  “It could be a concussion,” I say. I think concussions make people sleepy. They definitely cause brainblazes. “Maybe you hit your head when you fell. It’s okay, look, we’ll go to Asheron together and I’ll make sure as sand a medic sees you. They’ve got blazing good docs there—super high tech stuff—they’ll figure out what’s going on and fix you right up. Okay?”

  Mal leans his forehead against my shoulder and whispers, “Just don’t leave me.”

  My stomach swoops as an ache spreads behind my lungs and claws up the back of my throat. I slide my arms around him and pull him closer. “Never.”

  Mal doesn’t cry anymore and neither do I. I don’t have any tears left to give.

  Camp must’ve been preparing to move when the nanites attacked and everything went to the Void, because Mal’s things are already packed in what was once Day’s bag. I give our passed family’s things to Gray, who disperses them among the remaining survivors. There used to always be a family who could put the deceased’s things to use, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a massive excess now that we’ve lost so many people.

  Then again, a lot of people lost everything to the fires that consumed camp during Kora’s raid, so maybe not.

  The deep purple sky turns dusky pink, orange, and red. I fold up Day’s bedroll and add it to Mal’s pack. He’s still asleep, so I let him get a little more rest—it’s going to be a long set for both of us.

  I’ve already made the mistake of leaving my family behind once. I’ve already depended on camp to keep them safe, and it didn’t. And maybe it would be different this time, maybe camp is safer than Asheron is, but Mal asked me not to leave him, and even if he wanted me to, even if my sole purpose for going wasn’t to get Mal the best medical care on the planet, I wouldn’t.

  I may have failed everyone else, but I won’t fail Mal.

  I slip out of the tent and dig my toes into the cool sand. The suns have barely started rising and it’s already warming up quickly; it’s going to be hot, like every set this time of year. I retrace my steps to the edge of camp, where I left Serek’s bike after crashing it into some perimeter soldiers, but everything is sand. It wasn’t breezy last night—there are still footprints everywhere—so I can’t imagine the sand would’ve buried it already, and yet …

  I walk all along the perimeter. I came in from the east, but maybe my sense of direction is off this morning? Or someone moved it? But even after completing the circuit, no bike.

  I run a hand through my hair and turn back to camp. Guess I’ll have to find Day’s old bike, which Gray would’ve kept because we don’t have ports to spare. But Serek’s bike was at least five times faster, which means it’ll take all set to get back to Asheron. Doable, but still.

  A patch of shiny black and gold dust catches the corner of my eye. I kneel beside the pile and run my fingers through the powder—it’s colder than the sand and a little slippery, almost like metal.

  I take a closer look at the footprints near the dust. A long wake leads right up to the patch, like something dragged through the sand. Prints are everywhere, some grouped together and leading back into camp.

  This has to be it. T
his is where I came racing in. This is where I crashed the black and gold bike. Black and gold like this powder.

  Did Serek’s bike … disintegrate? Is that even possible? He did say it was nanite-made, but if there was a risk of it literally turning to dust, wouldn’t he have warned me? What if that had happened while I was using it?

  Sighing, I stand and turn back to camp. If I were superstitious, I might take the whole thing as a sign I shouldn’t go. If I were religious, I might think something out there was messing with me. Which is what Gray seems to be thinking when I tell him about the fate of Serek’s bike.

  “Dust?” He arches an eyebrow. “What, like, poof? You’re sure?”

  I show him a handful of the stuff.

  He shakes his head and brings me to Day’s old bike, kept with the camp junkers. “Damn alien tech. They think they’re so advanced, but at least our primitive shit doesn’t melt under the suns.”

  I grimace and turn away, but Gray grabs my shoulder. “Hold on.”

  I stare at him. He smiles apologetically and releases me, wiping his hand on his pants like he’s been contaminated by touching me. Old habits.

  “I just—we hadn’t really … left off on the ride foot before. And that’s on me—I was a deck, and I’m sorry. But I just … hope you know you’re the first and only chance we’ve ever had.”

  And here it is. What everyone’s been saying through their glances and whispers. The truth no one wanted to say outright: the half-blood they treated like garbage is now someone they need. So now they’ll be polite. Now they’ll use my name. Now they’ll treat me like a person, like someone deserving respect.

  Almost like a human.

  My voice comes out flat. Tired. Sick of the falseness already. “You’re unbelievable.”

  Gray frowns. “Eros—”

  “No.” I step toward him, my blood boiling under my skin. “You all treated me like trash my entire life, and yet I stuck my neck out for all of you again and again. I’m going to Asheron to get Mal help, and I don’t fucken know what will happen after. But I don’t owe anyone a damn thing and you don’t get to ask me for shit. You don’t get to guilt me into risking my life for any of you ever again.”