Beyond the Red Page 10

  She sighs. “I miss my old life, when Dima and I were children, before the pressure of the throne drove us apart. He was my closest friend, for a time.”

  When I look at her, her gaze is distant. Caught somewhere in the past, I guess. “What happened?” I’m not sure why I asked that. I don’t care. I don’t want to get to know her. I don’t want her to be anything but a symbol of everything I hate.

  And yet, when Kora bites her lip and looks down at her knees, my anger slips away.

  For a long moment she’s silent, probably because she has no business telling me anything and, honestly, I shouldn’t be asking. I shouldn’t be giving her the opportunity to explain herself.

  But then she says, “No one has ever asked me that before.”

  I blink. “No one’s ever asked you about … you?”

  She laughs weakly and shakes her head. “This is the Eljan court. It’d be vulgar for someone to ask me personal questions unless they were attempting to interest me.”

  “Interest?”

  She gives me a look. “As a potential suitor.”

  My eyes widen as my face goes hot. We’re sitting on her bed together, and she thinks—no, she can’t think that because she wouldn’t tolerate that from me for a mo. Right? “I’m not flirting with you,” I say quickly. “I was just being … nice.”

  Kora smiles weakly. “I know. It’s a pleasant change of pace.” We sit in silence for a couple mos before she sighs and continues softly. “To answer your question about my brother and me … my coronation happened. I inherited the throne, the explosion took our parents and—” Her voice cracks and she covers her mouth with her hand, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. Without thinking, I scoot a little closer and put my arm over her shoulders. She stiffens at my touch, but as she cries quietly into her hand, she doesn’t pull away. I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t be consoling her. I won’t feel bad, not for her, not after what she did, and yet I can’t fight this fucken ridiculous need to fix this, to hold her until it’s okay.

  It’s not okay. It’ll never be okay.

  Eventually she quiets, but she doesn’t sit back, so I keep her close, waiting for her to tell me to go back to my bedroll. I hate to admit it, but it feels nice, holding someone like this, and part of me doesn’t want to let go.

  That part of me needs to take a hike in the desert without water before I do something I’ll regret.

  But she doesn’t tell me to leave. Instead, she says, “Tell me about your people.”

  “My people?”

  She nods. “No one truly seems to know where the redbloods came from and so I thought …” she glances at me. Our faces are closer than I’d realized and, as much as I hate it, the warmth of her body against mine sets my pulse pounding. I should move away. Get off this bed. Get away from her. But instead I hold my breath and look at her lips, which are way too close for comfort.

  “I thought maybe you would know,” she says.

  Know? Know what? Know that I can feel her breathing against me? Know that we’re sitting in the dark, nearly naked, on a bed together with only a thin sheet between us? Know that I don’t usually lose control so easily, that I should be focusing on her words and not thinking about what her skin might feel like on mine?

  Stop. This isn’t right. She’s Sepharon—hell, she’s a Seph-aron queen. I can’t think this way. I can’t be attracted to her. I have to stop, I have to focus. I have to answer her question and breathe. Air.

  Her question. Where do redbloods come from?

  I’d heard stories about how humans got here—histories passed down from parent to child for generations about another planet galaxies away, about a land where humans are the dominant species and the Sepharon are nothing more than whispers of a tale. A place called Earth where the sky is sometimes blue and sometimes smog, depending on where you are. Where there’s only one sun and one moon and one ruling species with many languages.

  And they brought their people here, and when the killing and enslavement began, they left us to fend for ourselves.

  To be honest, I’d never paid much attention to the stories. What did it matter how humans got here? We were here, and now this was our home, even if the Sepharon weren’t keen on sharing it.

  “Supposedly the original colony came from another planet called Earth ages ago,” I say. “I’m not sure what the point was—I think they wanted to settle here or something. But when they arrived, they found that Safara was already inhabited by a humanoid species. And I guess the Sepharon took over quickly and used us as a slave race. Some got away and started the tribes of the Nomads, and the rest …” I shrug and try not to look at the black markings on my arm. Glance at her again. “What do your people say happened?”

  “That the redbloods arrived on several ships with intentions to take from our soil. And that we sent a very clear message to the rest of their kind to stay away from our home.”

  I smile grimly. “Seems they got the message.”

  Her eyes drift closed and she nods. “So it seems.”

  We stay like that in the shadows for what feels like a long time. She sinks lower into my side and, as her breathing evens out, my eyelids droop. We breathe together and her hair smells sweet and I expect her to tell me to leave at any moment, but the command never comes.

  Everything about this is wrong, and yet I sleep more soundly than I have since that terrible night of fire and smoke.

  “We’re going into Vejla,” I say when Eros returns from his morning jog around the grounds.

  He stands in the doorway, the sculpted muscles of his chest glistening with sweat as he catches his breath. I have to admit, the uniform suits him. The white fabric makes his tanned light brown skin look rich and smooth, and I certainly don’t mind the perfect view of his toned upper body. He’s surprisingly well built. Almost handsome, even.

  For a half-blood.

  I watch him from my spot on the bed, lowering my book as he stares at me. “Did anyone give you trouble?”

  “A few glares and I’m pretty sure someone spat at me, but nothing I’m not used to,” he says breathlessly.

  I scowl, but Eros shakes his head. “It’s nothing compared to what I used to get at camp as a kid. Don’t worry about it.”

  His words sink into me one at a time. How is it possible that his own people treated him worse than mine do? “I don’t understand. You were a warrior, were you not? Did your people truly not respect you at all?”

  “I’m a half-blood, Kora,” he says, as though that says it all.

  I suppose it does.

  Eros wipes sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “What do you mean we’re going to Vejla? We are in Vejla.”

  I sigh and stand. “Sha, but we’re in the palace complex, which, if you haven’t noticed, is kept separate from the city. I want to walk the streets and see my people, and you’re coming with me.”

  Eros frowns and wipes sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Eight sets ago, there was that riot—”

  “I haven’t forgotten the riot, Eros.” I turn to my wardrobe. “That’s exactly why I need to see Vejla for myself. It’s been too long since I’ve entered the city without the prestige of being Avra. I need to see my people up close.”

  He hesitates. “I’m not sure that’s safe.”

  “Of course it’s not safe. That’s why you’re coming with me.” I rifle through the drawers until I find what I’m looking for—a dusty, gray-green hooded tunic with loose, overlapping layers and long sleeves. The back has a large opening with crisscrossing straps, but no one will recognize me by my back. At least, I hope not.

  “Besides.” I toss the tunic onto my bed. “Dima says he’s taken care of the situation, and there haven’t been any protests on the guide feed for three sunsets. It seems the people have calmed down, so you have little to worry about.”

  “Kora …” I face Eros and narrow my eyes at him. He grimaces and sighs. “There’s no talking you o
ut of this, is there?”

  “Naï, there isn’t.” I smile at him and point to a pile of clothes neatly folded at the edge of my bed. “Anja brought those for you. Clean up and put those on so we can go before my brother and Jarek return from their drills. I don’t want anyone to know I’ve gone.”

  Eros pulls off his black hood as soon as we step outside. I frown and yank the hood back over his head, and he rips it right off again.

  “Stop that!” I hiss. “I can’t have anyone recognizing us.”

  Eros scowls. “First off, no one sane wears all black in the middle of the blazing day, especially with long sleeves. I’m going to broil in these ridiculous clothes.” He pulls at his thin, sheer black shirt, then glares at his dark pants like they’ve somehow insulted him.

  I frown. “Your shirt’s thin enough—it just has to cover your markings.”

  “Secondly,” he continues, ignoring me. “You’re going to look conspicuous enough in a hood and long sleeves, but two people walking around in long-sleeved hoodies is going to attract attention, so I’m not wearing my hood up for your own good. You’re welcome.”

  “Fine.” I sigh and step forward. “Let’s just go before my brother sees.”

  Eros moves in front of me, blocking my way.

  I roll my eyes. “You aren’t going to stop me from going, you know.”

  “I’m not trying to stop you, I’m trying to keep you from getting killed. Since you’ve made your mind up, the least I can do is make sure you look the part.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Roll in the sand.”

  I stare at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re too clean.” He gestures to the ground. “Roll around.”

  I try to step around him, but he stays in front of me. I scowl. “Eros—”

  “Do you want to go or not?”

  I arch an eyebrow. Did he just interrupt me? “Of course I do.”

  “Then unless you want everyone to know who you are, do as I say.”

  Part of me wants to be irritated, but I’m the one who assigned him to protect me. Is it so bad that I actually found someone willing to do the job? His artificially gray eyes are stern as he watches me. If he truly thinks this will somehow help—which he seems to—then I should do as he says.

  I sigh and lie in the sand, cover my face with my hands and roll around a couple times. Warm powder coats my skin and gathers in the folds of my tunic, pouring off me in streams as I stand and brush myself off.

  “Better?”

  “Getting there. Let your hair down.”

  I scowl. “It’s hot. My hair stays up—besides, townspeople wear their hair up. That’s not exactly reserved for royals.”

  He bites the corner of his lip. “I know, but your hair looks too neat. And you’re wearing jewelry—that’s got to come off.”

  My hand flashes up to my earring. “I can’t take it off.”

  “You wear it all the time—someone’s bound to recognize it.”

  “I’m wearing a hood for a reason.”

  “Someone could still see it.” He extends a hand, but his face is soft. “I’ll keep it safe. Don’t worry.”

  Reluctantly, I pull off the double-stud earring bound together with a light chain—my last gift from Mamae. I squeeze it in my hand for a moment before handing it to Eros, who slips it into his pocket. “Can we go now?” I sigh. “At this rate, it’ll be nightfall before you deem me suitable for Vejla.”

  “Just one more thing.” He reaches toward me, then hesitates. “Can I …?”

  I glance at his hand. “What exactly are you doing?”

  “Trust me.”

  I frown, but nod, and he reaches over and ruffles my long loose bangs and gently pulls some strands of hair out of place. His fingers brush against my ear and the barely there touch warms my cheeks and makes my belly flutter. His fingertips are rough and calloused, but his touch is like a warm whisper of wind against my skin.

  I shouldn’t be allowing this. No one outside of family is permitted to touch me—and especially not a boy. There are many within the court that would be outraged if they knew I allowed Eros to sleep beside me—the guards, my brother, even Anja would disapprove. Truth be told, I surprised myself the first time I asked—but having his warm presence against me helps to calm me even through the worst of the nightmares. And to be honest, it’s not their decision to make.

  And now, with his fingers grazing my skin, I can’t bring myself to pull away. It’s all I can do to resist the impulse to lean into the contact.

  “There.” He drops his hand to his side; my skin is vacant without his caress. His eyes search mine—what is he thinking as he looks at me? Does he see the monster that destroyed his home and killed his family, or does he see something more?

  I want to ask, but I don’t. I already know the answer.

  I step past him and together we walk beyond the palace gates.

  After walking the outskirts of the city, Eros and I slip into an alley between a butcher’s shop with long strips of hanging meat displayed in the windows, each cut with flashing blue statistics embedded in the glass, and a fruit and vegetable store displaying new produce flash-grown eight times with nanite technology from sunrise to sunset. A man stands guard at the door with overlapping scars on his thick arms and a bloodstained cleaver in his fist, but he doesn’t pay us any mind.

  The white-paved streets, I must admit, are emptier than I remember. The once lively chatter of the city has been reduced to whispers as people walk quickly, eyeing us warily as they pass. No one lingers outside—they duck their heads and dart from building to building, as if afraid of being caught unawares on the streets. Even the black orb-guides seem nervous, if that were possible—they zip around heads and chitter quietly, never staying in place for long.

  For every four open stores, one or two are shuttered closed, many of them vandalized. We pass a former tailor with broken glass windows, burnt walls, and fabric and rubble strewn inside. A bike shop with two burly men standing outside the entrance, glaring at anyone who comes near. A small temple with the windows boarded up and a handwritten sign posted outside that reads PLEASE SHOW RESPECT with lewd drawings scribbled over it. Armored guards patrol the streets, solar-powered batons and white-rimmed phasers at the ready. Eros and I keep our heads down as they pass.

  This is not the Vejla I remember. This is not the city I call home.

  “Nice place,” Eros mutters, stepping over a wad of rotting trash. “Probably should’ve worn shoes. I’ve nearly stepped on broken glass or splintered wood three times already.”

  “This isn’t right,” I answer quietly. “Vejla was a place of commerce and wealth, full of visitors from across the territories. Nothing like this.”

  “When’s the last time you’ve actually visited the city?”

  My stomach churns as hot guilt drips down my spine. I remember the occasion exactly—nearly three cycles ago, several terms before my coronation, when Dima and I snuck out to see the Festival of Stars in person. We painted our skin black and drew on ourselves with bioluminescent paint that glowed brightly in the night. We danced with strangers and drank azuka mixed with fruit juices until our ears burned and heads spun. A pretty girl tried to kiss Dima, and he barely ducked out of the way, flushed and flustered. Though he didn’t find the humor, I laughed endlessly about it until we were both too intoxicated to care.

  We danced until the suns rose and Father was furious, but when he yelled at me for being reckless and irresponsible, Dima defended me.

  It was the first and last time he stood up for me. It was also the last time I saw my brother truly happy.

  “Kora?” Eros frowns at me. “Are you all right?”

  My eyes are watering. I rub them quickly and clear my throat, but before I can answer, a boom echoes somewhere ahead of us, followed by a flash of blinding green light and—

  Eros slams into me, his arms wrapping around me as we hit the ground and a blast of hot wind, sand, and debris crashes into us. My face is bu
ried in his chest as the roar of broiling wind races over us, and Eros presses his forehead against mine and our noses are touching and his lips are so close. I should be terrified, but instead all I feel is the heat of his breath against my face and the tickle of his eyelashes on my skin. All I feel is his strength covering me, the hard planes of his body protecting me.

  All I feel is the urge to close the distance between our lips, and it’s absurd. He’s protecting me from a bomb blast for Kala’s sake and I’m lying here thinking about how nice his lips must taste. But he protected me—more, he put himself in harm’s way to protect me. And it’s such a simple thing, to actually have a guard who put himself second to protect me, but I’ve never had that. No one ever cared.

  Eros could let me die to be free of his oath. But instead, he’s here, covering my body with his.

  “Kora,” Eros breathes, and the way he whispers my name sends warmth rippling through my body.

  “Sha?” I answer softly. The tips of our noses touch but neither of us moves away.

  “I think it’s safe. Are you hurt?”

  “Naï,” I whisper. “I’m not hurt.”

  He stares at me for just a moment longer and my heart skips a beat. But he pushes himself up, then extends a hand to help me to my feet. I take it and try not to think about the press of his fingers against mine.

  Kafra, what’s wrong with me? Eros is not the first attractive boy I’ve come across—and he’s my guard. Worse—a half-blood. And in no way someone I can even remotely consider.

  I push those thoughts away. “Are you injured?”

  “I think my back might be a little cut up, but nothing serious.” Eros turns around and cranes his neck, trying to glance back at his shoulders. He’s right—a couple cuts and scrapes ooze reddish-purple blood, but it’s nothing life threatening.

  “You’ll survive,” I say.

  He nods, then looks off in the direction of the blast. “We should probably go. If things are heating up again—”

  “I want to see it.”