Into the Black Read online

  He smiles at me, amusement glinting in his mismatched eyes. I guess we’re having a conversation now. “Do you not have a protected complex for royalty in A’Sharaf?” I ask.

  “Oh, we do, but as a family we try to make ourselves visible as much as possible so the people get to know us. My brothers frequent local taverns and events, for example, and my parents sometimes shop at the commoner marketplace. Shows the people we don’t consider ourselves above them, you know?”

  “You don’t?”

  Deimos laughs. “Well, depends who you ask, I suppose. I don’t, but I’ve never had any grand delusions of inheriting the throne, either.”

  “Even though you’re a kaï?”

  “I’m also the youngest of eight.”

  “Ah.”

  He laughs breathily. “Traditionally, the people of A’Sharo—royalty included—have very large families. I had a friend growing up who was one of sixteen.”

  “Sixteen?”

  “Sha, even I agree that’s a bit excessive.”

  The laugh tumbles out of my lips before I register it coming. Deimos grins like he’s just accomplished some huge victory, and maybe he has—it’s been too long since I was relaxed enough to laugh.

  “How about you?” he asks. “How many siblings?”

  And just like that, my brief smile slips away.

  “Ah, kafra,” Deimos curses. “I know that look. I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anymore.”

  “I … it’s okay.” I force a sigh. “I had an older brother. He was a good man—I wouldn’t be alive without the skills he taught me growing up.”

  “Skills like … desert survival?”

  “Well, naï, my father taught me that—but Day taught me how to fight, how to defend myself, and to always stay vigilant and pay attention to everything. You never know when a minor detail may tip you off something isn’t right.”

  “Good experience to have, especially in your position.”

  I nod. We jog in silence for a few mos, our feet pushing through the cool sand. That’s another different thing—the red sand back home never got hot, but it was nearly always warm unless it got wet. Here, even as the morning heat bakes my skin, the sand is cool under my toes.

  “Ej, you know, when we’re done with this jog, we should spar.”

  I glance at Deimos. “Sure, I guess. How much experience do you have?”

  “I’m a bounty hunter.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “An Avra-kaï and a bounty hunter. Interesting combination.”

  He laughs. “Came in handy when Kora and I were tracking you down.”

  “I’m sure … thank you, by the way.”

  He shrugs. “You don’t have to thank me. It was the right thing to do—and besides, it was way more interesting than pretending I’m even remotely interested in listening to my brother advocate for a spot on the throne he’ll never get.”

  I snort. “So much faith in your family.” But jokes aside, he’s making light of a decision that can’t have been that easy. Kora mentioned they missed Serek’s funeral to look for me. I’d feel bad, but they knew what they were choosing—and in any case, Serek wanted me here. I guess it was kinduv a different way of honoring him. I think he’d get it.

  Deimos snickers. “Well when former Sira Ashen arrived with his nephew, it was clear to everyone the bidding war was over for them. It’ll be between Lejv and you now.”

  “Great,” I mumble.

  “I don’t envy your position. It won’t be easy establishing yourself as a candidate to take seriously, not with all the prejudice and politics working against you.”

  Not to mention, I don’t even know how to establish myself to begin with. Or how any of this will be decided. Are there tests I have to pass? Speeches I have to give? I have no idea, and I’m not sure what he expects me to say—does he think I’ll argue or show false confidence? Does he want me to verbally agree to the depressing truth that I’m probably wasting my time here? I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter—I don’t need to say a thing because he’s right.

  It doesn’t take much longer to get back outside the palace, at which point Deimos turns to me and smiles.

  “So. How about that sparring match?”

  I’m a sweaty, aching mess when I check on Mal, but to my surprise, he’s not alone—Kora is sitting on the edge of his bed as they chat quietly. Great.

  Mal startles as I open the door and squints at me. “Uncle Eros?”

  “Yeah.” The door whooshes closed behind me, and Mal grins.

  “I could tell because of how you walk,” he says proudly. “Kinduv like a soldier but … not. It’s hard to explain.”

  I force a smile and don’t look at Kora. “That’s good. Everything okay?”

  “Sha,” Kora says. “I was just telling him about the sweets they sell in the complex. Apparently he didn’t eat last night, so he still hasn’t had a taste of real Asheron food.”

  I blink. “Mal, you didn’t eat last night?” How didn’t I notice? Deimos had gotten us some food and I was out of it but … I’d thought I’d seen him eat. Or maybe he just moved his food around his plate. I guess there was plenty left over …

  He shrugs. “I wasn’t hungry—I was too nervous.”

  I frown. “Okay, well … please make sure you eat today.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry,” Kora says, “food for everyone is first on the agenda. We’ll eat in here so we can discuss the plan.”

  Something twists and twists inside me, like the overtightening of a string. Something that thrills around my heart and clenches tightly in my chest, but I force a smile and say, “Okay. I’m going to get cleaned up. Are you okay, Mal?”

  “You don’t have to baby me,” he says. “I’m lying in a bed big enough for four people with a pretty girl offering me awesome-sounding food. I’m fine.”

  Kora laughs. “Go clean up, Eros. I’ve got it handled.”

  I don’t laugh, but I do leave.

  This washroom doesn’t have an in-ground, filled-to-the-brim bath thing like the room Kora was in last time we were at the Asheron palace, but two, thick, parallel stone slabs about two body-lengths long and wide stick out of the far wall. I’d noticed them when we arrived yesterday but didn’t pay much attention until now. The rock slabs are far enough apart that a very tall, grown man could sit on the bottom slab and still have plenty of room above his head. I wave my arm in the space between and jump back as water comes pouring out of the top slab.

  Okay.

  I try it again, this time resisting the urge to step away as water rains over my arm. And that’s what it’s like—a heavy, warm rain, like what we get maybe once or twice a year back home. There are more buttons at the back, and I’m guessing they activate soap and what not, so this has to be where I’m supposed to clean up. Which is fine. This is fine. Not a big deal.

  So why is my heart racing and stomach clenching?

  Deep breath in, deep breath out. I strip out of my sweaty clothes and slide between the two slabs. Water dumps over my head and—

  Ice and burning and screaming and pain—

  I jolt off the slabs and hit the ground hard, panting, and shivering, and fuck.

  Fuck.

  I can’t—I can’t do that. I press my palms against my eyes, and I’m not going to think about that white room, that icy water, those burning cuffs or the screaming, the screaming—I’m not. I’m not.

  Inhale, exhale. I force myself up, wrapping my shaking arms around my chest. There’s a fuzzy blanket-thing folded near the slabs, so I grab that, wet it, and wipe down. It’s not great, but it’s something. I’m not using those slabs again.

  That done, I change into a new outfit of black and gold pants and the strange, soft, black shoes people wear around here. I pause before the door—deep breaths, don’t want to look as edged as I feel so I’ll bury it, I can bury this—and walk into my bedroom holding the shirt they’d set aside for me, too.

  “I’m not wearing this,” I say, holding up the clo
th. “The collar practically goes up to my ears, and it looks as ridiculous as it feels.”

  Deimos laughs as Kora smirks at me. “That’s the fashion here,” he says. “I like to call them neck braces.”

  I’m not sure when Deimos got here, but I’m kinduv glad he is. He seems to be a good Kora buffer. “I don’t see you wearing one.”

  “Ah, but I’m representing the much more practical and attractive A’Sharon fashion. It isn’t my aim to become the next Sira.”

  “Can I see it?” Mal holds out his hand with a smile. I give him the shirt and he holds it up in front of him, squinting. “It’s black, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” I smile a little. “Sorry—that probably doesn’t help.”

  “I can kinduv make it out …” Mal tilts his head, then sighs and drops it beside him. “But even in the middle between patches where I can see best, it’s like trying to see black through black, static-y gauze.”

  “I had a cousin with similar vision difficulties,” Deimos says.

  I blink. “You did?”

  “Sure,” Deimos says. “Genetic defect—he could see sections but had spots of darkness obscuring his vision. He had a tutor who taught him how to use a walking stick. Once you’re Sira, I’m sure you could get one assigned to Mal.”

  I sit beside them as Kora hands me a plate of pastries. I still don’t look at her. The food looks and smells amazing, but … “But that was before the nanite collapse, right? So couldn’t they have just … fixed it?”

  “Nanites can’t fix everything,” Deimos answers. “The spots of darkness were with the best correction they could give him. Too much tampering with the eyes and you risk scar tissue and a host of other problems. Same goes for other sensitive organs, like the brain—sometimes the ‘correction’ is more dangerous than just letting the body be.”

  Deimos pops a pastry into his mouth, chews, swallows, and shrugs. “Besides, not every disabled person wants to be cured. My cousin, for example, has told me he’s happy with the level of correction he has, and even if he had the option to do more safely, he wouldn’t. It’s a part of him.”

  I glance at Mal, but he seems more concerned about the food he’s about to eat than his potentially permanent blindness.

  “Well I guess there’s no point trying to tell these apart,” Mal says, picking up a pastry at random.

  “Trust me, man.” Deimos smiles. “Everything Kora picked out for you is as amazing as kaf—”

  I clear my throat.

  “—rik?” Deimos finishes, grinning as he warps the swear into a drink.

  But Mal just gives me a withering look. “I know what kafra means.”

  I laugh. “Sorry.”

  “And fucken.”

  “Yeah, I—”

  “And—”

  “Don’t baby you,” I say quickly. “Got it. Sorry.”

  He grumbles and takes a big bite of pastry, then smiles as the sweet glaze coats his lips. Kora breaks a flaky roll in half, revealing a center full of some kinduv purple gel-ish filling. She catches me watching her and offers me half. I take it and taste the filling. It’s painfully sweet and fruity. I like it.

  “So,” Kora says, “we need to talk business.”

  Even though I’d prefer she walked out of this room and never came back, she’s right, so I don’t argue.

  “You need to make an appearance today—during the evening meal formal tonight will be your best opportunity to meet everyone and establish your intention to campaign for the throne. Before that, you have a lot to learn about how to present yourself and face the other royals. You aren’t a subordinate, not anymore, so you need to act confident …”

  Her lecture slips into a low drone; the pressure of a brainblaze wraps around my temples. Her words drift distantly around me; the smoky edges of a bonfire grazing my skin. A fire burning the bodies of my loved ones, lifting their ashes and spirits to the stars. The crackle of flame pops and snaps in my ears; the fire licking at the edges of camp, setting tents ablaze and scorching sand as I stumble through smoke, pressing the headscarf tighter against my mouth and nose as the choked air burns my eyes. I’m running, and Day and Esta and Nol are too far away, and I trip over a body, and I don’t look to see who it is, and it doesn’t matter who it is, it doesn’t matter that I’m running, it doesn’t matter that I grabbed a phaser because it won’t fire, and Day will look at me, and they’ll shoot him right in front of me.

  Day collapses again, and again, and again, in every glimpse of a dream, and it shouldn’t hurt so much anymore, it should be a dull ache by now but every time, every fucken time hurts like the first.

  I didn’t save him. I didn’t save anyone. I tried again, and again, and every time I slip into a dream, I try to change it but it never changes, it’ll never change, nearly everyone I love is dead and—

  “Em, Eros? Hold on, Kora, we lost him.” Deimos snaps his fingers in front of my face and chuckles when I startle. “You okay, there?”

  Heart pounding, deep breaths, muscles coiled and ready to—stars I am so edged. “Fine,” I mumble. I’m fine. I’m fine. If I say it enough, I might just believe it.

  “Did you really start wakedreaming while I’m explaining important information?” Kora asks. She sounds irritated. I don’t care.

  “I don’t think he’s slept well,” Deimos says. Why is he apologizing for me? I barely even know him.

  “It doesn’t matter how much he has or hasn’t slept,” Kora snaps, turning her sharp gaze on me. “You’re a breath away from losing the nomination, Eros. They’re not going to just hand it to you—you have to fight for it, but you’re not trying at all. You’ll never be Sira if you continue these barely-there attempts. They’ll give the nomination to someone else.”

  The fire churns inside me, bubbling behind my lips. I won’t lose it in front of Mal. But—wait, there are crumbs on Mal’s plate, but he isn’t sitting in our circle anymore. I glance around the room. Where did he go? How long did I lose myself?

  “He’s not even paying attention,” Kora has definitely crossed from irritated into blazed territory. Still don’t care. If anything, it’s about time; give her a taste of what I’ve been feeling since the mo I saw her again.

  “Where’s Mal?” I ask Deimos.

  “Washroom.” Deimos smiles softly. “He hasn’t bathed yet.”

  “Has anyone showed him how to use it? He can’t read Sephari any better than I can—”

  “You can’t be serious,” Kora interrupts. “Eros—I need you to focus.”

  “I need to take care of—”

  “Naï, you don’t. I understand you’re concerned for your nephew, but he’s not as infantile as you seem to think he is. Let him figure it out on his own; in the meantime, what you need to do is listen to me and prepare to face everyone tonight.”

  I scowl. “He’s half-blind—you’re asking him to figure it out when he can’t even see and he’s never used those blazing things in there.”

  “Kala alejha.” Kora presses her fingertips into her temples. “It’s like you want them to give the nomination to someone else!”

  “Maybe I do!” The words explode out of me before I can stop them. I jump to my feet, blood raging like a drumbeat in my ears. “You’ve never once asked me if this is what I want. You’ve never once stopped to consider maybe I don’t want to be Sira. Maybe I just want to live in fucken peace away from all these blazing politics and people who don’t even want me alive, let alone ruling the blazing planet.”

  Deimos grimaces, but Kora stands and steps right up to me, pressing her finger into my chest. “You really think I haven’t considered that?”

  “Sure doesn’t seem like it.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Eros. Of course you’d like to live in peace somewhere, but that’s a fantasy you will never have. You are a half-blood—worse, a half-blood with birthright to the throne—and I guarantee the first move any of those men would make as Sira would be to hunt you down and kill you. So if you want to live, and
you want your nephew to live—and I’m assuming you do—then you’ll swallow whatever resistance you have to the idea and do your kafran job.”

  The raging in my ears turns to heat spreading across my face and chest and slamming me with an energy that makes me want to scream. But I don’t—instead I switch to English and say, “Fuck you.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” Kora says flatly, “but unless it translates to ‘sha, Kora, you’re right and I’m sorry for being a stubborn child,’ I don’t care.”

  Someone clears their throat behind me—I expect it to be Deimos, but when I turn around, Mal is poking his head out of the bathroom.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he says quietly. “I need some help, Uncle Eros.”

  I don’t hesitate—I cross the room in several long strides while Kora curses behind me.

  “You are worse than a child!” she seethes. “At least children learn to be obedient!”

  I show her how much I care with my middle finger—she probably doesn’t know the gesture, but too bad. The door closes behind me, cutting off her tirade, and for a moment—just a moment—I can breathe.

  While Eros regresses to the behavior of a five-cycle-old child, I check on the formidable competition. An official announcement hasn’t been made yet when I return to the dining hall, which is mostly empty, so I wander until I find the royals lounging in the palace courtyard. The men ignore me as I enter—most notably Niro, who stares at me and then turns to Lejv, who is standing in front of one of two fountains, sharing some story about his travels across the territories, from what I gather. But Aleija looks at me, mutters something to her wife, catches my gaze, and nods to the archway I just came through.

  I step back into the hall, and moments later she enters beside me. “Let’s walk.”

  I follow her down the long hallway passing beautifully engraved tiles and potted desert plants—everything from flowers to carefully manipulated cactuses. We continue in silence at first, until the voices and laughter from the men we left behind die away.

  “How are things going with Eros?” Aleija asks.

  I sigh. “It’s been … trying. He’s overwhelmed with everything, I suspect. It’s a lot to take in—just a couple sets ago, he was here about to be executed, and then the nanite attack … I haven’t asked, and he hasn’t volunteered information, but his redblood nephew is with him, so I’m assuming they both lost more family.”