The Rising Gold Page 3

  What if?

  What if the atonement is my nightmare scenario?

  What if he’s sentenced to death?

  Though we hadn’t seen eye to eye in cycles, though he tried to kill me and sabotaged my rule, though our relationship once cooled to something hard and deadly sharp, I’ve never spent a set on this planet without knowing he was here too. We’ve shared our lives, intertwined in a way only twins ever experience.

  Losing him would be a deep, agonizing pain I don’t want to face. It would rip a hole into me I don’t think I could repair.

  I want Dima punished, sha. But I don’t want him to die.

  “Good,” Roek says. “It’s incredibly important you don’t let this go, Kora. The people are waiting to see whether you’ll allow him to face the justice he deserves or whether you’ll allow your womanly weakness to cloud your judgment.”

  My mouth opens and closes.

  Womanly what?

  What did he just to say to me?

  “What did you just say to me?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Izra and Torven are both staring at Roek while Barra is smirking—again—and Roek just—

  Womanly weakness?

  “Please, Kora, there’s no need for false outrage. You know exactly to what I refer.”

  I laugh. My blood is boiling and I’m laughing and there’s a crack in Roek’s stony composure; his brows crease, just slightly, and it’s all I need.

  I’ll show him womanly weakness.

  “Oh, let me assure you, Roek, my outrage is incredibly genuine. Evidently I must remind you I am your Avra, and you will address me as your Avra and only as your Avra.” I lean forward, pouring the heat of my outrage into my gaze as I drill into his eyes. Roek glances at Izra and Torven on either side as he clasps his hands on the table and this—Kala knows this feels good.

  I dig deeper.

  “Perhaps we should practice, just to be sure you understand. When I speak to you, you will address me as …?”

  Roek presses his lips into a flat line. A vein throbs in his temple. But his voice is even when he says, “El Avra.”

  “That’s right. Now as for my womanly weakness, perhaps you’d like to explain exactly what you mean, while keeping in mind I am your Avra.”

  He hesitates. Choosing his words carefully. Good.

  He better be nervous.

  “I simply meant it’s important not to allow your … attachment to your brother and heightened emotions to get in the way of Dima’s deserved punishment.”

  “So attachments and emotions are a woman’s weaknesses, are they?”

  Roek licks his lips. “Weakness was perhaps not the wisest choice of words. But I’m certain you are aware women experience these things more intensely than their male counterparts. It’s only natural for women to have strong attachments and emotional experiences—”

  “Are you truly attempting to convince me men don’t have familial attachments or emotions?” I return my flattest, coldest stare. “Do you not feel an attachment to your mother? Your wife? Your son?”

  “Of course I do. But—”

  “And if something were to happen to them, if they were to die, for example, would you not weep?”

  Roek stiffens. “Of course I would. But I wouldn’t let those attachments or emotions get in the way of doing my duty.”

  “And neither will I.” I stand, pulling my shoulders back as I tower over the kneeling men. “I’m well aware, Roek, that you, and Barra, and certainly others, are convinced I’m at a disadvantage simply because I am a woman. There’s little I can do to change that misguided opinion, but nothing could be farther from the truth. My compassion and empathy allow me to understand the people in a way my predecessors never bothered to attempt. And I understand full well they want Dima to go to trial, and he will, as he should. Now if that’s all”—I look at Uljen. He stands—”then I will be retiring for the night.”

  I don’t give them the chance to respond. I walk right out the door with my head held high and my heart racing. I walk down the quiet aisles and I—I can’t believe I just did that.

  I just told off Roek in front of the Council.

  I just disciplined a Council member.

  And Kala, it felt amazing.

  “Well,” Uljen says, hurrying to keep my pace. “That was certainly something.”

  “Or’jiva to the ugly underbelly of Eljan court.” I smirk. “Kala, that was satisfying.”

  “You were incredible in there. Even I was intimidated.” He laughs a little, and I grin.

  “Good.” We exit the library and walk into the hallway, our footsteps patting softly.

  “There is, um, something I meant to say that I didn’t get a chance to mention at the meeting.”

  I frown. “Oh. I apologize, you should have said.”

  “Naï, naï, I didn’t want to lessen the impact of the excellent way you ended that meeting.” He chuckles, but the smile slips quickly off his lips. “Unfortunately I did hear some rumors at the coronation that I wanted to discuss with you.”

  I glance at him. He’s worrying his lip and his eyes are uncertain as he meets my gaze. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s not good.

  “Go ahead,” I say with a sigh.

  “There were …” Uljen hesitates, then lowers his voice. “These are just rumors of course—nothing concrete. But there were whispers at the coronation that the reason Sekka’l and Invino hadn’t sent their Avrae to represent their nations was because they intend to secede.”

  I stop. Stare at him. Repeat his words again, just to make sure I heard correctly. “Secede? You mean—become independent nations again? Not under the Sira?”

  “Those are the rumors, sha.” Uljen grimaces. “But again, they were just whispers and could very well be conjecture. I don’t think we should panic just yet but I wanted you to be aware of the possibility.”

  I bite my lip. “Thank you, Uljen. I hadn’t heard that so I appreciate the disclosure.”

  Uljen just nods. We walk until we go our separate ways—to his rooms and mine—but even as his steps disappear far behind me, his words pound in my mind, again, and again.

  The nations can’t just leave because they don’t like Eros. They can’t risk centuries of peace and dissolve the unity that has made us a stronger people because they don’t like Eros’s heritage.

  Can they?

  3

  Eros

  Can’t breathe. Can’t see. Blackness smothers my nose, my mouth, presses against my eyes with a hot, engulfing grip.

  I try to scream but the darkness rushes into my mouth—thick, dry, like an expanding, foul-tasting cloth. It crawls down my throat as the back of my head bursts with pain and my knees hit the sand.

  The pain explodes around my body like bursting stars. My mouth tastes like rust—sticky warmth drips down my face and paints my lips and the pain comes again, and again, and again until—

  The suns are up and the white sand is gritty under my knees. Lejv is beneath me. Lejv is beneath me and the thick, pointed shard of his staff is in my hand. I’m pressing into his neck as he stares at me, wide eyed. The bump in his throat bobs and he says—

  He whispers—

  Make it quick.

  The scream rips from my throat and I shove the shard into his neck. And the blood, oh, the blood, deep purple and hot, slickening my grip on the shard, painting my hand and climbing up my arm.

  Lejv is dead, but he’s not dead, and he smirks at me and says one more word: Animal.

  Something rough wraps around my neck—tight—and yanks me back. I claw at the cord digging into my throat as sand scrapes my back and Lejv’s blood climbs over my shoulder and onto my chest. I gasp for air but nothing comes. The blood climbs up my neck and over my lips and onto my tongue—

  On my knees in front of a huge black rock. Grooves scarred into the surface where the blade has crashed down again and again and again. The suns beat my back and my heart pounds against my chest and I want to live, I w
ant to live—all I’ve done to deserve this is survive in a world that wanted me dead.

  Someone shoves my head onto the chopping block. The rock is hard against my skin.

  Mal is staring at me, standing just a few paces away, his hands tied behind his back. His eyes are wide. I brought him here. This is my fault.

  My vision blurs up with stinging tears. “Mal, don’t look,” I say. “Close your eyes. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. Don’t look, Mal, please, please, please—”

  “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay. Eros, please wake up, you’re scaring Mal. You’re scaring me, eran, wake up. You’re okay. You’re safe. I promise, Eros, I promise …”

  The noise caught in my throat twists into a choked sob—but I can’t, I can’t, Mal is here.

  So is Deimos.

  When did Deimos get here?

  “I—fuck.” I wipe my face. My hands are shaking so bad. So is everything—the bed, the walls, the air—me. It must be me. I can’t stop.

  Deimos helps me sit up. Mal sits silently to my left, hugging his knees. He has his own room now, and obviously so does Deimos, so if they’re both in here while it’s still bitter-night-dark, then I must have been screaming again.

  Fuck.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I woke you guys up again. I’m sorry, you can go back to sleep, I’m fine. Really. Just ignore me next time.”

  Mal snorts. “Yeah, right.”

  “I mean it—”

  “You’re the Sira, Eros,” Deimos says seriously. “Anything short of screams of pleasure coming from this room is going to attract immediate attention from the guards.”

  “Screams of pleasure?” Mal says. “Did you really have to go there?”

  Deimos flashes a crooked grin. “Didn’t I?”

  I didn’t notice the guards, not at first—too dark. But Deimos is right—my bedroom is full of them now. Lined up at the edge of my bed, watching me with unreadable gazes.

  Some first night as Sira.

  “Sorry.” I wave my hand at them and my heart jerks at the black ink tracing the marks on my skin. Still not used to my new Sirae mark. “You can go back to your posts. I’m fine. I’m not in danger.”

  They file out with a nod. I sigh and run my hand over my face.

  No fucken way I’m getting any more sleep now.

  “C’mon, let’s get you back to bed,” I say to Mal. “I’m sorry for waking you, little man.”

  “I’m not little,” Mal mutters. And, I mean, he’s right. He’ll be fourteen in a couple months. He’s already getting taller and it won’t be long before his voice drops and all that—that stuff.

  Which is weird to think about but uh. “Not little,” I say. “Right, you’re right. Still, you need to get some rest.”

  “Pants?” Deimos suggests, and it takes me a mo to register what he means. Since Mal has his own bedroom now, I’d been sleeping naked, and I’m definitely not walking the halls with my ass for all to see.

  “Shae, on the floor,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “Not that I have any objection to getting a good look,” Deimos says. “Just for the record.”

  The half-laugh tumbles out of my mouth. Feels good. “I’m sure. Give me my pants.”

  Deimos hands them over with a smirk, and I slide them on before getting up. Mal navigates expertly around my bed and holds his hand out until he reaches the wall, then slips out the door first.

  I glance at Deimos. “Ej, remember when you said after I became Sira we could get Mal a tutor to teach him how to use a … stick thing?”

  “Walking stick, shae. I’ll look into it.”

  I nod and we follow Mal into the hallway. The guards clear space for Mal to move along the wall, nodding at him as he moves, not that I think he sees it. But maybe they’re doing it for me. To show they’ll respect him, even in these small ways.

  Mal will never inherit the throne, but he is kinduv a Sira-kaï now. At the very least, he’s royal or noble or whatever. Maybe when he gets older he’ll play a more political role. Maybe he’ll be the first human representative in Sepharon politics.

  I don’t really know if that’s possible or if he’d even want to, but just that he’s here and treated with respect is more than I ever thought possible.

  “So what’s considered tall for a human?” Deimos whispers. “Is Mal considered average for his age?”

  “A little taller than average, but for the most part, shae,” I say.

  Deimos arches an eyebrow. “A little taller than average?” He furrows his brows. “Really?”

  “I was the tallest at my camp. And the tallest when I was at the Remnant, too.”

  Deimos stares at me. He’s not that much taller than me—we line up pretty well, actually—but he is taller and still definitely not considered the tallest of Sepharon guys. “Your people are small,” he finally says.

  I smirk. “They think your people are giants.”

  “Well, I like to think we’re built like giants, if you understand my meaning.”

  I groan and Deimos laughs.

  “Fuck,” Mal says loudly ahead of us. “Get a tent and pillow, won’t you?”

  “Tent and pillow?” Deimos grins. “Now that sounds intriguing. I understand the function of the tent, but why a pillow?”

  “We’re definitely not having this conversation,” I say. “Also, watch your language, Mal.”

  “Why? You swear all the time.”

  “Yeah, but I’m also—”

  “Only six cycles older than me.” Mal stops walking, turns around, and crosses his arms. “I know you’re taking care of me, but you’re really not that much older than me. And you’re not my dad. I’ll swear if I want to.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but Deimos puts his hand on my shoulder. “Is this really worth the argument?” he says softly.

  I bite my lip. Mal’s bedroom door is right there. The endless sleep deprivation brainblaze is already chiseling behind my eyes and every mo spent here arguing pointlessly over swearing I don’t really care about is a moment I could be—well. Not doing that.

  “Whatever,” I say. “Just go to bed, okay? I’ll see you in the morning, Mal.”

  Mal huffs but enters his room.

  “Could be worse,” Deimos says. “He could be having sex. Have you talked to him about sex yet?”

  “I’m not talking to him about sex.”

  “Why not? Someone has to.”

  I sigh heavily and lean against the wall, pressing my palms against my eyes. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry.” Deimos gently touches my hands and pulls them away from my face. “Your hands are still shaking.”

  The echo of the scream tingles in the back of my throat. I can still taste the blood in my mouth. Like a mouthful of rust and salt, only slippery and thick.

  Make it quick.

  “I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night,” I say. “I’m Sira and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. And my thirteen-cycle-old nephew is getting sick of me. And he’s right, I’m not his dad, and I don’t know what I’m doing with him either, and I’m—” My voice cracks.

  What the fuck am I doing? Why did I ever think I could do this?

  “This was a mistake,” I whisper. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  Deimos places his hands on either side of my head and looks me square in the eye. “Look at me,” he says, as if I could look at anything else. As if, this close, his breath painting my lips and his skin on mine, I could look at anything other than his mismatched eyes and the asymmetrical markings on his face.

  As if I’d want to look at anything else.

  “It’s overwhelming,” Deimos says. “Even for someone prepared their entire life, being a ruler—let alone Sira—is always overwhelming. What you’re feeling is expected and normal. And to be clear, it’s good that you’re nervous and scared because it means you’re taking your position seriously. You understand the implicatio
ns and responsibility.”

  I’m not sure about that. More like the taste of responsibility is freaking me the fuck out and I’m pretty blazing sure I haven’t even begun to understand the full responsibility and implications, which scares the stars out of me because if I’m unravelling at just this taste, how will I ever manage the full extent of the job?

  But I don’t say that.

  “But you’re forgetting something,” Deimos says. “You’re not doing this job alone. No ruler does—there are advisors and Councils for a reason. I’m here to stay, Eros, and I’ll be at your side every step of the way. I’ve set up your first Council—it’s mostly made up of men who served under your father, with some newer people with perspectives I think you’ll appreciate. We’re going to tackle this together and you’re going to be just fine.” He smiles softly. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I promise you’re going to be okay. And in the moments you’re not, I’m here for you. Just say the word, shae?”

  I can’t manage a smile back, but the buzzing in my chest and the weight in my blood eases, just a bit. I can breathe a little more deeply. The world isn’t going to topple over on my head, not yet.

  “Shae,” I say at last. “Thank you.”

  “It’s never a worry, Eros. I’m honored to be at your side.” Deimos lowers his hands to my shoulders. My skin hums under his, sparking hot with every movement.

  “I’m really grateful you’re here,” I say softly. “More than I can describe.”

  Deimos smiles and slips his arm around my shoulder as we turn back to my room.

  “So … since you’re here,” I say, “there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh, Eros, that’s very kind of you, but you don’t have to tell me how irresistible I am. I’m well aware, I assure you.” I pinch his side and he laughs. “Ah! That hurt.”

  “You’re fine.”

  “I know I am, but thank you for noticing.” I roll my eyes, but he’s done it—I’m smiling, which I think was probably the point because he grins back at me. “There we are. Okay, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”