Beyond the Red (18 page)

The conversation itself is uneventful except for one notable difference: Daven actually has me laughing throughout the course.

For that reason alone, I nearly ask the
kaï
to stay an additional night.

Before preparing for the night’s rest, I stop by Daven’s guest room to wish him a good journey before he leaves in the early morning, as is custom. Usually, this would be Dima’s job, but as he couldn’t be bothered to attend dinner, I take care of it myself.

Eros’s footsteps echo as we walk across the textured floors, through the twisting hallways to the guest suites. As we near the room, the Daïvi warrior standing guard beside the carved white stone door bows low with his fist held over his stomach. One soldier. The other must be inside. We step beside him and I nod at Eros, who knocks twice and moves behind me.

Murmuring voices filter through the heavy door, and a moment later it slides open. To my surprise, Daven, not his friendly guard, stands in the doorway.

“
El Avra
,” he says with a bow and a smile. “What an honor. Please, come in.”

I blink at his choice of words. When greeting royals from other territories, the customary phrase is
ol Avra—
your majesty. For him to use
el
and call me
his Avra
is a gesture of great respect.

“Thank you,” I say softly. The corners of my lips inch northward as he steps out of the way, and I enter with Eros close behind me. The glaring guard from earlier is sitting at a silver desk floating beside the northern wall, his eyes glued to a glass propped up before him, streaming some sort of political broadcast, by the sound of it. He glances over just long enough to bow his head, then returns his attention to the screen.

Both men have removed the upper halves of their uniforms and lounge in silky blue and white pants. Daven’s torso is more ink than skin, but his guard doesn’t have many more black markings than Eros.

I turn to Daven. “Everything is to your liking, I hope?”

He nods. “
Sha
. Your hospitality has been most welcoming.”

He moves behind the inattentive guard and reaches over his shoulder to wave his hand over the screen, turning it off. The guard glances up at him and Daven takes his shoulders firmly and smiles at me. “Please forgive Zek. He was raised beyond the walls of the royal court and has not yet learned all of our customs.”

Zek flushes and lowers his eyes.

“Of course.” I’m not entirely sure what to make of Daven’s undisguised affection. Or is touching not as taboo in Daïvi culture? I don’t remember, but I would think he’d try to be more careful, considering he’s visiting Elja under the pretense of being a suitor.

But there’s something in the intensity of Daven’s gaze. Unspoken words are in his tense fingers and clear eyes. A vulnerability shielded from me upon our initial introduction and dinner.

He doesn’t speak, but the message in his gaze is clear enough: he’s asking me not to choose him.

I smile softly. “I won’t take much of your time. It was wonderful to become acquainted with you,
Avra-kaï
, but you should know that I’ll be choosing another suitor.”

His shoulders relax and his whole body shifts in a silent exhale. Zek closes his eyes, the echo of a smile washing over his lips. I’ve made the right decision.

“I understand,” Daven says.

I wish him a safe journey and turn to leave as Eros opens the door.

“
Avra,
if I may?”

I glance back at the
kaï.
“
Sha
?”

Daven smiles. “For what it’s worth, my sister and the people of Daïvi support you.”

My breath hitches in my throat, stealing my words. I can only hope he sees the gratitude in my smile as I bow and leave the room.

I dream, sometimes, of the morning of my coronation, caught somewhere between a memory and a nightmare.

It begins, as always, in the waiting room three stories above the annex of the Temple d’Elja. Pale uniformed servants rush around me endlessly, fixing my makeup, checking my hair, tightening the red ceremonial ribbons around my arms. Despite the activity in the room, they work in near silence, trading only the occasional whispered words. Sitting on a mountain of cushions, I stare at the tiled ceiling and carved stone walls. I focus on breathing and not vomiting. Inhale through my mouth, exhale through my nose. I rub my fingers over the silky fabric of the pillows, tracing the swirling embroidered designs in the red fabric.

Was Father this nervous when he took the throne at the beginning of his fifteenth cycle, so long ago? I can’t imagine him as anything less imposing than the disapproving glare he leveled on me this morning. The nerves are another sign of my weakness, I’m sure.

Someone knocks and I spin to the door as Mamae enters, her long brown hair flowing behind her. Tears spring to my eyes at the sight of her, and she rushes over and waves the servants away.

“Leave us,” she says. They obey at once. Mamae caresses my cheeks and brushes away the hot tears with her thumbs. As she looks into my eyes, for a breath, it’s almost like looking into a mirror—we have the same green to blue to purple eyes, deep golden brown skin, and smooth, curved markings. I’d always been told I looked like a dark-haired version of my mother.

“What is it, my beauty?” Mamae says softly. “Why do you cry in your time of celebration?”

“Dima and Father are angry,” I whisper. “They say I don’t belong on the throne.”

Mamae sighs. “My dear Kora.” She kisses my glistening cheeks and smiles. “Do you know what I did when I learned I was carrying twins, not just the son your father promised me?”

I sniffle. “
Naï
.”

“I prayed to
Kala
for a daughter every sunrise until you were born. You are my miracle, Kora, and I thank
Kala
for you every night before my dreams.”

I shake my head. “Dima should have been born first. Then Father wouldn’t be so angry and Dima wouldn’t hate me.”

Mamae presses her lips to my forehead. “Your brother’s jealousy is fueled by your father, but he doesn’t hate you. You’ll see, my beauty. Your brother will stand by your side in the end.”

I bite my lip and glance out the window. We’re too high up to see the street, but the roar of the gathering crowd in and around the temple is an ever-present rumble.

Mamae takes my hands. “Something still troubles you.”

“I’m afraid,” I admit, turning back to her. “Elja hasn’t had a female
Avra
in seven generations. Father says—”

“Forget what your father says. He’s been acting like a spoiled child, and his ancestors would be ashamed.”

I gasp and Mamae raises a shoulder unapologetically. “Just don’t tell him I said so.” She stands and takes my shoulders. “You are going to be a blessed
Avra
, Kora. Do you know how I know?”

I shake my head.

“Because
Kala
handpicked you himself the moment he placed you in my womb. You were born for the throne, not your brother. He is far too much like your father.”

I frown. “Father is a strong
Avra
. The people respect him.”

But Mamae shakes her head. “
Naï
, Kora. The people fear your father. It’s time for a new age in Elja, one in which people are ruled by an
Avra
who respects them as much as they do her. One in which the people do not need to be afraid. Do you understand?”

I take a breath and nod. “
Sha
, Mamae. I understand.”

She smiles and brushes a tendril of hair behind my ear. “I have a gift for you.”

Despite my nerves, a lightness flutters through my gut and pulls the corners of my cheeks northward. “You do?”

She laughs. “Of course, my beauty. Did you believe I’d allow the set my daughter became a woman to pass without a proper gift?”

I shrug. “Father said Elja was my gift and I better appreciate it.”

Mamae sighs. “Well you have another gift from me. Close your eyes.”

I smile and obey.

Her soft fingers brush my right ear and she pauses. “This is going to sting for a moment.” She slides an earring through the piercing at the bottom of my ear, then her fingers travel to just under the notch in the point of my ear. She’s so close that the sweet and tangy fragrance of her skin fills my nose. Something cold cradles the tip of my ear as a low humming noise buzzes through the air. A sound like a
koti
sting, the bite of metal through flesh, then the humming stops and Mamae steps away. My ear throbs, but it’s not unbearable.

“Open your eyes.”

I do as she tells me and then face the nearby mirror, tilting my head to see my new gift. The earring is a deep purple gem connected to a ring at the top of my ear with a light chain made of a blue-tinted metal called
ushara
found only in the Daïvi mountains. A smile tugs at my lips as my fingers run over the chain.

“It was mine,” Mamae says. “And my mother’s before me, and her mother’s before her.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say. “I love it. I’ll never take it off.”

She smiles. “Just remove the chain while you’re sleeping. I’d hate for it to get caught on something.”

I start to answer, but a knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

“
Avra-saï
,” a voice calls. “It’s time.”

The words are a kick to the stomach. I catch my breath and my eyes widen. “I’m not ready. I can’t—”

Mamae takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. “You are ready, my heart. You’re not a child anymore, and it is time for you to come into your inheritance. You’ll be the best
Avra
Elja has ever seen.”

“But—”

“Would I lie to you?” Her eyes glint with pride as she watches me.

I take a breath and shake my head. “
Naï
.”

“
Naï,
of course I wouldn’t.” She steps behind me and pulls my shoulders back. “Walk with your head held high. If you believe the throne is yours, so will the people.”

I do as she says, steeling my face and fixing my posture.

“There,” she says with a nod. “Now you are ready.”

But she was wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for the screams and ashes of my people.

I wake clutching the knife under my pillow, my heart ramming against my chest. The heat of the unseasonably warm night sticks to my forehead and bakes my skin, but the sweat on my back and temples is cool. I sigh and relax my grip on the knife, chasing away the panic of the always nightmarish ending to that memory.

Breathe.

After calming my heart, I slide out of bed and throw on a loose silk robe. While my feet pad silently against the marble floor, Eros stirs and sits up, rubbing his eyes and squinting into the darkness. “Taking a walk?” he croaks.

“I’m fine,” I say softly. “I just need some water. Go back to sleep.”

He sways in place for a moment, then falls back onto the bed, dead to the world.

Light from the moons and the glittering stars streams through the open window into my bathroom. I step over to the sink and splash cold water onto my face, drink deeply, then pat my face dry with a towel. Straightening, I catch my reflection in the mirror above the sink. My robe and wrap has slipped over my left shoulder and the ugly pink scar swallowing my shoulder and arm is visible—the ever-present reminder of the violence and death that welcomed me to the throne. A symbol of my inadequacy—a sign, some say, from
Kala
himself that I am unworthy of the throne. That Dima, not his weak-minded sister, should rule.