Venus City 1 (12 page)

“Lunch!” a voice hollered in her ear.

Braya glared at Brielle. “Did you have to yell in my ear like that?”

“Oh, sorry Miss Braya,” she blushed. Her parachute dress today was yellow.

Brielle clutched Braya's arm and dragged her over to the other end of the kitchen-classroom where a clutter of tables had been set up to accommodate the class of thirty two girls. It was always the largest of her classes, though she kind of wished she’d been placed in the smaller class of eighteen. Oh well.

They approached a table where Emma and Maydessa were already sitting.

“We're eating here? But we always eat in the Great Hall.”

“They're decorating the Great Hall for the ball,” Emma stated, deeply engrossed in examining what looked like an egg-salad sandwich. She took a bite, then declared it awful.

Braya sat next to Emma and pointedly ignored Maydessa. The dumb Finch was still upset over being dumped at the game to ride the Rail home. At least, that's what Brielle had told her earlier that morning before class.

While Maydessa was sulking and Emma was glaring at her food, Brielle was nearly bouncing in her chair. “I'm so excited for the ball. It's the first time we get to interact with the Grooms! My first date!”

According to what she'd heard from Brielle's conversations with Maydessa, there was a grade system for the Brides and Grooms. The Grade Ones were those who were recently admitted into the program and were to go on their four dates to get to know their potential partner. Grade Two were the ones who had gotten their future spouse and were preparing for their weddings and taking their final exams. Grade Three were the ones getting married and moving out of Heartland. But Braya had tried not to pay too much attention to when the two of them would talk Bride-stuff; after all, it wouldn't matter to her once she changed into a Crown job.

Therefore, considering she didn’t even like hearing about anything related to her rut-of-a-career, she certainly didn't want to interact with the Grooms, and she
definitely
didn't want to date any of them. She had bigger problems. Asher's blue eyes floated up in her mind's eye, unbidden, but she quickly dashed it away.

“I'm excited, too,” Emma said, though her voice was devoid of emotion. She'd resumed eating the sandwich she'd just declared awful. “I saw a bit of those Grooms this morning. They have all their lessons on the other side of the manor. One of them... his tush was so nice, I wanted to grab it.”

Brielle burst out into a fit of giggles and Maydessa looked like she was clamping down hard to keep from saying something imposing. Her features were scandalized. Braya scowled, and glared sharply at Emma.

“If Heartland was ever wondering what kind of dress code to enforce for the Grooms,” she said through a mouthful of sandwich, “those tight tush-hugging jeans get my vote.”

Braya made a disgusted sound, shaking her head. “The product of Finch education,” she muttered.

Emma continued staring at her sandwich as she replied, “Unfortunately my high school never offered a tush class. I would have signed up. I suppose I'd have a better grip by now if I had. Pity.” She was staring at her hands now, had them cupped in a very suggestive manner, and flexed them curiously.

Maydessa threw up her hands and shoved her chair back. She left the kitchen without a word, and Braya decided to follow her suit. It was impossible to fight with Emma. She said whatever she wanted, no matter the subject, Braya now realized, and she always said it with an air of nonchalance, as if she were merely commenting to herself.

****

Brielle caught up with Braya after the dance classes—three hours of whining Finches, aching feet, and dizzying waltzing—and invited her to join their Sisters to get ready for the ball. Braya agreed only because she was too tired to argue.

The dormitories were on the fifth and sixth floors. Brielle, Emma, and Maydessa lived on the sixth floor in room 630.

Braya was surprised when she entered. It was so spacious.

The room was circular with intricate designs indented into the white walls and tall ceiling. Four beds—she presumed one of them was meant to be hers—were evenly spread around the outer wall of the room and thick, sheer drapes in hues of lavender and periwinkle swooped down from the ceiling over each bed like tents. In the center of the room a white sofa and a couple of matching armchairs sat facing each other. Clothes were strewn over the back of the couch and over the floor.

High above each bed were small windows that allowed the last beams of sunlight to stream through. It gave the room a soft and inviting atmosphere.

She could see a few doorways off to the side, which she presumed led into a closet and bathroom. Maydessa materialized from one of the doorways and sneered when she saw Braya.

“We have an hour to get ready,” she informed them.

Braya didn't need all of that time. She slipped into her sapphire dress with off-the-shoulder long sleeves, a tight hold around her middle, and a voluminous skirt that trailed behind her. There was a large gap in the front of the skirt, and a flattering mount of her legs could be seen. She liked that bit. Her legs were her favorite feature of hers. Well,
one
of them. She smirked at her reflection.

She needed little make-up to be pretty. Like Mother Ophelia had said in her Interview, she was
far prettier than the other women in her family
.

She snorted to herself. With one final touch—a loose headband of golden brown to match the trim of her dress, nestled far on the back of her head—she was ready.

“Braya!” Brielle gasped upon seeing her. “You're so gorgeous. I'm envious of your hair. It's so long and full.”

The memory of Asher running his hands through her hair flashed across her mind and she scowled. Was this going to happen from now on whenever someone commented on her hair?

Brielle was wearing a white dress—very similar to a parachute dress, amusingly enough—and her red curls were straightened. Maydessa and Emma emerged soon after, and Braya appraised them for a moment. Emma's blonde hair was done in three long braids down her back and her super thin frame donned a scrunchy ecru dress. Maydessa's long black hair was curled, half pulled back, and she wore a tight black dress with red detailed stitching. It was long and almost tasteful.

“Shall we go?” Maydessa asked in a superior tone. “The Grooms will be waiting.”

****

She loathed the ball. Braya had been to many balls at her private academy, Ellaber, over the past couple years—something hard to fathom at an all-girls school—and she had to admit they'd all out-done this one.

The setting was beautiful. The decorations were beautiful. She really felt like she was in some fairy woodland—at least that's what she assumed the theme was. The element that ruined it, however, was the Grooms. She hated them. She'd never gotten along with boys before, but she was especially in a sour mood with the whole lot of them after her ruined weekend with the foreigners, with Asher.

Why why
why
did his glittering blue eyes haunt her every time one of the Grooms glanced at her with their dull magenta ones?

She sighed. Her date for the night—Julian, if she remembered correctly—was hovering nearby, but she had vehemently ordered him to stay away from her after he'd asked her to dance for the tenth time.

“I think your date is lonely,” a voice quipped. Braya jumped in her seat. Regaining her composure, she casually glanced around the immediate vicinity. She'd recognized the voice instantly, but she wanted to see if that idiot foreigner had the guts to show his face. He was no where to be seen, though, which meant that he was invisible.

“I don't do dates,” she hissed.

That smell, his
scent
—flowers and soil—it surrounded her like an embrace. Braya allowed herself to settle into it and inhale. She hated herself for it, too.

“Gracious, I hope not,” he snickered. “That's not proper etiquette, is it?”

A hot rash seeped up her neck. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to socialize,” he said.

“Unless there are other invisible people here that I'm unaware of, you're out of luck.”

“Ah, it's only been one day and oh, how I missed your charming personality,” he sighed, amusement coloring his tone. “What has this world come to that a master can't check up on his slave?”

“A world where masters have no idea how to have a slave,” she bit out. “Is this what you're meant to do? Hover around my shoulder and taunt me?”

“Would you rather me issuing orders? Brandishing a whip? If that's how you like it, I'm willing to experiment.” Even though he was invisible, she could sense the smirk in his expression.

She clenched her fists. She was about to fire back when Julian appeared next to her. He looked apologetic for returning after she'd made a big fuss about leaving her alone, and cast his magenta eyes down at her reproachful glare.

“I'm sorry I couldn't satisfy you tonight, Miss Braya,” he gave a short bow. “I wish to make up for it by telling you something you might find helpful.”

She craned her neck, urging him on. What could this tightwad have to say that could interest her? It was hard to imagine he was nineteen, just like all the other Grooms. Because of their obvious disabilities, males were required to attend school until they were nineteen, whereas the girls were only required to go until they were seventeen. For a moment, Braya wondered exactly how old Asher was. If she matched him against Julian, he would seem a lot older. She supposed that wasn’t a fair comparison with Asher’s obvious advantage, though.

“Last week,” he stammered, “I heard you asking around for Miss Vacelind's office.” At her look of confusion, he clarified. “Miss Leraphone, I mean to say. Uh, I'm sorry if I wasn't meant to overhear, but it didn't seem like anyone could help you. I didn't approach you then because that's rude, but now that you're here...”

Braya sighed. “You know where her office is, then? Come on, spit it out.”

“It's on the sixth floor, in the West Wing. No one usually goes over there, so nobody knows that's where Miss Vacelind lives. But if you head to the West Wing, you can surely find it,” he explained.

“Hmm,” she appraised him. “That could be helpful. I'll go there tomorrow.” She wanted to go immediately, but she didn't want Asher following her and listening in.

Julian hurried away after he realized she had nothing more to say.

“You aren't going to thank him? Tosh, what bad manners, Bray,” Asher's voice tickled her ear. She flinched. “Go have one dance with him. Then thank him. On second thought, dance the entire night with him.”

It was an order.

Braya woke up early the next morning. She'd fallen asleep instantly after getting home the previous night.

She glanced at the clock.

Six twenty one.

She usually got up at seven, but she was known to sleep in as late as possible, so thirty nine minutes early was a lot for her.

Braya slipped out of her silk duvet, off her bed, and padded over to the door. When she was six her mother had told her she could switch rooms, pick a bigger and better one. There were many large rooms with connected bathrooms, but Braya, at the irrational age of six, hadn't liked having a bathroom in her room. She regretted that choice now. What she wouldn't give to have her own bathroom. There were plenty of empty guest rooms she could sleep in, it was true, but she felt it wouldn't be wise to do anything remotely out of line when she was on such bad terms with her mother.

In the hall, Braya was surprised to see Aspen slipping out of his room at the same time. His room was across from hers, and oddly enough, that had been one of the reasons she'd chosen this room. Up until she was six she had always followed her brother around. She'd even wanted to share her room with him at one point. Her mother had struck down at this before Braya turned seven, claiming she shouldn't be so soft on boys. They were to be hated, used, exploited, not befriended. And that included brothers.

“Braya?” He was wearing a white sweater and white draw-string pants. He clutched a notebook—one she'd seen him carrying around frequently—and looked like he'd been awake for at least an hour. “Why did you wake so early?”

His magenta eyes peered at her, and for some reason the sight of them made her angry.

She shrugged. “I have a lot on my mind.”

She wasn't in the mood for him to prod around in her head—especially since he was so good at it—so she quickly brushed past him and locked herself in the bathroom down the hall.

Braya never blamed her mother for breaking the relationship she used to have with Aspen. She was grateful for it. Her mother had shown her how the world really was, how she was meant to act if she ever hoped to be an important part of it. If that meant rearranging her relationships, so be it. Aspen hadn't ever seemed to forgive their mother, though, and went out of his way to stay in her life as much as possible. Braya would have scorned him if it weren't for Bellamine. He was an important factor in curing their sister.