Venus City 1 (13 page)

After she was done getting ready, she went back to her room and checked her tech pad for the daily schedule.

Her day was booked with sewing and cooking classes. Splendid.

Braya decided to go to Heartland sooner than staying home. She no longer enjoyed encountering her family members; either her mother was fixing her with cold, ashamed eyes, or her aunt was snubbing her like a stupid high schooler. Her cousins sneered at her whenever they got the chance—she never liked those wretches much, anyway—and her brother always wanted to discuss something. She had nothing to discuss with him, especially since she hadn't even had the chance to approach Leraphone yet.

Braya grabbed her book bag and was passing through the foyer when Harmony appeared behind her.

“Braya, dear,” she called. “Why are you leaving so early?”

What was
wrong
with these people? Wasn't it okay to wake up half an hour earlier than normal once in a while?

“I just feel like it,” she said through clenched teeth. Her nerves were steel, and her body was as taut as a bow, her anger flaring up around her like a nocked arrow. One more comment and the arrow would shoot through the air and she couldn't be blamed for whoever it hit.

“Oh...” Harmony said, sounding disappointed. Braya glanced at the woman. She wore her typical, plain black dress, and her chestnut-colored hair was pulled back in its typical bun. Braya didn't know if that's what raising three children—someone else's children—did to a woman, but Harmony's beauty had been worn into nothing but a typical, plain face. At least, Braya assumed she'd been pretty once, since she was a Bride.

Braya looked away. She didn't like being around Harmony. It made her uneasy that this was the woman who had raised her, and not her own mother.

Mother, who had mentored her. Provided for her. Loved her... She had been too busy to rear her three children, so she'd hired a Bride. Braya frowned at this thought. That's right... Brides had two jobs. Birthing attractive offspring or working for Crown families as a nanny. That thought made her sick, dizzy. What kind of pathetic life-path had she been thrown into? The gravity of it hadn't fully reached her until that moment.

“I was hoping I could talk to you about your career,” Harmony said. Her voice was pleasant, like her name would suggest, but it only ground on Braya's nerves. “You know, since I understand what you're going through right now. You can talk to me. I could give you advice...”

Oh God, no. She was trying to relate to her. Braya nearly laughed out loud. If only Harmony
knew
how much their situations did not relate.

“I don't need advice, especially from you,” Braya snapped. She reached for the door.

“All right. I just thought I could at least help a little.”

“Good Lord, just stop,” she yelled, spinning around to stare at the woman. “My situation is nothing like yours was, for many reasons! You weren't even a Crown to begin with, you were a Finch. You got the job you wanted. I'm stuck with this no matter how much I loathe it, so listening to your charming little antidotes about how you sneaked into the storage rooms and spoiled the entire tea supply on a dare, or how you stayed up all night long gossiping about which Groom you wanted to
do
the most is not going to help me in any shape or form.”

There. She'd done it. The arrow sailed through the air and Braya could see the effects of it sinking into Harmony as she fumbled awkwardly in the center of the foyer, too embarrassed to respond. With a sound of disgust, Braya yanked the front door open and got in the waiting car.

She hated being mean to Harmony. She didn't deserve it. Harmony took care of her sister with better affection than Braya ever could. She was Bellamine's guardian. Mother was too busy.

****

Her loss of temper that morning had distracted her from the big issue. It all came rushing back to her as she zoned out during the sewing class. It was a rubbish topic anyway. Didn't they have better means to mend a piece of clothing these days?

But back to the big issue.

What had Asher tried to explain? Braya felt like she'd been shown a small piece of a great artwork. A mere corner. She wanted to see the rest of it, the whole thing together, but Asher wasn't able to—or rather wasn't willing to—reveal the uncovered bits. It couldn't hurt to imagine what the rest of the portrait was, though.

From what she'd learned in history classes in the past—and history was her favorite subject—war was never as simple as Asher had made it sound. War meant suffering. Heartbreak. Violence. Politics. Betrayal. Losing everything, and in the most brutal way possible. So what if their plan actually worked? If they managed to alert the general public about the war outside Venus's borders, what did they expect to happen? It wouldn't be taken care of in one clean swoop. Things would get messy, and Braya would bet her family fortune on it.

You don't have to believe me
. Asher's words rang through her head, and she realized they were true. She didn't have to believe anything he said. She didn't have to care about what they were using her for. She didn't even have to care about them being in Venus City. All she had to worry about was getting herself out of the arrangement before it was too late. It was all about the timing.

For the rest of the morning Braya was in a noticeably better mood. To hell with those stupid foreigners—she'd figured it all out on her own. At least, enough of it that mattered

During lunch Braya stopped a girl at random and asked her to take her to the West Wing. She assumed all of the other Brides were experts on where things were in the manor, even though they didn't know where Leraphone lived. The girl seemed confused as to why she wanted to go there, but agreed nonetheless.

The West Wing was deserted. The halls were empty, and once she separated from her guide, Braya realized Julian hadn't told her which room it was that Leraphone lived in.

It turned out not to matter. After walking down a couple corridors past the staircase, she found a door with the name 'Leraphone Vacelind' embossed on the wall beside it.

She was about to knock on it when the door suddenly swooshed open. A figure loomed in the door frame, and Braya shrank back into the hall. She expected Leraphone to emerge, but the person who appeared instead made Braya gasp out loud.

Sir Channing.

He noticed her clinging to the wall opposite Leraphone's door, and his casual magenta eyes studied her face for a prolonged moment before he gave her one of his tight-lipped grins and stalked away. She watched his retreating figure before it disappeared around a corner, silently cursing him. What was he doing here? Trying to make her life even more of a hellish void than it already was? Never mind that he hadn't even been part of the decision to make her a Bride, but he'd been there, hadn't he?

Leraphone stepped through the door after him. It took her a few moments to notice Braya, and when she did she let out small sound of surprise.

“Goodness, child, what are you doing here?” She asked. Her voice retained its wispy nature even in surprise, and it reminded Braya of wind-swept willow tree.

Up close her appearance was more peculiar than the first time she'd seen her during the Orientation. Her hair was just as blue and frizzy as before, and it hung around her like a cloud rather than flowing down the length of her back. She still wore the same pink headband with the wings protruding on the sides, and her dress was a glossy green color with designs of large circles trapped in squares. She was surprised to see that the woman was wearing glasses—had she worn them during Orientation?—that magnified the size of her green eyes.

“What was that man doing here?” She demanded, slightly distracted by the odd collection of color that made up this woman. Her eyes were like those of bugs behind her glasses and it was almost humorous to see her blink.

“Oh, Sir Channing?” Leraphone frowned, as if she were baffled. “You need not worry about him. Tell me, do you need some directions? I can't imagine why you would have become so lost as to end up at my doorstep, but these things can be amended.”

“No, no,” Braya insisted. “I wanted to speak to you. It's rather important. Can we go inside?”

“Oh, whatever could it be that we cannot discuss it in this empty hallway?” Leraphone smiled. Her bug eyes were staring intently at Braya in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. There was something about her expression—Braya couldn't identify it, though—that made it seem like Leraphone could see straight through her.

“Please, can we just—”

“Are you feeling all right, child? Goodness your cheeks are aflame and you can't form one coherent sentence!” She exhaled. “Come along. I'll escort you to the sickroom we have on the second floor.”

“I'm not sick,” Braya nearly yelled, brushing away the woman's hand. “I just want to speak to you about something important.”

Leraphone stared at her. “All right, child, but I only take appointments.”

Braya highly doubted that, since no one ever came down this corridor to know where the woman was in the first place. But she played along.

“When can I come back?”

Leraphone pursed her lips. “In three weeks' time, return here at the same hour and we'll chat.”

“
What
?” Braya exclaimed in disbelief. “But—I don't have that much time to wait. It's extremely important. Can't it be sooner?” She implored.

Leraphone lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I'm sorry, child. I'm busy.” At Braya's look of defiance, she added, “Your situation has three weeks to wait, I'm sure.”

She was backing into her door, but Braya lunged forward to stop her, to grip her arm.

“Miss Leraphone,” she said in her most desperate tone, “You know my brother, Aspen Vace. He said I could trust you with this matter. That you could help.”

She considered Braya for a moment with those unnerving eyes. “Indeed. While I still find this time to be rather inappropriate, I think I may have something to tide you over with until our next meeting.” She grabbed the handle of her door, and was almost through it when she turned back with a wry smile. “We are referring to your sister's condition, am I right?”

Braya nodded apprehensively. She glanced down the corridor while Leraphone disappeared into her room. She really didn't like the careless manner in which this woman spoke of Bellamine's disease.

A couple minutes later Leraphone emerged with a small glass vial full of translucent blue liquid.

“Just give her a swallow of this every morning and every night,” she said, gingerly placing the delicate item into Braya's open hand. “And don't forget to return here in three weeks, child. There is something I've been yearning to speak to you about.”

Braya didn't have a chance to ask exactly what it was the woman wanted to speak to her about before the door slammed shut. The sound echoed through the corridor.

The vial in her hand was cool, and after staring at it for a long moment Braya decided to take it home immediately, class or no class.

****

Aspen wasn't at home when Braya stopped by an hour later, so she had to spend ten minutes searching the house for Harmony. She was loath to see the woman again so soon after she'd screamed at her, but Braya had no choice. It was imperative that she didn't miss classes any more than necessary—they were oddly strict about it—and since Aspen was still at his academy, Harmony was the only one she could trust with the blue vial.

“What is it, Braya?” Harmony asked worriedly. She was in the middle of dusting the drapes in one of the guest rooms. She placed her duster down and rushed over to meet Braya at the door.

“Please, have Bellamine take this,” she thrust the vial into Harmony's hand. “Once every morning and every night before she sleeps.”

Harmony stared at the vial in bewilderment. “But, Miss Braya, what is this exactly?”

“It's—” She faltered. Leraphone hadn't been specific, but she assumed it wasn't the cure. Judging by what the woman had said about
tiding her over
for the next three weeks, she assumed it was medicine.

“Medicine.”

She left the room without acknowledging Harmony's goodbye and rushed back downstairs to hop into the car idling for her on the drive. Braya stumbled over her own feet, however, when she noticed her mother perched mid-way down the left staircase of the foyer. She was staring at Braya with unreadable blue eyes—so much darker and solid than Asher's—and she reminded Braya of a shadow cloaked in all the black that she was.

“M-Mother,” she stammered.

“Braya,” her voice was a deep drawl, “why is it you're here in the middle of the day?”

The urge to ask her the same question rose up in her, but Braya pushed it back. “I...I had to get something. I forgot my shoes for the ball this evening.”

A smirk curled over her features, and it made Braya anxious. “And you had to do this task yourself? Does it not fit the job of a servant to bring them to you?”

“Well, I—I just—”

“You're already becoming so like those Finches and Mud-scums you spend your days with,” she said in clear disdain. “My, how far the apple has fallen from the tree.”