“Very well,” Sampson agrees, “but the last thing we need is for the Vermix to get a-hold of it,” he looks to the chancellor. “Please let us know if you need additional assistance.”
“Why do they want it?” Tucker asks.
Sampson, Clarence, Qippert and the chancellor exchange glances. Just as Sampson’s about to dive into the explanation, Salva appears.
“Females of Harrizel,” she looks to us. “You may follow me to your quarters for some rest and later, I will assist in dressing you for the feast.”
“But how will we be able to understand?” I turn to Sampson, motioning to my headgear which is propped against my hip.
“Your new attire. It’s designed—just like your suits—to pick up different frequencies,” he frowns suddenly, cradling my arm in his hands. He looks to Salva, “She has a deep wound that runs from her elbow to her wrist. She will need it taken care of immediately. Here,” he reaches into his black suit and, removing a small vial, he hands it to Salva. “Run some over the wound now, and again before the feast. A quarter of the bottle will do the trick.”
“What is it?”
“A medical ointment of my own making. I find it highly effective,” he glances at me. “She won’t need much else.”
“Yes, Fychu,” Salva bows.
“I’m fine. Don’t waste the Vilbrees on me.”
“It’s not wasting,” Sampson shakes his head, “and you need it. Fallon, you take care of that arm. And ladies,” he grins, looking from Pratt to Mae, “see you tonight.”
Already jumping into conversation, Chancellor Keller leads Sampson to the far end of the golden room. Clarence, Qippert and the Rogues take off, but Reid hesitates, focused on my arm. A lump rolls down his throat and then his eyes fly to mine, scorching me. Finally breaking an intense stare, he turns to follow Tucker and the others.
“Females,” Salva calls, “we must leave the Great Hall and go to your quarters. Come,” she escorts us down a new corridor that leads out of the grand dome. “This way.”
After a few minutes of following the mayan down the new passage, Pratt breaks the rigid silence. “So how come we have separate quarters?”
“It is not customary to share the same living space.”
“Why not?”
“We do not feel it is decent. There is too much distraction.”
“From what?
“What is important,” she looks at Pratt. “Protection.”
“Of the queen?” I ask.
“Of everything we hold dear. Our people. Our customs…” another moment and then, “our Gift.” “Do all Mybyncians know its whereabouts?” I ask. “Or only the chancellor?”
Salva stops and speaks softly over her shoulder, “We trust in our queen and our chancellor. They alone carry the burden of protecting what was bestowed to us,” she finds my eyes with her bright orange ones. “It will never be found by foreign hands. It will never be moved. Come,” she starts walking again, “we are nearly to your quarters.”
When we reach the end of the lit tunnel, we find ourselves in another great, domed room, a quarter of the size of the one we just left. Shelled mosaics climb the rounded walls and ornate chairs carved from the golden coral sit around the room’s central focus—an enormous circular bed draped in burgundy linen.
“This is where you will stay while you are here.”
“This whole space is for us?” Pratt asks wide-eyed and awed.
“As we are not currently hosting any other guests, yes, this is for you.”
“And we sleep there?” I gesture to the bed. “Together?”
“It is custom for mayans and miyons to sleep in large groups. It encourages a sense of community,” her eyes drop to my arm. “Let me see your wound so I may address it as the Fychu requests.”
I roll up the black sleeve of my suit, presenting the dampened bandage and she unwraps it quickly, tossing it aside. Gently running the Vilbrees over the cut, my skin instantly responds to the cooling sensation and I’m happy Sampson pushed to have it taken care of. Salva applies a bit more as Mae steps closer, pulling at her fingers.
“What if a mayan and miyon want to be alone?” she bites her lip. “Like…alone?”
“For what reason?”
“You know…”Mae blushes, “to— if they want…”
“How do you repopulate your planet?” I ask.
Salva pauses. After a moment, she shrugs, refusing to look up as she finishes with my arm, “The normal way. We do not find it decent to discuss such things,” she jets to a stand, heading for the only exit. “I shall be back in a little while to change you for the feast. Rest for now.”
Once she’s gone, Pratt, Mae and I look at one another with a shrug. We alternate between relaxing on the bed or pacing around the large quarters and in no time, Salva returns, carrying something.
“Time to dress for the feast.”
“Why are we having a feast if you were just attacked?” Pratt peeks into her hands.
“There is a feast every night. It is our way of celebrating life. But tonight, for the Fychu’s arrival, Queen Ravan has requested certain delicacies. Here,” Salva distributes a pair of iridescent shells attached to a string of white pearls, and a long cobalt fabric to each of us. The shell bras are the same that the queen and princesses wore earlier. “Normally, you would wear coral, but as you are honored guests, you may don the shells.” She hands them over and Mae and Pratt take theirs immediately.
“Cool!” Pratt exclaims.
“Um…” Mae gulps, panic in her eyes as she examines the garments. “Is this it?”
“This is traditional attire for honored guests,” Salva looks confused.
“It’s fine,” I toss Mae a look that says I’m as uncomfortable with this wardrobe choice as she is. But what can we do?
Withdrawing to the opposite end of the room, I step out of the black suit. Turning around, I pull off my top and bra, quickly applying the shell brazier which is surprisingly warm against my skin. Reaching for the blue fabric, I hold it against my waist, trying to figure out how to fashion it around myself.
“Here,” Salva holds the cloth out for me.
I slip out of my jeans and she wraps the soft material around me. It runs from my hips to my ankles but with two slits high up my legs, I feel incredibly exposed. How can I go out and face a feast with only this to shield me? Fighting the urge to wrap my arms around myself, I keep my hands by my side, watching as Salva assists Pratt and Mae.
Once they’re dressed and ready, Salva returns to my side, a clip of pearls in her right hand. She pulls my dark curls back, slipping the accessory into them at the crown of my head. She withdraws, examining her work.
“Alright,” Salva decides. “You are all ready.”
“Will the boys be there?” Pratt crosses the room to us, Mae trailing behind her. Both have the same pearl clip in their hair and are barefoot, just like me.
“All the males will be present first,” Salva explains. “It is customary for the females to arrive second.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Why should the Queen have to wait? Now,” she leads us out of the tunnel, “you will be fed Glippis eye and Brekin tongue—the queen’s favorite dishes. They were prepared on behalf of Blovid, but as you are here in his stead, the feast will commence with you and the Fychu as our honored guests.”
“Are we actually eating eyeballs?” Pratt winces while Mae struggles to yank her blue skirt higher.
“The Glippis is only found in the Eastern waters, so due to its rarity, it is almost never served. Again, this was intended to be a great feast for Blovid, who had indicated his adoration of these dishes.”
“Do you have any idea where he went?” I ask as Mae wraps her arms around her stomach, trying to bridge the distance between her shell bra and cobalt skirt. She drops her arms but a second later, tugs the fabric higher again. “Did he say anything?”
“Not to us,” Salva shakes her head. “Qippert has been told, but keeping B
lovid hidden is the most important thing right now. According to Chancellor Keller, he is the last remaining Arizal Leader for Dellapalania. It is dire that he is kept alive.”
“Why?” Pratt asks. “He’s not a Mybyncian.”
“If Blovid is located, the war will end in favor of the Vermix,” Salva shakes her head. “We cannot have that.”
“Because they were searching for the Shadow Bag?” I ask. “What is that?”
“It is our Gift,” she pauses, tossing a glance over her sage shoulder. With a deep inhale, she keeps her words low, “They knew Blovid was not kept in the Southern Waters and yet they attacked. They are looking for it. And by doing so, they have violated international law,” she takes a breath, summing up. “If Blovid is located, he will be killed and the Arizal Dofinikes will fall. And then, nothing will stop Reuzkimpart from striking us. Come,” she starts again, “we are nearly to the Great Hall for the feast.”
We walk for a moment in silence before Pratt speaks up. “And after?”
“Hmm?”
“What happens after the feast?”
“There is a bit of socializing and then we will return to our quarters for the night.”
“What about the others?” I ask. “Will we see them tomorrow morning?”
“Your separation only consists in sleeping. You will be reunited with your group once the sun rises.”
Mae has her arms wrapped around her stomach again, her head and eyes lowered. I barely nudge her with my elbow. “You doing okay?”
She looks up, startled. “It’s just—do I look okay?” she glances over herself. “I always wore a one-piece.”
“You look fine.”
“I wish I had something to put over this.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I shrug with a frown. “We’re all wearing the same thing.”
“But—”
“Here we are,” Salva leads us out of the tunnel and back into the same Great Hall as earlier. “This way,” she navigates us through the thicket of quietly chattering Mybyncians and toward Sampson and Clarence who are conversing with Qippert and the blue-haired chancellor.
I’m about to ask Clarence about the Rogues when I see them carving their way through the crowd to us.
My heart stops.
Reid is in nothing but a loin-cloth. It’s the same cobalt as my skirt but while mine reaches my ankles, his goes no further than his knees. Behind him, Tucker, Booker, Werzo and Jace appear, all donned in the same revealing fashions.
“Fallon?” Pratt bumps into me.
I don’t even realize I’ve stopped, my mouth going dry at the sight of Reid’s perfectly sculpted chest and his strong, carved arms. I gulp, aware I’m probably drooling, but I can’t help it. I know I’ve seen it before—seen him, like this before—but memory doesn’t do it justice when I’m faced with the sweet reality of his physicality. My blood boils, my heart thumping frantically in my chest and all I can do is stare.
“Fallon?” Pratt asks again as the boys approach.
Reid’s eyes flicker over me, a lump rolling down his throat.
“Ladies,” Werzo smiles, drinking in the sight of Mae and me. His focus dips to our shell bras, like he’s trying to see through them. It makes me want to cover myself but Mae’s already on it, shielding herself with her arms.
“Nice loin-cloth,” I say.
“I know,” Jace glances around the room, studying the bare attire of the mayans. “Too bad there’s separate sleeping quarters,” he pauses, eyeing a young, voluptuous mayan with flowing turquoise hair.
She’s right past Sampson and Chancellor Keller, laughing with a set of other very pretty mayans. Werzo and Booker follow Jace’s stare, excited grins erupting at the sight of so much exposed sage skin. The mayan with turquoise hair finally notices Jace watching her and she instantly blushes a deep scarlet.
“Oh yeah…” Werzo’s mouth curves into a greedy smile. “This is going to be a good night.”
“We’re not here for that,” Tucker furrows his brows, clearly aggravated with his Rogues. He and Reid are the only two refusing to look.
“They didn’t say we weren’t here for that…” Werzo counters, licking his lips as the group of mayans disappear through the crowd, the turquoise-haired one offering Jace a teasing, challenging look.
“No.” Tucker makes his decision final.
Jace’s mouth drops to say something but at the last second, he closes it, keeping his comment to himself. His hungry eyes follow after her, his mind already working out how to get around Tucker’s refusal.
I look at Reid.
My body is enflamed at the sight of his eyes scanning it. He’s drinking me in, just like I did to him, but he still refuses to speak. He only stares, something playing behind his eyes and suddenly, Clarence is here.
“Alright,” he indicates the four vacant thrones, “the queen will sample her food first, followed by her three daughters. After that, we’ll be allowed to eat.”
“Where are they?” Pratt looks around.
“On their way. Should be here any minute.”
“Is it really smart to separate?” I ask. “Even for the night?”
“It’s custom,” Clarence shrugs, eyeing Jace, Booker and Werzo, smirking at their ogling stares. “Though I can see the Rogues are trying to work a way around it.”
“They won’t,” Tucker assures him.
“Let’s hope not. The last thing we need is to insult the queen.”
“And she’d get upset over that?” Reid shifts his focus from me to Clarence. “What exactly would constitute the insult?”
“Well…” and now Clarence tilts his head to the side, considering. “The Mybyncians are very traditional. Talking is fine. But anything physical… well,” he laughs, shaking his head. “That’s a no-go. And certainly don’t violate sleeping quarters. That’s a big no-no. Ah,” Clarence motions to the Great Hall’s largest tunnel opening, “here we are.”
Armed by a fleet of cobalt-tunic wearing mayans, the queen strolls in with a regal air. Her stark white hair has been pulled back in a generous bun and a crown of pink and golden pearls rests atop her head. She’s donned in the same fashions as earlier—an iridescent shell bra and a burgundy floor length skirt—but a sheer piece of white silk has been wrapped from her left shoulder to the right side of her waist. She pauses and the guards halt as well, everyone silencing as she enters the room.
Behind her, the three princesses appear.
All dressed the same at their mother, the first sports a turquoise mane pulled back tightly, ringlets dripping down her back with pink pearls immersed throughout. She scans the room with the same skeptical air as her mother, eyes resting on us curiously. Behind her, the second princess has emerald hair plaited into several divisions, all tied into one massive bun on the crown of her head, the same pink pearls weaved throughout. She offers us a passing glance, nothing more.
The third princess, barely smaller than her sisters, appears last. Cascading lavender locks stream over her shoulders, curling at their tips down by her breasts. A soft pink hue heats her cheeks, matching the pearls and ribbons interlocked through her hair and down the burgundy of her skirt. She gazes out to her people with warmth, her bright orange eyes finding us. With a short intake of air, she pauses, caught off by our generous stares, especially Tucker, who seems to have stopped breathing.
Chancellor Keller excuses himself from Sampson and situates himself to the queen’s right. “May I present Queen Ravan and her daughters, Princess Sansa, Princess Varille, and Princess Ariana.”
The hall simultaneously bows. With their attendants’ assistance, Queen Ravan and her daughters ascend to their seats and once settled in their thrones, everyone rises to a full stand again.
Queen Ravan glimpses the chancellor on her right. “Proceed.”
“The queen will now taste her Glippis eye.”
She brings the gelled substance to her mouth and takes a bite. Chewing, a large lump rolls down her throat and she turns to h
er daughters. They follow, selecting a piece of the diced eye and feeding themselves with their fingers. After each has swallowed their bits, Queen Ravan nods at Chancellor Keller.
“The feast may begin,” his voice echoes around the hall.
Everyone begins eating, bringing whatever food is in their hand to their mouth without hesitation and the gratifying sound ripples through the masses.
“Here we are,” Clarence passes around the palm-sized jellied red spheres, handing one to each of us. When we simply stare at it, he brings his own to his mouth, demonstrating. “Just bite into it.”
“Gross.” Werzo frowns at his hand.
“We can’t not…” Tucker stares down at the red eye. He glances to Reid, as if hoping he’d offer some counter point. But Reid remains silent.
“Anyone got any salt?” Jace looks around, smirking.
“Well…” I bring my hand to my nose and inhale. It doesn’t have a scent really, but looks slimy, like the outermost layer is going to stick to my fingers. If this is all we’ll have to eat, I’ll be starving in no time. “Bottoms up.”
Bringing the red eye to my mouth, I dig my teeth in to the jellied substance and try not to gag. It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever eaten—chewier than I would’ve thought—but it still takes a lot to get it down. They’re all waiting for my reaction. Am I going to vomit? It feels like it. Instead of offering the truth—it’s right up there with the Vermix gruel—I signal a thumbs up. But the grimace on my face must say it all because the others are still hesitant about trying it.
“Bunch of bravados,” Clarence rolls his eyes before withdrawing towards Sampson.
“If she can do it,” Booker brings the jellied sphere to his mouth. Biting into it, he immediately winces, pulling the red eye back.
“Don’t spit it out,” I shake my head. “They’ll take it as disrespect.”
“This is disrespect,” Werzo frowns at Booker’s face. “This isn’t even food.”
“Then don’t eat it,” Reid samples the red eye without the slightest reaction. He chews fully, swallows and goes for another bite. When he finishes, he keeps his sights deadlocked on Werzo. “We can’t afford to offend them. So if you don’t want it, just give it back and be quiet about it.”
Plague of Mybyncia Page 4
