by Tabitha Vale
“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 J
ulian 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.
~Chapter 7: The Golden Eye~
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.
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.
