by Tabitha Vale
This hibiscus...accepting it, would it mean anything? Refusing it would be expected of her, but she'd never received anything from anyone, except from her mother. As much as she hated it, she wanted to accept it.
It did remind her a lot of Asher though, with its smell.
“Let me get your food,” Latham offered, noticing her longing look toward the food line.
Braya didn't know why, but this Latham guy made her feel strange. It wasn't the type of strange that made her feel uneasy, but the kind that made her heart beat a little faster and a blush seep through her skin. She silently cursed herself. This was why romance served no purpose; why her mother had told her romance was a waste of her time. Girls got ideas in their heads but the men never recuperated it in the way they wanted them to.
Braya covered the flower under a napkin. Latham returned with two plates of sandwiches and spinach puffs, and they ate together while chatting about the weather, the gardens, and horrifying enough, about what it would be like if they were married. Was this how it was supposed to go? Was this what they trained the Grooms to discuss? During the dances she'd shared with Julian—thanks to Asher—she'd forbid him from speaking, so she never found out what they were meant to talk about.
“Do you think your leg is fine now?” Latham asked.
She flexed her leg experimentally, and found it felt even better than before. It had to be a side-effect of the boosters, she mused. “Yes.”
“Would you care to accompany me on a walk through the gardens? They have a stand of parasols over there, if you'd like me to get you one,” Latham said, already out of his seat and walking to retrieve her one. Braya figured the parasols were just a prop. It was funny how this whole dating scheme was meant to look like a great romantic endeavor on the outside, when really it was nothing of the sort.
Latham returned with a pink parasol to match her dress, and held his arm out for her to take. She was surprised, and took his arm. They walked to the edge of the tent, Braya sensing Maydessa's glare burning into her back as they did, and stepped out into the sunlight. Braya smirked as an idea struck her—if she played along with this date stuff, made it appear like she was getting along well with Latham, it would bother Maydessa.
“So, I hear you're a Crown,” Latham commented casually as they got lost in the maze of hedges and flower bushes. Her arm was still wrapped around his, something none of the other Grooms engaged in, and she couldn't push back the pleasant feeling that fluttered in her stomach. She hated it, though, and pretended it wasn't there. She was just doing this to irritate Maydessa, she reminded herself.
“And I heard the same of you,” she replied. The handle on the parasol was growing sweaty under her hand.
“I am. I was educated at St. Rosenmay in Paith District,” he said proudly.
They stopped in front of a small blue pond and gazed down at the water together. “I know that school,” she mused. “My brother attends St. Rosenmay in Senna District. He's about to graduate and become a Groom as well.”
Maydessa wasn't anywhere around, so why was she still acting like she was enjoying herself? The urge to yell at him, to shove him away, didn't come like she expected it to. She was supposed to treat him like she had Julian, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Was it because he was a Crown, too? No, no, that was impossible. Her mother had taught her that all men were equally inferior no matter what family they belonged to. Damn that hibiscus, it was ruining her.
“Your brother must be a great man, to have you as a sister,” Latham said, slowly turning so that she was staring straight up into his magenta eyes. He was so tall, she noticed.
His statement was odd, but she couldn't figure out why. It threw her off guard, and she faltered for a response.
“Leave him,” a voice whispered against her neck. She jerked, and stared up at Latham, wondering if he'd heard Asher's voice. For a moment she wished he had.
“I—I'm sorry,” she stammered. She didn't want to say it. Talking with this Groom was more appealing than whatever Asher wanted. “I have to go. I'm...I'm not feeling well. Oh, please don't. I can make it back on my own. Goodbye.”
Latham seemed crestfallen, but didn't push it. He left her, and Braya continued through the gardens, waiting for Asher to interject and tell her to stop.
“Go up to the gazebo over there,” he ordered from somewhere off to her right. She followed his directions and stepped up into a decorative gazebo on the fringe of a cluster of trees. There weren't any other couples around and the sound of birds made the scene almost perfect.
Asher appeared beside her, his hair in attractive disarray and his blue eyes cooling, like a mist against her skin. He was wearing dark jeans, a white formal shirt with buttons down the center and an opened black vest. It was the first time she'd seen him without his fine white jacket—it made her wonder what the symbols on that jacket had meant—and he seemed smaller without it. At least, smaller in comparison to Latham, whom she'd had to crane her neck to make eye contact with.
“Did you apply the boosters?” He asked, his tone business-like. That was fine with her. She was not in the mood to deal with him, not after what he'd done to her last night. She wasn't letting her guard down around him anymore. She hated him, and that's all there was.
“Yes,” she answered, setting the parasol against the rail of the gazebo.
“Then let's start de-hazing.”
“What? You said we weren't starting until tonight,” she argued.
Asher shrugged. “I changed my mind. Besides, it looks like I arrived just in time. That big oaf was about to make his way with you.”
Braya was confused at first. When she realized what he meant, she glowered at him. “You don't know what was going on.”
The idea of him seeing that, even though not much of anything had happened, both embarrassed her and angered her. How could she have been caught enjoying a man's company? It went against everything she'd been taught. It didn't matter if the other Brides saw it—she was supposed to enjoy it, in their opinion—but for an outsider to see it...
“Do you like him?” He asked simply. He'd taken a step closer to her without her noticing. His gaze was heady, like his scent that clung to his skin.
“I don't,” she said indignantly. Braya forced herself to meet his iced stare. “I don't like any man.”
He tilted his head, a smirk playing at his mouth. “Brays, why didn't you warn me before? If I knew you liked girls—”
“No, you dirty freak, I don't like girls,” she hissed. “I just don't like men. They're inferior and not worth my time.”
“So goes the motto of all single girls incapable of snagging a man,” he smirked, leaning closer yet. His scent overwhelmed her. It was everywhere—her nose, her mouth, her skin, her dress. And yet, she liked it, wanted more of it, and she had no idea why.
“But they are inferior,” Braya insisted, willing herself to clear her senses of that soil and flower smell. “They were born that way. Magenta eyes, all of them. No ambition, no drive, no passion, nothing. They don't ever feel jealous, angry, or violent. They're born without these basic functions, and you think they're not inferior?”
Asher scowled. “What about me? What am I? I don't have magenta eyes and I can feel all of those things. You saw for yourself, last night.” His voice had softened at the mention of last night. He'd lost his temper. Not only that…
His eye had turned gold. She'd completely forgot.
“Why did your eye turn gold?” She asked, hoping to evade his questions. She had no idea why he was different than the men of her city, but figured it had to do with the fact that he was a foreigner. Everything about him was different.
He sighed, and the feeling of his breath against her skin was pleasant. “I honestly have no idea. It does that sometimes, when I get angry. It's been like that for years now, but no one knows why. I've come to accept it.”
“That's not common out there? It's not some sign of illness?” She asked.
He chuck
led. “Why? Are you afraid it's contagious?”
“Is it?” She asked, now worried.
“Calm down, Bray,” he said. “It's not contagious. At least, no one else around me has ever gotten it.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don't you want to know why it's like that, then?”
He ran a hand through his hair, and she found she liked it when he did that. “I do, but that's not a priority of mine right now.”
Asher took a step away from her and unstrapped a pouch from his back. He opened it up and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Study that map for a second. Those are all the locations we're going to hit today. Hold the questions until I'm done explaining things.”
Braya opened the paper to see a rough sketching of the Heart District. It didn't have a lot of detail, just random squares and circles with a few street names and business names. Scattered in a web of no apparent pattern were red dots, all of which were connected with thin red lines. She didn't understand it, but Asher was talking again.
“Those are the spots we'll be implanting these boosters at,” Asher explained, pulling out a small box. “The Locers have already designated these spots, and we have to find them. They won't be difficult, though. The hard part is applying the boosters without being seen or caught by anyone. This job is best done at nighttime, but with your new boosters and our invisibility, we should manage.”
“Our invisibility?”
“Page is joining us,” Asher answered, forcibly neutral, replacing the boosters back into his pouch. “And no, becoming invisible is not a 'foreigner thing', like you expect,” he said, answering the question she'd just been about to ask. “We have what's called a mimic. It's sort of like a booster...actually, it's like a group of boosters all in one. It contains the abilities of this animal native to Ephraim waters, called the locer shark. It can become invisible, swim incredibly fast, see in the dark, and is quite good at finding a mate,” he snickered. “Our mimic...well, it mimics those abilities and allows us to do the same. Would you like to see it?”
Braya didn't have the chance to say no. He grabbed her hand and yanked her closer to his body. His scent was heavy around him, and she nearly cried out in surprise when he leaned in so that his mouth was mere inches from her ear.
“Lift up my shirt,” he ordered.
Her hands were moving, touching the bottom of his shirt. Fingertips met flesh, and her heart was sent hammering through her chest. Sweat prickled against the back of her neck as she considered disobeying him. She didn't have the time, though. Lift up my shirt, his voice echoed through her head. The iron grip was around her, the cold finger trailing—she allowed her hands to slip under his shirt, and the sensation of being controlled abruptly vanished.
Braya tugged his shirt up and was met with his bare abdomen and chest. They were defined and toned with light muscle, as would be expected from a combat fighter, but it was still enough to send a burning flush across her cheeks. She had been the one to expose this.
“Don't be shy, Brays,” he snickered. “Stand back, squint your eyes, and you'll see my mimic.”
She narrowed her eyes, forcing her embarrassment down. He enjoyed making her feel like this, and she refused to give him the satisfaction. Her eyes scanned his abdomen, and she noticed faint markings in between the creases of his muscles. When she stood back a few feet, and squinted her eyes at him, she could see the shimmer of a shark fin barely imprinted across the muscles of his abdomen.
She straightened up, and folded her arms across her chest. “It's not as impressive as you make it sound.”
“Then perhaps I should show you something else?” He moved closer to her, and she felt trapped. He grabbed her hands, and she chose not to resist this time. His skin was so soft, and she hated that she knew that. She wasn't supposed to be touching this foreigner.
Hatred. Remember, hatred was all she was supposed to feel for him. But…
Where had her anchor gone? He was no longer acting business-like. In fact, he’d abandoned that almost instantly, and now she was left to flounder through his sticky charms with nothing to keep her balanced, whole.
Asher brought her hands up to his neck—the thought of encircling it and choking him crossed her mind briefly—and then trailed it ever so slowly down his right bicep and to the bottom of his sleeve, so that her fingers could brush away the shirt and his forearm was exposed. She gasped at the small tattoo just below the angle of his elbow. It looked like a sun, but its rays were pointed like that of a star, and at the ends of those were thin, swirly tendrils, like smoke. It was a dark, inky blue, but faded, as if it had sunk too far into his skin. It could have been merely a shadow.
“That's the master-friend link, Bray,” he said, still holding her hand that hovered over his arm. “You have one, too.”
“Where?” She frowned, not remembering seeing anything like that on her body.
He shrugged, now staring at the exposed skin at her collar. “I don't know. Ness applied it. Want me to find it for you?” As he said that, his hand was brushing up her arm, and she jumped back at his touch. At the same moment, a strange sound came from the other side of the gazebo. It sounded like someone clearing their throat.
“Right,” Asher scowled. “We should start de-hazing. Page is waiting.”
Had Page just seen that entire encounter between them? Braya groaned inwardly. If her mother knew of all the new ways she was interacting with men today, she would surely disown her.
Plus, if she really did only feel hatred for him, why was she so receptive to his attention, to his touch? It was an unsettling thought that Braya didn’t like to ponder.
~Chapter 9: Petticoat Racing~
Page proved to be wholesomely silent. He and Asher remained invisible for most of their trek through Heart District, and Braya couldn't help wishing that Asher had never mentioned Page was accompanying them. While keeping up with Asher's conversation required enough of her energy, she would have preferred the blond boy to say something once in a while as it took more of her energy to figure out where he was standing than it would to talk to him. Sometimes she forgot entirely that he was with them—it was easy, with Asher's constant chatter—but she'd remember suddenly, randomly, that he was near, somewhere, maybe only an arm's reach away, and it made her uneasy.
At one point she'd asked Asher why Page never spoke. He merely dismissed her question with a shrug and nonchalant, “That's just how he is,” and Braya didn't know how to broach the subject again, so she dropped it altogether. Perhaps she'd figure it out later, she mused. After all, Braya needed to find the Locer's weakness, and that meant she had to know everything about them.
De-hazing didn't make any sense to Braya. So far they'd spent hours zigzagging through Heart District in pursuit of the red dots charted on the sketched map. Like Asher had claimed, finding the dots posed no challenge—rather, the challenge was in implanting the boosters. The designated locations were always different in nature. The side of a building, shop windows, roofs, the street's pavement, grass, dirt, light posts, Rail stations, even parked vehicles. The boosters reacted differently on each surface, and a few times they had refused the surfaces all together. It was never as easy as it had been when she'd applied the boosters to her own skin.
“I don't get what these boosters are supposed to do,” Braya panted, wiping her brow. They were perched on the top of a coffee shop, and she was trying to apply one of the endless supply of boosters along its shingled roof with no luck. “How will these warn the citizens of war?”
“Bray,” Asher responded in mock admonishment, “don't you remember? You just do your job. Focus on the smaller picture and let the others focus on the big picture.”
“In other words,” she grunted, wrestling the small piece of paper to stick onto the shingles, “You don't know either.”
“You're finally paying attention,” Asher's voice teased. “If you want to know all these questions, why not ask Ness? I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear them.”
&nbs
p; Somehow Braya doubted that. “You sound so resentful when you talk about him,” she commented, her attention still focused wholly on sticking the stupid booster onto the roof. Why wouldn't it just stick? Her enhanced vision allowed her to see all the dents and grooves of the roof, but nothing about the enhanced clarity of her problem was helping her stick the booster on.
“Of course,” Asher snorted. He was somewhere to her right, and his voice sounded as if he'd just moved closer to her. “He thinks himself quite something, he does. I could do a much better job than he is. No, Brays, I don't think resentment is even the right term. Complete and utter disgust might do it justice. By the way, is that something your men folk can't feel either?” If ever a voice held as much expression as someone's face could, Asher would be smirking.
“They don't feel resentment, no,” Braya replied simply, now gritting her teeth. “What does that matter to you?”
“I'm curious,” he replied conversationally.
“Try that panel behind you,” Page's ethereal voice came from somewhere over her shoulder. Braya started, and nearly lost her balance. She'd forgotten he was there again, damn him! She craned her neck to see the panel that Page was talking about. It was a small, square shape embedded into the roof, like a window, although she'd never known windows to be made of metal. Its material was different than the shingles, though, and that's all that mattered.
“So they’re conveniently missing some of the less favored emotions we fully developed folks have, is that it?”
“That’s what it seems like,” she replied distractedly.
“It has to be a woman behind this whole thing. Lust considered a negative emotion?” He snorted.
“There’s no one behind anything. Those are just the facts of life in this day and age. Besides, I never said anything about lust.”
“You didn’t have to. I know enough of this city to figure out that is one of the biggest things these guys lack.”
