Venus City 1

by Tabitha Vale

  “Asher, can you tell me anything about your past? What your city was like? Your family? Did you have any brothers or sisters?”

  He tensed—she could sense it even in the dimness of their current spot—and his response was more than a little disappointing. “I have no past. Stop asking.”

  He seemed to notice that she had no intention of stopping, and glowered at her. “I mean it.” His eye was golden again, just like that, and she could see that his knuckles were white where he was holding the lantern. Last time in the courtyard, when she'd first learned of his gold eye, he'd unleashed his anger on her. It seemed this time he was holding back.

  Braya sighed, dropping the topic. “Okay, we'll talk about something else. What's up with all the flowers and the dirt?”

  “That's for Ness,” he said on an exhale, apparently relieved they'd changed the topic. “His...girlfriend died in the war right before we came to Venus City. He was torn up about it. Almost committed suicide. His girlfriend used to be a florist, and the flowers remind him of her, keep him sane.”

  “So he brought all these flowers here because of her?” She asked in amazement. How could a man love a woman so?

  Asher snickered. “He didn't personally. That's someone else's job. We all have our own jobs within this group.”

  “What kind of jobs?”

  He wagged his finger in her face. “No, no, Brays, I can't tell you that.”

  Right, and she wasn't supposed to care, she reminded herself grimly.

  “So how 'bout you tell me what we're doing here, then?” She asked impatiently.

  “Having lunch with the Locers, since you obviously don't want to hang around your precious fiancé, not with all those thoughts that must be swimming through your head about having to give birth to his children,” he said snidely.

  She snarled at him. “I wasn't thinking about that until you mentioned it, so thanks.”

  Asher seemed intimately familiar with the corridors of the chapel. They came across a staircase that Braya had never seen in all of her previous wandering of the place. They ascended in silence, Braya noting that the flowers were more abundant on the second floor. They passed a wide open space with a statue of a man bowing, and a small wooden box placed at the base of it.

  Curious, Braya left Asher's side and strode over to it. The case looked like a finely constructed jewelry box with a bright emerald pendant set into the center. She reached out to touch it, but Asher's hand snatched at her wrist and yanked her back.

  “Do not touch that,” he murmured, scanning her face in a way that made her blush.

  “I wasn't expecting you two,” drawled a familiar voice. They jumped apart, gazing up as Ness entered the hollowed room. He was wearing the helmet still—she had the feeling he never took it off—and his milky green stare was harder to look at than Asher with magenta eyes.

  “How long have you been touching each other like that?” He asked peculiarly, sneering at them.

  “What way? That was merely nothing,” Asher replied, sounding out of breath.

  “Completely nothing,” she confirmed.

  “It's just curious,” Ness shrugged, pacing a circle around them like a predator. “I hope you two haven't gone and touched too much of each other. That master-slave link the two of you wear is no trifle thing. Back in the day when the Ephraim Sare was still in one piece, those used to be used by husbands and wives. Yes, those couples used them in diabolic ways, mostly in the bedroom, if you're catching my meaning.” He paused, his eyes resting on Braya. “What I hope to get across, anyway, is this; don't touch each other's marks if you haven't already, unless you want to unlock its old purpose.”

  So that was why she got those alluring feelings every time they came in contact with each other? Back on the gazebo during the garden party, Asher had forced her to touch his link…

  Braya could have slammed her head against the stone wall. Of course. Being a mind control device just wasn't enough, was it?

  “Anyway, joining us for lunch?”

  Braya wished she weren't. How could she even look at Asher now that she knew that new little tidbit about the master-slave link? Eating with Latham and her Bride Sisters would be ten times better.

  Nevertheless, Braya followed the two Locers down some more hallways until they entered a long, vaulted room that had been transformed into a makeshift dining room. A long table sat in the center with a dozen chairs lining it. Flowers were everywhere along the cracks of the ground, the creases of the walls, the ornamental indentations of the pillars.

  Eight heads looked up to greet them. No one said anything as Asher and Braya sat down. Page stared at her for a while, and the twins were too busy playing with each other's hands and quietly discussing a Moon Tamer game while most of the others—the ones she didn't know one thing about—were silent and refused to look at her. Despite the cold reception—and the silent, desperate hope that Asher would refrain from touching her after what Ness had said—Braya found that she wasn't as ill-at-ease with them as she would have been a couple weeks ago. It was a horrid realization, too, because it just further proved what her mother had said about her becoming too Finch-like ever since being deemed a Bride. My, how far the apple has fallen from the tree. Oh, how right Mother was. She had every right to hate her, Braya admitted to herself.

  ~Chapter 12: Camille and Tristant~

  Braya stood outside Leraphone's door, body taut with apprehension. Her fist hovered above the wood, ready to knock, but the door slowly swung in on itself before she had the chance to collect her wits. She exhaled, peering into the dim light that spilled over a low wall just within the doorway.

  She carefully stepped inside, the door closing behind her. Braya was in a small entryway, with three low walls surrounding her. She looked up to see that she was in some sort of atrium. The ceiling was domed, and instead of being able to see out into the afternoon sky, the windows were glazed over in an elaborate design of the cosmos. Silver, gold, purple, and pink were emblazoned into the scene, stars and other glowing space matter spattered along in smears of color. A great, bulbous ornament large enough to fit several people inside dangled from the center of the windowed dome, tassels weaved along its sides and drooping down in an elegant sway. The walls were the same golden brown as the ornament and were embossed with translucent wallpapers of intricate paintings—girls in long dresses, birds with gilded wings, embellished instruments, and even regal horses were depicted along its makeup. Light fixtures with wings similar to the headband Leraphone always wore were suspended around the room, and in between each fixture were arches indented with extravagant patterns, much like old tapestries. A bed was pushed off to the side, a desk cluttered with papers and large globes sat nearest the door, and a crowd of shelves lay on the other side of the room, stuffed with too many different things to name. The scent of something herbal lingered in the air, and Braya noticed a tray of light food balanced on the desk.

  Leraphone floated to the entryway upon her entrance, and gave her a small smile. “What do you think of my room?”

  “Unique,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

  “Indeed,” Leraphone acknowledged. She motioned toward the desk. “Mind sitting? I was just making some tea and we can begin talking.”

  “Oh, please, that won't be necessary,” Braya protested, “What I have to say won't take long.”

  “Ah, but what I have to say certainly won't be as quick. No, I will finish the tea, child, so do sit at the desk and wait a moment,” Leraphone said airily, disappearing through a doorway that Braya hadn't noticed before.

  The floor was cluttered with so many stuffed animals and miscellaneous objects that Braya nearly tripped on her way to the desk. As she perched herself on the edge of the seat, smoothing over her black dress nearly five times, her hands wringing together anxiously, she waited until Leraphone reemerged with a smaller tray of tea. She sat it down next to the tray of food, the two of them nearly overlapping.

  “Now, tuck in child a
nd please tell me what's concerning you.”

  “My sister Bellamine,” Braya said seriously, “She has Tristant, but I guess you knew that. You know my brother Aspen, too...somehow...but that's not why I'm here. I need a cure for the disease. Aspen seems to think that you can get it for me, otherwise I wouldn't even be here.”

  “How subtle you are,” she laughed lightly, sipping her tea. “Aren't you going to try the tea? It's chamomile.”

  Braya indulgently took a sip, though her eyes never left Leraphone.

  “You do know that's an incurable disease, do you not?”

  “Yes,” Braya replied, trying to reign in her impatience, “Otherwise I wouldn't be bending backward trying to find someone who can help.”

  “Do you know why it's incurable?” Leraphone was serene, utterly unconcerned as she reached for a sandwich.

  “Does that matter?”

  “It matters a great deal!” Leraphone answered in exaggerated surprise. “How can you hope to make a cure if you don't know the first thing about the disease itself?”

  “I'm not seeking a recipe,” Braya said through grit teeth, “I want the cure. The absolute fix.”

  “And what are you offering in exchange?”

  “I—well...” Braya faltered. She averted her gaze. “I don't have anything to give in return. Merely my brother told me—”

  “Braya, child, how do you expect someone to do you such a great service without any sort of repayment?”

  Braya scowled. “I was never told that I would have to give you anything in return!” She said haughtily. “If you want money, though, I can get you as much as you want—”

  “Now, now,” Leraphone dismissed her suggestion, “I don't want you to become a criminal over this.”

  “Who said anything about stealing?” Braya asked spitefully, her face flushing. “I'm a Crown.” Oh, it felt good to finally be able to use that for something. “I have money. I won't have to resort to stealing. That's so Finch.”

  “Is that so?” Leraphone asked, pouring herself another cup of tea. “Where would you get that money? From your dear mother who banished you from your own home?”

  Braya clenched her fists together, her blush spreading over her back and tipping her ears like a rash. Her heart was pounding in her ears already and a heavy weight was crushing her stomach. How had this woman known about that? She hadn't told anyone, not even Asher. Her lip twitched as she struggled for an answer. “That-that doesn't matter,” she said on a sigh. “Whatever it takes to get that cure, I'll do it.”

  “Because you care dearly for your younger sister,” Leraphone concluded with a tone of tender understanding. “Right. Do not worry yourself, Miss Vace. I won't requirement payment. At least, nothing of the tangible sort. But before we get into that, tell me. How has the medicine worked for young Miss Bellamine?”

  Braya's eyes shuttered closed as she tried to remember the last time she'd visited her sister, but she realized she hadn't seen her after giving Harmony the medicine. “I...I don't really know. I haven't seen her much...” she admitted guiltily. “But two weeks ago...Mother wasted the rest of it.”

  “Oh, my,” Leraphone exhaled, placing her tea cup down. “That is serious. Any matter, let's get on with this, then. I just request that you listen to what I have to tell you. It's the history of the Tristant disease, and by extension, an interesting story about our founder, Camille.”

  “And then you'll give me the cure?” Braya asked hopefully.

  “Child,” she chuckled, rising from her chair. “I cannot simply summon it from my sleeves. Yes, though. I will retrieve it at the soonest possible.”

  Braya consented, sinking back into her chair. She grasped the small tea cup in her shaking hand and downed the lukewarm drink in one swallow. Had it been that easy? A story in exchange for the cure? Maybe Aspen had been right all along...

  Leraphone cleared her throat, and began telling her story.

  ****

  Our great Mother Camille founded Venus City ninety years ago with the Venus Sare. It is a tale of destruction, heartbreak, and betrayal, but without her sufferings and sacrifices we would not be here as we are today.

  Camille was always a free-spirited young lady. She had a spit-fire attitude and wasn't afraid to tell anyone what was on her mind. Her temper often got her into trouble, but she had a charm that always won her out of whatever mess she got herself into. She grew up in a moderately wealthy family, had adoring parents, and even two younger sisters who looked up to her like a role model. Her life was almost faultless, it would seem, at least from an outsider's perspective.

  She finished high school, dreaming of being an artist. As a result, she applied to art school in one of the finest universities in the world. When she got accepted, everyone was so proud of her. She celebrated all night with her family, and went out for another round of celebration with her friends afterward. While she was out at a late party in one of her friends' house, she met a young man she'd never seen before. His name was Tristant, and he instantly captivated her. Camille claimed that his charm was so much as to render her speechless, something never once done to the young girl.

  She soon went off to her university, but she never forgot Tristant. They corresponded through letters, emails, phone calls, web cam. Every possible vessel of communication, they made use of it all. They quickly fell in love with each other, and all of Camille's paintings evolved into something that had to do with Tristant. His hair, his smile, his lack of a fashion sense, his green eyes. There was always a trace of him in her artwork.

  Her family grew somewhat worried that she was growing obsessed with Tristant. They warned her not to lose her head over him, but she playfully proclaimed that she already had.

  After one year of being separated, Tristant told Camille he was transferring universities so that they could see each other everyday. He had no talent for art. His set of skills were better used in marketing or business administration, but he enrolled in her art school nonetheless. He claimed he could learn to do anything if he set his mind to it. So was his love for her.

  Together, they lived in a fantasy for nearly three years. Camille felt like they were meant to marry, and hinted at it for Tristant whenever she got the chance. Their graduation was fast approaching, and she wanted to be eternally bound to him more than she cared for her diploma. Tristant was receptive to her hints, and hinted back at her that she might end up married soon. Camille was thrilled, happier than ever.

  Everything suddenly changed, though. It was the night of their graduation. Camille knew, had this strong intuition, that Tristant would propose to her at the end of the ceremony. Another important thing you should know about Camille is that she was very infatuated with weddings, and when the time came for hers she would want every aspect of it documented in some way. So, before the graduation she arranged for one of her friends to record the proposal on a camera. Before the graduation began, when Camille went to meet her friend behind the university's stadium, she saw something half buried in the dirt.

  Camille dug it up with her hands and found herself staring at the eight Sares. At that time she didn't know what they were. They looked like stemless dandelions lying in the dirt, the kind children blow on to make wishes. They glowed brighter than any light she'd ever seen, and when she touched one of them, the same golden light that emanated from the Sare seeped through her finger and shot through her arm. She panicked at that. It made her entire arm glow golden, and she could do nothing to make it return to its normal state. So Camille re-buried the Sares and ran.

  She skipped her graduation and missed her proposal because of the glow in her arm. She isolated herself and refused to see anyone, afraid they would react badly to what was happening to her. As days passed she found that she could do things she'd never been able to do before. She could make things appear out of thin air, make objects float across the room. She could make trees grow taller, change the color of the grass, even change the way she looked. As an artist it thrilled her the
new ways she could make art, but it also scared her. Ultimately, she could do everything but change the glow in her arm.

  Camille finally chose to tell Tristant about her discovery. She decided all the power she'd found was worth nothing if she couldn't share it with the one she loved. She showed Tristant where the Sares were buried and told him it was their secret. They could do whatever they wanted with them. Tristant disagreed, and by doing so tore the two of them apart. He exposed the Sares against her wishes. He claimed it would make up for the years he'd wasted at an art school. His dark resentments he’d been secretly harboring were suddenly coming up.

  He would be famous, rich, he claimed. Camille implored him, tried to explain that they could be all those things without exposing the Sares. But he would not listen to her; he was deaf to her pleas. He grew consumed by greed, by arrogance.

  When news of the Sares broke out, conflict came with it. The eight greatest nations argued over what was to be done with them, and each of them seized control of the magical objects. War quickly followed, and the lesser nations that had no power were swept off the map in a matter of days. The greater nations in control of the Sares attempted peace treaties, but none were successful.

  Questions abounded; where had the magical Sares come from? Why had they appeared at that time? What were their limits?

  Those questions didn't prove to matter in the time of war. The nations with the Sares were targeting each other now, trying to obliterate each other's source of power. The men who attempted to control the Sares for any extended period of time always ended up dead.

  Eventually all of the Sares were shattered. They split into hundreds of pieces, like the white seedheads of a dandelion when you blow them away in a wish. They scattered all over the world and a huge hunt commenced in order to collect the most power. It was no longer a war between nations, but a war between whoever could collect the most seedlings, as they started to call them.