Venus City 1

by Tabitha Vale

  But don’t be fooled. Not all the Sares were scattered in such a manner. There was one that remained whole, and it was the one in Camille's city.

  By this time, Tristant was distraught over the destruction the Sares brought. Irrationally, he blamed Camille for it. She wanted to do something for him in order to make him forgive her. She wanted to win his love back.

  With her magical golden arm, she tracked down the last Sare that her government was protecting in a chapel deep in a hidden valley. She brought Tristant with her, and told him she would take the Sare and give it to him so that he could be happy. And she obtained it without trouble. No one could stop her, not with the power she'd gained from the Sare the first time.

  When they stood before the Sare, as Camille was offering it to Tristant, she realized it would not satisfy him. He was too greedy. He was a different man. She asked him if he loved her again, if they could get married, but he rejected her. Scorned her. He turned to the Sare in means to attain its powers, but Camille reacted first. Heartbroken, she lashed out in a rage. The power within her swelled and she slaughtered every man in the chapel, including Tristant. In her rampage she stole the Sare and buried the chapel under the valley that had once concealed it. Others tried to claim the Sare from her, but she was too powerful.

  Camille sensed she was growing weaker the more she used the Sare, so she created a vault to keep it protected. From there, it was easier to use the power in smaller doses. It was safer. Once it was locked in the vault, she formed Venus City with the Sare and vowed to keep it forever sheltered from the terror beyond its borders.

  Venus City prospered like no other city had before. Camille used the power of the Sare to recreate what the Great War had damaged and destroyed, even created more than what they'd had before. The population grew rapidly, but Camille was in a deep state of depression. She decided to have a child in order to distract herself. She hoped the child would allow her to love again. Her daughter, Cordelia, became a great source of happiness for Camille, but nothing could ever fill the void of Tristant and the memories of him that haunted her.

  As she grew into her late thirties, Camille felt exceptionally weaker. She sensed she would die soon, for over exertion with the magic. She didn't know what to do with the Sare, though, didn't know who could take control over it. She tested many trustworthy women, but all of them were rejected by the Sare. All but her young daughter, Cordelia. That was when she made a powerful discovery. The Sares built loyalty into whoever used it the most, the longest. Since she'd wielded its powers for more than a decade, all through the safety of the vault it was locked in, the Sare had developed a loyalty to her, and by passing it down to her daughter the loyalty would remain intact.

  In her last year of life, still tormented by the memories of Tristant, she used the Sare for one last act. She created a disease named after Tristant, a disease that she hoped would only infect males. Not all of them, but a small few. It was the only way she could get revenge on the man for crushing her heart. After she died and Cordelia took over, the disease unfortunately spread to infect females as well. While very uncommon, the disease remained uncured because of the trepidation that Cordelia had of the Sare. She never dared touch it for fear of dying early. She lived a long and healthy life, and then her daughter, Olivia, took over. Olivia, too, was fearful of the Sare and did nothing to touch it.

  Ophelia ascended after Olivia, and she was the only one after Camille to brave the Sare. She was the one who invented the boosters and plugs. By isolating small fractions of the power into those tattoos, she found the power could be subdued and used for the citizens. But now, as you know, Tristant remains uncured even though Ophelia had dabbled with Venus's power.

  ****

  Braya was aghast. How had so much of their city's history been stashed away from public knowledge? “She created that disease? Then it must be curable! She can be able to fix it!”

  Leraphone looked amused. “She is dead, did I not mention that?”

  Braya flushed in anger. “So what? Mother Ophelia can cure it, then! Why hasn't she done anything?” Braya was on her feet now, scattering papers from Leraphone's desk in her outrage.

  “Were she inclined to, Ophelia could, yes,” Leraphone nodded, her hands lost in her long, draping sleeves.

  “So that means you're going to talk to her? What was the point of telling me all of this, then?” Braya asked helplessly, breathing hard.

  Leraphone tilted her head. “Isn't it better you know the truth? And no, I have no intention of telling Ophelia anything.”

  Braya gaped at the woman. “Then how do you expect to get the cure? Have you been lying—”

  “Calm down, child,” Leraphone said soothingly, her wispy tone brushing over Braya, meaning to console but only irritating her more. “Can't you take pause and consider why I know so much detail about what happened to Camille in her personal history? Or why any of this would be relative to your situation?”

  “I don't know!” Braya said, throwing her hands up in the air. “You wanted to share your wisdom with your only willing audience?”

  Leraphone sighed, her amusement still traced along the creases of her face. “Child, you must learn to look past guises and ask the right questions. If you act with patience and consider your situation from more than one angle, you'll find the answer. However, seeing as you're so upset right now, I might as well reveal myself.”

  “What are you talking about? Do you have the cure here with you?”

  “No, nothing of the sort. But through the family blood line, I can create the cure myself,” Leraphone stated. “I'm not sure Ophelia will be happy to see me after all this time, but no doubt she can't deny her sister a visit, right?”

  Braya gasped. “You're related...you're Mother Ophelia's sister? But...” she spluttered. “Mother Ophelia doesn't have a sister.”

  “She doesn't have much of anyone, does she, child?” Leraphone asked in a tone as thin as air. “I'm sure you didn't know her last name was Vacelind, either? There are many things you don't know about our dear Mother Ophelia, and many of them for good reasons.”

  “Wait, if you're her older sister, how come you aren't Mother?”

  Leraphone laughed loudly—louder than Braya had ever heard her laugh before—as she was picking up the papers that Braya had knocked from her desk. If Braya's eyes weren't deceiving her, some of the handwriting on those letters she was gathering from the ground looked familiar, but she wasn't paying enough attention to be sure. “I never claimed to be her older sister, Miss Vace. Are you presuming that because I look older than her?”

  Braya looked away sheepishly—and as she did, she sensed that something was hovering over her shoulder, but when she glanced back, there was nothing there.

  Leraphone did look older than Mother Ophelia, it was true, but they both appeared to be in the same generation as her own mother, Charlotte.

  “Well, you are correct, not to worry, child,” Leraphone said, shuffling around the table to collect the tray of tea and sandwiches. “I am older than her and I was supposed to be Mother, but our dear...Mother Olivia chose Ophelia over me due to some of my...views that she did not agree with.”

  “Views? Braya frowned. “What views do you mean?”

  Leraphone waved her hand dismissively. “You need not concern yourself over that.”

  “But why did you get stuck working in this Finch job when you should be Mother?” Braya asked hotly, the sting of being refused her rightful job rising to the surface again.

  “I don't happen to mind this job,” Leraphone replied simply. “Did you know that it was Mother Cordelia who created the Bride career? Probably the only useful thing she did, if you must know. Now, I think it's time you head out, am I right? I was sure you had a cooking exam this afternoon.”

  “But the cure—”

  “Not to worry,” Leraphone said, ushering Braya toward the door. “It will be taken care of. I hope you studied hard.”

  As Braya made her way to the
door, she got the feeling again that someone was standing beside her. Could it be? No, he wouldn't follow her here, would he? Shaking off the thought that Asher had just sat in on her conversation with Leraphone, Braya went off to take her cooking exam.

  ~Chapter 13: Watercolors~

  “Mother said it was all right for us to visit?” Braya asked anxiously, tugging on her hair as they walked over the bridge that led to Heartland's front gates.

  “Evidently,” Aspen replied levelly. “Or do you think I blackmailed the driver to come and pick us up?”

  “No, not that,” Braya exhaled. They'd reached the gates now, and Braya could see their black car idling just on the other side of the round-about, half blocked by the fountain in the middle. “I'm just wondering why she suddenly says it's okay for us to go home.”

  “I doubt she'll be welcoming us back. We're only allowed a short visit,” Aspen replied astutely, “So I suspect it's for a purpose.”

  Braya shuddered. “I hope Bellamine is all right.”

  They elected to halt their conversation while in the car, in the case that their driver might overhear. The ride to Senna District was longer than usual, Braya's apprehension settling in deep and making it hard for her to compose herself. She had too many things on her mind and most of them she couldn't find a foreseeable end to. She'd resolved not to tell Aspen what Leraphone had explained the previous day in her atrium room, about Camille's history and Leraphone's connection with Mother Ophelia. The only thing she'd told him was that she'd talked to Leraphone and expected the cure very soon.

  Braya hadn't seen Asher all of yesterday, and she had just slipped out of Heartland with Aspen after breakfast, so she dreaded that he would show up once she returned. They hadn't finished their de-hazing, and even though it presented her an outlet for her stress and frustrations, she found it was the last thing she wanted to do that day.

  When they arrived at their house, Aspen grabbed her arm to prevent her from exiting the car.

  She studied his face, her head turned over her shoulder so that she could see him properly, noticing his expression was forcefully impassive. “Braya, please stay cool while we're here. I think we should check on Bellamine and leave as soon as possible.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you acting so freaked out? What do you think could happen here?”

  “Nothing. Just trust me.”

  Braya groaned inwardly as she pulled free of his grip and stepped out of the car. She was really beginning to hate hearing that from him, even though last time he'd said that about Leraphone he'd been right.

  Aspen followed her inside. Harmony greeted them at the door and told them they could go upstairs to see Bellamine. When they asked the Maid Bride how their sister had been, tears sprang to Harmony's eyes and she quickly wiped them away. She merely shook her head, refusing to answer them.

  In unspoken agreement, Braya and Aspen went up to the third floor and into the library. They crossed through the side door and raced down the winding staircase into Bellamine's room. The morning sunlight glittered through the leaning windows in a great block of brightness, illuminating almost every inch of Bellamine's drape-covered room. Behind the staircase, however, where Bellamine lay sprawled across her lavender pillows, patches of shadow shuttered across her face in long bars where the sunlight could not reach through the stairs. For some reason, seeing that reminded Braya of the mantra that Page always muttered. A light can never remove every spot of darkness.

  Braya knelt down beside her sister and gently shook her shoulder. She felt a sad sort of grin tug at her lips when she noticed Bellamine was still wearing the same dress and cape that she always wore.

  When the girl's eyes fluttered open, a small smile stretched across her lips and she unfolded herself from sleep so that she could hug Braya.

  Braya held her tightly. She inhaled her, squeezed her, and just took a moment to give Bellamine the time that she'd been denied over the past two weeks. Afterward, she moved away so that Aspen could also embrace her.

  “You don't have to answer me,” Braya said in a strained voice, patting a handful of her chestnut curls. “But I just wanted to make sure you're all right. I was so worried. Do you feel any differently?”

  Bellamine grasped her hand. “Don't worry, please. Anything that happens, it is meant to happen.”

  Braya and Aspen looked at her in alarm. “Bellamine, be careful,” Braya said urgently, “Don't talk too much. It's all right, we understand.”

  “I want you to understand more,” she said softly—fleeting as the first light of sunrise barely visible on the horizon. “Don't be sad, Braya.”

  Braya felt something inside her tremble. She reached forward to hold Bellamine back as she rose to stand, but her sister gently evaded her hands.

  Braya got to her feet and followed Bellamine to the middle of the room, and attempted to grab her once more. Her hand latched around the girl's slender shoulder, and she spun her around so that their gazes met. Braya caught the look of unadulterated peace in the young girl's eyes, and found herself thrown off guard, her grip loosening enough for Bellamine to wriggle free. Braya stood stoic, puzzled. What had changed in Bellamine? She'd always been so hollowed, so empty and indifferent to her situation. There had never been any hue of emotion, no stamp of awareness drawn in the lines of her young face. Braya had always assumed that she was living somewhere deep within the recesses of her own mind, in a world she created. The disease had forced isolation upon her, and Braya had thought that Bellamine had accepted that part, resulting in the gentle, barely-there presence she exuded on the outside. What did this new flare of feeling mean? Was Bellamine getting better?

  Bellamine ran a finger over her piano and uncovered the keys. “You're so pretty Braya. I like your dress.”

  Braya faltered. Aspen was at her side, and he led her toward the window as they normally did when Bellamine would perform for them.

  “I want you to listen to me play,” Bellamine said. She was perched at her piano, her eyes drawn to the keys. “Listen to Begonia.”

  Braya turned away so that she was staring out the windows. Just outside was a garden. It hadn't been tended to in a while, and all the flowers were beginning to bend in thirst, while others were already wilted beyond save. The grass was browning and weeds had cropped up everywhere. Bellamine had used to take care of the garden a couple years ago, but once Mother had decided that Bellamine had to stay in the house at all times, Harmony had taken up the garden. It seemed, though, even Harmony had too much work to take care of it these days. For a fleeting moment she wished she knew something about gardening. Ironically, Latham flashed through her mind—he would know how to take care of those flowers.

  Braya softened her gaze—sometimes the enhanced vision the booster granted her was just too much—so that it no longer extended far enough to see beyond the glass as Bellamine's song washed over her with a freezing clarity. She stared at her own reflection. She wore her favorite outfit—a richly designed gold jacket, the sleeves finely cut around her wrists, and the shoulders round and bulbous like that of Bellamine's dress, with black frilled ribbons knotted below the ball of her shoulder. It clasped at her neck, and a great diamond-shaped hole covered her chest, where her black and white under dress peaked through. Black and white frills lined where the gold jacket buttoned down her middle, its tight hold flaring over her waist and elegantly resting over her slender hips, her under dress again poking through beneath it. Braya had used to play a game with Bellamine—in fact it had been the whole reason she'd grown an interest in her own fashion—where her younger sister would have to describe every little thing that Braya wore. It had motivated Braya to wear extravagant things with impossible detailing, in order to exercise Bellamine's talking abilities. Bellamine had once told her the gold jacket was also her favorite of Braya's outfits, and now Braya felt a pang of guilt. Would they ever be able to play that game again? Would Bellamine ever get better enough to wear fancy clothes of her own?

 
; The song ended on a long note, and a heavy silence stole over the room. Braya turned away from the window and moved over to Bellamine's perch on the piano bench, and crouched to her knees so that they were at the same level, more or less.

  “Braya,” Bellamine murmured. “If I can't be fixed...please promise me to fix the other kids sick like me.”

  Braya's chest quivered at that, and she grabbed the girl's hands fiercely. “Don't say that Bellamine. I found a cure. It will be here in days. You will live, sweet sister.”

  Bellamine's eyes widened. “And you...you will help the others...with this disease, too?”

  Braya gave a broken sigh. She'd never intended to help everyone with the disease. Didn't those boys deserve to have it? Maybe it was fair enough to cure the girls. She had to keep Bellamine happy—she couldn't compromise her delicate disposition with the cure so close—so Braya nodded her consent. “I will.”

  The door to Bellamine's room swayed open at that moment, much like a skirt being ruffled by a breeze. Mother stood silhouetted against the darkness of the hall behind her, and her wide upper body looked harshly out of proportion with her narrow lower body as she loomed there, her wide, dark blue eyes searching the room like a predator who'd misplaced its prey.

  “Your visit is at an end,” she said in steel. “Come along.”

  Braya wanted to argue, but Aspen's hand squeezed her shoulder and she relented. With goodbye hugs to Bellamine, the two of them stalked out into the hall, and for some reason Braya was overwhelmed with the feeling that they were willingly stepping into the darkness of a lion's den.

  Once in the hall, all pretense was dropped and Mother harshly ordered them out of the house.

  “What was the point of this visit?” Aspen asked carefully.

  “A warning,” Mother hissed. “You're both banished from this family and will have no more ties to it from here forth.”