Venus City 1
Page 27
“That doesn't do me any good,” she said spitefully, shaking her head out of his hand.
There was a long silence where neither of them said anything, and they both refused to glance at the other. Braya made to go back into the waiting chamber after the silence had stretched on for too long.
“Page talked to me today,” Asher said, causing Braya to halt at the door. She didn't turn to face him, but he took her pause as encouragement to continue. “It nearly took everything out of him with all the words he told me...but he said he wished I would pass this on to you. He said he was quite afraid of you, and also ashamed that he cannot talk to you as a normal person.”
Braya slowly turned, staring at Asher to urge him on.
“He told me about his father,” Asher readily obliged. “First, I explained to him about what we read in Leraphone's letter. He told me that was not why he thought we were here. Page thought Channing had come to Venus City to get a cure for his disease. Ephraim seedlings can only do so much. He's been taking medicine, which is why he's lived past seventeen, but they will not sustain him for much longer.
“After I described the letter, though, Page told me Channing might be after the Venus Sare for purposes other than his cure. He thinks it's about his mother. She was a Venusian, a Hem Liner. About twenty years ago she had accidentally left Venus City. He didn't tell me much more about her except that she died ten years ago when Page was eight. His father had adored her, and her death destroyed him. He no longer wanted anything to do with Page and turned cold to the world. He took over as leader of the Locer Sharks a couple years after her death and forced Page to join. I had joined a little after that. He needed us to get into this city—he couldn't do it on his own. Anyway, that's not the point. Page thinks Channing wants the Venus Sare so he can revive his dead wife.”
“That's sick,” Braya exclaimed. “She's been dead for ten years. How does he expect to do that?”
Asher shrugged. “I don't know a lot about what kind of power Venus Sare has, except that it's the most powerful source of magic on earth right now. Maybe it can bring people back to life.”
Braya thought of Bellamine, but quickly dashed the thought away. Bringing her back to life would be an act worse than letting her die from the disease. As much as she'd give to see her sister again, disturbing her eternal slumber was not something she'd ever consider.
“So is that it?” Braya asked, settling back into her listless countenance. She examined her nails so that she wouldn't have to meet his gaze.
“Is that it?” Asher repeated, disbelieving. “Braya, don't pretend you don't care about this. This is huge.”
She shrugged. “Huge for other people, like Channing or Page. For me, though, it's quite ordinary.”
“Bray, will I have to force you—”
“We've already established you lack the backbone to force me into anything other than petty little Locer tasks,” she replied tartly. She dropped her hands to her side and took him in with her gaze, tilting her head. “Why is that, anyway? Why must you get my permission for something that doesn't have to do with the Locers?”
Asher looked like he was struggling with something. His eyes were their uneven tones of gold and blue again, and Braya felt a mingling of satisfaction and expectation at the sight of it. He was battling with himself whether to tell or not to tell. She watched on interestedly, arms folded over her chest, long sleeves hanging down to her waist.
“You wanna know why I have the decency to consider your position before I impose mine upon you?” He snarled, keeping his hands firmly clenched at his sides even though his posture suggested he wanted more than anything to lunge at her and perhaps pin her proper against the wall. “It's because I care about you. I care what you might think of me. And most of all,” he advanced closer, a mere breath away as he said, “It's who I am. It's who I grew up to be based on an event in my past. We all come to be who we are because of mistakes and problems we've faced before—just like you will be affected by Charlotte's lies, the Locer's control of you, and Bellamine's death. It doesn't mean you should let those things control you, though.”
“Charming,” she said dryly. “I think the first intermission is over. I must be getting to my wedding.”
She moved to the door, but his hand whipped out and clutched at her arm. He spun her around and pierced her straight through with his burning stare. “It's my last plea to you, Braya. Don't let yourself remain who Charlotte created. Don't put people below you because you think they're not worth your time. Don't disregard what I have to say, or what Leraphone has to say. Those are the same things that Channing does.” He paused for a moment. “In fact, I'd say you're acting so much like Channing, it's almost disturbing. His wife died, and he turned himself into a cold shell. Shunned his own son because of his grief. Braya...” he murmured. “Don't do the same.”
His words sent a tremor down her back, but she hid any trace that his words had affected her. She fixed him with a cold sneer and twisted away from him, slipping back into the chamber. A woman gathered her at the aisle, quietly admonishing her for nearly giving her a heart attack. Her wedding was next, apparently.
As soon as the couple at the end of the hall had been ushered from the stage, the music that she and Latham had chosen filtered through the court. Braya felt a small twinge in her chest—she wasn't marrying Latham, she was marrying Page. She was only the slightest bit regretful. She'd liked Latham on a small, almost insignificant level, but it had been bearable, at least.
The woman shoved her toward the aisle. Braya stepped out into the glittering sunlight and instantly felt the weight of hundreds of stares pressing down upon her. She slowly paced herself down the aisle; Page stood at the far end, on the stage with the officiant. Braya looked away. She discreetly studied the audience, throwing glances when she felt she could spare it.
It didn't take her long to spot Channing. He was close to the stage, his seat in the front row. He was close enough to jump over the net-covered gap if he felt like it. Mother Ophelia—oh God, was she actually her mother?—sat at his side, watching Braya with a great smile. A genuine smile fitting of a mother. Braya hadn't known how she would react upon seeing Ophelia after reading Leraphone's letter, but she was a little surprised at the sudden desire that overcame her to jump into the audience and embrace her tightly. God knew she needed someone to hug.
On the other side of the the aisle, she glimpsed Charlotte sneering down at her from a fourth story balcony. Braya quickly focused her attention back on the stage, and her eyes alighted upon Page once more. He was like a more delicate copy of Channing. Was it fair that he bore the same characteristics that Channing did, even though he didn't bear the same personality? Her thoughts went back to what Asher had said. Can you blame a child for the family they're born into?
No, no. She couldn't let Asher into her thoughts if she ever meant to go through with this.
Braya reached the stage and took her position across from Page. He delicately grabbed both of her hands in his and held them there almost as if he were afraid she would scorn him for touching her. She noticed Asher behind him, standing on the edge of the stage where the other Grooms were waiting for their ceremonies to start.
His parting words flooded her head as the officiant began. Don't put people below you because you think they're not worth your time.
“Dear friends and family, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of Page Arlington and Braya Vace in marriage,” the officiant began.
Don't disregard what I have to say, or what Leraphone has to say.
“Today, as we create this marriage, we also create a new bond and a new sense of family...”
Those are the same things that Channing does.
“Marriage is a vital social institution. The exclusive commitment of two individuals to each other nurtures love and mutual support; it brings stability to our society...”
I'd say you're acting so much like Channing, it's almost disturbing.
His wife died, and he turned himself into a cold shell.
“Do you, Page Arlington, take Braya Vace, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health...”
Shunned his own son because of his grief.
“I do,” uttered Page.
“Do you, Braya Vace, take Page Arlington, to have...”
Braya...don't do the same.
It hadn't been a command, but a warning. Braya's eyes flicked back to where she'd spotted Asher standing. He was staring at her with an intense magenta gaze, nearly leaning out onto the stage as if he were ready to interrupt, ready to run through and snatch her before she could commit to it.
The officiant had prompted her now; everyone waited for her response, waited for her to recuperate Page's “I do”. The entire court was paused in bated silence. Braya's eyes caught Asher's face again—his beautiful face painted over with dread, with hopelessness. His words had wormed their way into her head, and now she was hesitating at the finish line... Was this just another one of his attempts to coax a love confession out of her? Was he merely jealous that he'd lost her to another man?
No matter how much she wanted to believe it, the look on his face as he restrained himself from barreling onto the platform told her it was nothing of that sort. He was being genuine, just like he'd been from the start. Braya, on the other hand, had been selfish, presumptuous, and uncaring from the start, and still couldn't decide what she wanted to be. Bellamine had suffered for it—was she going to let others suffer after failing her sister? Something was stirring at the bottom of her stomach, forcing doubt over her resolve. Was this just another play in Charlotte's game—no Channing's, or whoever it was who manipulated the events in her life the most—of chess? Was releasing herself from any further responsibility a deliberate move in favor of those two evils?
The officiant seemed to decide to read the last bit again, as if Braya hadn't heard it. But she wasn't listening anymore. Her mind was whirling. There it was again—the stir of something powerful, something overwhelming deep inside her, and she lacked the capacity to grasp it, to follow it on instinct. Her motivation was lost.
Asher floated into her line of sight once more, and the scene of him struggling against the rail he held, struggling to keep himself back struck her with a physical force. He was motivation enough, wasn't he? A person to care for her unconditionally, no matter what her family connections were, no matter how many piles of mud she'd been dragged through. He cared.
Oh, how liberating it was to finally succumb to that realization.
Braya cared, too. She cared for him.
All of her previous inhibitions were lost, torn away in a final act, in a final shedding of all that had once been her previous life.
Still, the officiant waited for a response.
Braya released her hands from Page's. “I do not.”
And then she was rushing into Asher's arms.
~Chapter 20: Runaway Bride~
A collective gasp rose up from the spectators as Braya threw herself into Asher's ready embrace. He collected her in his arms, and, as he swung her back around and pulled her into the Groom's waiting chamber, time seemed to stretch by slower, as if suspended in the air like an anchored clock. Several things happened in that halted moment. Braya heard yelling, heard scuffling feet, a loud thud, and then the entire audience was engulfed in frantic movements and shouts.
“Shit. He's following us,” Asher muttered against her hair. Braya could barely crane her neck around to see that Channing had launched himself from his seat and was advancing on them, his face set sternly in an attempt to not further alarm the already dismayed guests.
Asher led Braya through the Groom's waiting chamber—most of the Grooms raising little complaint, though they did murmur in confusion as the two of them passed—and out into the empty corridor.
“Asher, where are we going?” She asked as he grabbed her hand. He was leading her toward the staircase.
“Out,” he responded curtly, his eyes zigzagging through the hall as if he were searching for something. Behind them she could see Channing cutting through the waiting chamber, a look of cold fury twisting his features.
Asher pulled her toward a staircase that took them to the third floor.
“Why are we going up?” She asked frantically, following him nonetheless.
“There's a back way out,” he muttered.
“Ugh, this dress,” she moaned. It was too thick and too long for a quick getaway, and the stairs were only making it worse.
“Get up to the sixth floor,” he instructed, maneuvering behind her so that he could carry the excess of her dress. “Hurry!”
Braya kicked off her heels and jogged up the stairs. She didn't want to tell him that running with him holding her skirts was nearly as worse as having to carry them herself—he seemed edgy enough as it was.
Channing was gaining on them. He had unsheathed two Moon Tamer batons that had been harnessed across his back, and was loading them with orbs as he pursued them in a surprising amount of grace.
“Asher,” he called out in a chilling tone.
“Keep going,” Asher urged.
“Braya,” he cooed.
Channing was only a staircase away when they reached the sixth floor landing. Braya had never been to this part of the manor's sixth floor. The other side was dedicated to dormitories; she had no idea what could be here.
“This is where all the Grade One and Two Brides and Grooms are supposed to be,” Asher explained. “This is where I was supposed to be today. Apparently, they don't want us to spoil our future weddings by watching the others.”
They were on a wide, oval shaped landing with sparse decorations. On one end, a large drop dangled below, the staircase winding down to the ground level. At the other end an open doorway stood and the landing extended outside to form a rounded balcony. Just before the doorway was an actual door, which Asher informed her was the room where all the Brides and Grooms were sitting in on a “family lesson”. Braya never recalled having to do such a thing.
“Asher Benedict, the unwanted son,” drawled Channing. He was on the landing now, his baton aglow with blue orbs. Braya wished she could remember their specific damage—was it bleeding, or swelling? No, those were the rings that inflicted that kind of damage... “I should have seen this coming. Of all the Locers, you would be the most likely to betray me.”
He fired the orbs at them in a shower of blue sparks, and Braya was only able to dodge them because Asher shoved her to the ground. She skidded to a halt, her arms burning where her flesh stretched over the polished floor. Her dress had flown up around her legs, and, still sprawled on her back, she fought around it so that she could spot Asher.
He had dodged the orbs, too, but Channing had already finished reloading.
“You betrayed your own family,” Channing leered. “Why would it be different this time?”
The mismatched green and silver orbs that went raining over Asher crashed around him, thankfully missing their target.
“Asher,” she cried out. “Be careful.”
Her voice seemed to jolt him back into reality. He shot her a wild look, as if just remembering that she was there.
“Braya,” Asher panted, “Go. NOW!”
“But—”
“GO!”
Braya's body was working against her. She was rising to her feet, trembling, and already heading toward the outside balcony. It would not do her any good if she passed out—Channing would have instant access to her. No, she had to obey his orders, and when they wore off in the next few minutes she would—what would she do? She wasn't capable of bumping heads with Channing.
Her body carried her down a flight of stairs stamped along the back of the manor. There was something in the back of her head, like an old memory
trying to break through, growing stronger the closer she got to the foot of the staircase. How far would she have to go before she could turn around and disregard Asher's command? And what did she have in which to compete with Channing? Maybe there was some Moon Tamer gear still stashed in the base of the tower...
Braya was heading toward the hedge. There was a door there that she had never seen before. It was as if something was leading her there. That memory that had cropped up, it was swelling into something larger, taking form and projecting its own control over her. Braya could see the chapel hovering at the fringe of her mind, like a message. Why would that be forcing itself into her head in a time like this?
Braya found that she couldn't turn back yet—Asher's command was still in place. So she decided to go through the door in the hedge and search for some Moon Tamer gear in the Petti tower.
In the field Braya noticed something different. There were great slabs of shining white metal planted into the ground in a path. It was the same metal that supported the floating suits and the rigs of Moon Tamer gear. When had that been installed?
The closer Braya got to the shack that led into the underground passage, the more insistent that memory of the chapel became. It was frantic, like a buzzing in her head.
When she reached the shack, she noticed that the path veered away. There was another shack further in the distance. When had that gotten there? Braya moved away from the door, but the memory nearly caused her to sway and fall to her feet, having seized her so strongly. The back of her neck was prickling, and when she touched the door handle, out of experiment, the image of the chapel shuddered, disappeared, and a strange feeling drooped down her back and clung to her shoulder blades like a heavy backpack.
Then she realized. It was Asher. He was willing her here through the link. Was this how it felt to him when he had tracked her down those two times?
She decided he must be sending her to the chapel for a reason, and immediately made up her mind.
Braya nearly stumbled down the staircase in her hurry. She couldn't see anything, having to use the grimy walls to keep her balance. How convenient it would be to see in the dark like the Locers did. The knotting in her back grew stronger as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She paused, hoping it would help her find where Asher meant to lead her.