by Tabitha Vale
“I can get away with that once in a while, can't I?” Asher asked, his breath hot against her cheeks. Braya shuddered, and put more strength into the hand that was pushing him away.
“Not right now,” she clarified. “You said you would meet with me so we could talk about what we're doing next.”
Asher's lids were hooded as he inspected her, still as close as he was before. “We are discussing what's up next, aren't we? You're going to kiss me—”
“Asher,” she hissed, nearly falling into the lure of his proximity. “Be serious, please.”
His eyes hardened like a polished gem as he continued to stare at her through half-closed eyes, his head positioned a few inches above hers. He was posed as if he were ready to envelope her, and it took all of Braya's self-control to keep herself from allowing him to.
Asher deflated. “We were being serious. You said you were going to marry Latham and that was that. How can anything go further?”
She fixed him with a reproachful look. “If you would explain to me what happened to Channing, we might be able to...”
“Able to what? Stop your wedding? When is it, by the way?” He slouched, staring down at the water, the topic enough to dishearten him and damper his attempts to seduce her.
“In a few days,” she dismissed. “Channing?” She prompted.
Asher sighed. “I didn't really see what happened. He's not dead, though. There would have been a body.”
“Just like there was a body for Page?” She asked sarcastically.
“The fact that we couldn't find Page's body should be proof enough that Channing is alive,” Asher pointed out.
“You think he took Page's body? But...but he doesn't seem to love Page. Why would he...”
“How do you know he doesn't love him?” Asher asked, glancing up from the water to her.
She shrugged. “It just doesn't seem like it, does it? You should have heard what he said to me after Page fell...he said that Page was dead to him ever since his wife died.”
“Cruel words to be sure,” Asher nodded, reverting his gaze back to the water. “But they are just words. We can't assume he's dead. That would be a very foolish thing on our part.”
“Why?” She inquired.
“Common sense,” Asher replied. “What if we just go on with life assuming he's dead? Knowing him, he'll probably be planning another attack. He won't stop until he gets control of Venus Sare. If we acted as if he were dead, we would be unprepared for when he struck again.”
“You think he'll try again?” Braya asked, eyes widening.
“I'm quite certain,” Asher nodded. “He feels like he has nothing to lose. He'll do whatever it takes, no matter who it harms, even if it's himself.”
Braya looked down at her hands. “He must have loved his wife very much to still want to revive her after so many years.”
“Or maybe not enough,” Asher muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“Shouldn't he respect her memory by getting over her?”
“Maybe you shouldn't judge things you don't know anything about?” She suggested.
“Why are you defending him?” He asked incredulously. “Did you feel something when he was holding you, casting his evil spell? Maybe it wasn't a blood loyalty spell at all, but some sick, twisted love spell, and it's already half-way working on you...”
“Don't be ridiculous,” she shoved his arm away, the arm that had began inching closer to her. “I'm just saying in general.” She glared at him. “Anyway, I'm glad I didn't kill him. Even though he deserves it, I wouldn't want to be the one to do it.”
“And who should get that honor?” He drawled.
“Would you like it?”
“I don't know if I'm the killing type, now that I think about it,” he said half-seriously, half-playfully, inspecting his hands as he did. “But tell me, how does discussing Channing the way we are, moving forward?”
“You think he'll return,” she pointed out. “Don't we need to do something to prepare ourselves?”
“Not if you're marrying Latham,” he said miserably. “You can go off and have cute little babies and I'll worry about Channing's return.”
“Asher,” she groaned. “Stop writing me off like that.”
“Well you're not denying that you'll marry him.”
“That's because I don't know yet,” she grit out. “You're not exactly giving me any other options.”
“What about you becoming Mother? Have you ever thought of that? Is that good enough a suggestion?”
Braya inhaled. “My mother...um, that is...Ophelia, she's in a coma. A magical coma. That means that she's still Mother.”
“And who's her backup? Leraphone,” Asher answered his own question. “But Leraphone is missing. Which means the next in line is that evil cretin you used to call a mother, Malister.”
“So, now you see,” she said, slightly irritated. “I can't become Mother. I don't think I would like it very much, either.”
“Are you kidding me?” He laughed. “You used to go on and on about how you deserved a Crown job, and now that you're in line to inherit the biggest job there is, you tell me you don't really fancy it? I'm stunned. Genuinely stunned.”
“You seem more sarcastic than anything,” she muttered under her breath.
“If you don't want to be Mother, what do you want?” He inquired, innocently curious.
Braya sighed. “I can't decide. I don't want to be a Bride, either.”
He smirked. “Are you hinting that you'd like to help me find Channing? Just so you are aware, he is probably going to be the only one to know how to remove that coma your dear mother is in.”
“Are you serious?”
“Probably,” he snickered. “Venus Sare is powerful, but I don't know all the little kinks to this whole magic thing. I myself haven't used much of it in the past, so don't take my word for it.”
Braya heaved a sigh. “Still...I hope she can wake up. My brother...I know he'd be thrilled to meet her.”
“And you weren't?”
“It wasn't exactly the most ideal condition, was it?” She grumbled, glaring down at the water. She hadn't liked seeing her mother like that, smitten over a man who didn't like her. It was part of the reason she still didn't want to admit to Asher that she liked him. Because, by God, she liked him very much. And he liked her...but she didn't want to put herself out there and make her feelings known just yet. There was something scary about it. She hated feeling vulnerable. She'd been vulnerable her entire life—it was time she protected herself, and keeping her feelings to herself, at least the outward admittance of it, was the best start she could hope for. “I miss Aspen...”
Asher stared at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “What about that? Why don't you go searching for your brother?”
“I don't exactly have the means for that,” Braya sighed in defeat. “Without...Malister's financial support and no other family, being a Bride is the only...”
Asher clucked his tongue. “Don't go down that route. You could find a way. Besides, I'm sure you'd be able to get some money from your new mommy.”
“You mean the one in a coma?” She asked bitterly.
“There are ways.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“We're getting off topic,” she said curtly. “I also wanted to know about what happened to the guys who broke through the Petti. I missed nearly all the good parts after blacking out.”
“Hah,” he snickered, slowly edging off of the fountain so that his bare feet were completely submerged. “I wouldn't call them the good parts necessarily. But those Brides and Grooms did a miraculous job of fending them off for a while. Apparently those idiots thought they were playing a game of Moon Tamer, otherwise they never would have been able to do so well in guarding the manor.”
Braya laughed. “I told them they were playing a game. It was the only way I could think to make them go along with it. Guys here don't really like violence.”
Asher
snorted. “Clever. Very clever, Bray. By the way, any news on the Pink Plug? They gonna pull the plug on that tradition?” He laughed at himself.
“Hah, hah,” she mocked. “Since Malister is heading the city for now, there's no way they'll retract that procedure.”
He moved so that he was standing in front of her, ankle-deep in the fountain pond. He pulled her legs forward so that her feet were level with his waist, but he made sure to keep a safe distance between them.
“What about you, Bray?” He asked, a meaningful gleam in his eyes. “Do you think they should stop with that plug?”
She swallowed, uncomfortable. “I haven't really thought about it.”
“Don't lie,” he said lightly, his thumbs playing with the mounds of her ankles.
She shivered at his touch. “I suppose it would be fair to get rid of those plugs.”
“Even though it goes against your great great great grandmother Camille's wishes?”
Now he was just mocking her. She yanked her ankles away from him and glared at him. It was hard to stay mad at him for too long, though. He was so beautiful, and she had an inkling that he knew it. Knew that she knew it. “And then what happened?” She asked, smoothing over her yellow dress. “With the Brides and Grooms, I mean.”
“Ah,” he started, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. He'd been staring at her. “The Hemmers and the Aura Seeks arrived and took care of Channing's men. Locked them all up for interrogation, I bet.”
“The Aura Seeks,” she repeated. “I wonder what they are.”
“You mean you've never heard of them before?” He asked, perplexed.
She shook her head. “They interrogated me while I spent that short time in jail, but that was the first time I ever encountered them. No one in the city knows about them.”
“Huh. Everyone outside the city knows of them. They're infamous for roaming around out there and killing people for a past time,” Asher said casually.
“Stop making things up,” she narrowed her eyes at him as she watched him lean over and skim the water's surface with his fingers.
Asher shrugged. “You don't have to believe me. Maybe you'll see for yourself one day.”
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Asher snickered, straightening up. “Anymore inquiries?”
“What about the Locers?”
“They vanished, just like Channing,” Asher replied quickly.
“Do you think they went together? With Channing?”
“It's possible,” Asher replied, staring at her feet, which were mere inches above the water. “They're loyal to him. I wouldn't be surprised if they're all together right this minute.”
“I can't believe they managed to convince all the wedding guests, and Brides and Grooms to go outside after I rejected Page at the alter,” she marveled, shaking her head. “It must have been why they arrived late. They're quite a clever bunch.”
“Does that include me?” He asked hopefully.
“You weren't really a Locer at heart, were you?” She asked. There was a certain weight to her words that implied another question. A reference to the comment that Channing had made. Asher Benedict, the unwanted son. You betrayed your own family. She dared not ask it directly. She imagined it was a comment he wished she'd never heard.
Asher caught onto her implication, and shook his head violently. “No, no. Don't start with me, Bray. I'm not ready to talk about that, and I don't know that I ever will be.”
Braya studied him as his eyes, reflecting an almost identical color from the water, scrunched up as he fought something back, most likely memories. She decided she'd leave him alone about it, for now at least. He deserved his privacy.
“Asher,” she said softly, dipping her foot into the water and splashing it against his rolled-up pant leg. “How are you feeling? Did the doctors say anything about the overdose of health boosters?”
She could still see the imprints of the boosters feathered over his tanned skin, just below the collar of his loose t-shirt and along the front of his neck. The one next to his eye had faded more than the others, oddly enough.
Asher seemed grateful for the change in topic, and awarded her with a disarming smile. “They said it can only do me good. I probably won't have another sick day in my life.”
“Lucky you,” she muttered, wiggling off the fountain with the long skirt of her dress clutched in her fist. Her ankles sunk into the water and she glanced up at Asher to see that he was gazing at her with a tender expression. She blushed.
“I am lucky,” he murmured, leaning lower. “That rampage I went on...I took on eight guys at once! I can't thank you enough for these boosters.”
“Even though they don't look like they're going away?” She asked, her eyes falling down to his collar bone once more.
He shrugged. “It doesn't bother me so much.”
“Not even the color? Isn't it a little girly?”
He laughed, swooping down and catching her off guard with a swift kiss to the lips. He hooked his arm around her waist and led her toward the path where their shoes were.
“Come on, I have to return you to your fiancé,” he said as they slipped into their sandals.
“You know, I found out who those two were meant to be,” Braya said, indicating the fountain statue.
“Camille and Tristant,” Asher nodded.
“What?” She whined. “How did you know that?”
“How many times should I tell you to stop being so surprised when I know something you don't know? Because that's nine times out of ten,” he smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist once more and leading her through the corridor leading up to the manor.
“Ugh, shut up,” she grumbled.
“Kiss me, and I'll shut up,” he said in a tone so soft that she thought she might have imagined it. But her body had responded to that order, and she was twisting up in his embrace and placing a deep, heart-thrumming kiss on his lips. His hands roamed across her lower back and up over her shoulder blades to tickle the mark stamped over the tender skin of his neck. His fingers grazed the link, and a tremor overtook her entire body. She melted into his arms and allowed him the liberty to take it into another round before she'd finally managed to regain a sliver of her good sense.
“Asher,” she murmured against his swollen lips.
“Yes, darling?”
“You know we shouldn't be doing this.”
“We can do whatever we please, actually.”
And then he kissed her again.
This was all right, wasn't it? She didn't want to admit her feelings to him, and so far Asher hadn't forced her to, so why should she deny herself the physical perks of her attraction to him? Braya couldn't see the harm in it as long as Asher didn't start nitpicking for a confession.
****
After Braya had managed to convince him that they really should stop kissing in the middle of the corridor where anyone could happen upon them, they slowly made their way back up to the manor, their hands playing with each other's behind their backs as they approached the great doors.
Inside the manor, Latham was waiting for them in the Entrance Hall. He looked anxious, pacing back and forth. His eyes were magenta again, and Braya wasn't lost to the fact that Asher's had shifted back into his magenta covers the instant they stepped foot into the manor.
“Jeeze, Latham, anxious much? I think I brought her back before curfew,” Asher teased. “Nearly missed it.”
Latham didn't appreciate the joke. Braya noticed he was holding an envelope in his hands, and his handsome face was creased with anxiety. There was still something about him that made her feel good, feel a pull toward him, but it was different than what Asher did to her. It was like comparing apples—with her new-found like for them—to oranges. They were just different. And did it help that apples tasted better these days?
“Braya,” he exhaled sharply. He moved to greet her with a kiss to the cheek. “I was worried.”
“Why? I only
saw you an hour ago,” she said, frowning. “What's wrong?”
“This.” He thrust the envelope into her hand. “It's a Court Summoning.”
“What?”
Braya hastily opened the letter, Asher and Latham hovering over her shoulder as she read. It was brief and succinct.
Miss Braya Vace,
On the count of multiple charges, you are hereby summoned to the Fair Lady's Court on December the fourth. To review your charges, please log into our website through your tech pad.
Regards,
Hera Sens
Asher tore the letter from her hand and crumpled it in his fist. “This is bull. What could they be charging you for?”
Braya stared at the ball of paper in Asher's hand. Something nagged her about the conduct of that letter—especially the sender. Curse that crow-woman. She probably got a kick out of writing it, too. “I don't know...but I'm sure I won't be able to go on with a quiet life anymore. Whether it's foreigners or my own city, I've been pulled into this war whether I like it or not.”
“Come on Brays, do you really think this is serious enough to call it war?”
Braya grit her teeth. “I was being metaphorical, jeeze.”
“We need to work on your metaphors, then,” Asher smirked.
“My metaphors are just fine,” she huffed.
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have anything to prove to you.”
“Ah, so I guess I win this time? I’m always right.”
He had been right too many times for her taste, that was certain.
“Fine. I’ll only give you this one,” she conceded begrudgingly. “Ever since my Interview, I kept comparing myself to a rotten apple, but I actually feel more like a frail tree branch that’s been broken from its original place on the tree.”
“Hmm,” Asher contemplated. “The whole family tree reference is a little overwrought. Don’t you think Latham?”
“I think all of Braya’s metaphors are excellent,” he replied dutifully.
