Raene and the Three Bears (The Alder Tales Book 2)

by RS McCoy

  Raene could think of no better revenge than to show him up with her elegance. While Parson pouted over whatever unnamed crime she’d committed, Raene clutched the side of her wide-legged pants and bowed low as she said, “An honor to meet you, Master Parson.”

  When Raene righted, his eyes were on her at last, narrowed and indignant. His lip curled into something like a snarl just before Tasia burst into laughter and said, “See you tonight!” as she quickly led Raene away.

  “What is so funny?” Raene complained when they were well away from him and Tasia continued to laugh.

  “That look on his face. Did you see it?” she asked through more chuckles.

  “Uh, yes. I did. It looks like he hates me.” Raene sulked, a rare show of displeasure from her. Just the idea that she wasn’t in control of her emotions made her angry, and she sulked more. Raene massaged the lines from her face as she waited for Tasia to regain her composure.

  At last, Tasia sobered, but the smile never left her features. “He’s always in a foul mood. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be sure to remember that next time.” At the moment, she was most certainly taking it personally.

  “Come on,” Tasia said when Raene remained locked in her pout. “Only a little ways more. Then we can head back to the celebration. They should be getting started soon.” She wiggled her eyebrows and beamed. “The Franes are far more fun when they’ve had a few drinks.”

  Raene rolled her eyes and followed along, wondering if the Franes could possibly be any less fun. She didn’t want to dance or talk or celebrate. She wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

  After all her years of training, Raene didn’t have it in her to pretend to be happy.

  Not today.

  When Eton said he was going to make her Aero, Blossom hadn’t quite grasped the misery he intended for her. She’d already been subjected to signing upwards of fifty documents related to her new duties, and a tour of the political offices, though none of the other Vice Syndicates were present.

  Now, she stood on a raised platform getting fitted for her new clothes. It was hardly her ideal way to spend the day.

  Blossom had never been good at standing still or staying put. She had no interest in frilly dresses or sequined gowns. Her skin didn’t delight at luxurious fabrics.

  Her interests were far simpler. She would always prefer being outside in the sunlight, the earth under her feet.

  Blossom felt like a wine bottle turned upside-down. Everything that had once made her full was now gone. All that remained was a fragile shell.

  She could think of nothing but him. What he was doing. Waiting for the tailor to finish his measurements, Blossom wondered if there was anything she was less suited for. Presently, nothing came to mind. She hated standing for so long. She hated being so cold. And she hated being so naked.

  A mirror covered the opposing wall, showing Blossom her own figure in all its bareness. Weeks ago, she would have shied from such a sight, but now, it didn’t seem to matter. Blossom just wanted to be done standing like a spectacle.

  But if letting this shaking old man fit her for those dreadful white suits meant she could see Kaide, even for a moment, then she would do it one hundred times over.

  What he was thinking. How he would react when he found out where she’d gone. No one mentioned him, and Eton pretended he didn’t know, but Blossom felt Kaide like the undercurrent of a river—never visible, never on the surface, but always pulling at her thoughts. Every conversation, every new experience, was filtered through the lens of Kaide and what he would think of it.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined he was there with her, but of course, as soon as she opened them, he never was.

  Instead, there was only the ancient man and her trusty advisor.

  Eton hovered like a hawk in the corner, watching her, making sure she didn’t try to leave—not that she could. Yet his gaze was always on her, unashamed to see her so bare.

  “What torture do you have planned for me next?” she asked Eton’s reflection.

  Eton glared back. “We’ve been over this. Just stand still, and let him finish.”

  Blossom sighed her annoyance and pressed her eyes shut, trying to pretend it was Paloma making her a gown to show to Kaide. That it was Raene standing beside her, filling her ear with stories of the past and questions of the future. That she was merely in the washroom with Norsa and Valenta.

  “All finished,” the old man said, interrupting her thoughts. He took three steps back and bowed low as he continued. “We’ll have your suits sewn and pressed by tomorrow, Vice Syndicate Frane.”

  Blossom was sure she’d never get used to the sound of her new title. Vice Syndicate Frane.

  She hopped down from the stand and rushed to gather her clothes piled in a nearby chair, desperate for what little bit of warmth they would provide. With speed and deftness, she pulled her Pyro pants up to her waist and tied them before slipping her scarlet top over her shoulders. Within seconds, she was covered and out the door, eager to be moving again.

  As always, Eton fell in step behind her. “It’s appropriate to say thank you. Even Pyros have manners.”

  Blossom didn’t miss how he referred to her as Pyro. “I’m not wearing that,” she said, her lip curled up at his crisp, white suit.

  “Well, you can’t wear Pyro clothes here. Dressing Aero is the least of your concerns.”

  “Good, then no one will care if I don’t—”

  “Yes, they will. It’ll only serve to piss her off.” He didn’t need to mention the Syndicate by name to fill Blossom with burning disgust.

  Eton ran a hand through the strip of hair along the top of his head. He marched forward, gaining several steps on her before turning back to face her. “Don’t you get it? I’m your advisor. I’m trying to help you.”

  Blossom stood taken aback at his sudden display of anger.

  “Quit fighting this stuff. This is the stupid stuff. Fight when it’s worth it. I’ll tell you when fighting will make a difference. But this? Wearing a different color shirt? That’s what you’re bent out of shape about?”

  Eton looked like he could have gone on for a while, but a pair of Aeros appeared at the end of the corridor and turned toward them. For several long moments, Eton and Blossom stood frozen, waiting for them to pass. When they’d finally turned the far corner, he resumed, “I get it. This is new. But you have an important position here, and it requires you have more decorum than this.”

  “I don’t want the position. I want to—”

  “Go home,” he finished for her. “I know. But you can’t. If you’re not going to accept the role of Vice Syndicate, say the word and I’ll take you to the Criminal Unit for processing. But if you are, then do it. Don’t do this halfway nonsense. Do it all the way, or don’t. But make your choice.”

  Blossom crossed her arms over her chest and glared her frustrations at him. “That’s not much of a choice.”

  As Eton shook his head, he pressed his mouth into a line, his lip piercing flaring with the motion. “No, it’s not. But it’s the best you have. So put on a brave face, and get it done. I saw you with the Syndicate, telling her what she wanted to hear. You can turn it on and off. You can play this game.”

  Blossom started to argue but caught herself. She didn’t know what had marked this change in her advisor, but she knew Eton wasn’t her enemy here. He was only a pawn. And he was right. Her energies would be better spent on things that mattered.

  Things like getting back to Kaide.

  Blossom closed her eyes. You’ll have to pretend to be someone else sometimes, Kaide whispered in her ear. You’ll have to be nice to people you hate, and you’ll have to wear clothes you don’t like and say things you don’t mean, because being with me means looking and acting a part, even if that part isn’t you.

  When she opened her eyes, only Eton was there with her. Blossom sighed, knowing what she had to do. “All right. I’ll put on a brave
face.”

  Eton returned to his stoic calmness. “Good. We’re almost done for today. Can you hold out for one more stop?”

  Blossom relinquished her fight with a terse, “Fine.” A second later, she darted back down the hall in the direction they’d come. There in the room, the ancient tailor stood before a dress form with an armful of the shimmering-white fabric every Aero wore. “Excuse me, sir?” she called from the doorway

  The man turned with the speed of sloth, rotating until his pale eyes found her in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I wanted to say thank you for your patience. I look forward to seeing the suits tomorrow.” With all the respect she could manage, Blossom bowed to the tailor.

  The man nodded with reverence. “The honor is mine, Vice Syndicate Frane.”

  After that, it was easier to follow Eton down the corridor to wherever they were going. She was sure he’d told her a half-dozen times already, but she hadn’t bothered to remember.

  Blossom told herself no matter whatever they were doing, she would do it with grace—well, maybe not grace, but at least she wouldn’t be so difficult. Kaide had asked her to pretend, and she’d promised him she could do it.

  And so she would. She would pretend to be Aero as long as it took for her to get out.

  Blossom didn’t argue as they passed block after block of shops and stores, various facilities with symbols on the doors and others that were blank. Birds and people shopped and strolled, always with their white suits and platinum hair. Only Blossom stood out in her Pyro clothes and Terra complexion.

  “Why aren’t there people from other branches?” In Pyrona, she’d seen Hydras and Terras—not many, but a few—while here in Aerona, it was a sea of white and pale blue.

  Eton tilted his head as he thought of how to explain it. After a long, considerate pause, he said, “Aero is different than the other branches. We value investigation and discovery through science and research, rather than devotion to the Alder Mother. Non-Aeros don’t live here because it compromises their beliefs.”

  “And Aeros don’t leave because you like all your fancy gadgets.” Blossom said it as fact. She knew Eton would never survive in the Bear Clan. Living in an open air tent on the ground? He’d beg for an air circulation system the first night.

  Eton bit his lip in an obvious attempt to hide a smile. “Something like that,” he admitted.

  At last, they arrived at some sort of salon. Blossom saw the space and remembered where they’d been headed all along: to get her head shaved.

  A middle-aged woman motioned to a chair in the center of the room. She was tall and thin, save for the soft belly her children had left behind. Her skin was light, and, where it wasn’t shaved, her blonde hair had a honey warmth. She wasn’t always Aero, Blossom realized.

  When Blossom was seated, the woman put both hands on her shoulders. “What code?”

  “Code?” Blossom looked to Eton for an explanation.

  Instead of answering her, he spoke only to the woman. “Transfer. Falcon. Unmarried.”

  Based on the way the woman spurred into motion, Blossom guessed she knew what that meant, but Blossom was lost.

  Eton appeared before her and leaned against the wall, his hands resting casually in his pockets. “The skull patterns convey basic information about each Aero.”

  Behind her, the woman gripped Blossom’s head and tilted it so the left side of her head was exposed. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Blossom saw a long blade in the woman’s hand—the kind Hale used to shave his face baby smooth.

  Blossom swallowed hard but otherwise kept perfectly still.

  “Your left side will be bare. That marks you as a transfer from another branch,” Eton continued. As he spoke, the blade scraped across her scalp. Hair rained down her shoulder, and a few pieces slipped into her lap. Blossom couldn’t help but pick up a lost curl and hold it in front of her.

  There was no going back now.

  “The center line is for Aero,” Eton said and pointed to his own narrow stripe. “It signifies devotion to branch and Syndicate, which is why every Aero wears it.”

  With each passing moment, the woman scraped off more of Blossom’s curls, sending them onto her shoulder or into her lap. Her hands filled with the cast-off bits.

  “On the right, you’ll have two spikes shaved above your ear. These are for aerial totems.”

  “All Aeros have aerial totems,” she reminded him.

  “Not all of us. Some totems are flightless—penguins, ostriches, rheas—that sort of thing. Others are aerial, but aren’t birds. There’s a large butterfly clan on the west side. There’s a small, but notable, population of Arctic totems. Bears and foxes mostly. And then there’s Bat Clan, of course. Each category has its own marks. Since you’re a falcon, you get two spikes.”

  Sure enough, the woman tilted Blossom’s head the other way. There, she scraped at her head in slow, careful strokes, her eyes narrow in concentration.

  “And what do I get for being not being married?” Blossom wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “Caught that?” Eton half-smiled before he recovered. “You don’t get anything. When you take a husband, you’ll wear his mark, whatever that might be.”

  Blossom imagined asking Kaide what kind of stripes he’d like shaved into her head when they were married, and for a brief moment, it brought a smile to her lips. But of course, it faded a moment later. She couldn’t marry him—not anymore. And even if she could, she knew he wouldn’t have her. She was Aero now.

  She was everything he hated.

  A sharp pain above her ear pulled her thoughts back to the present. “I’m terribly sorry, Vice Syndicate Frane,” the woman started. “I didn’t expect you to move—”

  Eton jumped to his feet and pulled a white cloth from his pocket. In a second, he was in front of her, pressing it to her head, and when he pulled it away, there was a tiny smear of fresh blood.

  “I’m so sorry, Advisor Samina. I’ve never cut anyone before—” The woman’s voice turned frantic as she tried to explain it away, but Eton stopped her soon enough.

  “You don’t have to apologize. We won’t say a word.” Then, he looked to Blossom. “Are you all right?” he asked her quietly, his eyes intent on hers.

  “I’m fine. It’s just a cut.” Not even Hale would have fussed so much over so little an injury.

  “I mean—you looked like you were going to faint. You stopped talking, and your head fell against the blade.”

  “You were talking to me about the skull patterns. I remember.”

  Eton shook his head. “No, I was discussing the Syndicate’s requirements for taking a husband. The time frame. The suitor requirements. Do you remember that?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  Eton pulled back the cloth and took note of the tiny pricks of blood that remained. “Will you be all right to let her finish?”

  “I’m fine.” Blossom settled back in her chair bristling with humiliation. She hadn’t meant to get lost in her head. Even when he wasn’t with her, Kaide was a distraction.

  Blossom did her best to stay focused and still as the woman finished the second spike. Then, the woman smeared some sort of cool liquid into her hair, starting at the tips and working up through the roots until her scalp burned from the cold.

  “Does it hurt?” Eton asked when she winced.

  Blossom didn’t answer, instead focusing on her breathing and outlasting whatever it was on her head. Like the serum for transformation, it burned without heat, searing her flesh as she sat, trapped in agony. She bit her cheek to keep from screaming.

  “Get it off,” he demanded, his tone suddenly distraught.

  “Less than a minute left,” the woman argued.

  “I said, get it off. You’re going to give her scars. Rinse it out now.”

  A second later, Blossom’s shoulders were pulled back, and her head was dipped into a bowl of warm water. The burning sensation subsided as soon as th
e water touched her head.

  For several minutes, the Aero woman worked to clean the cool liquid from her hair and then dry it. Only when the woman was finished did Blossom realize what happened.

  Her hair hung well past her shoulders. It was still a warm, chestnut brown, but it held not even a hint of its natural curl. Her hair was perfectly straight like she’d never seen it. She looked to Eton for an explanation, though she already knew it was too late.

  “Aeros prefer straight, clean lines.” He made it sound so easy. Like it was nothing to give up her curls.

  But it wasn’t nothing. Blossom didn’t realize how much she’d loved her curls, that little silent rebellion, until they were gone.

  “That’s all for today. Ready to go home?” Eton held out a hand to help her from the chair, but Blossom pushed up on her own. She thanked the woman and started back toward her apartment, though it was anything but home.

  When they were alone in the hallway, Blossom said, “I don’t want to be surprised like that again. If something is going to happen to me, I want you to tell me. Even if I don’t like it.”

  “That’s fair,” Eton replied. A moment later he added, “At least I let you keep the color.”

  Blossom’s mouth fell open. “You would dye my hair? Like yours?” She tried to reel in her disgust. Ghost-white hair? For Blossom? It would look hideous, she was sure.

  Eton rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad. Most Aeros prefer this coloring. The lighter the skin and hair, the purer the bloodline. For the transfers who can afford it, lighter hair reduces discrimination against them. Your position ensures your fair treatment, but you have the option to go lighter at any time.”

  As Eton held open the door to the lava tube and ushered her down the corridor, Blossom tried to think of what her Aero experience would be like without her title. She wouldn’t be a target for Mercer or anyone else, but she would have to navigate this new life—her clothes, her apartment, her hair—without Eton’s assistance, and as unfriendly as it was, she had to admit that he made the transition less difficult than what it could have been.