Eleven high-backed seats resembling thrones more than chairs were placed in a neat circle spanning the circumference of the chamber, each an equal distance from the next and none closer to the center than the other. In their construction, the thrones were identical, but the Elders to whom they belonged had added trinkets and adornments over the years to represent both their time serving on the Council and their kingdoms as a whole. My own seat still reeked of my predecessor and revealed nothing of me, as the patterned cloth draped over the back and strings of golden beads dangling from both arms were the imprints of the late Elder Kharid.
As I entered the chamber and sought my chair, I was surprised to note the absence of over half the Council. The Elders at the rearmost portion of the circle, Rex and Dane, leaders of plains-kingdom Campestria and mountain-kingdom Montemba respectively, were sitting and chatting amongst themselves, and the aged Maquarian Elder Ma’ris had occupied his own throne, but the rest were empty. I slid myself onto my chair, placed two over from Rex, and clasped my hands in my lap without speaking. In the secure privacy of my bedroom back in Ka-lik’et, it was easy to dismiss what I imagined would be strong disapproval for my hair. At the heart of the Elder City, however, I was highly alert with anticipation.
My anticipation was not long unjustified. From across the circle, Ma’ris narrowed his eyes at me, and, in his bubbling garble of diction, he barked sharply, “What has happened to you, boy?”
Rex and Dane’s attention was drawn to me by the sudden call, having not noticed me upon entering as they were deeply engulfed in their conversation. My immediate inclination was to hang my head and fall back further into the shadows sweeping over my chair, but I stopped myself. I had taken the steps necessary toward releasing myself from the prison of Elder approval, constantly toeing the line, and it would not do to backtrack now.
“I am quite well, actually,” I replied as calmly as I could. “How are you, Ma’ris?”
“Surely, you have had an accident.” Generally, Ma’ris was a good-natured A’li-uud with a mild sense of humor, but he was ancient by anyone’s measure and unwaveringly old-fashioned. If any member of the Council would take genuine moral offense to my hair, it was him. “Did you catch fire while you slept?”
Dane shifted in his throne, and I was unable to read his expression in my peripheral vision, but Rex was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and a wide smile on his face. Rex was very much like Zuran: slightly arrogant, eternally youthful, and adventuresome. He did not shy from conflict, and he preferred to view life through a comedic-colored lens. Unlike Zuran, he also had a solid grip on the responsibilities bestowed upon him and thought of others before himself, but it was his similitude to my twin I observed at the particular moment. There was no judgment or disapproval in his features, merely hilarity for the uproar we both knew would soon ensue.
“I did not,” I told Ma’ris. “I cut my hair.”
“Purposefully?” Though it was a single word, he sounded as if he had a mouthful of marbles and I had to digest what I heard before fully understanding.
With a single nod, I said, “Yes.”
He swelled. Ma’ris was a large individual to begin with, broad-shouldered and round-waisted, but his deep inhalation ballooned him to bizarre proportion. The beryl robe sash around his middle strained, the collar spread from his sternum to his clavicle, and his globed cheeks nearly swallowed his nose and mouth. I had seen him highly affronted before, but this was an acrimonious display of which I had never imagined him capable. The peaceable, diplomatic Maquarian seemed on the verge of bursting where he sat.
“Do you understand what you have done?” he hissed, the syllables warbling through his clenched teeth. “Have you the slightest comprehension of the disrespect you show our race?”
“I have spent my life exhibiting nothing but the utmost respect for our race, and every other we have taken upon ourselves to mentor and harbor,” I spat back. My temper was rising at a rate alarming even to me. I was beginning to feel more and more like my brother with each passing day, and this was only another symptom.
“The past is irrelevant when you choose to spit in its face in the present,” Ma’ris returned.
I snorted despite myself. “You are alone in such thinking, Ma’ris. A visit to Dhal’at would prove to you as much. My citizens see me for nothing more than my past, and only my recent past, at that.”
“Is that why you have chosen to make such a horrendous decision as this without consulting the Council?” He spoke hotly, but he was still as composed as an Elder ought to be. I, on the other hand, was not.
“It was unbeknownst to me that I required your endorsement before making personal choices,” I snapped.
Rex’s shoulders were shaking with laughter now, and Dane was insistently prodding him in the shoulder in a failing attempt to calm him. I ignored both as Ma’ris snapped his head forward and peered up at me beneath discerning eyelids. “This is a political statement, then,” he said, the revulsion evident in his tone.
“This is my liberation from the darkest days I have lived.” I no longer needed to try to remain calm; the calmness coursed through me like blood, flowing through my veins and soothing the rile within. There was no argument to be had. It was too late to turn back, and if the Council felt I needed to surrender my seat as punishment for my decision, so be it. I would have done the same regardless of my political status. “Undoubtedly, you recall those days well, do you not? It was you, along with the rest, who prolonged them beyond tolerance, after all.”
Ma’ris made a small, rumbling snarl of a sound and tossed his head. Clumped, pearlescent hair that appeared to be dripping wet even in the dimness of the chamber whipped the high throne back before settling over his shoulders.
“We shall see what Vi’den has to say,” he retorted icily.
As if on cue, the one of the doors opposite the chamber’s entrance swung open, and Vi’den strolled into the circular room with the rest of the missing Elders following closely behind. Most failed to notice me or my hair, instead beelining for their seats, but a few glimpsed me briefly before doubling back for a second startled glance. I cared not what they thought. Though the Council claimed itself to be an equal and united power, it was widely understood the Council began and ended with Vi’den, though the understanding was hardly of his doing. If there was one Elder since Kharid’s passing whose approval I sought unendingly, it was Vi’den. If there was one Elder since Kharid’s passing I most feared disappointing, it was also Vi’den.
His eyes flicked around the room, white orbs shooting from one face to the next, until they met mine. I saw him gaze upward at my scalp, and I watched the corners of his mouth turn down. My fingers curled around the arms of my chair in apprehension for the strife to come, but, to my surprise, he did not speak. Instead, he simply continued looking around the circle until everyone was seated and silent.
Then, without traditional preface, he said gravely, “I ask you to welcome Captain Arguute Hett.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Octavia
My hut was surprisingly cool despite the afternoon hour. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, directly overhead and pounding the city below with its sweltering rays, and not a single lavender cloud floated idly past to offer a breath of shady relief. When I opened the door and stepped in, though, I was instantly met with a waft of comfortable air that chilled the sheen of sweat on my face and raised the hairs on my arms.
“Come on in,” I invited, glancing over my shoulder to Zuran.
He followed me inside, his eyes skimming the living area. “It has been quite a while since I entered one of these,” he said. I closed the door behind us as he strode toward my couch and dragged his fingers over the fabric. “I must say, you have brought a considerable amount of Earth goods here with you.”
“Have I?” I asked in surprise. I’d thought I was actually living sparsely. When I’d signed up for the relocation to Albaterra, it had felt like I sold everythi
ng I owned.
“Yes, well, Phoebe and her roommate were rather taken with the Merchant’s Walk. Most of the house they shared was furnished with things that caught their fancy at the market,” he explained. “Except for what the colony provided, of course.” He leaned sideways to peer into the rest of the small abode. “Have you a roommate?”
I shook my head and crossed to the living area where he was. “Nope. It’s just me.”
“How fortunate,” he remarked. “Unless you are one who prefers socialization over self-reflection.”
I didn’t bother telling him how much “self-reflection” I’d been doing lately, mainly because it wasn’t so much self-reflection as it was self-in-relation-to-Venan-reflection and that was just plain embarrassing. My head had never been so tangled up by a guy before, and while some women may have embraced that, I thought it was a little pathetic and constantly scolded myself for it.
“So, what is it you wish to speak to me about?” he asked. He circled the couch and collapsed onto one of the cushions as casually as if he lived there himself. Kicking his boots up onto the coffee table, he rolled his head back to look at me and wait for my answer.
“I want to talk about Venan,” I responded.
He lifted a brow. “I thought you said you were not interested in gossiping about my delightful twin?”
“This isn’t gossip.” I walked around the couch, too, and sank into the cushion on the opposite side, tucking my legs up beneath my body and leaning away to keep as much distance between us as possible. I wasn’t afraid of him or disgusted by him, but he was a handsome alien in my house, and I didn’t want any misconceptions. “I’m worried about him.”
“Really?” he challenged, his usual smug grin returning to his lips. “I have worried about him his whole life, as bottled and corked as he has always been. I think now may be the first time I feel confident he is doing very well.”
A scowl burdened my face before I could stop it, and I glowered a bit at him. “You might think his sudden rebellion is great because he’s finally acting like you, but it’s a serious thing. He might be on the verge of a breakdown.”
“I highly doubt that,” Zuran replied with unconcern.
“Really?” I demanded, intentionally inflecting my voice with the same tone he’d used when he’d said it to me. “I don’t think you realize just how much everyone’s opinion of him affects him.”
“Of course I realize it,” he came back. “He has allowed others’ opinions dictate his behavior and persona since he learned to walk. If you ask him, though, he claims he has only achieved his success because he dismissed others’ opinions and refused to allow himself to be influenced, but the truth is quite the opposite.”
I grimaced at the thought of a miniature Venan emotionally bending over backward to please or impress everybody he encountered. “Then, can’t you see how dangerous it is that he’s just changing all that in a blink of an eye?”
“Dangerous? No. Freeing? Absolutely.”
“He feels betrayed,” I persisted, my voice growing urgent with the importance I felt on the topic. “And instead of confronting everyone who’s making him feel that way, he’s throwing his hands up. He’s basically telling them, ‘If you’re going to keep feeling this way, I’m going to give you a reason to feel this way.’”
Zuran nodded, and I was displeased to see applause in his expression. “As he should. It is my belief he has indeed been betrayed and is quite right to feel so. His defiance for such treatment is long overdue,” he said.
“I’m not saying he’s not justified,” I argued. “I’m saying that, if he becomes reckless, he might end up in a situation just as bad or worse than what he dealt with a few months ago.”
For the first time since I’d started trying to convince him there was something to be worried about, Zuran’s eyes grew somber. He looked at me from across the couch, pulled his feet from the table and squared his knees until his boots flattened against the floor. In a quieter voice, he asked, “Risk aside, do you not feel Venan deserves to assuage himself from the chains with which he has bound himself?”
“I absolutely do,” I said, a little less abrasively. “I guess I’m just worried he’s going to spiral out of control in the process.”
Zuran nodded again, but this time it was with honest understanding. “A valid concern, I am sure,” he commented. “Have you brought me here to ask me to monitor him? Or speak to him, perhaps?”
Had the topic at hand not been so serious, I would’ve laughed outright. I may not have known Zuran very well, but I knew him well enough to know that asking him to talk to Venan about calming himself down was like asking a blind man to tell me the color of my shirt.
“No, actually, I wanted to ask you what I can do to help Venan break out of his shell,” I replied.
Both of his eyebrows lifted, and he crooked his head. “You just said you were concerned about his breaking out of his shell, did you not?”
“I’m concerned about him acting out rebelliously,” I countered. “Helping him gain some confidence in himself by facing some of his fears is different.”
“Ah.” He placed a fingertip to his temple and tapped in a scholarly fashion. “Semantics.”
“It’s not semantics,” I retorted grouchily. One thing was plain as day to me: twins or not, Zuran was extraordinarily more frustrating than Venan when dealing with grim matters. “It’s psychology. Rebelliousness is a temporary ego boost rooted in pain. Facing one’s fears and discovering a sense of self is the path to true happiness.”
Zuran’s finger paused on his temple, and a slick smile teased his mouth. His slanted eyes narrowed further discerningly until they were little more than white slits. “And how do you know so much about psychology? Surely, the haircuts do not provide so much insight as that.”
I sidestepped the dig and turned my eyes to the blue vase across the room. “My mother,” I said softly. The vase seemed to gleam even though not a single ray of sunshine was cast upon it. “She liked to read, to learn about anything and everything. When I was a teenager, I started causing her some trouble, and she took to poring over books about young minds and behavior and whatnot. The rebellious speech was something I heard from her every time I came home past curfew or had to stay late after school for detention.”
“Have you faced your fears and discovered a sense of self?” he inquired.
His eyes still burrowed into me, and I was surprised by the depth of his question. Maybe Zuran wasn’t as superficial as I’d always thought. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Which, I guess that means I probably haven’t. Who knows? Maybe helping your brother is exactly what I need in order to discover myself.”
“Perhaps,” was his thoughtful response.
I looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to tell me something—anything—I could use to help Venan, but his gaze grew foggy, and he appeared to stare right through me as he lost himself in his thoughts. It was strange and a little unnerving to see Zuran in a state of genuineness, but I wasn’t going to debate it for fear he’d revert to his normal snarky self, and I’d be stuck back at square one. My worry for Venan was very real, almost sickeningly so, and I desperately wanted to help him. Why I wanted to help him so badly, I wasn’t sure, but I figured I could determine the reasons later after he’d been rescued from himself.
“There was an oasis,” Zuran said suddenly. His voice was airy and drifting, like he was talking in his sleep or like he was a fortune-teller reading the smoky contents of a crystal ball. “When we were just little A’li-uud, there was an oasis surrounded by massive rock formations outside of Ka-lik’et. The younglings went there on the hottest of days and jumped from the tallest rocks into the water for fun and relief from the heat. Mother and Father always told us we were welcome to swim there but never to jump, for a child had suffered a tragic death the year we were born when he landed on an underwater crag. I failed to listen, of course, and I jumped often, but Venan never did. He would only wade into
the water up to his knees and shout at me to come down, or he would tell Father of my disobedience.”
I blinked. “You’re saying I should take him to the oasis and make him jump off the rocks?” I asked dubiously.
Zuran’s stare refocused and centered on me, and the ghost of his usual smirk reappeared on his face. “The hardest jump is always the first,” he replied.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Venan
The Novai I had seen at the Pentaba camp were alarming because of their differences from what they had originally looked like when they first came down to colonize, but I had since imprinted the memory of their scale patches, red eyes and sprouting wings into my mind. When I watched the Novai Vi’den introduced enter the Forum chamber, however, I was struck dumb with shock at their appearance. It was ironic, really, because they looked exactly as the Novain colonists had looked prior to the sun-sickness, but I had grown used to the transformation and put their prior appearance out of mind. These Novai, three of them, were every bit the prior appearance, and it was as disarming a vision as it had been from the first day they had come down to Albaterra.
Death-white faces nearly glowed through the dim light of the chamber, while sheets of long black hair were hardly visible save for the catches of torchlight on the strands. Deep, skin-covered divots covered what I knew to be their eyes beneath, and thick ridges individual to each Novai decorated their faces across their foreheads, cheeks, and jaws. The only hint of color on their ghostly bodies was the brilliantly crimson hue of their lips. They were relatively tall, at least by A’li-uud standard as they stood in the spectrum of our heights, but they were sinewy and lithe in comparison to our natural bulk. I had often heard comparisons of them made to nightmares, and this display of the terrifying eyeless faces and sickeningly ghoulish skin brought every justification to such a comparison.
Venan: A Paranormal Sci-Fi Alien Romance: Albaterra Mates Book 7 (The End) Page 12
