Authors: Tabitha Vale
“I'm Latham Featherwood,” the guy who'd helped her introduced, smiling. “And if my eyes aren't deceiving me, you're my date for the day, Miss Braya Vace. It's a pleasure to meet you.” He had an air of sophistication about him that was uncommon among men, and she found it intriguing. He had a large frame, broad shoulders, muscular arms, but his glasses, easy smile, smart fashion, and simple brown hair overshadowed them. Softened him.
“You're right,” she breathed as the pain receded, “I'm Braya.”
“Then, this is for you,” he said, outstretching his hand with a red flower. “It's a hibiscus. It means rare, delicate beauty. At the ball the other night, your Sister, Emma, pointed you out to me. At the sight of you, I thought of this flower. You're indeed a delicate beauty.”
Braya couldn't help the blush that flared up at her neck. The compliment was overwhelming, and she'd never received one like it, so she was speechless for a moment. How could she respond to that?
She cleared her throat and reluctantly accepted the flower. “Thank you, I suppose. Was there a flower you gave to Emma?”
“No,” he said as he sat across from her. “I didn't even think of it. Gracious, how awful of me.”
If it had been Maydessa who hadn't gotten the flower, Braya would have felt very pleased. Instead, she stared at the pretty flower, wondering if she should accept it. She'd never seen any of the other Grooms giving gifts to the other girls. In fact, it was extremely rare for them to act outside of the usual code of conduct, which was something along the lines of simply chatting. There was no need to be charming, seductive, or flirty. No form of romance was implemented or encouraged, and Braya had never thought about it until now. This program was arranged, their partners chosen for them, so what was the point in romance? Braya knew that if the men were capable of it, the girls would swoon for any slice of romance they could get.
This hibiscus...accepting it, would it mean anything? Refusing it would be expected of her, but she'd never received anything from anyone, except from her mother. As much as she hated it, she wanted to accept it.
It did remind her a lot of Asher though, with its smell.
“Let me get your food,” Latham offered, noticing her longing look toward the food line.
Braya didn't know why, but this Latham guy made her feel strange. It wasn't the type of strange that made her feel uneasy, but the kind that made her heart beat a little faster and a blush seep through her skin. She silently cursed herself. This was why romance served no purpose; why her mother had told her romance was a waste of her time. Girls got ideas in their heads but the men never recuperated it in the way they wanted them to.
Braya covered the flower under a napkin. Latham returned with two plates of sandwiches and spinach puffs, and they ate together while chatting about the weather, the gardens, and horrifying enough, about what it would be like if they were married. Was this how it was supposed to go? Was this what they trained the Grooms to discuss? During the dances she'd shared with Julian—thanks to Asher—she'd forbid him from speaking, so she never found out what they were meant to talk about.
“Do you think your leg is fine now?” Latham asked.
She flexed her leg experimentally, and found it felt even better than before. It had to be a side-effect of the boosters, she mused. “Yes.”
“Would you care to accompany me on a walk through the gardens? They have a stand of parasols over there, if you'd like me to get you one,” Latham said, already out of his seat and walking to retrieve her one. Braya figured the parasols were just a prop. It was funny how this whole dating scheme was meant to look like a great romantic endeavor on the outside, when really it was nothing of the sort.
Latham returned with a pink parasol to match her dress, and held his arm out for her to take. She was surprised, and took his arm. They walked to the edge of the tent, Braya sensing Maydessa's glare burning into her back as they did, and stepped out into the sunlight. Braya smirked as an idea struck her—if she played along with this date stuff, made it appear like she was getting along well with Latham, it would bother Maydessa.
“So, I hear you're a Crown,” Latham commented casually as they got lost in the maze of hedges and flower bushes. Her arm was still wrapped around his, something none of the other Grooms engaged in, and she couldn't push back the pleasant feeling that fluttered in her stomach. She hated it, though, and pretended it wasn't there. She was just doing this to irritate Maydessa, she reminded herself.
“And I heard the same of you,” she replied. The handle on the parasol was growing sweaty under her hand.
“I am. I was educated at St. Rosenmay in Paith District,” he said proudly.
They stopped in front of a small blue pond and gazed down at the water together. “I know that school,” she mused. “My brother attends St. Rosenmay in Senna District. He's about to graduate and become a Groom as well.”
Maydessa wasn't anywhere around, so why was she still acting like she was enjoying herself? The urge to yell at him, to shove him away, didn't come like she expected it to. She was supposed to treat him like she had Julian, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Was it because he was a Crown, too? No, no, that was impossible. Her mother had taught her that all men were equally inferior no matter what family they belonged to. Damn that hibiscus, it was ruining her.
“Your brother must be a great man, to have you as a sister,” Latham said, slowly turning so that she was staring straight up into his magenta eyes. He was so tall, she noticed.
His statement was odd, but she couldn't figure out why. It threw her off guard, and she faltered for a response.
“Leave him,” a voice whispered against her neck. She jerked, and stared up at Latham, wondering if he'd heard Asher's voice. For a moment she wished he had.
“I—I'm sorry,” she stammered. She didn't want to say it. Talking with this Groom was more appealing than whatever Asher wanted. “I have to go. I'm...I'm not feeling well. Oh, please don't. I can make it back on my own. Goodbye.”
Latham seemed crestfallen, but didn't push it. He left her, and Braya continued through the gardens, waiting for Asher to interject and tell her to stop.
“Go up to the gazebo over there,” he ordered from somewhere off to her right. She followed his directions and stepped up into a decorative gazebo on the fringe of a cluster of trees. There weren't any other couples around and the sound of birds made the scene almost perfect.
Asher appeared beside her, his hair in attractive disarray and his blue eyes cooling, like a mist against her skin. He was wearing dark jeans, a white formal shirt with buttons down the center and an opened black vest. It was the first time she'd seen him without his fine white jacket—it made her wonder what the symbols on that jacket had meant—and he seemed smaller without it. At least, smaller in comparison to Latham, whom she'd had to crane her neck to make eye contact with.
“Did you apply the boosters?” He asked, his tone business-like. That was fine with her. She was not in the mood to deal with him, not after what he'd done to her last night. She wasn't letting her guard down around him anymore. She hated him, and that's all there was.
“Yes,” she answered, setting the parasol against the rail of the gazebo.
“Then let's start de-hazing.”
“What? You said we weren't starting until tonight,” she argued.
Asher shrugged. “I changed my mind. Besides, it looks like I arrived just in time. That big oaf was about to make his way with you.”
Braya was confused at first. When she realized what he meant, she glowered at him. “You don't know what was going on.”
The idea of him seeing that, even though not much of anything had happened, both embarrassed her and angered her. How could she have been caught enjoying a man's company? It went against everything she'd been taught. It didn't matter if the other Brides saw it—she was supposed to enjoy it, in their opinion—but for an outsider to see it...
“Do you like him?” He asked simply. He'd taken a step closer to her without her noticing. His gaze was heady, like his scent that clung to his skin.
“I don't,” she said indignantly. Braya forced herself to meet his iced stare. “I don't like any man.”
He tilted his head, a smirk playing at his mouth. “Brays, why didn't you warn me before? If I knew you liked girls—”
“No, you dirty freak, I don't like
girls
,” she hissed. “I just don't like men. They're inferior and not worth my time.”
“So goes the motto of all single girls incapable of snagging a man,” he smirked, leaning closer yet. His scent overwhelmed her. It was everywhere—her nose, her mouth, her skin, her dress. And yet, she liked it, wanted more of it, and she had no idea why.
“But they are inferior,” Braya insisted, willing herself to clear her senses of that soil and flower smell. “They were born that way. Magenta eyes, all of them. No ambition, no drive, no passion, nothing. They don't ever feel jealous, angry, or violent. They're born without these basic functions, and you think they're not inferior?”
Asher scowled. “What about me? What am I? I don't have magenta eyes and I can feel all of those things. You saw for yourself, last night.” His voice had softened at the mention of last night. He'd lost his temper. Not only that…
His eye had turned gold. She'd completely forgot.
“Why did your eye turn gold?” She asked, hoping to evade his questions. She had no idea why he was different than the men of her city, but figured it had to do with the fact that he was a foreigner. Everything about him was different.
He sighed, and the feeling of his breath against her skin was pleasant. “I honestly have no idea. It does that sometimes, when I get angry. It's been like that for years now, but no one knows why. I've come to accept it.”
“That's not common out there? It's not some sign of illness?” She asked.
He chuckled. “Why? Are you afraid it's contagious?”
“Is it?” She asked, now worried.
“Calm down, Bray,” he said. “It's not contagious. At least, no one else around me has ever gotten it.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don't you want to know why it's like that, then?”
He ran a hand through his hair, and she found she liked it when he did that. “I do, but that's not a priority of mine right now.”
Asher took a step away from her and unstrapped a pouch from his back. He opened it up and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Study that map for a second. Those are all the locations we're going to hit today. Hold the questions until I'm done explaining things.”
Braya opened the paper to see a rough sketching of the Heart District. It didn't have a lot of detail, just random squares and circles with a few street names and business names. Scattered in a web of no apparent pattern were red dots, all of which were connected with thin red lines. She didn't understand it, but Asher was talking again.
“Those are the spots we'll be implanting these boosters at,” Asher explained, pulling out a small box. “The Locers have already designated these spots, and we have to find them. They won't be difficult, though. The hard part is applying the boosters without being seen or caught by anyone. This job is best done at nighttime, but with your new boosters and our invisibility, we should manage.”
“
Our
invisibility?”
“Page is joining us,” Asher answered, forcibly neutral, replacing the boosters back into his pouch. “And no, becoming invisible is not a 'foreigner thing', like you expect,” he said, answering the question she'd just been about to ask. “We have what's called a mimic. It's sort of like a booster...actually, it's like a group of boosters all in one. It contains the abilities of this animal native to Ephraim waters, called the locer shark. It can become invisible, swim incredibly fast, see in the dark, and is quite good at finding a mate,” he snickered. “Our mimic...well, it mimics those abilities and allows us to do the same. Would you like to see it?”
Braya didn't have the chance to say no. He grabbed her hand and yanked her closer to his body. His scent was heavy around him, and she nearly cried out in surprise when he leaned in so that his mouth was mere inches from her ear.
“Lift up my shirt,” he ordered.
Her hands were moving, touching the bottom of his shirt. Fingertips met flesh, and her heart was sent hammering through her chest. Sweat prickled against the back of her neck as she considered disobeying him. She didn't have the time, though.
Lift up my shirt
, his voice echoed through her head. The iron grip was around her, the cold finger trailing—she allowed her hands to slip under his shirt, and the sensation of being controlled abruptly vanished.
Braya tugged his shirt up and was met with his bare abdomen and chest. They were defined and toned with light muscle, as would be expected from a combat fighter, but it was still enough to send a burning flush across her cheeks.
She
had been the one to expose this.
“Don't be shy, Brays,” he snickered. “Stand back, squint your eyes, and you'll see my mimic.”
She narrowed her eyes, forcing her embarrassment down. He enjoyed making her feel like this, and she refused to give him the satisfaction. Her eyes scanned his abdomen, and she noticed faint markings in between the creases of his muscles. When she stood back a few feet, and squinted her eyes at him, she could see the shimmer of a shark fin barely imprinted across the muscles of his abdomen.