“I’ll be quick,” I swear, already strapping on my weapons. “Teach her some songs, give her a baby braxa to hold. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Tell my neglectful son to come visit me,” she orders. “Better yet, bring him back with you.”
I make it back to the cliffs of Gren’Irra before nightfall. Though I’ve been running for hours, renewed energy surges through me as I mount the steep, winding staircase to the palace, embraced by the scent of the herbs growing on the rocks. I will be Jara soon, my Alara will sit beside me, and this beautiful city will bear my name.
My mother is taking lastmeal in her quarters. She stands in surprise when I enter, her bowl falling from her lap to the floor. Her tears, which never stop, now flow for me. She clings to me, sobbing. “My son. I feared you dead. I searched for you myself, and no one had seen you for days. Not even Pravil. Where have you been?”
The image of my grieving mother searching the depths of the pits for me turns my stomach. I hold her until her cries quiet. “You should have sent someone to do it for you. Next time, let Chanísh go. Or at least take him with you. He would not let you come to harm.”
“He said he searched and found nothing, but I did not believe you would disappear without word. I thought he might be protecting me from an ugly truth.” A shaky sigh that is half chagrin, half relief. “The High Priest said you may be a traitor to our people, but I didn’t believe it. I had to see what happened to you for myself.”
“See, then, what has happened.” I hold my arm out, dropping my camouflage and letting the full bloom of lavender pigment show. She gasps, gripping my arm so tight her claws prick me.
“You found her!” Her drawn face rearranges before my eyes, giving me a glimpse of the regal female who raised me. She is almost herself, light in her eyes and joy in her skin. “Why didn’t you send a messenger? Why didn’t you bring her here?”
I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. But if I can’t trust my mother, who can I trust? “She’s not well. Not yet, anyway. Some Mizarans had her, and they treated her very poorly. I had to take her to get treatment immediately. There was no time to send a message.”
“We have a healer here,” my mother chides. “The best healer in all of Gren’Irra. Oh, it is Ol’Irra now, Alioth forgive me.”
“The healers only treat Irrans,” I say slowly. “I had to take my Alara somewhere else.”
“But of course, she...” She pinches her lips shut and sucks in a noisy breath through her gills as the realization hits her. “Oljin, that cannot be true. Surely, you have mistaken the signs. The goddess did not choose an alien to rule on the blackrock throne.”
“Alioth’s teeth are sharp,” I remind my mother, my fear growing. If even my own mother would deny Rose, how can I hope anyone else will accept her? “You saw my pigment. That was no trick; I found my queen.”
She searches my skin, looking for some deception. Finding none, she nods, sliding her fingers across the twisted gold crown that marks her forehead, seeking the goddess’s reassurance. Her voice is resigned but warm as she says, “Alioth smile on you both. Bring her here and I will welcome her as my daughter, no matter her species or her planet of birth.”
A harsh, disbelieving laugh barks from the open doorway, drawing both our attention. Chanísh lounges against the frame. “Oljin’s dragged home an exiled female to be his queen? If her people don’t want to keep her, why do you? Might as well put a crown on a kvik, brother. At least it would be Irran.”
In an instant, I have the front of his sveli twisted in his fist. My chest rumbles with a menacing growl as my grip tightens so he can’t escape. “How dare you compare my Alara to livestock? If you do it again, you’ll find yourself lacking a tongue.”
“The scholar waves his pen and thinks I’ll taste dust?” Chanísh laughs in my face and pushes meaway. My knives are out before I know it. He draws his more slowly, but there’s a gleam in his eye as we circle each other. This is what he wants, an excuse to prove his fitness to be Jara. An excuse to cut me down.
I won’t give him that. He’ll have to murder me in front of our mother if he wants to take the throne by blade. I sheathe my knives and stand there, arms outstretched, welcoming him.
Honhura flutters her hands helplessly. “Sons of Grenzar, don’t dishonor him by spilling his blood! Oljin, you will bring your Alara here. Your brother will celebrate the goddess’s will. He is only disappointed he was not similarly blessed.”
He scoffs. “If it is even true. I cannot believe Alioth would pollute our line with a foreign queen.”
Fresh anger roils through my skin, so much murky pigment that no other colors show. “Your mouth is the only thing polluting our line. I suggest you close it and solve the problem.” I turn to my mother. “I’ll bring her when she is well enough to endure the ceremony. When she can speak the words.”
“She cannot evenspeak our language?!” Chanísh bursts out, anger coloring his skin as dark as mine.
My mother’s voice hardens, growing queenly. “Youngest son of my true love, you cannot speak it yourself, given the state of our diplomacy with the Frathiks. Perhaps you can both take lessons from Oljin.”
“I will smooth things over with them in the morning,” I assure her, ignoring my brother’s fury and disbelief. He whirls and, with a disgusted look at both of us, storms out of Honhura’s quarters.
“He will accept it when she takes the crown,” Honhura says. I nod, though I’m not as certain. She squeezes my arm and then releases it with a quick pat. “Bring her soon.”
“As soon as I can,” I swear.
I barely sleep that night in the quarters that no longer feel like my own. Perhaps that is because I belong in the Jara’s chambers, but I can’t bring myself to sleep in my father’s furs, either.
In the morning, when I seek out the Frathik delegation, I find them preparing to depart, their guards heaving trunks onto their creased, gray shoulders and lining up to carry them down the cliffs. If they leave now with our trade agreements unsigned, both our peoples will suffer.
I weave through their ranks until I find the Frathik in charge, an older male with rough hide and impatience behind every one of his eight black eyes. I can understand it. I’m impatient to leave here and get back to my mate, too.
I lift my palm in greeting, but he shows me his cheek, snubbing me.
