123. Chapter One
Chapter One
A vania
“Hurry home, Avania. You’re going to be late!” My mother’s voice sounds panicked over my wrist-comm.
I slide my bow over my shoulder and drop the two werbles I shot, then take off at a run through the forest that backs to our house. Between the thick underbrush and overgrown canopy, it’s dim and quiet here.
While hunting, I’d turned off my comm. It’s what I always do. I thought I’d been mindful of the time, but I lost track.
I’ll barely make it home in time, so instead of going around fallen logs, I leap over them, forcing myself to run faster and stride longer until my lungs burn and I can barely fill them with air.
It shouldn’t surprise me that I lost track of time. Perhaps it wasn’t even an accident. There are few things in my life I’ve been less enthused about than attending this event.
It’s mandatory, though. Besides that, I’ve grown up my entire life hearing about my mother’s Zaypien Day experience. Along with their mating day, most females talk about it fondly for the rest of their lives.
It’s the last thing I want to do.
I’m panting and sweating when I arrive at our back door. Mother’s standing there, door wide open with a look of sheer disappointment on her face.
“Avania. This is the most important day of your life. Look at you!”
I don’t need to glance in a mirror to imagine what I look like. I’m sure my sweat-dampened mane is clinging to my face, and my fur is two shades darker in circles under my arms where I’m perspiring. I’m not a beautiful female on my best day, but I’m sure this isn’t a good look on me.
“Do I have time for a—”
“Shower? No. Here.”
She was waiting for me with a pan of warm water and a washcloth. I shuck my clothes in the kitchen and give myself a swift wipe-off while Mom none-too-gently brushes my mane.
“So disappointed,” she scolds in that way she has of speaking in partial sentences when she’s angry.
“Sorry.”
“I’ve been comm’ing you for over an hoara ,” she chides as she gives a particularly hard tug to my bronze mane.
Five minimas later, she’s made my mane presentable, I’ve slid a wet washcloth over my golden fur, and she’s tugging the white Zaypien Day dress over my head.
When I was a little girl, I used to stand at the door to her closet and dream of what it would be like on my eighteenth annum when I would wear this very dress on my Zaypien Day. My fantasies were filled with dreams of being the one to pluck the perfect crimson pellum flower from the Alagan River.
I’d pensively swoon and imagine myself chosen by the most eligible male in the land, never having the audacity to even think it might be the king himself.
Those childish fantasies long ago gave way to the realities of what Zaypien Day really is. It’s a way to treat females like objects. Mating them to powerful males without so much as a proper first date.
The last thing I want is to be bartered off to a male I’ve never met. No. It’s not bartering. The winner’s family gets nothing in return. We’re just swept off to the capital city and given to whatever high-ranking male steps forward.
Except this annum . This annum it won’t be to a random highborn male. It will be to the new king. They’re calling him The Boy King because he’s only twenty-four annums old, not that much older than me.
“I wanted this to be perfect,” Mom complains as she tightens the strings that crisscross my midriff, pushing my small breasts up to make them appear larger than they are. “You look beautiful, though,” she says with a wistful smile.
She wore this dress on her Zaypien Day, as did her mother before her and her mother’s mother.
I glance in the mirror and although a close inspection—and a sniff—might reveal I’ve run milles this morning, I look passable. Off-worlders call our species “feline.” I guess they’re right. Our noses are flatter than most humanoids, we have rounded ears on the top of our heads, and there’s a pronounced groove traveling from our noses to our top lips. Not to mention our whiskers.
“Let’s get to the river,” she says as she hurries out the door and we climb into the family hover.
An hoara later, we arrive near the river and have to force our way through the press of male bodies who’ve come to watch their friends and daughters participate in the Zaypien Day Quest.
We finally get to the rear of the crush of females, all wearing their white Zaypien Day dresses, all eighteen annums old, like me.
“Don’t worry,” Mom says. “The soldiers will make it fair. You’ll get your chance to step forward and grab your pellum flower.”
I don’t want to disappoint her, so I don’t mention I’m not worrying. I don’t want to grab a flower. Certainly not the crimson one.
An enormous vid screen has been installed across the river. After it springs to life with a loud, scratchy noise, Chancellor Mathene himself appears on the screen. He was the late king’s most trusted advisor and is running the planet as he prepares the young king to fully accept the mantle of responsibility.
“Welcome females and males,” he says, seeming to pierce each one of us with his gaze. “It is my honor to announce the Zaypien Day festivities as I have for the past many annums . I’d like to begin with a short history lesson, because this ritual is truly part of the lifeblood of our planet.”
He takes a breath, nods, and begins.
“The Annual Zaypien Day festival began two thousand annums ago, when this planet was divided into many warring city-states. It started right here in Lumen, what is now the capital city of the planet. Although now that we are one united, peaceful planet and we cannot have every eighteen- annum -old female from across the globe participate, we still follow the old rituals.
“Every eligible female within one hundred milles of the river assembles at one of the twenty-four Zaypien Stations set up along the banks of the Alagan. At the appointed time, millions of pellum flowers are released at the source of the river and allowed to flow downstream with the swirling waters.
“Out of the millions of white flowers, we have placed one perfect crimson pellum into the mix. Each eligible female will be allowed to wade as far as safety allows, pluck a flower from the rippling waters, and return to shore. Sadly, some annums the flower is churned to the depths of the water and no one picks the flower.
“If any female is lucky enough to pick the crimson flower, she’s immediately brought to the palace courtyard, where any of the king’s court may ask for her hand as a mate.”
Some of the females around me sigh like this is the most romantic notion. Don’t they realize this is as close to slavery as we get on our planet? Pick a random flower and you’re bartered away to what amounts to the highest bidder? Even if he’s highborn and rich, it’s certainly not the way I want my most important choice taken from me.
“As I’m sure you all know, this is a special annum , indeed. It only happens once in a generation, but we have an unmated King. If a king has attained the age of 24 and is as yet unmated, it is he who will mate the female lucky enough to pluck the crimson flower.”
He pauses and flicks his gaze to the right as if something happened off camera to catch his attention.
“If no one plucks the crimson pellum , King Valeris will have his choice of any female at the date of his own choosing. However,” he pauses and appears to look out at all assembled, even though he’s filming from inside the palace, “if you are lucky enough to pluck the flower, you will be mated to a king .”
He smiles triumphantly and the crowd cheers as if on cue.
I did my research. The last time a female picked the crimson pellum was 423 annums ago. I breathe easier. It’s not going to happen today. I don’t know why I got myself so worked up. We live on planet Ton’arr. We have intergalactic spaceflight and hovers and food replicators, just like all other civilized planets of the galaxy.
Zaypien Day is an anachronism, a throwback to a more primitive time. One look at the Chancellor’s face tells me just how little he believes any of us are going to pluck one flower out of the millions they are releasing at the source of the rushing river.
This is a way to make all of us believe we have a chance to mate a highborn or even a king. It’s a great reason for the festival tonight, as everyone on the planet celebrates. It will be a good excuse for laughter, dancing, and drink. And every female from now to forever can look fondly back at this day when she was as close as she will ever be to mating a king.
I heave a big sigh of relief, knowing the worst this day will bring will be wading into cool waters and wetting the hem of my dress.
Valeris
“This is shit!” I bark, startling the male who is making last- minima adjustments to the hem of my crimson robe.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Chancellor Mathene says
His words are meant to placate, but his tone is not. He was my father’s friend and most trusted advisor. We’re still mourning the loss of my parents in a hover crash less than an annum ago. We both know I wasn’t properly trained to take over the duties of a king.
My father thought he had decades left on this planet and did little to teach me. Instead, he indulged me and thought he had all the time in the world to prepare me for my responsibilities.
Poor Mathene was stuck with me. I know I haven’t made it easy for him.
“Zaypien Day should be relegated to the history books,” I pout.
“I couldn’t agree with you more. But it hasn’t been and today we follow the old protocol. Don’t worry. The last time a lass plucked a red pellum was 423 annums ago.” He chuckles. “I checked other historical data. The rains were more plentiful than usual this annum , meaning the water’s raging faster than normal, and the blossoms will be pulled under and dragged down, which makes the odds even higher that the red bloom will never see the light of day.”
He strides over and smooths the lapels of my robes.
“Valeris, you remind me so much of your father. He was a good male and an excellent ruler. You will be, too. You just need time.”
He almost hugs me, then pulls back, thinking better of it. He’s like an uncle to me, but I am the King now. It wouldn’t be proper.
“Do you hate this because you have a female in mind? The palace gossip neglected to tell me you were sweet on someone.”
“No. No one. I just don’t believe the Alagan River should do my choosing for me. Especially if it picks some ugly farm bumpkin from the hinterlands.”
“Don’t worry. My research tells me your predecessors would keep the new queen in their bedchamber long enough to put a youngling in her womb, then move her to rooms in the east wing. They’d only visit when it was time to make more children.
“Your ancestors would move their favorite courtesans into their rooms if they so chose, caring no more for the Zaypien Day winner than a stray pup. If she was too hideous, they would exchange her younglings with the offspring of their mistress. It was the way it was done.”
I don’t quite understand why this outdated practice has clung on for so long. Certainly we could give our subjects a different excuse for a party.
Mathene gestures for me to step to the far side of the room where the cameras are set up to announce the beginning of the festivities. It is my sole function today. He’ll handle the rest.
“Welcome, citizens. What an honor and privilege it is for me to carry on one of our oldest, proudest, and most honored Ton’arr traditions. It is my pleasure to say…” I pause for effect as instructed. “Release the blooms!”
Avania
Although we’re milles downstream from the beginning of the ceremony, the moment King Valeris makes the announcement, the females near the banks surge forward. I’m glad I arrived late. I can imagine people at the front getting trampled if those at the rear don’t show some restraint.
The enormous vid screen is showing live action as old-fashioned, flower-festooned, open-air trucks arrive at the source of the river. These trucks, throwbacks to an earlier, simpler time, are kept in hangars just to be pulled out for Zaypien Day each annum .
Each of the dozens of trucks, emblazoned with the black and crimson royal crest, backs to the water’s edge. Then the palace royal guard in their black and crimson dress uniforms use golden pitchforks to shovel what we’re told are millions of white pellum flowers into the water.
Somewhere in the middle of the process, the King’s emissary, this annum it’s his brother Kato, releases the one perfect crimson flower into the pitching, roiling cascade of blooms.
I must admit, it’s an impressive sight to see millions of flowers pouring into the water, then carried off gracefully by the swirling current.
Thousands of white-garbed females who are upstream from me wade in excitedly, bending to reach for a bloom in the almost torrential current, then stand straight with white blossoms in their hands. The disappointed looks on their faces are heartbreaking. I may not want to grab a crimson bloom, but most of them certainly do.
There are worse fates than being forced to mate Valeris. I’ve seldom seen such a handsome male. His coloring is similar to mine, although his eyes are the most amazing shade of citrine, and mine are green. His pelt, though, is sunny gold, and his mane and the tip of his tail are bronze.
His features are perfectly symmetrical and highlighted by the deep, masculine groove that marks the space between his nose and those plush lips. I couldn’t tear my eyes from his mouth as he talked. Are his fangs longer than the average Ton’arr? They flashed every time he made an “s” sound.
The cameras follow the river, overflowing with pellum flowers, downstream as the leading edge of blooms hits each of the Zaypien stations. Thousands of females emerge from the water to the shore, disappointment marring their youthful faces. The reason we wear white is to make it abundantly clear to even the farthest observer if someone plucks the crimson bloom. The action on the vid shows an unbroken sea of white.
A roar rises from the crowd less than half a mille upstream. The flowers must be careening toward us.
The females at the front of the surge grab their white blossoms and are respectfully pulled out of the way by staff so those of us at the back of the crush have a chance. If it were up to me, I’d stand back, but over all the crowd, I hear my mother’s voice urging me to take my turn.
I’m swept forward from behind and wade five steps into the swirling waters. Am I seeing things? There’s only supposed to be one crimson blossom in the millions of blooms cascading down the river. I see red. That couldn’t be, could it?
It seems it’s coming straight toward me, but I must be hallucinating. The female at my right, Lucia, who I graduated school with, says, “Oh my Gods.” She must see it, too.
I hope Lucia can grab it. As I reach for the white bloom to my right, Lucia lurches for the crimson bloom to my left. Although she misses, she pushes me off balance and instead of grabbing the white flower I’d set my sights on, when I stand and look at my hand, I see the crimson pellum flower clutched tightly in my grip.
As I’m deciding whether to drop it or hand it to Lucia, I hear several people shouting, “Look!” as they point from the shore. “The red bloom! The red pellum! ”
I would drop it back into the water if I could, but too many people have now seen it clutched in my hand.
“Avania!” It’s my mother’s voice. “Avania plucked the bloom!”