Chapter 10
Oljin
I carry my sleeping Alara back to the valith. Though she’s light and delicate as the flowers we left behind, I feel the heaviness of what comes next.
“Who was it?” I ask a grim-faced Saana after laying Rose on her pallet.
“You know who it was,” she says sharply, anger blotching her skin as she chops herbs to make more healing tincture. “I’m sure you heard us, since I could hear you .”
I bend my neck to her, ashamed that I ran away like a coward. “I’m sorry to bring trouble to your door. I should have stayed to face my own enemies.”
She points her cooking knife at me, her pigment fading somewhat in the face of my apology. “You did the right thing, hiding her. But I can smell you all over her. You shouldn’t have claimed her in the field like a rutting braxa. Not yet. She’s still healing.”
I rub my forearm where the shallow grass cuts have begun to itch, ashamed of my lack of control. “I know. But she told me to do it. If you knew the strain of the bond, you’d understand why I can’t refuse her anything. Alioth knows, I was as gentle as I could be.”
She suppresses a smile. “I don’t need to know the details. Just be more cautious with her. Your queen needs care, not a tumble in the dirt. ”
I nod, my guilt growing faster than grass. I won’t put either of them in danger again. “I’ll return to Gren’Irra today. It’s time I tell them I found my queen.”
She shakes her head, her pigment going gray and troubled. “She’s not ready. Bruises barely healed.”
“I agree. I’ll go alone. Make some arrangements and return. It will take time to prepare for our joining, anyway.”
“It could make her worse if you leave,” she warns. “She’s healing for you, Oljin. You are her reason to fight. Don’t take that from her. Not yet.”
I watched my mother lose her reason, saw what it did to her. The last thing I want to do is take my queen’s away from her. “Rose is my reason, too. I won’t be gone long. Distract her and she won’t have time to miss me.”
“I don’t think I can distract her as well as you,” Saana says wryly. She scoops her pile of chopped herbs into the stone mortar and begins grinding them vigorously. “Medicine and language lessons can’t compare to the arms of your mate. I would know.”
“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 me away. 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 even speak 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.
In accented Irran, he says, “Our ship is fueled. We won’t trouble you much longer.”
“Please,” I beg, feeling desperate. “Let’s have some nomo and talk before you go.”
“To bear more insults?” he rumbles. “We have heard enough.”
My first day as Jara, and I’m already failing. “I apologize for my brother’s harsh words. Whatever he said does not represent Irra. Forgive me for leaving the negotiations in his hands. My absence was unplanned. Unexpectedly, I found my queen, and she required my attention. ”
His heavy head swivels toward me. “Your queen? Did I hear that right? You are the new Jara?” I nod, and he turns to face me fully. “Praise Alioth it is not your barbarian brother. Frath offers its congratulations.”
Pride suffuses my skin. “It would honor me if your delegation would stay to witness our joining.”
He pauses, considering, and then gives a hand signal to his guards, who sigh and set down their heavy loads, grumbling at the change in plans. “I will accept the nomo. Then we will see about your other invitation.”