Brave New Love (14 page)

“And—and we were talking.”

Among other things.

“And she was saying if we got married—if she got married she would want to marry
both
of us.”

I stared at him hard to make sure he was serious. Me and Aim had teased each other about being married ever since we met in gym class. Even before people over eighteen or so began going
Otherwise.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one it was more than a joke for.

“So would you?”

“Would I what?” But I knew.

“Would you freakin marry me! Would you—”

“But I’m a lesbian! You’re a dude!”

“Well, duh.”

“And only because you wanna hook up with
my
chica? Unh-unh.”

“Well, it’s not only that.”

“Really?” I stood up. He did too. “What? You’re in love with me? I’m fat, I’m a big mouth, a smartass—”

“You’re plain old smart! And brave, and Aim thinks you’re the closest thing to a goddess who ever walked the earth.”

“What if I am?” I wanted to leave. But this was where she would come. I had to be here. I wrapped the blanket around me and tucked my arms tight.

“Yeah. What if you are? What if she’s right? I kinda think—” He quit talking a minute and looked over his shoulder at the beach. “I kinda think she is. You
are.”

If he had tried to touch me then I would have knocked the fool unconscious.

Instead, he turned around and looked at the beach again. “That’s him,” he said. “Captain Lee.” He pointed and I saw a bright yellow triangle sailing toward us out
of the west. “Our ride’s here ahead of time. I have to go meet him and tell him we need to wait for Aim.” He left me alone with my wet blanket.

It was almost dark by the time he came back, carrying a bucket. “Here you go. Supper.” I was ready to eat, no doubt. Inside was a hot baked yam and some greens with greasy pink fish
mixed in. I washed it all down with more of Rob’s water.

We took turns hanging out at the statue. Rob had connections with the locals, the Hammerheads and this other group, the Twisters. He stayed with them, and I bunked on Lee’s boat.

Three days dragged past. I got used to a certain idea. I let him put his arm around me once when we met on the stairs. And another time when he introduced me to a dude he brought to pick some
herbs in the garden—they were for medicines, not that nice to eat.

And another time. We were there together, but with my binoculars I saw her first. I shouted and he hugged me. Both arms. I broke away and ran and ran and yes, it was Aim! And Dwayne, which
explained a lot when I thought about it afterwards, but I didn’t care right then.

“Aim! Aim!” I lifted her in the air and whirled us around and we kissed each other long and hard. I was with her and it was this reality, hers and mine and everybody else’s,
not one I created just for me. I cried and laughed and yelled at the blue sky, so glad. Oh so freakin glad.

Of course I had known all along she’d make it.

And then Rob caught up with me and he kissed her, too. She held my hand the whole time. So how could I feel jealous and left out?

Well, I could. But that might change, someday. Someday, it might be otherwise.

C
ARRIE
V
AUGHN

Like the dozen other girls taking part in the Claiming, Elspa wore a simple gown of undyed wool, and a hood covering her face. They were all guided into the dusty space outside
the fortress wall. The hoods confused some people. Some thought they were to make the girls anonymous—to make the Claiming fair, so that the boys couldn’t choose based solely on the
color of her hair or the fineness of her face. But they were wrong. The hoods were for the girls, so they would not see who claimed them until exactly the right moment.

A gray-cloaked minister walked with each girl. The ministers supervized the Claiming of the Nymphs from first to last. From identifying Nymphs—girls who have had a monthly bleeding for a
full year, and who therefore had a good chance of being fertile—to choosing which boys among the sons of the chieftains deserved to claim a wife. Townships sometimes went to war over Nymphs,
who some said were more valuable than oil. Once a year, all the townships under the Warlord’s rule gathered in the city, the large collection of shacks surrounding the adobe fortress, to
watch the Claiming.

To be a Nymph waiting to be claimed was a very great honor.

When the minister guiding Elspa squeezed her arm, she stopped. She could sense the girl in front of her, and the girl behind, shuffling to a stop as well. The murmuring hum of a crowd passed
over them, hundreds, maybe thousands come to watch, sitting in bleachers around the dirt field where the girls now stood.

Elspa’s heart raced, and sweat curled down her skin under her straight woolen dress. She trembled, and wondered if the crowd could see it.

The Claiming happened every year, but this year was different. Special. This was the year the Warlord’s eldest son would make his choice. No doubt many of the girls hoped he would claim
them. Would he claim
her
? Not that it mattered who claimed any of them, it all turned out the same.

The crowd hushed—the silence came abruptly, as if someone had snuffed out a candle. The arena became so quiet Elspa could hear footsteps in the dirt—distant, but coming closer. The
line of boys, entering the arena. They would not be wearing hoods.

The boys had already made their choices. From behind shadowed curtains made of gauze, they had watched the girls at a morning feast held in the merchants’ hall. They’d already seen
all the girls, and their faces. They knew which villages and families they came from, and had received advice from their fathers about which alliances would be beneficial.

The girls told stories about how in some past years a Nymph or three had tried to sneak away, to catch a glimpse of the boys, to get some hint of what was waiting for them on the day of
Claiming. The stories never ended well; the girls always came to some horrific end, shot by guards who thought them thieves, or banished from civilization for their arrogance. Elspa had no desire
to cause any trouble at all. This was an honor, being named a Nymph, taking part in the Claiming. An honor that felt as if it were an execution. The air inside the hood was hot, and she had a hard
time catching her breath. If the hood did not come off soon, she might faint, and then no one would claim her.

It happened quickly, so that she was never sure afterward the exact sequence of events, or how she felt. Footsteps continued, then stopped, and a nervous voice in front of her said, “I
claim her.”

The minister at her side grabbed her, tilted her head to the side, and jabbed a needle into the base of her neck. She didn’t have time to struggle, only to brace her legs to keep from
falling over. Her hands flung out to grab at nothing.

The serum entered her, and warmth flowed through her, turning her muscles to butter, her bones to wool. Her nose filled with a sudden smell of lavender and strawberries. Somehow, she stayed
upright, but marveled at her own sudden happiness. She had never felt such contentment, such
love
—

The hood came off, the minister stepped away. Everyone stepped away, except for the boy standing in front of her.

She could have stared at him for days. Forever. She studied him: the fall of black hair over his sun-darkened brow, his mahogany-brown eyes that shone with depth, with somber courage. He was
taller than she by just an inch, but he seemed to fill the sky. If she could be permitted to touch him, to simply brush her fingertips along the back of his hand, she would die happy, in ecstasy.
Her belly clenched thinking of it, and that thick warmth rushed through her again. She could feel her cheeks burning.

The Warlord’s son, Thom, had claimed her, and she loved him, so much.

He took her right hand, lifted it, squeezed it, and her breath caught. She was drowning on the air itself, unable to open her lungs. She wanted to fall into his arms. She could hardly think. She
clung to his hand, her hot skin against his cool.

He led her forward, away from the line of girls, as one of the other boys said, “I claim her,” and another minister injected another girl with the serum that would bind her to her
fate forever.

•  •  •

She could not stop looking at him.

His family—the Warlord’s family, she had to remind herself, rulers of all townships within a thousand miles—held a feast for them. Elspa’s family was well off—her
father had the region’s largest flock of sheep and produced the wool that everyone in the fortress wore—but she had never seen so many delicacies, or drunk such fine wine. The Warlord
took all the best for himself as the price of maintaining order, everyone knew that. But until now she’d had no idea what that meant.

She was part of that wealth, now. Thom had chosen her not just to bind her prosperous family to his, but because she was an ornament. Draped in red silk and gold jewels, she sat beside him at
the high table, sparkling like treasure given as tribute. She was a figurehead to be admired. The finest Nymph in all the land.

But she didn’t care about any of that. Matters like statutes and politics were for the men and soldiers to worry about. She only cared about
him.

He wore a jacket made of the same fabric as her gown, bound with a belt of linked gold plates. Leaning back in his chair, one hand resting on his knee, the other on the table, he had a serious,
regal expression, eyes steady, lips frowning. He was a prince surveying his domain.

The feast wasn’t for them, it was for the Warlord and his followers, for his feudal servants and the community at large—for everyone to see that continuity would be maintained, that
the day’s ritual had been successful, that the young heir had chosen well, and that his bride truly loved him. Seeing all that, they grew loud, drunk, rowdy, and eventually passed out.

She didn’t care about any of it. She couldn’t wait to be alone with Thom. But that would come later. Strictly speaking, they weren’t married yet. Bonded, yes—for now and
forever. She’d be nurtured and protected, as prized as any jewel in their vault. When they both turned eighteen, in another year, the final ceremony would take place. It seemed a mere
formality to her.

No one paid any real attention to Elspa, which was fine with her, because it made her feel as if she and Thom were alone. He continued to behave officially—admirably—as was required
by his rank. She would sit by his side as long as necessary, until the last reveler was gone.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when he turned to her and spoke. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Immediately, she looked away, looked anywhere but at him, and squeezed shut her eyes against a sudden stinging of tears. The reproach in his voice stabbed through her, but she didn’t want
to seem weak.

“I don’t mean to offend. I’ll do whatever you want,” she said.

His frown deepened. “Don’t say that. Don’t talk like that.”

“You’re not happy,” she stated.

“I’m not—” He sighed, shook his head. “I’m not
un
happy.”

“Do you want me to leave?” It wasn’t what
she
wanted. He wondered if he saw the pleading in her eyes.
Let me stay . . .

“Maybe that would be best.”

“Then I’ll go,” she said, quickly standing.

“Elspa—”

She’d heard her name a million times before, but now, suddenly, it sounded beautiful. She froze, waiting.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “It’s not your fault.”

She stared at him. “What isn’t? What’s wrong?” If he were ill she could help. She could try to help, or at least comfort him.

His brow furrowed, as if he were surprised that she’d spoken. As if he hadn’t expected to see her standing before him at all.

“Never mind,” he said, and the smile he donned was sad, his gaze distant. “Go and rest. It’s been a very long day. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it,” she said.

He frowned at his hands. As a last gesture, in lieu of words she couldn’t find, she curtseyed to him, bowing her head low. Then she turned and fled to her room.

•  •  •

Elspa had never had her own room. Her father was chieftain of a relatively wealthy township—it even had a plumbing system leading from the major well—but even so,
their adobe buildings were windswept and battered, needing constant repair. She had shared a room with the other teenage girls who had left their mothers’ care and waited to learn their fates
while working at endless chores: cleaning, cooking, spinning wool, caring for younger children.

Here, now, she didn’t have to do any of that, and she had a wide, sunny room with a soft feather bed all to herself. The space, all hers, felt vast and lonely.

She never had any doubt that things would be all right, eventually. She refused to feel homesick—how much better off was she, with Thom? But it would take time for the new situation to
feel normal, no doubt.

She had never thought about what it would feel like to be in love. It felt . . .
strange.
But she liked it. It felt a little like floating, and nothing mattered but what lay right in
front of her.

•  •  •

As he promised he would, he visited her the next day. They sat together on a bench on a shaded porch, sipping glasses of sweet, filtered water flavored with lemon. He remained
silent, and seemed to avoid looking at her.

She ventured to speak. “What’s wrong, my lord?”

He flinched a little at her voice, and his smile was forced. He seemed as pensive as he had the night before. “Do I tell you? Do I tell you the truth?”

“Oh, please. You can tell me anything, you know you can.”

The sadness in his gaze cut her. “You don’t really love me, you know.”

“How can you say such a thing?”

“It’s the drug they give you.”

She blinked. “I would love you without the drug. The drug—it doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s the drug that makes you say that.”

“Then nothing I say will convince you.”

“That’s the joke of it.”