Chapter Four

Niva

The Fellamana judges handing me my winner’s trophy stare at me like I’ve asked for a moon. They look at my finger as I point to Graven and then back at me and shake their heads in panic.

“No, Niva. He’s human. You can’t—”

“He’s my prize. I claim him,” I declare in Fellamana loud enough for everyone in the stadium to hear. It became so clear to me when I realized all the other acts of the games had humans in them, how odd it was that of my seven, I had only Fellamana.

It had to be obvious to the audience as well—the humans and the Fellamana.

The judges look toward the council members sitting in the stands as though for help, and the council members sit stunned and staring at me.

What I’d forgotten, what I’d allowed them to let me forget, is that even though the council has the power to bring strikes against me if they ever deem me dangerous, I actually outrank them in every other way. They answer to me. I may be young and less than a month into my Exstare, but as the sole possessor of the power on this planet, I am the goddess, the supreme being, the divine made manifest, according to the beliefs of our people.

My wishes are to be obeyed.

I turn to the stagehands, the ones who’ve been orchestrating the event tonight. I point to Graven once more. “Please bring him up to the stage.” They hesitate, but as I stare at them with authority, they do as I say.

Graven’s expression is severe, and his already tangled aura becomes a mess of anxiety. I worry for a moment he’ll refuse, that he’ll put up a fight. He’s so large, no one could possibly move him anywhere he didn’t want to go.

But he appears unable to disobey my request. He lets them lead him up the stairs, and he comes to the edge of the stage. He pauses there and comes no closer. We all wait to see what he’ll do.

The hush in the audience, at least from the Fellamana, has also to do with what they see.

Graven’s aura looks painful. It’s hard to see it and not feel his pain. His emotions, if healthy, would visibly flow freely all around him in waves of orange and red—fear and desire. But instead, there are small flickers of orange and red; it’s clear fear and desire are what he would like to experience, but they don’t flow freely. They stop and start in fits and spurts, as though his aura is broken. As though his heart is broken. As though he’s forgotten how to have feelings purely, uninhibited. As though he is blocked by numbness—depression.

I turn my eyes to the crowd. “This is the only prize I want. To heal this human.” I turn to the council, daring them to refuse me an act of compassion. They can read my emotions and the purity of my desire from the colors weaving over my skin. I have no duplicity. I desire to heal him. Not to deceive them.

The council members break the hush in the crowd by bickering among each other. Their words indecipherable. A murmuring hum rises through the crowd.

I turn back to Graven, and it occurs to me, because his aura is so flawed, I have no true idea of his intentions. I have no idea of his thoughts, of who he is really. He could be dangerous. He could be duplicitous. He could be out to take advantage of me and my desire to help him.

I don’t think that’s likely. He’s in too much pain, but the uncertainty he offers me, the not knowing, the mystery of him, fascinates me and draws me to him more. I have no idea what this man is capable of.

He takes a step toward me, but then stops himself. The crowd notices, though. Someone calls out in a Fellamana accent, “Human! Human!” as though cheering Graven on, as though wanting him to move forward, wanting him to come to me.

The chant spreads, and others take it up; gradually, it weaves through the crowd until the whole stadium, over a thousand voices, are shouting in Graven’s favor. “Human! Human! Human!”

Graven does as they say. He comes forward, walking toward me. His face is an expressionless mask, but his eyes are haunted—with what I can’t be sure. Something heavy. In a desire to see him better, I turn on my light; I let myself glow, as I’ve learned, to let my Exstare radiate outward like the Fellamana system’s star.

As my light cascades over him, illuminates him, his aura changes. It doesn’t heal, but it lightens in places, and his expression eases, his steps become more confident. He stands before me, graced with my light, enormous in his height. My eyes are level with his chest. I have to tilt my head back to look at him.

A thrill of fear runs down my skin. I’ve had sex innumerable times today alone, and yet, I’m enthralled by the male standing in front of me, as though I’ve had no one in days.

The crowd hushes, and I look behind me to see the council’s chancellor standing with the sound amplifier in his hand. “You are too generous in your victory, Niva. You may heal the human.”

The crowd cheers, and my victory is secured, as far as they think. But I hear in his words what they do not. I’m permitted to heal my choice human, but that is all. I’m permitted to touch him, but they do not want me to make love to him.

I engage in a stare-down with the chancellor. I narrow my gaze so he knows I’m not happy with his choice of words. He levels his gaze as though to affirm that even if I might think I have authority, it’s only by his allowance.

The chancellor usurped my power. If I were Koviye, if I’d had the Exstare for ten years as he had, if a mere month ago, the previous possessor of the Exstare hadn’t been given two strikes and deemed near dangerous enough to imprison, I could laugh in the chancellor’s face and have sex with Graven on this stage from now until dawn.

But I’m not Koviye. I’ve been doing this for only a month. I’m twenty-two years old. And they outnumber me. The truth is that Koviye’s actions left me with little power and with restricted choices that had never occurred to me until now. I feel suffocated and trapped.

Having someone, anyone, dictate what I’m allowed to do with my body has my gut heating in rebellion.

But I’ll sort this out tomorrow. For now, I at least get a moment with my human.

I turn back to Graven. I smile. Now, I have to get his permission. I realign my focus on what of his language I’ve learned and craft the question I think he needs to hear.

“May I touch you?”