We Too Will Grow Old: A Sci-Fi Romance

Pale Blood

Sevala
Northern Underground
2276 3rd Standard Cycle
Verren, Age 18

Verren coughed, curled up on the cold stone floor. Pale blue blood spurted between his teeth into his shaking hands. He'd stopped crying but his vision was still blurred, his left eye swollen shut. Kero hadn't broken anything. At least, he didn't think she had, though his whole body was heavy. His bleeding arms pulsed in pain, and multiple teeth had come loose.
"Get up." Kero's voice cut into his aching head. Her eyes narrowed to red slits and she crossed her arms.
He stumbled to his feet. "K-kero, I-"
"Quiet."
He hung his head. Blood dripped from his mouth.
“Fix this up."she said. "Then come to my room.”
"But, Kero, it is-"
"Come to my room."she repeated. “I have things to tell you. And be quiet."
He nodded. Kero walked away, silent. He looked at the first aid kit on the nearest wall, shook his head and turned away. By now he knew better than to even touch the tubes of cura in it. None of that was for him, especially not now. The cuts would heal well enough in time, though they would scar. He tied two old rags over his arms. That would do to stem bleeding. He didn't bother to fix his face, but just swept up the broken pieces. Black polished clay clattered in the garbage bin.
He had dropped the plate. He knew that, but couldn't remember it happening. His body had been useless before, but now it would refuse his control, going stiff and fogging his eyes at least once a day. Kero had forgiven him, the night he had realized he was unworthy of her, but even she could not forgive this new sickness. He swallowed back fresh tears and finished wiping his blood off the floor. The hallway stretched endless and dark before him. Most of the rooms were empty, as he had borne no children for her, not even sons, and Kero did not yet have other men to occupy her.
He stopped outside her room. It had only been five days since the stillbirth, his third in their two years of marriage. She knew he needed at least two weeks to heal, and over a month until they could try again.
"Vera."he whispered. Her half formed face filled his mind. It was a strong name. They could not try again. He didn't understand.
"Are you going to stand there and stare at the walls all night?"
Kero looked down at him. She was so tall, imposing and stately in dark grey silk woven with silver, a necklace of pointed teeth strung around her neck. Her deep red eyes bored into him. More than ever he understood her place in the world. He got to his feet, eyes glued to the floor, and followed her to her quarters.
She undressed. She undressed him. She pulled him into bed. It hurt. It did not seem to end, until at last she pushed him away. He laid there, eyes closed, the floor warm on his skin.
“That was good.”she said. “You’ll do well at Sarae’s.”
“What...what do you-”
She sighed. “Your results aren’t in yet, and your skin hasn't changed, but it’s clear you’re a Feraan-kiin.”she said. “I found a woman who can take you. She runs a...bar you can work at.”
His stomach sank, but he said nothing.
“You’re pretty, if nothing else.”she continued. “At least for now. You’ll do alright.”
“Thank you.”he whispered.
She stood, bent down and lifted him into her arms, carrying him across the room. A large square basin sat in the corner, perpetually full. She dropped him into the water and turned away.
He laid there, silent. Cold burrowed into his veins, cutting through the numbness. The water turned blue with blood, a concentrated, vile azure from his arms and between his legs. It blossomed out into pale cyan. More coated his mouth again. Kero had hit him before. Of course she had. Few women were blessed with mates who never had to be kept in line, and he was more foolish, self centered and impure than most men. She had needed to discipline him many times, but she had never made him bleed before.
He stood slowly, his limbs heavy, and tied a black sheet around his chest. Kero lay sprawled in bed, asleep on top of the large nest of blankets placed in a hole that had been cut into the floor. Verren swallowed down a lump in his throat, watching her. She was broad chested with strong arms and long, muscular legs. All was covered in black, shining scales, and two lines of flexible spines ran down the top and back of her head, connected by translucent blue skin. Her thick tail draped over the bed's edge. Even asleep, even as much as she frightened him now, she was a handsome woman, as ideal in looks as she was in temperament and intelligence, the sort who built and upheld erathi society.
He sighed. Love was not the goal of marriage. Still, he tried to remember if she had ever loved him, if she had ever been happy to have him pledged to her.
He couldn't. It didn't matter. He turned away. The door closed behind him. He drifted back to the kitchen. Slowly, mechanically, he opened the cupboards, took out three bottles and poured them into a bowl. They fused into a thin black liquid. It smelled rotten, a sign he had done it right. He took a knife off the wall, dipped it in and poured out the rest.
“Verren?”
Her voice shot through him. He froze. The knife hovered over his wrist.
“You should be in bed.”she said. “And - oh, by The Mother what is that smell?”
He did not hear her approach, did not know she was behind him until her shadow overtook his own.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was even and toneless.
He opened his mouth but could not speak, his throat tight and dry. She grasped his arm.
“No!”he yelled. He pulled and twisted in her grip.
The knife turned.
Kero's eyes widened. The knife fell. She followed, crashing to the floor.
He would never be sure how long he laid there, frozen and mute beneath her. It might have been minutes. It might have been hours. It felt like days. Arms straining, he slid out from under her and leaned against the cabinet, staring.
“Kero?”
She did not respond.
“K-kero?”
Again she did not speak or move.
“I…I'm sorry.”he tried again. “I…I'll go to bed. I'll…I'll go to Sarae's. I'm sorry.”
Silence stretched. The walls warped inward. She did not move or speak. Blood trailed dark blue from her arm, a thin river drying as it flowed.
He stood. The knife was dry. The poison was gone. He stared into the cupboard. There was enough to make more. Kero was dead. Kero was dead because of him. He held the knife.
Kero was dead. Kero was dead and he was alone. His head was full of static. He was alone.
He screamed. It echoed off the walls. He threw the knife. The jagged bone edge scratched as it fell, claws inside his skull. She still did not move.
He drifted, first to his room and then to hers. Grey skirt, grey tunic, grey footwraps and grey gloves. A grey shawl, grey veil and mask. It was almost the garb of a proper man. Not even his eyes showed through. A slight haze hung over all, the world through gossamer webs.
He slid a panel aside on the wall. Kero stored most of her money digitally, but she also visited whores. That much was clear now. He held his breath and keyed in the combination, as much as he could recall from having watched her leave months ago.
The safe swung open, a cavern of deep red. The coins were heavy, pure carved Sevaath stone rather than coated disks. He swept them into a bag until he could carry no more. Surely that would be enough to pay a ship to smuggle him to the nearest station. Her door slid shut. The sound seemed far away.
In the kitchen she still lay there. He stared, silent, at her stiff body, searching his heart. Where there should have been sorrow, regret or even base fear, he only found a horrible, unfathomable lightness.
She was gone. She was gone and he was alone. He opened the door and stepped onto the street.