The Pursual: Book 1 of The Nome Chronicles Read online

  His expression softens and he lets out a long sigh.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” a voice booms, “now entering the pavilion is Nome Ategun, led by its Titan and his Titane. They are followed by their children, Scion Ika Ategun, Dogenne Lola Ategun and Dogenne Sade Ategun.”

  All eyes turn to the pavilion floor where the Ateguns stroll to their booth. They are at least sixty-people strong. The Ategun girls walk behind their older brother, heads high. One of the girls holds her family’s scepter. It’s taller than she is and her family’s insignia rests on top. I’ve always thought it looked like an egg in clothes.

  “Goodness, those girls are atrocious.” Our entire booth snickers.

  Song straightens in her seat and lets out a harsh laugh. “I’d be pissed if we controlled the fashion industry only to show up to events looking like that. Given their family’s business, they should have better fashion sense.”

  “Or at least, better stylists,” Mom says dryly. “What’s worse is that the girls aren’t half as attractive-looking as their brother.”

  “Thankfully, Invier is the ugly duckling of our family.” Song tilts her head my way and winks.

  Everyone but Dad and I cackle. I hate it when Mom and Song get this mean. To me, it’s not necessary to put other people down based on such superficial things as their looks. I’ve said as much in the past, only to have Song accuse me of judging her. She’d burst into tears and if there’s one thing that’ll get me every time, it’s seeing someone I care about crying. For now, I keep my mouth shut and hope their voices didn’t carry past our booth.

  Another family walks across the pavilion floor as the announcer welcomes them. People stare and whisper about the newcomers.

  "Are you sure you don’t want to participate?" Although Dad’s voice lowers to a whisper, his words blare as a discordant trumpet.

  Consternation spikes in the pit of my stomach like an ember escaping from a raging flame. Was he not listening when I said I don’t care to sacrifice love or my beliefs for the trappings of power and profit?

  A deep breath later, I’m calm enough to say, “You asked Mom for her hand in marriage, right? I want to do the same. I want my feelings, not the need for business alliances to determine who I spend the rest of my life with.”

  “We were young, Invier.” His face has a faraway look. “Besides, there were repercussions.”

  Repercussions?

  “What are you talking about? I’ve always cherished the story of how mom and yourself got together. It was a simple approach and nothing like the productions of today.” I say and cringe at the thought of having to go through the current process. Nowadays, a family approaches another to discuss the likelihood of a successful business and marital union. If both sides agree, then negotiations ensue and if successful, a public and elaborate pairing ceremony takes place where the other nomes witness the joining of families. No union is legitimate without the witnessing of the other nomes and if even one isn’t represented at the marital ceremony, it can create problems. Why should my happiness be subject to a group of people I don’t care about?

  “Nothing is ever straightforward.” He looks me in the eye. “You know your Mom’s family was higher ranked than mine, right?”

  “Nome Zephole is still ranked higher than us Florans.”

  “Correct.” He nods. “What you don’t know is that your mom’s family wanted a pairing ceremony … the works. Your mom and I refused and ended up getting married despite their objections.” His eyes are sad as if recalling an unpleasant memory. “Her family shunned us for it.

  “This practice isn’t common enough to find in your books, but, if a nome disowns one of their own, all other nomes will shun that person as well.”

  Could this be true? Unlike Mom, Dad isn’t one to exaggerate to make a point. Even though I never knew this part of my family’s history, I have to accept it as factual. It makes me think of a question I’ve had since childhood. I always wondered why we never spent time with Mom’s family members. Was it because of this?

  “The nomes don’t forgive those of us who go against the grain. When we were shunned, it limited how much profit we could make. Sure, I could raise rates, get more creative in the products we offer to compensate. But … I’m not comfortable with any of that, much to your mom’s chagrin.” He gives me a watery smile. “as adjudicators, we’re bound by the Code of Ethics and we can’t get as unscrupulous as many of our peers so, I’ve watched our earnings decline and our rank has dropped in kind.”

  “Dad…”

  “Let me finish.” His gaze never wavers. “When we lost out on profitable opportunities and dove to the last spot in the Twenty, that had consequences. The main one is that Song and yourself are now limited to marrying into a family no higher than six spots above ours.”

  The announcer introduces the pavilion’s latest guests but my attention is locked on Dad. Now, I understand why he asked if I was sure about not taking part in the Pursual. Society does not look favorably on anyone marrying someone from a family six places or more beneath them. It’s unheard of. With that attitude, I have no chance of a good pairing and eventual marriage because of our family's standing. Mom has repeatedly reminded me of this fact and it’s been her reasoning for why I must take part in the Pursual. While I don’t care about any of this, I know Song does.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not mad at Mom and you for choosing to be happy. It's society’s ridiculous expectations I’m mad about. You guys did nothing wrong.”

  He gives me a weary smile. “Tell that to your sister when she finds out she could have had a more luxurious life if not for our choices.”

  Song waves to someone and for a moment, I feel sorry for her. Then, I remember riches aren’t what makes life worth living. Besides, I have no doubt she’ll marry into a family much wealthier than ours. I follow her gaze to find Victor Lebier peering at her adoringly. His family’s education business brings in enough wealth for them to rank fourteenth and more than acceptable to her for marriage. Unless she finds someone ranked even higher.

  “I can’t preoccupy myself with what society expects. My future must be on my terms. My choice.”

  “Is there someone whose hand you want to ask for?”

  Rather than say what’s on my mind, I mutter, “No.”

  Chapter Three

  Invier

  A loud clang reverberates through the pavilion and there’s a collective gasp from the crowd. On the pavilion’s floor, a short man slams a black mallet onto a raised silver gong. Knees bent, he draws the mallet back and brings it down twice more, making my body vibrate and my teeth chatter. When the sound dies, the pavilion is deathly silent. The opening ceremony will officially begin, and the quest for the girl I love with it. I’ve got to get out of here.

  A man with colorful knots on his head steps into the middle of the floor. He introduces himself as Master Portan and welcomes the nomes. After highlighting specific people around the room with a joke or compliment, his face becomes stern and he delves into the competition’s rules. Still searching for my exit, I barely listen and am buoyed when I find a door. Unfortunately, it’s several feet away and I’d have to pass three booths filled with people to get to it.

  They’re the least of my problem, I soon realize as I’d have to get past my mom, first. Knowing her, she wouldn’t let me walk out now without causing a scene. She’d think my exit would be considered an insult to Nome Reffour that would spark gossip and make all these snobs look down on us even more.

  With a deep sigh, I sink into my seat and resign myself to an uncomfortable evening. Had I pretended to have a stomach ache, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I’ve seen Song use that tactic to great effect. It wouldn’t hurt this much if I’d lied and stayed home but if there’s one thing I hate to do, it’s lying. I never want anyone to question my integrity. I need to be able to look myself in the mirror.

  A roar snatches me out of my thoughts and I realize I missed whatever it is that
brought Nome Saint Esprit to their feet. They cheer wildly for their scion, James, as he makes his way to the pavilion floor. When he gets to Portan, he looks back at his booth, clasps his hands together in front of his chest and bows. That sends his family into a frenzy, stomping their feet as someone whistles.

  I don’t have time to be taken aback by their theatrics as another name is called. “Scion Loic Carre!”

  Nome Carre rises to its feet. As opposed to the Saint Esprits, they don’t carry on as if their scion is about to battle to the death. He gets a series of dignified taps on the shoulder from his father. His mother’s reaction is the same, though she’s beaming with apparent pride. Titane Carre’s hands glint from the talon rings that cover them. Stretching the length of her fingers, they match the rings worn by her husband. I remember the old stories about those rings as a kid. Some said they could turn a person to stone. I even heard that the Titan could turn a person mad with them. All silly tales, conjured by the overactive minds of children.

  Remembering how silly we were to worry about such things reminds me how much I don’t want to be here. Mom is leaning over the railing to get a good look at something below. Now is a great time for me to get out of here. I look to the door again.

  “Scion Erhart Vesta!”

  My attention moves from the door. Not because of the noise that follows the scion’s announcement but because of the silence. Nome Vesta is on their feet and none of them is carrying on. Light on his feet, a skinny Erhart shakes his father’s hand. As he walks away his mother pulls him back and gives him a swift hug. She wrings her hands after letting him go and her husband leans in to whisper in her ear. Whatever he said straightens her back as her hands fall to her sides.

  “Look at the diamonds on Titane Vesta,” Song says, awe in her tone.

  “That’s the benefit of running a gemstone business, isn’t it?” Mom’s unable to camouflage the envy in her voice.

  “Scion Ika—!”

  A sharp ululation cuts through the still of the pavilion. Here go the Ateguns again. They can’t ever be normal. Everything about them is always over the top. Three women utter a high-pitched howl while a group of men arrange themselves to create a pathway for their scion. Ika rises and eases through his nome members. Each step is deliberate and timed to coordinate with the thud made when his sister pounds her family’s scepter into the floor.

  I think the elaborate performance has the desired effect. All over the room, girls clamor to get a better glimpse. Many scream his name. Song is in her seat, but not of her own will because Mom has her arm pinned.

  “Look at those muscles,” she says, stretching as far as she can to get a good view.

  “Victor mustn’t see you fawning over another man. Behave!” Mom says.

  Another scion walks to the pavilion floor. It’s Seth Talum. I missed the announcement of his name in the fanfare of Ika and his admirers. In contrast to Ika, who was all swagger, Seth’s steps are hesitant. He pivots back to his booth where his father gives him a reassuring smile.

  “Poor boy.” Mom fans herself. “His mother is sick and dying.”

  If my mother was dying, there’s no way I’d be here. She might be annoying at times, but I love her and would be by her side. No matter how glamorous or well-attended the event may be. Why is he here? With no answer available, I watch as he joins the other Participants.

  “Scion Mehrdad Cyra!”

  Nome Cyra’s booth is bursting at the seams with hollering people. The noise is deafening. The exit looks even more enticing than it did earlier. Perhaps I should take my chances with mom. I rise as the cheering drops a few decibels.

  Mom looks at me with a cool gaze. “Are you going somewhere?”

  Caught, I lose my will and sit. I don’t ask how she knew what I was about to do. Instead, I watch Mehrdad tug on the hem of his black suit and marches to the floor.

  “Scioness Adela Seltan!”

  “It’s a good thing that this isn’t like the ancient Pursuals where people died left and right.” Mom fans herself, as the Seltans cheer wildly. “Those Seltans are a devious lot. They would slit your throat before you even knew they were there.”

  Titan Seltan takes his daughter’s hand and leads her out of the booth. As she heads off, her father mentions one word - “Barritus!” It booms across the silent pavilion. Soon, Nome Seltan repeats “Barritus.”

  I stifle my irritation at the showmanship and study Mehrdad as he glares at the newcomer.

  “And last, but not least, is Scion Invier Floran!”

  Mom launches to her feet, dragging me with her. “Silly boy!” She grins broadly. “Why didn’t you tell us?” I stare at her, my mouth open. Beside her, Song is giddy and clapping hard enough to hurt. The previously unknown relatives Mom brought along are whooping behind me and slapping my back. Dad’s initially as confused as me but a smile soon widens his lips.

  “Scion Invier Floran!”

  Portan repeats himself and I realize he really did mention my name. This has to be a mistake. I never entered my name for the competition. Could Mom have done it? If she had, she wouldn’t look surprised. The same for Dad. Song hops in excitement. Knowing my sister, she’d have a smirk on her face if she’d pulled off something like this. So, who entered my name?

  Mom leads me to the stairs, giving me a kiss and a whisper before letting me go. “I’ve never been prouder of you than at this moment, Invier. Do your best and remember our survival is in your hands.”

  Dad comes into view and gives me an encouraging nod. Behind him, mom’s relatives chant my name with pride. Mom spins me around and with a gentle shove, I’m heading to the pavilion floor.

  Chapter Four

  Neith

  People pack the ballroom from wall to wall. Most here are Cyras and they stormed in when the opening ceremony ended. Brash and loud, like a rough wave crashing onto shore. Still elated from their scion’s entry into the competition, they continue to stamp their feet from time to time. No doubt confident in how Mehrdad will perform. The Cyra’s are a smug bunch and they sit at the top of the rankings. That position stems from their lucrative security business which trains and provides soldiers. The nomes attend the annual Synod hosted by the Cyras to view and select from each new crop of soldiers. Not mine, however.

  I move through the room with a forced smile. I’m the hostess of the Pursual and I’m expected to be ecstatic. Anything other than that and whispers will begin. As such, even though I feel horrible, I grin widely. So much so that my cheeks hurt. If only my fake smile could distract me from thoughts of Invier’s angry glower during the opening ceremony. Desperate to shove the memory aside, I shake hands and have brief conversations as I weave through the maze of merrymakers.

  “Ah, Scioness Reffour, a moment of your time, please?” The high-pitched voice behind me is one I recognize. I’m tempted to ignore it, but doing so could spell trouble. Instead, I twirl toward Titane Carre. Surrounded by her entire entourage, she stands out easily due to her height. At six feet tall, she towers over her husband from whom their son got his short stature. She looks at me with intense blue eyes. The Carres have controlled global banking for generations and is ranked third right below mine.

  My curtsy is deep, with one knee barely sweeping the floor. I must treat the mothers of all participants as prospective mothers-in-law. Perish the thought I don’t afford her the appropriate respect. She’s been known to destroy a reputation with a well-timed frown. There’ll be no viable excuse or apology I could give if she feels slighted and I don’t need the burden such a situation would create.

  “What a pleasure to see you, Titane Carre.” To her husband, I curtsy and drag my gaze to the ground—the formal way of greeting a Titan. Portan would be proud of my performance if he wasn’t stuck in the Participants building, giving instructions to the eight competitors. He’d nagged me for over a month, forcing me to learn antiquated protocols for engaging the parents of participants. Recalling the lessons is exhausting.

  “A
lways the embodiment of elegance, Scioness,” the Titane effuses, “not enough young women are dignified and elegant nowadays.”

  “You honor me, Titane.” I dip my head in feigned appreciation. There’s never any honey without flies. Father’s words resound in my brain and at this moment, they remind me that this is all a delicate game I have to play. She wants something. Any of the other families would destroy my Pursual if it benefitted them. Or cast aspersions upon it, myself, or my family. There’s always someone trying to cut you at the knees. Also, Father’s words. I need to be careful until I know what she wants from me.

  She examines me, closing the already narrow gap between us. “Your beauty and pedigree would make for a nice match with our nome, don’t you agree?” There it is. She’s made her pitch. Rather crude and overt, but at least her intentions are clear. Her face assumes the look of a woman accustomed to always hearing yes. Little does she know that her vertically-challenged son is not who I want to be with.