When Jorek finally opened the door, Eijeh and Vas were in the hallway, about to come in.
Eijeh's hair was long enough now to be tied back, and his face was bony--and old, like he was ten seasons Akos's senior instead of two. At the sight of him Akos felt a powerful urge to grab him and run. No plan for what he might do after that, of course, because they were on a city-size spaceship on the galaxy's edge, but he wanted to anyway. Wanted a lot of things he would never get, these days.
"Jorek," Vas said. "How interesting, running into you here. What's your business?"
"Akos and I have been sparring together," Jorek said, without hesitating. He was a good liar--Akos figured he had to be, growing up in his family, with all these people around. "Just checking if he would go for another round."
"Sparring." Vas laughed a little. "With Kereseth? Really?"
"Everyone needs hobbies," Akos said, like it didn't matter. "Maybe tomorrow, Jorek. Brewing something."
Jorek waved, and walked away. Fast. Akos waited until he turned the corner before turning back to Eijeh and Vas.
"Did Mother teach you to do that?" Eijeh said, nodding to the yellow fumes still wafting from the burner.
"Yes." Akos was already flushed and shaking, though he had no reason to be scared of his own brother. "Mom taught me." Eijeh had never called her "Mother" in his life. That was a word for snotty Shissa kids, or for the Shotet--not for children of Hessa.
"So kind of her to prepare you for what awaited you. It's a shame she didn't feel the need to do that with me." Eijeh stepped into Akos's room, running his fingers over the taut sheets, the even stack of books. Marking them in a way that wouldn't erase. He drew the knife at his side, and spun it on his palm, catching it with his thumb. It would have struck Akos as menacing if he hadn't seen Ryzek do it so many times.
"Maybe she didn't think this future would come to be." He didn't believe it. But he didn't know what else to say.
"She did. I know she did. I saw her speak of it in a vision."
Eijeh had never talked about his visions with Akos, had never gotten the chance. Akos couldn't imagine it. The future intruding on his present. So many possibilities it was dizzying. Seeing his family but not knowing if the images would come to be. Not being able to speak to them.
Not that it seemed to matter to Eijeh anymore.
"Well," he said. "We should go home and ask her about it."
"I'm doing just fine here," Eijeh said. "I suspect you are, too, judging by these . . . accommodations."
"You talk like him now," Akos said. "You realize that, right? You talk like Ryzek Noavek, the man who killed Dad. Hate Mom if you want, but you can't possibly hate Dad."
Eijeh's eyes went hazy. Not quite blank, but far, far away, instead. "I don't-- He was always at work. Never at home."
"He was home all the time." Akos spat out the words like they had rotted. "He made dinner. He checked our homework. He told stories. You don't remember?"
But he knew the answer to his own question. It was in Eijeh's blank eyes. Of course, of course Ryzek had taken Eijeh's memories of their dad--he had to have been so horrified by his own father that he'd stolen theirs instead.
Suddenly Akos's hands were in fists in Eijeh's shirt, and he was shoving his brother against the wall, knocking over a row of vials. He looked so small between Akos's hands; he was so light it was easy to lift him. It was that, more than his slack surprise, that made Akos let go as quick as he'd grabbed him.
When did I get so big? he thought, staring at his thick knuckles. Long fingers, like his dad's, but thicker. Good for hurting people.
"She's taught you her brutality." Eijeh straightened his shirt. "If I don't remember something, do you think you can shake it out of me?"
"If I could, I'd have tried it already." Akos stepped back. "I would do anything to make you remember him." He turned away, running his hand over the back of his neck like Jorek always did. He couldn't look at Eijeh anymore, couldn't look at either of the men standing in his quarters. "Why did you come here? Did you want something?"
"We came here with two purposes," Eijeh said. "First, there is an iceflower blend that promotes clear thinking. I need it to crystallize some of my visions. I thought you might know how to make it."
"So Ryzek doesn't have your currentgift yet."
"I think he's satisfied with my work thus far."
"You're kidding yourself if you think he'll settle for trusting you over just taking your power for himself," Akos said, quiet. Bracing himself against the counter, because his legs felt so weak. "If it even works that way. And as for your iceflower blend . . . well. I'll never give you something that will make Ryzek Noavek wage war against Thuvhe. I would sooner die."
"Such venom," Vas said. When Akos looked at him, Vas was tapping his fingertip against the point of a knife.
He'd almost forgotten Vas was there, listening. Akos's heart hacked like a scythe in his chest at the sound of his voice. All he could see when he blinked was Vas wiping his dad's blood off on his pants on the way out of their house in Thuvhe.
Vas moved closer to the burner to breathe in the--now fading--yellow fumes. He stayed bent for a tick, then whipped around with his knife drawn and pressed the point to Akos's throat. Akos forced himself to stay still, heart still scythe-like. The point of the blade was cold.
"My cousin was drugged recently," Vas said.
"I don't keep track of your cousins," Akos replied.
"I bet you keep track of this one," Vas said. "Suzao Kuzar. He was there when your father breathed his last."
Akos glanced at Eijeh. Hoping--for what? For his brother to defend him? For a reaction to Vas talking about their dad's death like it was nothing?
"Cyra's an insomniac," Akos said, hands fidgeting at his sides. "It takes a strong potion to make her sleep. That's what I'm making it for."
The knife point dug into Akos's skin, right over the scar Ryzek had given him.
"Vas," Eijeh said, and he sounded a little terse. Nervous? Akos thought. But it was a foolish hope. "You can't kill him, Ryzek won't allow it. So stop playing at it."
Vas grunted, and took the knife away.
Akos's body ached as it relaxed. "Is there some kind of Shotet holiday today where you visit the people you hate to make them miserable?" He wiped at the cold sweat on the back of his neck. "Well, I'm not celebrating. Leave me alone."
"No, but your presence has been requested to witness the interrogation of a confessed renegade," Vas said. "Along with Cyra's."
"What use would I be at an interrogation?" Akos said.
Vas tilted his head, a smile creeping across his face. "You were initially brought here to bring relief to Cyra on a regular basis. I assume that is the use you will be put to."
"Right," Akos said. "I'm sure that's the reason."
Vas sheathed his knife--he probably knew as well as Akos did that he wouldn't need it to get Akos to do what he said. After all, they were on a ship. In space.
Akos stuffed his feet into his boots and followed Vas out, Eijeh falling into step behind him. The potion he had made would keep until he got back, stable now that it was cooling. Ornery while heating, though, his mom had liked to say.
People gave Vas a wide berth in the more crowded hallways, not even daring to look his way. They looked at Akos, though. It was almost like being Thuvhesit marked him. It was in his casual chewing of hushflower petals, stowed in his pockets; his careful heel-toe gait, used to slipping on ice; the way he wore his shirts buttoned up to his throat instead of open across his collarbone.
Eijeh's gait was now as heavy as any Shotet's, his shirt unbuttoned under his Adam's apple.
Akos hadn't been to this part of the ship before. The floors turned from hard metal grates to polished wood. He felt like he was back in Noavek manor, swallowed up by dark paneling and shifty fenzu light. Footsteps echoing down the corridor, Vas led them to a tall door, and soldiers parted to let them by.
The room beyond was as dim as the Weapo
ns Hall where he had lost Eijeh to Ryzek's gift. The floors shone, and the far wall was all windows, showing a faint curl of the currentstream as the ship turned away from it. Ryzek stood looking out at it, his hands clasped behind his back. Behind him was a woman bound to a chair. Cyra was nearby, too, and she didn't look at Akos when he went in, which was itself a warning. The door slammed behind him, and he stayed right next to it.
"Clarify for me, Cyra, how it is that you came across this traitor," Ryzek was saying to Cyra.
"When the attack occurred, I recognized the voice that came on over the intercom. I still don't know from where," Cyra said, arms crossed. "Maybe the loading bay. But I knew I could find her by her voice. So I listened. And I found her."
"And you said nothing about this endeavor?" Ryzek frowned, not at his sister, but at the renegade woman, who stared back. "Why?"
"I thought you would laugh at me," Cyra said. "That you would think I was deluding myself."
"Well," Ryzek said, "I probably would have. Yet here we are."
His tone was not what Akos expected from someone who had just gotten what he wanted. He was downright terse.
"Eijeh." Akos shuddered to hear his brother's name in his enemy's mouth. "Does this change the future we discussed?"
Eijeh closed his eyes. His nostrils flared like their mom's sometimes did when she was focusing on a prophecy. Copying her, probably, unless oracles needed to breathe really hard through their noses for some reason. Akos had no idea, but without meaning to, he was pressing toward his brother, right up against Vas's arm, which stayed girder-firm.
"Eijeh," Akos said. After all, he had to try, didn't he? "Eijeh, don't."
But Eijeh was already answering: "The future holds firm."
"Thank you," Ryzek said. He bent over next to the renegade. "Where, Zosita Surukta, have you been all these seasons, exactly?"
"Adrift," Zosita said. "I never found the exiles, if that's what you're really asking."
Still bent, Ryzek looked Cyra over, looked at the inky streaks on her arms. She was hunched, a hand clutching at her head.
"Cyra." Ryzek pointed at Zosita. "Let's figure out if this woman tells the truth."
"No," Cyra said, breathless. "We've talked about this. I won't--I can't--"
"You can't?" Ryzek leaned in closer to her face, stopping just short of touching her. "She defames this family, she weakens our position, she rallies our enemies, and you say you can't? I am your brother and the sovereign of Shotet. You can--and you will--do what I say, do you understand?"
Darkness crowded the gold-brown of her skin. The shadows were like a new system of nerves or veins in her body. She made a choking sound. Akos felt choked, too, but he didn't move, couldn't possibly help her with Vas standing in his path.
"No!" The scream tore from her, and she reached for Ryzek, fingers bent into claws. Ryzek tried to shove her away, but she was too fast, too strong; the currentshadows rushed to her hand like a surge of blood to a wound, and Ryzek screamed. Writhed. Collapsed to his knees.
Vas ran at her, wrenched her away, and threw her to the side. From the ground, she glared at her brother and spat, "Take my eye, take my fingers, take whatever you want. I won't."
For a while, as Cyra cringed at the pain burned into her body by the current, Ryzek just stood there looking at her. Then he flicked his first two fingers at Akos in a gesture that meant "come." And there wasn't much point in defying him, Akos knew. He'd get what he wanted one way or another. Akos was starting to understand why Cyra had spent so many seasons just following his orders. At a certain point, defying him just seemed like a waste of time.
"I thought you might say that," Ryzek said. "Vas, hold on to my sister, please."
Vas grabbed Cyra by the arms and set her on her feet. Her eyes found Akos's, wide with terror.
"I may have left you to your own devices for a time," Ryzek said. "But I did not stop paying attention, Cyra."
Ryzek went to the side of the room, brushing a wall panel with his fingers. It slid back to reveal a wall of weapons, like the one in Noavek manor, but smaller. Probably just his favorites, Akos thought, feeling detached from his own body as Ryzek chose a long, thin rod. At his touch, the current wrapped around the metal, dark streams so like the ones that plagued Cyra.
"You see, I've noticed something peculiar, and I'd like to see if my hypothesis is correct," Ryzek said. "If it is, it will solve a problem before it really even becomes a problem."
He twisted the notches in the rod's handle, and the current got denser. Darker. Not a lethal weapon, Akos noted, but one designed for causing pain.
Cyra's currentshadows flickered and fluttered, like flames caught in a draft. Ryzek laughed.
"It's almost indecent," he said, putting a heavy hand on Akos's shoulder. Akos resisted the urge to shake him off. It would only make things worse. And it was just now dawning on him that the rod was for him. Maybe it was the whole reason he had been brought here--to make Cyra cooperate again. To become Ryzek's new tool of control.
"You may want to just give up now," Ryzek said to him in a low voice. "And get on the ground."
"Eat shit," Akos replied in Thuvhesit.
But of course, Ryzek had an answer to that. He slammed the rod into Akos's back. Pain screeched through him. Acid. Fire. Akos screamed into his teeth.
Stay on your feet, he thought. Stay--
Ryzek hit him again, this time over his right side, and he cried out again. Beside him, Cyra sobbed, but Akos was watching Eijeh, passive as he looked out the window. Almost like he didn't know what was going on. Ryzek hit him a third time, and his knees gave out, but he was quiet now. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck, and all around him, everything swayed.
Eijeh had flinched that time.
Another blow, and Akos fell forward onto his hands. He and Cyra moaned at the same time.
"I want to know what she knows about the exiles," Ryzek said to Cyra, breathless. "Before tomorrow's execution."
Cyra wriggled out of Vas's grasp, and went to Zosita, who was still bound to the chair by her wrists. Zosita nodded at Cyra like she was giving permission.
Cyra brought her hands to Zosita's head. Akos saw, through half-focused eyes, the dark webs on the backs of Cyra's hands, and Zosita's contorted face, and Ryzek's satisfied smile. Darkness crowded the corners of his vision, and he tried to breathe through the pain.
Zosita screaming. Cyra screaming. Their voices ran together.
Then he blacked out.
He woke with Cyra at his side.
"Come on." Her arm was across his shoulders. She hoisted him to his feet. "Come on, let's go. Let's go."
He blinked slowly. Zosita was breathing in fits and starts, hair covering her face. Vas was standing nearby, looking bored. Eijeh was crouched in the corner, his head buried in his arms. Nobody stopped them from stumbling out of the room. Ryzek had gotten what he wanted.
They made it to Cyra's room. She dropped Akos at the edge of her bed, then stormed around the room, gathering towels, ice, painkiller. Frantically, tears running down her face. The room still smelled malty from the potion he'd brewed earlier.
"Cyra. Did she tell him anything?"
"No. She's a good liar," she replied as she fought to uncork the vial of painkiller with trembling hands. "You'll never be safe again. You know that? Neither of us will."
She got the stopper out, and touched it to his mouth, though he could easily have grabbed it himself. He didn't point that out, just parted his lips to swallow it.
"I was never safe. You were never safe." He didn't understand why she was so rattled. It wasn't like Ryzek doing something terrible was a new thing. "I don't understand why he made a point to use me--"
Her legs brushed his as she came to stand between his knees. They were almost the same height this way, with him perched on her high bed. And she was close, like she sometimes was when they fought, laughing in his face because she'd knocked him down, but that was different. Completely different.
&
nbsp; She wasn't laughing. She smelled familiar, like the herbs she burned to clear the room of food smells, like the spray she used in her hair to smooth its tangles. She brought a hand to his shoulder, then trailed trembling fingers along his collarbone, down his sternum. Pressed a gentle hand to his chest. Didn't look at his face.
"You," she whispered, "are the only person he could possibly hold over me now."
She touched his chin to steady it as she kissed him. Her mouth was warm, and wet with tears. Her teeth scored his bottom lip as she pulled away.
Akos didn't breathe. He wasn't sure he could remember how.
"Don't worry," she said softly. "I won't do that again."
She backed away, and shut herself in the bathroom.
CHAPTER 20: CYRA
I ATTENDED ZOSITA SURUKTA'S execution the next day, as I was supposed to. It was a crowded, loud event, the first celebration that had been allowed since the Sojourn Festival. I stood off to the side, with Vas, Eijeh, and Akos, as Ryzek gave a long speech about loyalty and the strength of Shotet unity, the envy of the galaxy, the tyranny of the Assembly. Yma stood at his side, her hands on the railing, her fingertips tapping out a lilting rhythm.
When Ryzek dragged the knife across Zosita's throat, I felt like crying, but I suppressed my tears. Everyone in the crowd roared as Zosita's body fell, and I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, Yma's hands were trembling on the railing. Ryzek wore a streak of Zosita's blood. And far off, in the crowd that watched, Teka held a hand over her mouth.
As Zosita's blood spread across the floor, as Akos's father's blood had, and so many others, I felt the wrongness of her death like an ill-fitting shirt I could not remove.
It was a relief, to still be able to feel that.
All across the loading bay were piles of gray jumpsuits, arranged by size. From where I stood, they looked like a line of boulders. The jumpsuits were waterproof, designed specifically for sojourns to Pitha. There were piles of waterproof masks along the back wall too, to keep the rain from our scavengers' eyes. Old supplies, from some other sojourn, but sufficient.
Ryzek's sojourn craft, with its sleek, golden wings, waited by the release hatch. It would take him, me, Yma, Vas, Eijeh, Akos, and a few others to Pitha's surface to play political games with the Pithar leadership. He wanted to establish "friendly relations"--an alliance. Military assistance, too, surely. Ryzek had a talent for this that my father never had. He must have gotten it from my mother.