Carve the Mark

  "Are you an exile?" I said, frowning at him. "That's off-worlder garb you're wearing."

  Were the renegades in contact with the exiles, who had sought safety from the Noavek regime on another planet? It made sense, but I hadn't considered the ramifications before. The exiles were undoubtedly a more powerful force than the rebellious Shotet who had turned against my brother--and more dangerous to me, personally.

  "For our intents and purposes, there is no difference between exile and renegade. We both want the same thing: to unseat your brother and restore Shotet society to what it was before your family soiled it with inequity," Tos replied.

  "'Soiled it with inequity,'" I repeated. "An elegant turn of phrase."

  "I wasn't the one who devised it," Tos said humorlessly.

  "To put it less elegantly," Teka said, "you're starving us and hoarding medicine. Not to mention carving out our eyeballs or whatever else gets Ryzek's blood pumping these days."

  I was about to protest that I had never starved anyone or kept them from adequate medical care, but suddenly it didn't seem worth arguing. I didn't truly believe it, anyway.

  "Right. So . . . Noavek manor. What do you intend to do there?" It was the only building that I, specifically, could help someone access. I knew all the codes Ryzek liked to use, and beyond that, the most secure doors were locked with a gene code--part of the system Ryzek had installed after our parents died. I was the only one left who shared Ryzek's genes. My blood could get them wherever they wanted to go.

  "I don't think you need to know that information."

  I furrowed my brow. There were only a few things a group of renegades--or exiles--could want inside Noavek manor. I decided to make an assumption.

  "Let's be clear," I said. "You're asking me to participate in the assassination of my brother."

  "Does that bother you?" Tos said.

  "No," I replied. "Not anymore."

  Despite all that Ryzek had done to me, I was surprised by how easily the answer came to me. He was my brother, my very blood. He was also the only guarantee of safety I currently had--any renegades who overthrew him would not care to spare the life of his sister, the murderer. But somewhere between ordering me to participate in Zosita's interrogation and threatening Akos, Ryzek had finally lost any loyalty I had left.

  "Good," Tos said. "Then we'll be in touch."

  Rearranging my skirt around my crossed legs, I searched the crowded hall that evening for Suzao Kuzar's regiment. They were all there, lined up along the balcony, exchanging giddy looks. Good, I thought. They were overconfident, which meant Suzao was also overconfident, and more easily defeated.

  The room was humming with chatter, not quite as full as it had been when I fought Lety a few months before, but a much larger crowd than most Reclaimed challengers would ever hope to attract. That was also good. Winning an arena challenge could always give someone higher social status technically, but for it to really matter, everyone in Shotet society had to mutually agree on it. The more people who watched Akos defeat Suzao, the better his perceived status would be, which made it easier for him to get Eijeh out. Power in one place tended to transfer to power elsewhere--power over the right people.

  Ryzek had stayed away from tonight's challenge, but Vas joined me on the platform reserved for high-ranking Shotet officials. I sat on one side of it and he sat on the other. In dark spaces it was easier for me to avoid stares, with my currentgift buried in shadow. But I couldn't hide it from Vas, who was close enough to see my skin flush with dark tendrils every time I heard Akos's name spoken in the crowd.

  "You know, I didn't tell Ryzek about how you spoke to Zosita's daughter on the loading bay before the scavenge," Vas said to me, in the moments before Suzao entered the arena.

  My heart began to pound. I felt like the renegade meeting was marked on me, visible to anyone who looked carefully enough. But I tried to stay calm as I replied, "Last time I checked, it wasn't against Ryzek's rules to speak to maintenance workers."

  "Maybe he wouldn't have cared before, but he certainly does now."

  "Am I supposed to thank you for your discretion?"

  "No. You're supposed to treat this like a second chance. Make sure all this foolishness has just been a momentary lapse, Cyra."

  I turned back to the arena. The lights lowered, and the speakers squealed as someone turned on the enhancers that dangled over the fighters, amplifying sound. Suzao entered first, to the screams and cheers of the crowd. He lifted his arms to inspire more screaming, and the gesture did its job: everyone erupted.

  "Arrogant," I muttered. Not because of what he had done, but because of what he was wearing: He had left his Shotet armor behind, so he was in just a shirt. He didn't believe he needed armor. But he hadn't seen Akos fight in a long time.

  Akos entered the arena a moment later, wearing the armor he had earned and the boots he had worn on Pitha, which were sturdy. He was greeted with jeers and obscene gestures, but they didn't seem to reach him, wherever he really was. Even the wariness that was always in his eyes was gone.

  Suzao drew his knife, and Akos's stare suddenly hardened, like he had made a decision. He drew his own knife. I knew which one it was--it was the blade I had given him, the plain knife from Zold.

  At his touch, no current tendrils wrapped around the blade. To the crowd, so used to seeing people fight with currentblades instead of plain knives, I was sure it was as if the knife was wrapped in the hand of a corpse. All the whispers about him--about his resistance to the current--were now confirmed. All the better, for his gift to frighten them--fearsomeness gave a person a different kind of power. I would know.

  Suzao tossed his knife back and forth, spinning it on his palms as he did. It was a trick he had to have learned from his zivatahak-trained friends, because he was clearly a student of altetahak, his muscles bulging beneath the fabric of his shirt.

  "You seem nervous," Vas said. "Need a hand to hold?"

  "I'm only nervous for your man," I said. "Keep your hand to yourself; I'm sure you'll need it later."

  Vas laughed. "I guess you don't need me anymore, now that you've found someone else who can touch you."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You know exactly what I mean." Vas's eyes glittered with anger. "Better keep your eyes on your little Thuvhesit pet. He's about to die."

  Suzao had struck first, lunging at Akos, who sidestepped the lazy move without batting an eye.

  "Oh, you're quick," Suzao said, his voice echoing through the amplifiers. "Just like your sister. She almost got away from me, too. She'd almost opened the front door when I caught her."

  He snatched at Akos's throat again, and tried to lift him up to press him against the arena wall. But Akos brought the inside of his wrist to Suzao's, hard, breaking the hold and slipping away. I could hear the rules of elmetahak strategy, telling him to keep his distance from a larger opponent.

  Akos spun the knife once on his palm, the move dazzling with its speed--light reflected off the blade, scattering across the floor, and Suzao followed it with his eyes. Akos took advantage of the momentary distraction, and punched him hard with his left hand.

  Suzao stumbled back, blood streaming from his nostrils. He hadn't realized that Akos was left-handed. Or that I had been making him do push-ups for as long as I had known him.

  Akos pursued him, bending his arm and thrusting up with his elbow, hitting Suzao again in the nose. Suzao's yell echoed in the space. He lashed out blindly, grabbing the front of Akos's armor and hurling him sideways. Akos's balance faltered, and Suzao pressed him to the ground with a knee and punched him hard in the jaw.

  I winced. Akos, looking dazed, pulled his knee up to his face like he was going to try to throw Suzao off. Instead, he drew a knife from the side of his boot, and drove the blade into Suzao's side, right between two of his ribs.

  Suzao, stunned, fell over, staring at the handle protruding from his side. Akos swiped with his other knife. There was a flash of red on Suzao's th
roat when he collapsed.

  I hadn't even realized how tense I was until the fight was done and my muscles relaxed.

  All around me was noise. Akos bent over Suzao's body and yanked his second knife free. He wiped the blade on his pants, and sheathed it again in his boot. I could hear his shaking breaths amplified by the enhancers.

  Don't panic, I thought toward him, like he could hear.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, and lifted his eyes to the people sitting around the arena. He turned in a slow circle, as if he was staring every one of them down. Then he sheathed his knife, and stepped over Suzao's body to walk down the aisle toward the exit.

  I waited a few seconds, then walked off the platform and into the crowd. My heavy clothes billowed away from my body as I went. I held up my skirts with both hands and tried to catch up to Akos, but he had too much of a lead; I didn't see him as I marched through the corridors toward our quarters.

  Once I reached the door, I paused with my hand near the sensor, listening.

  At first, all I heard were heavy breaths that turned into sobs. Then Akos screamed, and there was a loud crash, followed by another one. He screamed again, and I pressed my ear to the door to listen, my lower lip trapped between my teeth. I bit down so hard I tasted blood when Akos's screams turned to sobs.

  I touched the sensor, opening the door.

  He was sitting on the floor in the bathroom. There were pieces of shattered mirror all around him. He had ripped the shower curtain from the ceiling and the towel rack from the wall. He didn't look up at me when I came in, or even when I walked carefully across the fragments of glass to reach him.

  I knelt among the shards, and reached over his shoulder to turn the shower on. I waited until the water warmed up, then tugged him by his arm toward the spray.

  I stood in the shower with him, fully clothed. His breaths came in sharp bursts against my cheek. I put my hand on the back of his neck and pulled his face toward the water. He closed his eyes and let it hit his cheeks. His trembling fingers sought mine, and he clutched my hand against his chest, against his armor.

  We stood together for a long time, until his tears subsided. Then I turned the water off, and led him into the kitchen, scattering mirror pieces with my toes as I walked.

  He was staring into middle distance. I wasn't sure that he knew where he was, or what was happening to him. I undid the straps of his armor and guided it over his head; I pinched the hem of his shirt and peeled the wet fabric away from his body; I unbuttoned his pants and let them drop to the floor in a soaking-wet heap.

  I had daydreamed about seeing him this way, and even about one day undressing him, taking away some of the layers that separated us, but this was not a daydream. He was in pain. I wanted to help him.

  I wasn't aware of my own pain, but as I helped him dry off, I saw the currentshadows moving, faster than they had in a long time. It was like someone had injected them into my veins, so they traveled alongside my blood. Dr. Fadlan had said that my currentgift was stronger when I was emotional. Well, he was right. I didn't care about Suzao--in fact, I was planning to spit on his funeral pyre just to hear it sizzle--but I cared about Akos, more than anyone.

  By then he had returned to his body, and he was responsive enough to help me bandage his arm and to walk into his bedroom on his own. I made sure he was under the covers, then put a pot on one of the burners at the apothecary counter. He had made a potion to keep me from having dreams, once. Now it was my turn.

  CHAPTER 23: AKOS

  EVERYTHING WAS SLIDING AWAY from Akos, silk on silk, oil beading on water. Losing time, sometimes, a few ticks passing in an hour in the shower--he got out with pruny fingers and bright skin--or a night of sleep lasting all the way until the next afternoon. Losing space, other times, and he was standing in the challenge arena, streaked with another man's blood, or he was in the feathergrass, stumbling over the skeletons of those who had gotten lost there.

  Losing hushflower petals to the inside of his cheek, so he could stay calm. Or the steadiness of his hands when they wouldn't stop shaking. Or words on the way to his mouth.

  Cyra let him go on that way for a few days. But the day before they were supposed to land in Voa again, when he had skipped a few meals in a row, she came into his room and said, "Get up. Now."

  He just looked at her, confused, like she was speaking a language he didn't know.

  She rolled her eyes, grabbed his arm, and pulled. Her touch stung. He winced.

  "Shit," she said, letting go. "See what's happening? You're starting to feel my currentgift, because you're so weak your currentgift is faltering. That's why you need to get up and eat something."

  "So you can have your servant back, is that it?" he snapped. Losing patience, too. "Well, I'm done. I'm ready to die for your family, whatever that means."

  She bent over, so their faces were on the same level, and said, "I know what it is to become something you hate. I know how it hurts. But life is full of hurt." Shadows pooled in her eye sockets like they were proving her point. "And your capacity for bearing it is much greater than you believe."

  Her eyes held his for a few seconds, and then he said, "What kind of a rousing speech is that, 'Life is full of hurt'?"

  "The last time I checked, your brother was still here," she said. "So you should keep yourself alive to get him out, if nothing else."

  "Eijeh." He snorted. "Like that's what this is about."

  He hadn't been thinking about Eijeh when he took Suzao's life. He'd been thinking about how badly he wanted Suzao dead.

  "Then what is it about, exactly?" She folded her arms.

  "How should I know?" He threw out his arms, emphatic, and smacked his hand against the wall. He ignored the ache in his knuckles. "You're the one who made me this way, why don't you tell me? Honor has no place in survival, remember?"

  Whatever spark there had been behind her eyes fizzled at the recollection. He was about to try to snatch the words back, when a knock came at the door. He watched her open it from the edge of his bed. The guard with the most boring job imaginable was standing there, with Jorek behind him.

  Akos leaned his face into his hand. "Don't let him in."

  "I think you're forgetting whose quarters these actually are," Cyra said, sharp, and she stepped back so Jorek could come in.

  "Damn it, Cyra!" He came to his feet. His vision went black for a few ticks, and he stumbled into the door frame. Maybe she was right--he did need to eat something.

  Jorek's eyes widened at the sight of him.

  "Good luck," Cyra said to him, and she shut herself in the bathroom.

  Jorek looked anywhere else, at the wall decorated with armor and the plants dangling from the ceiling and the bright pots and pans stacked on the rickety stove. He scratched his neck, leaving pink lines on his skin, his nervous habit. Akos moved toward him, every part of his body heavy. He was breathless by the time he got to a chair and sat.

  "What are you doing here?" he said, feeling savage. He wanted to dig in his nails, refuse to let anything else slide away. Even if it meant hurting Jorek, who had already seen more than his fair share of hurt. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

  "Yes, I did," Jorek said, quiet. He sat down next to Akos. "I came to thank you."

  "This wasn't a favor, it was a transaction. I kill Suzao, you get Eijeh out."

  "Which will be easier to do when we land in Voa," Jorek said, still in that horrible quiet voice, like he was trying to soothe an animal. Maybe, Akos thought, that was exactly what he was trying to do. "Listen, I . . ." He furrowed his brows. "I didn't really know what I was asking you to do. I thought . . . I thought it would be easy for you. You seemed like the sort of person it would be easy for."

  "I don't want to talk about this." Akos cradled his head in his hands. He couldn't stand to think of how easy it had been. Suzao hadn't had a chance, hadn't known what he was walking into. Akos felt more like a murderer now than he had after his first kill. At least that-
-Kalmev's death--had been wild and mad, almost a dream. Not like this.

  Jorek set a hand on his shoulder. Akos tried to shrug him off, but he wouldn't be shrugged, not until Akos looked at him.

  "My mother sent me with this," Jorek said. He drew a long chain from his pocket, with a ring dangling from it. It was made of a bright metal, orange pink in color, and stamped with a symbol. "This ring bears the seal of her family. She wanted you to have it."

  Akos ran shaking fingers over the links of the chain, delicate but doubled over for strength. He gathered the ring into his fist, so the symbol of Jorek's mother's family would imprint on his palm.

  "Your mother," he said, "thanks me?"

  His voice broke. He let his head rest on the table. No tears came.

  "My family is safe now," Jorek said. "Come and see us sometime, if you can. We live on the edge of Voa, between the Divide and the training camp. Little village right off the road. You'll be welcome among us, for what you've done."

  Akos felt heat on the back of his head, Jorek's hand pressing gently. It was more comforting than he would have thought.

  "Oh. And . . . don't forget to put my father's mark on your arm. Please."

  The door closed. Akos wrapped his arms around his head, the ring still in his fist. His knuckles were split from the fight; he felt the scabs tug when he bent his fingers. The bathroom door squealed as Cyra opened it. She rustled around in the kitchen for a little while, then set a hunk of bread in front of him. He ate it so fast he almost choked on it, then dropped his left arm and turned it so the kill marks faced her.

  "Carve the mark," he said. He was so hoarse the words almost didn't come out.

  "It can wait." Cyra ran her hand over his short hair. He shivered at the light touch. Her currentgift wasn't hurting him anymore. Maybe Jorek had given him some relief after all. Or it was just the bread.

  "Please." He lifted his head. "Just . . . do it now."

  Cyra reached for her knife, and Akos watched her arm muscles contract. She was solid muscle, Cyra Noavek, with not much to spare. But inside, growing softer all the time, a fist learning to unclench.