"It's not rumor," he said. "It's not really some story of triumph, in my case. It fell asleep and I killed it. I felt so bad about it afterward I marked it on my arm."
"Why did you do it?" Isae said. "If you didn't want to, I mean."
"I wanted armor," he said. "Not every Shotet earns that kind of armor, so it's a kind of . . . status symbol. I wanted them to see me as an equal, and shut up about me having thin Thuvhesit skin."
Cisi snorted. "They clearly have never weathered a Hessa winter."
He led them toward the distant buildings, through patches of wildflowers so fragile they came apart under his boots.
"So are you going to tell us where we're going, or do you expect us to just march right into those buildings up ahead?" Isae said, once they were close enough to see what the houses were made of--blue-gray stone, with small glass windows stained in all different colors. It was just a few buildings, hardly enough to be called a village. With the setting sun glinting off the glass, and the wildflowers growing right up against the stone, the place was downright pretty.
He was taking a chance, coming here, but then, no matter what he did they were in trouble, so it was as good an option as any.
He was twitchy with nerves. These houses would be connected to the Shotet news feed. They would know what happened to Cyra here. He kept his left hand up by his right shoulder as he walked, so he could draw his knife if he needed to. He didn't know what waited for them behind those bright windows. He drew his weapon when he saw a flash of movement, one of the doors opening. A small, sly-looking woman stepped out, her hands dripping water. She was holding a cloth. He knew her--Ara Kuzar. The late Suzao's wife, and Jorek's mother.
Well, at least they were in the right place.
"Hello," Ara said. Her voice was lower than he'd expected. He'd only ever seen her once--as he walked out of the amphitheater after killing her husband. Her hand had been clutched in Jorek's.
"Hello," he replied. "I'm--"
"I know who you are, Akos," she said. "My name is Ara, but I'm sure you already know that, too."
No point in denying it. He nodded.
"Why don't you come inside?" she said. "Your friends can come, too, as long as they don't cause trouble."
Isae arched an eyebrow at him as she took the lead, climbing the steps. Her hands hovered over her legs, moving to grasp fabric that wasn't there to hold. She was used to fine clothing, probably, and still moved like an upper-class woman now, head high and shoulders back. She'd never weathered a Hessa winter, either, but there were harder things to weather.
They followed Ara down a narrow, creaky staircase to a kitchen. The floors were blue tile, the stain uneven, and the white paint flaked off the walls. But it was warm, and there was a big steady table with all the chairs pushed back, like there had been a lot of people there not long ago. A screen played the news feed on the far wall--it was jarring to see the synthetic light buried in the flaky wall, new and old married, as they were all over Shotet.
"I sent a signal to Jorek, so he should return soon," Ara said. "Do your friends speak Shotet?"
"One of us," Isae said. "I only learned a few seasons ago, so . . . go slowly."
"No, we can carry on in Thuvhesit," Ara said. Her Thuvhesit was stilted, but understandable.
"This is my sister, Cisi," he said, gesturing to Cisi. "And my friend--"
"Badha," Isae said easily.
"A pleasure to meet you both," Ara said. "I have to confess, Akos, I am a little offended you didn't accept my gift to you. The ring?"
She was looking at his hands, which were shaking a little.
"Oh," he said. He stuck a thumb under the collar of his shirt and brought the chain out. From the end dangled the ring she'd sent him through her son. Really, he'd wanted to toss it in the garbage rather than wear it--Suzao's death wasn't something he wanted to remind himself of. But it was something he needed to remind himself of.
Ara nodded her approval.
"How do you two know each other?" Cisi asked. He wondered if her softened voice was intended to make this situation comfortable. Not worth the effort, he thought.
"That," Ara said, "is a story for another time."
Akos couldn't stand it anymore. "I don't want to be rude," he said, "but I need to know about Cyra."
Ara folded her hands over her stomach. "What about Miss Noavek?"
"Is she . . . ?" He couldn't quite say the word.
"She is alive."
He closed his eyes, just for a tick letting himself think about her again. She was lively in his memories, fighting in the training room like war was a dance, searching windows into black space like they were paintings. She made ugly things beautiful, somehow, and he would never understand it. But she was alive.
"I wouldn't celebrate just yet," spoke a voice from behind him. He turned to see a slight girl with white-blond hair and a pink eye patch over one eye. He recognized her from the sojourn ship, but didn't remember her name.
Jorek was behind her, his mop of curly hair falling in his eyes, the shadow of a beard along his jaw.
"Akos?" he said. "What are you . . . ?"
He trailed off as he spotted Cisi and Isae.
"Cisi, Badha," Akos said. "This is Jorek, and . . . ?"
"Teka," the familiar girl said. That was right--she was the daughter of that renegade who had been executed before the sojourn. Cyra had gone over to talk to her before they set out for Pitha.
"Right," Akos said. "Well, Cisi is my sister, and Badha is my . . . friend. From Thuvhe. Cisi doesn't speak Shotet." He waited a beat. "What did you mean by 'don't celebrate'?"
Teka sat in one of the empty chairs. Slung her body across it, really, her knees spread wide and her arm dangling over the back of the chair.
"By the look of it, little Noavek won't last much longer," she said. "We're trying to figure out a way to break her loose. Now that you've come here--stupid move, I should add--maybe you can help us."
"Break her loose?" Akos turned to Jorek. "Why would you want to do that?"
Jorek hoisted himself onto the counter across from Cisi. He flashed a smile at her, his eyes going sleepy, the way people's often did when they were around his sister. Akos recognized, then, the gift of it. Not just a force that strangled Cisi, kept her from crying, but also one that gave her power over other people.
"Well," Jorek said, "this is a renegade stronghold. As you may have gathered."
Akos hadn't really thought about it. Jorek seemed to know things other people didn't, but that didn't mean he was a renegade. And Teka was missing an eye, which meant she was no friend of Ryzek's, but that wasn't a guarantee, either.
"So?" Akos said.
"Well." Jorek looked confused. "She didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?" Akos demanded.
"Cyra was working with us," Teka said. "During the attack on the sojourn ship, I was supposed to take her out--take out Ryzek's Scourge while announcing his fate on the intercom, see?"
"Don't call her that," Akos said. He felt Isae's eyes on him, and his cheeks went hot.
"Yeah, yeah." Teka waved him off. "Well, she bested me, and she let me go. And then she found me, requested a meeting. She offered to give us whatever we wanted--information, help, whatever--if we did something for her in exchange: get you out of Shotet." Teka looked at Jorek. "That's why she didn't tell him. Because she wanted to get him out, but he wouldn't leave without his brother."
Jorek clicked his tongue.
Those weeks after Ryzek had threatened him, after Cyra tortured Zosita and kept up appearances on Pitha, she had let him think she was just doing whatever Ryzek said. Let Akos believe the worst of her. And all that time she was out working with renegades, giving whatever she could to get him out. It was like she had become someone new and he hadn't even noticed.
"She was helping us assassinate Ryzek when she got caught. She got us out, but it was too late for her," Teka said. "But we followed through on our end. Snuck back in, and she was gone--we d
on't know where they put her--but you were there, incapacitated, locked up in your room again. Half-starved, might I add. So we got you out. We thought you might be useful in keeping her on our side."
"I also wanted to help you," Jorek supplied.
"Yeah, you're a hero. Noted," Teka said.
"Why . . ." Akos shook his head. "Why would Cyra do this?"
"You know why," Teka said. "What's the only thing more important to her than her fear of her brother?" When he didn't answer, she sighed. Exasperated, clearly. "You, of course, have that singular honor."
Isae and Cisi were staring, one with suspicion and the other, confusion. He didn't even know how to start explaining it. Cyra Noavek was a name every Thuvhesit knew, a monster story they told to scare each other. What did you say, when you found out the monster wasn't worthy of the name?
Nothing. You said nothing.
"What did Ryzek do to her?" he said darkly.
"Show him," Teka said to Jorek.
Jorek touched the screen on the far wall, flicking the news feed out of the way. A few swipes of his fingers and there was footage playing on the screen.
The sights moved in from far away, showing an amphitheater with a cage of white light across its gaping top. The seats in the amphitheater were full, the lower rows on stone benches and the higher rows on metal ones, but it was clear from the somber faces that this wasn't a celebration day.
The sights narrowed around a platform, suspended over the seats in wood and metal. Ryzek stood on top of it, polished from his black shoes to the armor that covered his chest. His hair was freshly clipped, showing off the bones in his head, the sheen of his scalp. Cisi and Isae sat back at the sight of him, both at once. Akos was past fear of Ryzek, now. Had long since moved into pure revulsion.
Standing at Ryzek's left was Vas, and at his right . . .
"Eijeh," Cisi breathed. "Why?"
"He's been . . . brainwashed. Sort of," Akos said, careful, and Jorek snorted.
The sights panned left, to the edge of the platform, where soldiers surrounded a kneeling woman. Cyra. She wore the same clothes he'd seen her in days ago, but they were torn in places now, and dark with blood. Her thick hair covered her face, so for a tick he wasn't sure if Ryzek had taken out one of her eyes. He did that when a person was disgraced, sometimes, so they couldn't hide it.
Cyra lifted her head, showing off a few purple-blue bruises and a dull--two-eyed--stare.
Then Ryzek spoke: "Today I bring difficult news. Someone we thought to be one of our most faithful--my sister, Cyra Noavek--has revealed herself to be the worst kind of traitor. She has been collaborating with our enemies across the Divide, providing them with information about our strategy, military, and movements."
"He doesn't want to admit that there's a real renegade group out there," Jorek said, over the roar of disgust from the crowd. "Better to say she's collaborating with Thuvhesits."
"He chooses his lies well," Isae said, and it didn't quite sound like a compliment.
Ryzek continued, "I have also recently uncovered proof that this woman"--he pointed at his sister, conveniently showing off the line of kill marks that went from his wrist all the way up to his elbow--"is responsible for the death of my mother, Ylira Noavek."
Akos covered his face. There was no worse blow Ryzek could have dealt Cyra than this. She'd always known that.
"I confess that my familial attachment has obscured my judgment in this matter, but now that I have learned of her betrayal and her"--Ryzek paused--"her vicious murder of our mother, my vision is clear. I have determined that the appropriate level of punishment for this enemy of Shotet is execution by way of nemhalzak."
When the footage shifted back to Cyra, Akos saw that her shoulders were shaking, but there weren't any tears in her eyes. She was laughing. And as she laughed, the currentshadows danced, not under her skin like blood running through veins, but on top of it, like smoke around a thurible. They had done the same thing the night Ryzek forced her to hurt Akos, floated away from her body in a haze.
Her currentgift had changed.
Ryzek nodded to Vas. Vas crossed the platform, drawing the knife at his back. The soldiers around Cyra stepped aside for him. Cyra smirked at him, and said something inaudible. Ryzek said something inaudible back, stepped close, and leaned in, his lips moving fast over words no one else could hear. Vas grabbed her by the hair, forcing her head back and to the side. Her throat was exposed; Vas angled the blade over it, and as the knife dug in, Akos gritted his teeth, and looked away.
"You get the idea," Jorek said. There was silence as the footage stopped.
"What did he do?" Akos said roughly.
"He . . . scarred her," Teka said. "Took all the skin from throat to skull. Not sure why. All the rite requires is flesh. Mutilator's choice."
She drew a line from the side of her neck up to the middle of her scalp. Akos felt like he might throw up.
"That word he used, I don't know it," Isae said. "Nem--nemhalzet?"
"Nemhalzak," Jorek said. "It's the elimination of someone's status, perceived or actual. It means anyone can challenge her to the arena, to fight to the death, and it means she's no longer formally considered Shotet. With all the people she's hurt at his behest, and all the people who loved her mother, well . . . there are plenty of people who want to challenge her. Ryzek will let as many of them do it as it takes to kill her."
"And with that wound in her head, she's losing blood fast," Teka said. "They put a bandage on it, but obviously that's not enough for what he did to her."
"She'll fight all those challenges in that amphitheater?" Akos said.
"Most likely," Teka said. "This is supposed to be a very public event. But that force field will fry anything that touches it--"
Akos talked over her. "Obviously you have a ship, or you wouldn't have been able to dump me on that hospital landing pad."
"Yeah," Jorek said. "A fast, stealthy one, too."
"Then I know how to get her," Akos said.
"I don't remember agreeing to some detour rescue mission," Isae snapped. "Particularly not for Ryzek Noavek's little terror. You think I don't know the things she's done, Kereseth? The rest of the galaxy hears plenty of Shotet rumors."
"I don't care what you think you know," Akos said. "You want my help getting any further? You'll wait for me to do this first."
Isae crossed her arms. But Akos had her, and she seemed to know it.
Ara offered Cisi and Isae a spare room upstairs, and a cot on the floor in Jorek's room for Akos. But judging by the look Cisi gave her brother as they reached the top of the staircase, she wasn't about to just let him leave. So he followed her into a little bedroom with a big, bulgy mattress in it, and a furnace in the corner. Multicolored light spotted the floor, sunset burning through the windows.
He took off his armor there, but left the knife in his boot. There was no telling what would happen here. Akos felt like Vas and Ryzek were around every corner.
"Is--Badha," Cisi said. "Why don't you clean up first? I need to talk to Akos."
Isae's head bobbed, and she left, nudging the door shut with her heel. Akos sat down on the bed next to Cisi, blue and green and purple dots of light marking his shoes. She put her hand on his wrist.
"Eijeh" was all she said.
So he told her. About all the memories Ryzek had poured into Eijeh, and all the memories he had drained. About the new words Eijeh used and the way he spun a knife on his palm just like Ryzek did. He didn't tell her how Eijeh had watched while Ryzek hurt Akos, not once, but twice, and he didn't talk about how Eijeh had used his visions to help Ryzek. There was no reason for her to lose hope.
"That's why you didn't try to escape," Cisi said softly. "Because you needed to kidnap him to do it, and that's . . . harder."
Near impossible is what it is, Akos thought.
"That," he said, "and what kind of future do I have in Thuvhe, Cisi? You think I get to be the first one in the galaxy to defy his fate?" He shook his
head. "Maybe it's better if we just see the truth. We don't get to be a family anymore."
"No." She was very firm. "You didn't think you'd ever see me again, but here I am, right? You don't know how fate finds you, and neither do I. But until it does, we get to be whatever we can be."
She put her hand in his and squeezed. He saw a little of their dad in her arched, sympathetic eyebrows and the dimple in her cheek. They sat there for a little while, their shoulders touching, listening to the splatter of water coming from the bathroom across the hall.
"What's Cyra Noavek like?" she asked him.
"She's . . ." He shook his head. How could he describe a whole person like that? She was tough as dried meat. She loved space. She knew how to dance. She was too good at hurting people. She had gotten some renegades to dump him in Thuvhe without Eijeh because she hadn't respected his goddamn decisions, and he was stupidly grateful for it. She . . . well, she was Cyra.
Cisi was smiling. "You know her well. People are harder to sum up when you know them well."
"Yeah, I guess I do."
"If you think she's worth saving, I guess we all just have to trust you on that," Cisi said. "Hard as it is."
Isae came out of the bathroom, her hair wet but pulled back in a tight knot, like it was lacquered to her head. She wore a different shirt, another one of their mom's, embroidered at the collar with little flowers. She shook out the other one--wet, like she'd washed it by hand--and hung it over a chair near the furnace.
"You've got grass in your hair," Isae said to Cisi, with a grin.
"It's a new look I'm trying," Cisi said in response.
"It works for you," Isae said. "Then again, everything does, doesn't it?"
Cisi flushed. Isae avoided Akos's eyes, turning toward the furnace to warm her hands.
There were a couple more people crammed in the low, dim room with the flaking walls when Cisi, Isae, and Akos went downstairs again. Jorek introduced them to Sovy, one of his mother's friends, who lived just down the road and wore an embroidered scarf in her hair, and Jyo, who wasn't much older than them, with eyes that looked a lot like Isae's, suggesting some common ancestor. He was playing an instrument that lay flat on his lap, pressing buttons and plucking strings faster than Akos could follow. There was food on the big table, half-eaten.
He sat next to Cisi and shoveled some food on his plate. There wasn't much meat--it was hard to come by out here, outside of Voa--but plenty of saltfruit, which was filling enough. Jyo offered Isae a fried feathergrass stalk with a big smile, but Akos snatched it before she could take it.