Carve the Mark

  Now is not the time. I shook myself out of the daze, continuing on. I didn't think I would encounter any other security; only Yma lived here now.

  I had made sure of that, hadn't I?

  The house was modern, recently renovated from the drafty stone castle that had been there before. Large sections of wall had been replaced with glass, and little orbs full of blue-glowing insects were draped across the trees in front, creating a bright canopy that reflected in the windows. Strange plants twisted together in front of the house, some of them creeping up the remaining stone. Some were blooming, too, huge flowers from different worlds in colors I rarely saw on ours: pink as a tongue, rich blue green, black as space.

  When I reached the front door, I drew the small currentblade sheathed at my hip, just in case. I was almost afraid to break the silence that surrounded me. But then I pounded, hard, with the handle of the knife, until Yma Zetsyvis answered.

  "Miss Noavek," Yma said. She wasn't smiling, for once. She was staring at the weapon in my right hand.

  "Hello," I said. "Mind if I come in?"

  I didn't wait for an answer. I stepped into the foyer. The floor was made of wood, likely from the dark trees that surrounded the Zetsyvis estate, the same wood used so liberally in Noavek manor. There were few walls here, the whole first floor bare for me to see, and all the furniture stark white.

  Yma wore a robe with a pale sheen, and her hair was loose around her shoulders.

  "Have you come to kill me?" she said, her face placid. "I suppose it's only fitting that you finish what you started. First my husband, then my daughter . . ."

  I thought about telling her that I had not wanted to kill either of them, that their deaths still haunted me in my dreams. That I heard Uzul's heartbeat before I woke, and saw Lety in corners where she had never stood. But there was no reason to say any of those things.

  "I just came to talk to you," I said. "The knife is for my protection."

  "I didn't think you needed knives," Yma said.

  "Sometimes they're more efficient," I said. "Subtle intimidation, and all that."

  "Ah." Yma turned away. "Come on, then, let's sit."

  She led the way to the sitting area, which I could see from where I stood, the low couches arranged in a square. She turned on a few lights with a gentle touch, so the couches glowed from beneath, and fenzu swarmed in a lantern on the low glass table. I didn't sit down until she did, arranging her robe over her legs so they weren't exposed. She was an elegant woman.

  "You're looking better than you were last time I saw you," she said. "I can't say I didn't enjoy watching you bleed."

  "Yes, I'm sure that was entertaining for quite a few people," I said tartly. "A little harder for you to claim moral superiority when you're thirsting for someone else's blood, though, isn't it?"

  "Your crime came first."

  "I've never argued that I'm on some kind of high ground with you," I said. "Just that you might be on the low ground with me."

  Yma laughed, and she was about to aim another insult at me, I was sure, but I spoke over her.

  "I know my brother disgusts you just as much as I do. I've known for a long time," I said. "And I used to feel bad for you, for having to stay close to him to survive. I used to think you were just desperate and doing what you had to."

  Yma's face twitched. She looked out one of the expansive windows at Voa, the ocean beyond it visible from this height, though it just looked like emptiness, like the edges of space.

  "Used to?" she finally replied.

  "Today I began to understand that you're not desperate--at least not in the way I thought. Everything is perfectly in your control, isn't it?"

  She jerked her head back toward me, suddenly stern. I had gotten her attention.

  "You've lost far more than I realized. You lost them before I ever laid a hand on your husband. Surukta is your name," I said. "Your sister was Zosita Surukta, who fled the planet after she was caught teaching other languages to her neighbors, and later executed for participating in the revolt. Before she was caught, though, your nephew was killed for her crimes, and your niece, Teka, lost an eye to my brother."

  "The misdeeds of my family are behind me," Yma said, her voice wavering a little. "You can hardly hold me responsible for them."

  "I'm not," I said with a short laugh. "I'm telling you how I know that you are part of the revolt, and have been for quite some time."

  "My, you certainly have cooked up a theory, haven't you?" Yma said, and her strange smile returned. "I am on the verge of marrying your brother and solidifying my place as one of the most powerful people in Shotet. I married Uzul Zetsyvis as a means to an end, this end. Social advancement. I have a skill for it. Something you would not understand, since you were born into privilege."

  "Do you want to know what ultimately gave you away?" I said, ignoring her explanation. "First of all, you were the one who turned Uzul in. You knew what my brother would do to him. People who act out of desperation don't make calculated moves like that."

  "You--" She tried to interrupt, but I spoke over her.

  "Second, you warned me that they were going to frame an innocent person for the renegade attack, knowing that I would do something about it."

  She scowled. "First you tell me about the people I've lost, and then you accuse me of bringing about my own sister's execution? How does that make sense?"

  "And last," I continued, "all the tapping you do. What is it with you and Teka and the tapping? It's not even a particularly good pattern."

  Yma's eyes skirted mine.

  "You're a renegade," I said. "That's why, after all that he took from you, you're still able to stand at my brother's side. Because you know you need to be close to him in order to take your revenge."

  She stood, robe rippling behind her as she moved toward the window. For a long time she was still, a white pillar in the moonlight. Then, at her side, she tapped her first finger against her thumb. One, three, one. One, three, one.

  "The tapping is a message," she said without turning around. "Once, my sister and I taught ourselves a song to remember the fates of the family Noavek. She taught it to her daughter, Teka, as well." She sang it, her voice creaking. "The first child of the family Noavek will fall to the family Benesit." I followed her fingers as they found the rhythm again, and her body swayed. "The rhythm was one, three, one, three. . . ."

  Like a dance.

  "I do it," she said, slowly, "when I need strength for the task at hand. I sing that song in my head, and I tap out its rhythm."

  Like at her sister's execution, her fingers on the railing. Like at dinner with my brother, her hand on his knee.

  She turned to me.

  "So, what? Have you come to get leverage? Do you intend to trade me for your freedom? What?"

  "I have to admire your commitment to this game of pretend," I said. "You gave over your husband--"

  "Uzul was sick with Q900X. Several ingredients in the treatment protocol are a violation of our religious principles," Yma snapped. "So he sacrificed himself for the cause. I assure you, it was not what I wanted, but as a result of his selflessness--something you clearly know nothing about--I won my place at Ryzek's side."

  My currentshadows moved faster, still spurred on by shifts in my emotions.

  "I take it you haven't spoken much to the other renegades," I said. "You know they're responsible for saving my life? I've been working with them for a while now."

  "Have you," Yma said, flat, frowning at me.

  "You didn't really think whatever excuse Ryzek gave for carving up my face was true, did you?" I said. "I helped renegades sneak into Noavek manor to assassinate him, and after the plan failed, I got them out safely. That's how I got arrested. Teka, your niece, was there."

  Yma's frown deepened. In this light the creases in her face were more pronounced. She was lined, not from age--she was still too young for that, prematurely white haired though she was--but from grief. Now I knew how to account for her const
ant smile. It was just a mask.

  "Most of the others . . ." Yma sighed. "They don't know what I am. Zosita and Teka are--were--the only ones. This close to my mission's completion, it would have been too much of a risk for me to have any contact with anyone anyway."

  I stood, joining her at the window. The currentstream had already turned a deeper red.

  "Tomorrow the renegades are moving against Ryzek," I said. "Right before he executes Orieve Benesit, I will challenge him to the arena in such a way that he can't refuse."

  "What?" she demanded, sharp. "Tomorrow?"

  I nodded.

  She gave a short laugh, her arms crossed. "You foolish child. You think you'll be able to defeat Ryzek Noavek in the arena? You really only do think one way. Like a trained killer."

  "No," I said. "I came to you with a plan. Your role in it would be simple." I reached into the satchel at my side and took a vial from the packet I had brought with me. "All you have to do is pour this vial into Ryzek's calming tonic in the morning. I assume you'll be at his side when he drinks it."

  Yma frowned at the vial.

  "How do you know he'll be drinking calming tonic?"

  "He always does before he kills someone," I said. "So that he can stomach it."

  She snorted a little.

  "Believe what you want about his character, I don't really care," I said. "But he drank it the day he ordered me cut to pieces for the public's enjoyment, and I promise you he will drink it in anticipation of killing Orieve Benesit. And all I'm asking is that you pour this in, nothing else. If I fail, then your place at his side will still be secure. He has no reason to suspect you. But if you do this, and I succeed in my plan, I'll never even have to lay a hand on him, and you will be able to take your vengeance without having to marry him first."

  She took the vial, examining it. It was sealed with wax that Akos had taken from my desk; I used it to stamp envelopes with the Noavek symbol, just as my mother and father had.

  "I'll do it," Yma said.

  "Good," I said. "I trust you'll be careful. I can't afford for you to get caught."

  "I have been careful with every word and glance since you were a mere child," Yma said. "I sincerely hope, Miss Noavek, that you are not doing this for atonement, because you will not get it. Not from me. Not after all that you have done."

  "Oh, I'm not nearly noble enough for that," I said. "For me it's all about petty revenge, I promise you."

  Yma sneered at my reflection in the window. I let myself out of her house. I had to move quickly if I wanted to be back at the safe house before the others woke.

  CHAPTER 34: AKOS

  CYRA WAS AHEAD OF Akos, standing in the sun, a hood up to shield her face. She wore a heavy cloak to disguise the currentshadows, her hands buried in long sleeves. Behind her was the amphitheater where she'd almost lost her life, but to watch her walk, with that straight spine, it was like nobody had ever tried to peel her apart.

  A group of Shotet soldiers stood by the big double doors that led straight to the amphitheater floor. Word on the street--collected by Sovy, who, according to Jorek, "knew everyone"--was that the soldiers called to appear in the amphitheater today were being rewarded for a good scavenge. Akos didn't know what they were supposed to have brought back that was so worthy of this honor, but it didn't really matter--they were just a ruse anyway. Ryzek wanted a crowd to witness Ori's execution.

  The big double doors opened. Akos squinted into bright light, and the roar of a huge crowd filled his ears. There were so many faces inside that he felt like the entire city was there, though it was more like a fifth of it--and the other four-fifths would watch the live feed on screens around Voa. If they bothered to watch at all.

  Cyra turned back with a glimmer of silver, the sun hitting her now-healed throat. Her chin bobbed up and down in a nod, and then the tide of the crowd carried her away from him. Time to go.

  "So." Isae had come to stand at his shoulder. "We never actually determined how we were going to get through the first door."

  "Honestly, I had pretty much decided to just . . . smash the guard's head into the wall," Akos replied.

  "I'm sure that won't draw any attention at all," Isae replied. "There's Eye Patch. Let's go."

  Isae had taken to calling the renegades by nicknames instead of learning their real names. "Eye Patch" was obviously Teka, Jorek was "Fidget," Jyo was "The Flirt," and Sovy was "The One Who Doesn't Speak Thuvhesit," which was long, but she hadn't used it much. It went both ways, though--Akos had caught Teka referring to Isae as "The Haughty One" that morning as they all shoved food in their mouths, eyeing the hole Akos's mom had made in the ceiling with her floater.

  Akos spotted Teka and Cisi standing near the amphitheater doors, and made his way over, keeping Isae in his periphery. They had all been surprised when Teka offered herself up to help them get into the underground prison. It was clear she didn't care about saving Ori's life. But maybe Cyra's point about taking away Ryzek's moment of triumph over his fate had struck her.

  "What's your read on the guard?" Teka asked him when he was close enough to hear her. She was wrapped in gray fabric, her hair combed over her missing eye in a sweep of gold. He looked over her shoulder at the guard stationed outside the door Cyra had told them to use. It was the same color as the wall, with an old-fashioned lock that took a metal key. Probably buried in one of the guard's pockets.

  But Akos wasn't supposed to be figuring out the door, he was supposed to be figuring out the man. He was no more than five seasons Akos's senior, broad-shouldered and wearing earned armor. The heel of his hand was balanced on the handle of his currentblade, which was sheathed at his hip. Capable, Akos guessed, and not easy to knock senseless.

  "I could take him down, but not quietly," Akos said. "I'd probably get myself arrested."

  "Well, we'll call that our backup plan," Isae said. "What about distraction?"

  "Yeah, sure." Teka folded her arms. "The man was hired to guard a secure door that leads to Ryzek Noavek's secret underground prison, and his failure to do so will probably result in his execution, but he will definitely abandon his post just because you wave something shiny at him."

  "Say 'secret underground prison' a little louder, why don't you?" Isae said.

  Teka snapped a reply, but Akos wasn't paying attention. Cisi was tugging his sleeve.

  "Let me see your vials," she said. "I have an idea."

  Akos kept a few vials with him wherever he went--sleep elixir, calming tonic, and a blend for fortitude among them. He wasn't sure what Cisi needed, but he undid the strap holding the vials against his arm and handed the hard little packet to her. All the glass clinked together as she sorted through it, choosing the sleep elixir. She uncorked it, sniffed it.

  "That's strong," she said. Isae and Teka were still bickering. About what, he didn't know, but he wasn't going to get between them unless they started throwing punches.

  "It's useful for certain situations," Akos replied vaguely.

  "Go buy me something to drink from that cart over there, would you?" Cisi said, nodding to the big shaded cart across the square. She sounded confident enough, so he didn't ask questions. He slipped through the crowd, sweat curling over the back of his neck. Like Teka, he wore a gray robe over his armor, which didn't exactly make him inconspicuous--he was still the tallest person in sight--but made him look a little less like the person who had rescued Cyra Noavek from the amphitheater the day before.

  The cart was sagging into its wheels, and so lopsided Akos wondered how all the mugs--full of some kind of rich, spicy drink from Othyr that lifted a person's spirits, if the shouts of the seller were to be believed--didn't just slide off and break on the street. The Othyrian man named a price in broken Shotet, and Akos tossed him a coin. Cyra had left a stash of money in their quarters on the sojourn ship, opening it to him without ceremony one morning as she was cleaning her teeth, and he'd kept some of it, just in case.

  He carried the hot mug, which was tiny in his h
and, over to Cisi, who dumped the vial of sleep elixir in it and sauntered over to the guard. Without a word of explanation.

  "I doubt he speaks Thuvhesit," Teka said.

  Cisi's posture relaxed, and a smile spread over her face as she greeted the guard. At first the man looked like he would yell at her, but then he got that sleepy look, the same one both Jorek and Jyo had given Cisi yesterday.

  "She could be speaking Ogran," he said. "It wouldn't matter."

  He'd seen the effects of Cisi's gift before, but only when she wasn't really trying. He had no idea how potent the effect would be when she actually put effort into it. The guard was leaning back against the amphitheater wall, a little smile curling his lips, and when she offered him the mug, he cradled it in both hands. And sipped.

  Akos hustled through the crowd, quick. If the guard was going to topple, he wanted it to happen as discreetly as possible. And sure enough, by the time he made it to his sister's side, the guard was swaying on his feet, the rest of the Othyrian drink splashing on the packed dirt. Akos caught him by the shoulders and lowered him to the ground, slow. Teka was already crouched over the man's body, searching his pockets. She turned up the key quickly, checked over her shoulder, and crammed it into the lock.

  "Okay," Isae said to Cisi. "That was downright alarming."

  Cisi just grinned.

  Akos dragged the sleeping guard over to the side, next to the building, then ran to join the others in the open doorway. The maintenance tunnel beyond smelled like hot trash and mildew, and the odor sent a sharp feeling into his gut, like a needle, for some reason. The air felt thick, like there was too much moisture in it. Teka locked the door behind her and pocketed the key.

  Now that they were in, there was no bickering, no joking, no improvising. It was quiet in the maintenance tunnel except for a faraway dripping sound, and it was worse, not being able to hear the crowd outside or the cheers from the arena above. Not knowing if Cyra had made it in, if she had made her challenge already, or if they would ever get out with Ori in tow. This tunnel felt less like a basement now, and more like a tomb.