These Rebel Waves

  “Yes.”

  “Says the woman who broke a wanted criminal out of the castle.”

  “I wouldn’t have done that had there been another choice,” Lu replied. “But you have chosen every horrible act you’ve committed. Do you feel anything beyond selfishness at this point?”

  Lu’s eyes went wide, telling Vex she felt she’d crossed a line.

  He forced a callous smile. “Of course not, Princesa,” he said. “I’m a cold-blooded, good-for-nothing outlaw. Now—coal. Furnace.”

  He hopped up the ladder and slammed the hatch on Lu.

  13

  BEN SAT BESIDE his father’s throne, as still as the statues of the Graces guarding the room in their ornate alcoves, candles and offerings spread at their marble feet.

  The receiving room in the palace was a mess of people. Duques and duquesas, condes and condesas—aristocrats from the highest reaches of society as well as those who barely had any property to their name. But the fire yesterday had ignited a passion in everyone, which didn’t fit the somber browns and deep blues that coated the walls.

  As Ben stared out at the crowd, a slow, dull ache spread through his shoulders. If he didn’t move, perhaps people wouldn’t say what he feared they would.

  Defensors flanked the dais. Jakes stood behind Ben’s chair, and Ben found himself wanting to look back at him for reassurance.

  Elazar leaned forward on the throne, telling those who crowded around the dais that he would listen. They all started talking at once.

  “The prince was attacked! Who is safe?”

  “But the Church condemned the University—it should have burned long ago!”

  “We must be pure!” That cry came from monxas dressed in the deep purple habits of nuns from Deza’s Grace Isaura Convent. Women joined the convent to proselytize for Grace Isaura’s sainted pillar: honesty. “The fire is a sign from the Pious God that we must continue our purification from magic! We must abandon the treaty with Grace Loray and seek to cleanse them, and ourselves!”

  Elazar lifted his hands for silence. One swung close to Ben, and he shut his eyes, expecting an impact.

  All that came was Elazar’s voice.

  “I hear your concerns,” he said. “Security measures are being undertaken to ensure protection to those of virtue. If you follow the Pious God’s teachings, you have nothing to fear. I will address more at the service tonight, where we will honor the holy lives lost in the fire.”

  Ben cut his father a look. Which lives was Elazar talking about? The eleven protesters, who had started the fire under the guise of the Pious God’s will, or the four defensors, who had tried to stop them to protect the prince?

  Ben remembered voices chanting that name, Príncipe Herexe, as the crowd looked up at him with fear and hatred.

  “I can assure you that the agents I have sent to oversee the Grace Loray treaty are of the strongest caliber,” Elazar continued. “Many of you know General Ibarra from his staunch leadership during the war. I select only the most unyielding souls to do the Pious God’s bidding.”

  Ben’s heart thundered. Every word from his father sounded like it would be followed by “And my son has proven himself impure—tonight, we will watch him burn. . . .”

  It was a trap, he knew—he’d known. But he hadn’t stopped. He could have, at any point, to save himself what was happening now. But he’d kept working with magic. Why?

  When a condesa stepped forward, Ben swore he could feel a pyre building around him.

  “My king, I must cleanse myself of a burden,” the condesa said, sinking into a curtsy. She whipped toward the crowd and pointed. “The duque of Apolinar has admitted to sympathizing with those corrupted by magic. For our own safety, the Church must cleanse him.”

  The people closest to the unfortunate duque pulled away. The boy—younger than Ben—put his hands out, horror on his face.

  “I did not!” he cried. “I serve the Pious God! I am pure!”

  The condesa spun back to Elazar. “My king, I beg you to purify our ranks.”

  The room met her accusation with enthusiasm. People shoved others forward—“Here is a heretic!” “I saw this woman tending a garden—there could be evil plants growing on her estate!” The room was a building storm.

  Ben wasn’t shocked. He felt, watching them, the answer to his question: Why had he kept working in magic? Why would he continue?

  Because of this. The way Elazar held out his hands and assured everyone that the Church would deal with each accused, as was custom now.

  Ben looked up at Jakes, whose face showed the same horror.

  “Steady, my prince,” Jakes whispered.

  “Steady?” Ben’s voice shook. “This is unbelievable—”

  Jakes dared put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I cannot believe everyone accused is truly impure. Likely most will repent. Your aristocracy is not this compromised.”

  Ben’s jaw dropped open. He closed it and shifted forward.

  That had not been what he’d meant. It was not unbelievable that so many people could throw themselves into these accusations—it was unbelievable that they were taken seriously.

  Defensors intervened to lead away the accused, gently, as they were still nobles—but no title excluded a soul from corruption.

  “It is a great sacrifice to bring up the impurities of one’s neighbor,” Elazar said. “The Pious God rewards those who stay loyal to him when the way is difficult. Conflict festers in corrupt hearts—they want to be cleansed, even as they sin. In handing over your neighbors, you are servicing both the Pious God and their souls.”

  “What of Prince Benat?” a priest asked. “His soul is in question.”

  The room went quiet. Ben’s heart beat so fast it purred in his ears.

  Jakes moved closer. Ben forced himself to ask—would Jakes leap to protect him from the accusations, or be the one to lead him to Grace Neus Cathedral? Jakes would never think that Ben might fail to repent. That was the divide between them, no matter how tightly Ben held Jakes at night—that Jakes believed in this. In purity. In righteousness.

  And Ben was what the crowd feared him to be.

  Terror ate up his senses until there was only Elazar, saying:

  “I will deal with Benat.”

  The priest wasn’t convinced. “My king, if you would—”

  “I am the Eminence,” Elazar said, his declaration echoing over the room. If it had been quiet before, it was like death now, everyone remembering to whom they were airing their grievances. “You are lambs in my fold. You have neither the fortitude nor the capacity to understand the decisions your shepherd makes. Do not question me further.”

  The priest bowed. “Eminence. You are holy and true.”

  Elazar dismissed him, dismissed the room, by standing and turning his back on the crowd. The defensors resumed picking through the lot, trying to find the accused, but it would be madness—it was madness, this waste of fear.

  Ben didn’t stand. Elazar walked past him, making for the door behind the dais, when Ben, in a soft voice, asked, “Are you trying to kill me?”

  Elazar stopped. Jakes heard too, and Ben sat between them, numb.

  Elazar looked down at Ben. His gaze was heavy. “As I said, Benat—the sheep cannot understand the shepherd’s decisions. Argrid does not do well with sudden change.” He paused. “But no. I do not think you will give me a reason to kill you.”

  Ben nodded, a weight grinding on his heart. His father had gone from believing some magic was tolerable under the Inquisitors, to overseeing dozens of burnings a week for people who had magic, to tasking Ben with healing their country through magic now.

  What was true? What was lasting? Ben had been playing this game for years, and he was tired of the rules changing. Tired of his father shifting beliefs on a whim.

  There was one thing Ben knew: he was done having his beliefs chosen for him.

  The sun licked the horizon when Ben’s carriage deposited him outside Grace Neus Cathedral. Ci
tizens from every rank in Deza made a solemn procession into the cathedral, hands pressed together in supplication to the Pious God.

  Ahead, Elazar stepped out of his own carriage. Ben couldn’t deny the toll this had taken on his father. Elazar’s countenance mimicked the bent shoulders and drawn faces of the crowd.

  The inside of the cathedral complemented the exterior in grandeur. The ceiling lifted as tall as the building, lacework arches holding stained glass so the setting sun shot through in oranges and pinks and blues. Hundreds of pews were already filled, but defensors led Elazar and Ben up the aisle to the row of honor before the altar.

  Elazar left to begin his duties as Eminence while Ben took his seat. Around the altar, statues depicting every Grace stared at him. Grace Neus, who had built this cathedral; Grace Loray; Grace Isaura; Grace Aracely; Grace Biel; and dozens more anointed men and women who, through their selfless, uncorrupted acts, had made the world a holier place.

  They were everywhere. In Elazar’s office. In the throne room. In the cathedrals. Beacons of the Church, always watching with empty eyes that judged Ben as intensely as the people taking their seats behind him.

  He looked at Jakes, under the mezzanine where guards could watch the service as well as their charges. Jakes nodded once, encouraging.

  A door next to the altar opened, and monxes came out, carrying tapers. They lit candles beneath each Grace statue, chanting for the Pious God to pass the strength he had given these select servants on to everyone in Argrid.

  When the candles were lit, the monxes took seats at the rear of the altar, hands folded against their black robes. Elazar emerged in the vestments of the Eminence: cords around his neck, woven with colors representing every Grace; a tall ivory hat in the shape of the beseeching V; a scarlet and gold robe that pooled around Elazar’s feet like ornamented blood.

  Ben’s knee started to bounce.

  Elazar stood at the head of the altar. “Brothers, sisters,” he began, his words catching on the walls, a design that made the building resonate. “It is in the wake of tragedy that we hold today’s service. Flames that started out of fear burned fifteen souls. Fear is a tool of the Pious God; it is his way for us to distinguish between pure and impure acts. I beseech the Pious God’s children to listen to the apprehension in their hearts. Fear will save you from falling into a path that condemns your soul.”

  Elazar waved for the monxes to press on with the service. Ben sat, paralyzed, while the cathedral filled with murmurs.

  His father hadn’t condemned the burning. In fact, what he’d said felt as explosive as if he’d told the fanatics to carry on with their dangerous beliefs.

  Elazar could have been easing the transition. Such prejudices would not change in a day, as he’d told Ben.

  But they wouldn’t change at all like this.

  Ben looked up at the Grace statues. And stood.

  Elazar watched his son with narrow eyes. Conversations halted, the silence rippling out from Ben as though he were a stone plunked into a pool.

  His next actions would define who he was. Would he be poor Prince Benat, the shameful, weak man? Or the pupil of the High Inquisitor, his uncle, a heretic?

  He already knew.

  “Eminence,” Ben offered. He faced the crowd, steeling himself when he realized how many people were in here. “Fellow Argridians. I do not intend to contradict the Eminence, our merciful teacher of the Pious God—but the burning of the University was a tragedy that the Church should respond to with outrage.”

  “Benat,” Elazar said, a warning, but he didn’t make a further move to stop him.

  “Innocent people lost their lives because of a prejudice that the Church should, in its wisdom, condemn. The things I do, I do with the blessing of the Eminence himself. Our current state of suffering is not punishment from the Pious God—it is due to our own ignorance and fear.”

  Ben faced Elazar. Dread clawed at him, but he kept speaking.

  “I ask you, Eminence, to condemn the burning and to reinstate the Inquisitors. Their banishment has surely atoned for any sins of their leader”—though he didn’t mention Rodrigu and Paxben by name, Ben had to fight to keep his voice from catching—“and you cannot deny that Argrid has need of their wisdom.”

  Elazar held his gaze, cold. “Benat, you disgrace me. You do not yet bear the burden of Eminence, so you do yet have the luxury of arbitrary questions. Leave, until you can be contrite and humbled by your position as an instrument in the Pious God’s inconceivable plan.”

  Ben took a stumbling step backward. Elazar’s eyes darkened as the crowd gasped. The Eminence King had told his heir to leave Grace Neus Cathedral.

  But all Ben heard were words like threatening fingers around his neck.

  Obey me without question. Do my bidding and be grateful to be valuable.

  A hand took Ben’s arm. Jakes. “Come, my prince,” he pleaded.

  Ben let Jakes pull him away. Elazar addressed the crowd, apologizing for the outburst.

  Ordained in blood. Ben remembered his father’s words in the crypt. Ours is a family of tragedy. The Pious God ordained us in blood.

  14

  VEX MANAGED NOT to tell Nayeli where they were going as they sailed through the night. Teo acted as a yappy buffer, bless him, and stayed up until past dark asking questions and squealing at fish jumping from the water. When Lu came to take him to one of the bunkrooms and asked after their progress, Nayeli was asleep at the bow.

  But now, with the morning sun stark overhead and the eastern shore of Lake Regolith less than half an hour away, Vex knew it was coming.

  “We’re in the business of fighting Argrid now?” Edda asked from where she and Nayeli were doing inventory of one of their storage areas. “I thought we were avoiding them until we could get enough money to hole up away from fighting anyone or getting caught up in other people’s problems.”

  “I don’t know.” Vex rubbed his face, straightening his eye patch by reflex. “The general was abducted, but Lu doesn’t think it was real—and, honestly, I don’t either. Argrid’s up to something. They’ve wanted more and more plants from us, and now one of their highest-ranking generals ups and vanishes? Don’t tell me that’s not suspect.”

  “We’re still retiring in Port Fausta, right?” Nayeli pleaded.

  “Port Fausta? Last week you wanted to refurbish one of those old dormant volcanic tunnels in the northern mountains.”

  “Too much work. Besides, Port Fausta’s where the good alcohol is. I swear on all four gods, if I’m not neck-deep in a tub of wine in a few months because you’ve decided to go heroic—”

  “Lu’s paying. Magic concoctions,” Vex assured her. “You should see what she can do with plants. We’ll be swimming in galles, enough to retire early.”

  Nayeli lit up. “Where are we going? Where do you think he went? We gonna hunt down the Argridian bullies who keep coming after us and see if they know anything?”

  Vex fought to keep from wincing. Or locking the pilothouse door and hiding behind the wheel. He was the captain, damn it. He shouldn’t be afraid of his own crew.

  “I don’t think Lu wants to outright accuse Argrid of staging Milo’s abduction without proof—”

  As if she knew they were talking about her, Lu popped up from belowdecks. Vex watched her note their location—the southeastern shore of Lake Regolith had come into view, New Deza so far behind to the west, all that was visible was blue lake—before she made for the pilothouse.

  “How long until we reach the Tuncian syndicate?” Lu asked.

  Nayeli shot to her feet. “What?” she asked.

  Lu looked at Vex. His sympathy won out—he deserved Nayeli’s wrath, not her.

  “We need your aunt, Nay,” he said. “Her Budwig Beans are our best chance of hearing what might’ve happened to Ibarra.”

  Each Budwig plant came with two beans. One could be put in one person’s ear, the other in another place or even someone else’s ear, and the two beans relayed sounds acros
s the whole island. It was one of the rarest plants in Grace Loray—raiders hid Budwig Beans in other syndicates’ territories to spy on them; elite members of Grace Loray’s military used them to communicate; and they grew only in the eastern part of the island. Unfortunately for Vex.

  Nayeli barreled into the pilothouse and punched him. “You traitor! Do you have any idea what it’s like when I go back? No, because all you think is Vex get what Vex need—”

  “Budwig Beans?” Lu ignored Nayeli’s ranting and stared at Vex in shock. “That . . . might be useful.”

  Nayeli stomped out onto the deck, her curses muffled.

  But Lu was gaping at him. Vex grinned.

  “I know, Princesa, I’m actually helping you! Shocking, isn’t it?”

  “But I take it, from Nayeli’s tone, that the Tuncians aren’t friendly?”

  Vex gave Lu a confused look, then realized what language Nayeli had been shouting in. “Oh. She was speaking Thuti—a dialect from Tuncay. I thought you’d know that. You look like you have Tuncian blood. But while I’d love to give a history lesson—”

  Lu picked up on it faster than he expected. “Was Nayeli part of the Tuncian syndicate?”

  “Captain!” Edda cut in, pointing at the shoreline.

  Vex swung out a spyglass, but Lu snatched it from him. She surveyed the mouth of the approaching Leto River that was a rippling break in the line of jungle.

  Vex ripped the spyglass back from her. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

  “Twelve steamboats,” Lu stated. “In a row, unmoving, not flying Council flags. Are they Cansu’s boats? She must have guessed you’d go to her.”

  Vex grumbled. “Nayeli! Edda! I’m open to suggestions.”

  Nayeli spun away from where she’d been sulking on the bow. “Oh, I have a suggestion for you, asshole,” she said in Thuti and made a gesture that Lu had to understand without any translation.

  “How hostile is Cansu? Could we negotiate with her?” Lu asked.

  Vex shrugged. “Best we reach Nayeli’s aunt, use what Budwig Beans she’ll give us, and be on our merry way. Cansu won’t be thrilled if she finds out that you’re with the Council and trying to save an Argridian.”