These Rebel Waves

  Lu bundled her arms. “Who hired you? Argridians, but who precisely? Milo Ibarra?”

  Vex didn’t say anything, and Lu’s frustration reached its end.

  “If you knew this, why did you go along with my plan?”

  Her demand echoed off her own ears. The moment she had seen Fatemah’s magic, Lu should have known Vex wouldn’t need her payment of plant tonics. He should have insisted on something he did need instead, or left her once she got him out of the castle.

  He had kept her for a reason. He was getting something else out of this.

  Lu reached to her satchel for the spare weapons. Knives, Variegated Holly leaves, Drooping Fern, poisons . . .

  Vex flipped a switch on the wall. The Rapid Meander stopped and he faced her, his hands out in surrender.

  “Lu, wait—I didn’t mean—”

  Lu whipped her hand out, keeping him from coming too close. “Was it part of Milo’s plan, for you to help me? Why? Oh no. . . .”

  Milo had made it look as if stream raiders had abducted him. And she had run off with a raider. If they distorted the details, the Argridians could pin both disappearances on raider abductions and start their war with the full backing of the Council.

  Kari would fight it as much as she could, but if an Argridian armada was coming in less than two weeks, it might have been too late to stop anything.

  Lu’s hand went to her forehead, and she fell against the wall, head spinning.

  “How many galles are they paying you?” she panted.

  Vex frowned. “What? No one paid me to—”

  “Then why? What is going on?”

  Lu’s question ended in a broken plea. She would have hated herself if her desperation hadn’t made Vex bite his lips together as though her pain hurt him, too.

  He closed his eye. When he looked at her again, she felt she could ask him to bare his soul, and he would.

  “Your book,” he said. “In the market. You had a book with a bullet hole in the cover.”

  Lu’s fingers went to her satchel. Botanical Wonders of the Grace Loray Colony was within. Alongside its bulk she felt another, smaller protrusion—not a weapon, not a vial of plants. Her mind went blank for a moment before she remembered the stone that Fatemah had cast at Nayeli. Family, Nayeli had said.

  “What of it?” Lu pressed, but her fingers stayed on the stone.

  He lifted one hand to massage the back of his neck. “I heard a story about the night the revolution ended.” He judged her reaction as he talked. “About a girl the Argridian army found when they took the revolutionaries’ headquarters.”

  Lu couldn’t react. Couldn’t feel a damn thing.

  “They . . . tortured her, to get her to tell them where the rest of the rebels were hiding,” Vex continued. “She didn’t break, not even to tell them her name. The revolutionaries took the headquarters back that same night with the help of the stream raider syndicates and forced the Argridians to a negotiation. But the girl disappeared.”

  Backswamp’s noises amplified in the stillness. Crickets chirped. Frogs croaked. A whistling wind made the branches shudder.

  “Why does this matter?” Lu asked, but she barely heard herself.

  Vex’s hand fell off his neck and Lu realized he was trying to reach for her. She backed up, but her spine smacked the wall. The pilothouse’s door was on her right—

  Vex stepped away before she had to flee.

  “During the raid,” Vex said, hands in his pockets, “the Argridians tried to kill the girl. Shot at her, and a book stopped it. It had to be you. How many people carry around books with bullet holes in the covers?”

  “How do you . . .” Lu slowly lost control. “How do you know that?”

  “This matters,” Vex didn’t break for her question, “because of the way they tortured you that night. You don’t have Shaking Sickness. At least, I don’t think you do. I haven’t seen you . . . show signs of it. Do you? Have it?”

  “What? No, of course not.”

  Vex smiled, relieved. “You don’t have Shaking Sickness,” he repeated, savoring the words. “You survived the things the Argridians did to you. You survived the . . .” A shiver made him twitch. “You survived the methods the Argridian king uses to torture people.”

  Now Lu’s confusion won. “The Argridian king?”

  “That’s who sent his spies after me to give him Grace Loray’s magic,” Vex said. “That’s who’s been experimenting with it for years. Elazar Gallego. The king of Argrid.”

  24

  “HE’S DONE,” JAKES said. “The prince is ready to join our holy crusade, Eminence.”

  A smile lit Elazar’s face. It was the most relieved Ben had ever seen his father.

  Elazar rushed forward, enveloping his son in a fierce hug. The touch struck horror through Ben, scars crying out from memories of the other times his father had touched him. His body didn’t know what to do with this show of affection.

  Neither, it seemed, did Elazar. He jerked back a second later, fingers digging into Ben’s shoulders. “Benat—you finished the potion?”

  In the basement of Grace Neus Cathedral, it sounded like a prayer.

  Ben’s gut cramped, driving him back a step. He should have planned for this. But here he stood, dumbstruck, a jar of healing potion in his pocket and no idea how to go about this interaction, so he had the power to change Argrid without Elazar manipulating anything good that might happen.

  “It’s not ready,” Ben tried. “I haven’t tested it—”

  “Let’s remedy that. You, there! Unlock this cell,” Elazar called, and a monxe flurried down the hall, keys jangling.

  Details filtered to Ben. The Shaking Sickness patient—another Mecht, though his body was so thin that he looked nothing like the typical well-muscled people of his land—lay on a pallet, his eyes half open. Bruises and cuts and scars covered his skin, and one leg was contorted so much it might be broken.

  Jakes pressed closer to Ben, a hand going to the small of his back.

  “He’s here. He’s ready.”

  “I know who you need to heal.”

  “Trust me.”

  Was Jakes on Elazar’s side in all this?

  Ben’s heart screamed, begging his mind to stop piecing through everything Jakes had said. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew he needed to be clearheaded for this.

  The monxe bowed and moved beside the open cell. Elazar swept in and stood over the prisoner, looking from his convulsing body to Ben.

  “How do you administer it? Drinking, I assume?”

  Ben eyed the monxe, who waited, solemn and unafraid. Why was he not begging for forgiveness from the Pious God? Ben had seen Church servants shudder at the mere mention of magic—and now, when Ben was about to use magic in Grace Neus, this monxe didn’t care?

  Ben stepped forward. He removed the jar from his pocket and prayed for the first time in years—that the potion wouldn’t be effective. That he’d have time to work on it more, to develop it for himself, not for Elazar.

  “He has to drink it, yes.” Ben cleared his throat and knelt next to the prisoner. The disease had gripped the man almost to the point of death; he didn’t moan when Ben cradled his neck, tipping his head to open his mouth.

  Ben uncorked the jar, feeling the monxe’s eyes from the doorway. Jakes, a defensor of the Church, stared at him from the hall. And Elazar, the Eminence, stood over him, while Ben held condemnable magic in his hand.

  He’d gotten here, to this irredeemable place, because Elazar had pushed him to it; because Ben hadn’t had the foresight to escape it; because he wanted this. He wanted to offer a real, true cure to someone suffering.

  If they killed him for this, at least Ben could die with that satisfaction.

  He stilled his galloping heart with a deep breath, put the vial to the man’s lips, and poured all of the liquid into his mouth.

  Ben waited, and watched, and swore he could already hear a crowd chanting his name. Príncipe Herexe.
r />   Slowly, the prisoner’s skin knit back together. The cuts and scrapes on his body sealed; bruises faded; his broken limb straightened. Even his scars smoothed over, and had he not been unconscious and covered in prison grime, he would have looked the picture of health.

  Ben’s throat closed, and he fought choking, fought to breathe. No, no—

  “Did it heal his Shaking Sickness?” Elazar demanded.

  As if in response, the prisoner arched his back, limbs snapping onto the stones in a tremor.

  The healing tonic had cured everything—except Shaking Sickness.

  Ben let out a broken gasp. It hadn’t worked. He had time. He could—

  Elazar drew a dagger from his hip and raked it across the unconscious prisoner’s arm.

  Blood spilled over the stones and wrenched Ben back to himself.

  He flew to his feet. “Father, stop—”

  The plea came of its own accord, one he’d quit making years ago, when he’d learned that only things like I admit my sins, and I wish to be the Pious God’s servant, stopped his father.

  Jakes wasn’t moving to help. He and Elazar stared at the prisoner as blood trailed down his arm onto the floor. The monxe watched too, and Ben’s terror returned full force.

  “It isn’t permanent.” Elazar swung on Ben. The prisoner bled and the monxe pressed a bandage to his arm and Ben’s whole world contracted to the solitary action of Elazar’s fingers curling into a fist. “This potion is useless to me. It doesn’t cure Shaking Sickness. It isn’t permanent. You have been wasting my time, Benat.”

  “Wasting time? Why would you do this here, in Grace Neus Cathedral? The Pious God will condemn us!” He played the part of devout son, the one who was safe and unbruised and alive.

  Elazar ran a hand down his face. He looked tired. “I couldn’t tell you for your own safety. The work you have done was for a greater goal.”

  In the hall, Jakes moved to the alternating calm and intensity as he hummed the song his sister had written. Ben couldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t.

  “Before you were born, your uncle and I shared a dream,” Elazar continued. “Our military struggled against Grace Loray, so we believed the secret to bringing the islanders into the Church lay in finding a holy use for their magic. But Rodrigu’s intentions . . . changed. He began to believe that all magic could be good, while I adhered to the belief taught by our Pious God—that the Devil corrupts most magic, and common people are unfit to use it.

  “But the Pious God has a plan for magic after all.” Elazar leaned closer with a bright smile. “We will use magic to overpower sinners and cleanse our country of the sickness and poverty they bring. Which is why your potion is so necessary—the experiments already undertaken to try to enhance magic have proven ineffective.”

  Ben barely heard his father over the grating of his own breath. Elazar believed magic could be good. Only recently had Ben heard his father speak in favor of magic. Before that, it had been evil and sin and stay pure ever since the Inquisitors fell.

  Ben held strong. “Experiments?” he questioned.

  “Over the years, I have enlisted the services of others like you, who can piece together magic in holy ways with the blessing of the Pious God. They have been attempting to make the effects of botanical magic permanent. Imagine, Benat—to be inhumanly strong forever. To be able to heal yourself no matter the injury or illness. To have unmatched speed. No evil could stand up to that!”

  “All this time,” Ben said, gagging, “you’ve had people experimenting with magic. After you disbanded the Inquisitors?”

  “Rodrigu had corrupted their work. The work I oversaw was pure. But the Pious God has let me see that I am not the one destined to create permanent magic. The experiments I oversaw involved giving subjects larger and larger amounts of plants—but when anyone consumes too much magic, the long-term results are, though delayed, unfortunate.”

  Ben followed his father’s gesture to the prisoner.

  “Shaking Sickness,” Ben guessed. “You caused it—”

  “Certainly not. It is not uncommon for raiders to overdose on evil. This is further proof that the Pious God condemns it—he chooses when and where to strike them for their sins. But the Pious God blesses those who suffer from Shaking Sickness due to our tests. In the name of purity, to undo the Devil’s hold on the world, we must make sacrifices.”

  The stones under Ben’s feet turned to liquid.

  Ben mattered little to his father, and he’d often wondered, when he’d been childish enough to hope, if Elazar was capable of seeing anyone as a person rather than a tool to be used. But Elazar had been forcing so much magic into people that their bodies shook apart, and he’d been doing it while he condemned others for using magic.

  No one was off-limits to him. No one mattered.

  Ben stumbled out of the cell, needing air, needing light. But the only things down here were darkness and lies in every brick and stone.

  Jakes reached for him. Ben tripped and grabbed the bars of the cell across the hall. Inside, the Mecht stood, close enough for that familiar heat to wash over Ben.

  “Our enemies must not know of our work,” Elazar continued, “and for the purity of your mind to remain intact, I could not risk letting you know the truth. The result, while not what I asked, is still promising—you have created a potion that can heal even old wounds. I have had people working to unlock the secrets of botanical magic for decades. I have had the most devout monxes try to save Mecht warriors who might help our cause, but their minds are given over to barbarism. Yet you alone created this enhanced healing potion in mere weeks. With it, they will never defeat us again.”

  “Who—” Ben caught his broken timbre and pulled it level. “Who won’t defeat us?”

  “Those, like Rodrigu, who believe the world does not need to live in purity and penance,” Elazar responded. His voice put him closer. He’d followed Ben out of the cell. “Those who would see raiders allowed to sell whatever magic they want. Those who would let people live lives filled with excess, debauchery, and corruption. As long as they endure on Grace Loray, the Pious God keeps Argrid trapped in plagues and destitution as punishment for letting Grace Loray’s evil infect the world. No more, Benat. No more.”

  People like me, then? Ben almost said. But he’d been lying for years, and beyond the pain, the betrayal, that survival kicked in.

  His father wanted to make all magic permanent. He wanted potions to enhance speed, strength, healing, and more.

  “Missionaries are only as successful as the armies behind them,” Elazar had once said.

  “You want to create an army,” Ben guessed.

  “Yes—the most unstoppable defensors the world has seen, who will erase the evil that has cursed us. We will use them to retake and purify Grace Loray; we will use them to purge Argrid; we will use them to ensure the Pious God’s teachings are never rejected. You’re closer than anyone has ever gotten to a solution, and we will need more than healing—potions for stamina, for defense. The Pious God wills it, and I believe that you are the one he has given us to uncover this destiny.

  “I trust you to continue your work.” Elazar laid a hand on his shoulder. Ben winced. “Defensor Rayen has kept me updated on your progress, and he assures me that your intentions align with the Pious God’s. Together, we can bring the evil of the world to its knees.”

  Defensor Rayen has kept me updated on your progress.

  The words were hands on Ben’s back, shoving him.

  Ben had asked Jakes if he had heard anything about this task when Elazar first gave it to him. Jakes had been next to Ben the whole time, watching and taking note—and reporting every move Ben had made back to the king. He had feigned ignorance as Ben had worried and hesitated and fought to hide anything that might displease his father.

  And all this time, Jakes had been Elazar’s spy.

  How much had Jakes told? How many of Ben’s secrets did Elazar know?

  Hold on, Ben pleaded with himself
. Hold on, don’t fall apart yet—

  Ben opened his eyes. The Mecht’s face changed—his blue eyes were narrow, calculating.

  “I’d need more supplies,” Ben said, emotionless. “More plants.”

  Elazar squeezed his shoulder. “I already have a trip to Grace Loray planned—the delegates there have met with success. Your potion will augment that.”

  Ben almost asked, How will my potion help treaty negotiations?

  But his father hadn’t mentioned the treaty.

  No, Ben thought. What have you done to Grace Loray?

  He blew out a breath and faced his father. “I’ll also need a laboratory. A true one, safe from attack. And no more lies. I serve the Pious God, and you will involve me in his plans.”

  Elazar smiled. All Ben saw in that smile was insanity. “We are defensors, and we will cleanse this world anew for the Pious God. Let us leave now.”

  Elazar took his arm to steer him back up the hall. His control frayed with every affectionate swipe of Elazar’s hand, so as Jakes touched Ben’s arm too, Ben brushed him off. There were only so many lies he could tell without disintegrating.

  “Praise the Pious God,” Ben murmured to his father.

  Sweet Peat

  Availability: moderately common

  Location: peat deposits in Backswamp

  Appearance: vibrant sapphire flower

  Method: ingested

  Use: dissolution of internal organs

  25

  LU HAD NEVER told anyone what had happened the night the war ended. Not her parents; not even Annalisa, who had stayed hidden in the upstairs room while the Argridian soldiers assumed only one girl had been hiding under the narrow bed.

  The Argridians killed everyone else in the cabin deep in the jungle outside the northern Port Camden. Few revolutionaries had been there at the time—most, including Lu’s parents, had left to seize an Argridian storehouse. But that tip had been a trick to empty the headquarters and make it easier for the Argridian army to capture it and the revolutionary secrets contained within.