by Jodi Meadows
The way he spoke the name struck a shiver down my back. I fought to stay collected, training my gaze on the wall straight ahead of me while I counted noorestones; I couldn’t look at them, not without drawing attention to myself, so I touched them with my gift—not enough to make them do anything, but enough that their inner fire ran through me, warming me beneath the strange, magical clothes. With every mental touch to a noorestone, the anxiety eased.
“People often ask why I was so adamantly against the treaty. After all, its goals were noble. It was the first effort within living memory of all the islands working together. But I’ll admit: I didn’t think we could do it. I didn’t believe that the people of the Fallen Isles could put aside their differences long enough to make a difference. But I was not high magistrate at that time, so I was overruled.
“For years,” he went on, “it’s been an unpopular stance to admit. The first time I ran for high magistrate, my opposition reminded everyone at every opportunity. It haunted me all through my first term, but by then I could not deny the good the treaty had done. I am proud to see Hartans independent. I am proud of what we’ve accomplished with our sanctuaries. And I am proud that—for years—we were six nations united.
“Yet, for all our effort, good intentions, and hard-fought accomplishments, the Great Abandonment is upon us. This we cannot deny. Not while the god shadow swings across the islands every evening. Not while Hartan-born are still being discriminated against. Not while council-house attacks slaughter hundreds of innocent people. Not while—as you’ve all seen firsthand—even my own streets here in Flamecrest require martial law to keep the peace.”
My breath caught, and fifty noorestones flickered—just for a heartbeat, and I let them go as soon as I realized, but it was enough. Everyone looked around and murmured: How strange, was it the gods? But when it didn’t happen again, they went back to looking at the high magistrate.
Aaru caught my eye, his worry clear.
I glanced down and I tapped against my sword hilt. ::We know he set the explosions for the night the others arrived. Could he be behind the deportation decree as well? And the council house?::
::And Idris?:: Aaru gave me a look that made it clear he thought that was unlikely.
::He didn’t try to save any islands by spreading out the dragons. He tried to take them all. Maybe he didn’t target Idris, but he did nothing to prevent a god from rising.::
Aaru’s expression darkened.
The high magistrate was still talking, but it was hard to hear him over the buzzing in my ears. I reached again for a noorestone, just one this time, and let its hum work through me; the panic eased into something manageable, something I could endure even without my calming pills.
“With that in mind,” the high magistrate said, “I believe it’s time for all of us—the surviving representatives of the Fallen Isles—to take another look at the Mira Treaty. Let us decide, here and today, about its future, and in turn, the future of our people.”
All around the room, people nodded, and a sick feeling coiled up inside of me. Wasn’t this supposed to be about the Great Abandonment? Wasn’t this supposed to be about how we’d prevent more islands from rising up out of their seabeds and sending hundreds of thousands of innocent people into the unforgiving ocean?
I breathed deeply. One. Two. Three.
The high magistrate found Mother and beckoned her forward. “Please,” he said. “I think it’s only right that we hear from you first. Wife of the architect of the Mira Treaty. Mother of the Hopebearer herself. Without the Luminary Council here, you are the natural choice to tell us whether Damina still supports the Mira Treaty.”
Others nodded, and again, I felt the absence of Elbena and Tirta. He had them—Nine had confirmed it—so where were they?
My heart thundered as Mother slipped from her seat and sidled into the aisle. One, two, three, four: she took the stairs down to the main floor and stood next to the high magistrate while he introduced her more fully to the other representatives, as if they didn’t already know her.
Then, instead of going to his bench, like I thought he might—he was arrogant enough—he took an empty seat on the first tier to listen to Mother speak.
She looked beautiful today, her hair pressed straight how she liked it, and a light touch of cosmetics around her eyes and cheeks and lips. The soft blue dress was of Anaheran style—provided by the high magistrate, no doubt—but it hung nicely on her, emphasizing the proud way she held herself in spite of everything.
Her eyes swept the chamber, and though she was facing me now, she didn’t notice me. Not in the guard uniform. Not where she didn’t expect me. Even if she’d noticed a guard, she wouldn’t have been able to see my scar; I stood in the shadow beneath a noorestone sconce, which threw light away from my face.
“My daughter is the Hopebearer,” Mother began. “And it is a burden, hope. In the darkest of times, it’s easy to sink into despair: to believe the world has never been worse off than this, to fear we can never recover. Therefore, hope is a light against the oppressive darkness of misery, one that must be vigilantly maintained.
“I have seen that struggle in my oldest daughter. In my Mira.” Mother’s voice cracked. “From the time she was born, she has endured hate-filled attacks from those who wish to move backward. While I’ve done my best to protect her from the ugliness of the world, it’s impossible to ignore. It seeps in. It corrupts. But Mira still sees what the world ought to be, and she fights for it. Every day. Every breath. She did not ask to bear the burden of our hope, nor did she offer. But nevertheless, it is what she does.
“As long as my daughter—who’s somehow endured this hope all her life—still supports the Mira Treaty, then so do I. So do Damyan and Darina.”
My heart was an endless knot of shock and joy and love and anguish, and it rushed against my chest so hard I thought I might burst. How long had she felt this way? Why hadn’t she ever talked to me like that? I’d always thought I wasn’t good enough for her.
From his position along the wall, Aaru offered a faint, fleeting smile.
As Mother returned to her seat, several of the matriarchs reached toward her, taking her hands or brushing fingertips in reassurance. I couldn’t hear their whispered words from here, but as Eka Delro stood to take her turn, she grasped Mother’s shoulder and smiled kindly.
Eka was the First Matriarch of Harta, tall and regal, with warm brown skin and gentle eyes. I’d always liked her—at least until I’d seen her introducing Tirta as the Hopebearer.
She moved to the front of the room and drew a deep breath. “Before I was the First Matriarch, I was a farm worker on Idris. I went from field to field, using my muted god gift on another island’s crops. I went voluntarily, because working for the Idrisi government paid better than working at home, and because I could not bear the thought of either of my young sisters going. I sent back every chip I earned, save what I needed to keep myself sheltered and fed.
“The day the Mira Treaty was signed, I almost didn’t go home. I almost stayed to continue working on the island where I’d lived most of my life. But I returned, because I knew my people would need everyone willing to help make the transition from an occupied territory to an independent nation. I brought back the wisdom I had gained from my time on Idris, the good and the bad, and though I was surprised to be elected one of Harta’s matriarchs, I have embraced this new duty to help my people grow.
“Hartan freedom was a long, difficult journey, but it taught me the most important lesson of my life: equality elevates us all.
“I support the Mira Treaty,” she finished, “as do all the matriarchs of Harta, and all the people of Harta. We will not give up our independence. And finally, I find it not just irregular, but alarming, that we are having this discussion at all, without proposing anything to replace the treaty.”
Murmurs bubbled around the room as people nodded. She had good points, and while everyone knew her story, it was still compelling.
Dara Soun went next, speaking in support of the Mira Treaty like the others, but her words about embracing equality rang hollow because she—and the rest of the Twilight Senate—had pushed to send Hartans away from Bopha. If anyone here was angered by her hypocrisy, however, they didn’t show it.
Then it was the Warrior Tribunal, and while the three were the same rank, they’d chosen one to speak on behalf of all. His speech went much like the others, but he said nothing about how they disregarded the Mira Treaty’s requirement to disband the Drakon Warriors. Nor did he speak of their rogue warrior, who’d launched an attack on the Luminary Council.
Every speech earned polite applause, although a few members of the Fire Ministry seemed more focused on the notes they were taking. Above, those in the galleries leaned toward one another, discussing each of the speakers.
The chamber was quiet, with only the shuffling of papers, faint coughs, and other small noises echoing across the gleaming space. Then Paorah rose from the chair where he’d been watching the proceedings and returned to the main floor. The crest of Anahera’s fire stood sharp and golden behind him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate your candid responses. Your support of the Mira Treaty is noted. As for the concern that we’re discussing repealing the treaty with nothing better to replace it”—he nodded at Eka—“I can assure you that I would not have brought you here without an alternative proposal.”
I held my breath. All throughout the chamber, representatives shifted in their chairs and leaned forward.
“Discussions within the Fire Ministry have been heated, you might say.” He smiled a little at his joke, but no one responded. “Is the Mira Treaty fulfilling its core functions? Can we restore the Fallen Isles to completeness once more? Or do we need to look at other options?”
Whispers slithered through the chamber, sharp and worried. I glanced at Aaru.
::Don’t like the way this sounds.:: It was all he needed to say. I felt the same way. Even Nine watched Paorah intently.
“In the decan since Idris rose, it’s become clear that the Great Abandonment is upon us. The other islands will rise. More of our people will perish. But we have the opportunity to do something. Here. Today.”
My heart pounded at the sound of those words—the deepest fears of everyone in this room.
“I’ll be honest,” he said, walking toward Nine. My chest seized, but he moved past her, took the stair up, and went behind his bench, where he could preside over the entire chamber. “I have seen this coming for some time now. And I’ve been doing what I can to prepare for the inevitable day when the Mira Treaty fails and a new treaty is needed.”
“What?” someone murmured. “What is this about?”
And: “This is most irregular.”
And also: “If you had these concerns, why didn’t you come to us before? Why wait?”
The high magistrate looked down from his bench and frowned at that final comment. “I did. I voiced my concerns seventeen years ago, when discussions about the treaty were first under way. I said I doubted that it would be enough, that we could change enough. . . .” He shook his head and sighed. “We all hoped it would work. We gave the Mira Treaty seventeen years to make a difference, but has it?”
A knot of dread grew in my stomach, tightening with every breath. Seven had said Anahera was behind the Mira Treaty.
Paorah had made—was still making—a show of opposing it to disguise its true purpose. He had also engineered it to fail.
Anahera’s major aspect was the destroyer—life and death and life again—but she was also a trickster, the asker of answers, known for being exceedingly clever. She painted a picture too complex for anyone to see until it was already unfolded, and the high magistrate was her devoted apprentice.
He’d twisted it, though. Like the Luminary Council made love a weakness, and the Silent Brothers made silence a weapon, and all the others perverted their gods’ commandments in some way: the high magistrate turned his divine gifts into a trap, and all the Fallen Isles were caught in this fire.
Voices buzzed around the chamber, tight with questions and uncertainties, but when the high magistrate lifted a hand, everyone went quiet.
“The Great Abandonment is inevitable,” he said. “We all know that. We will lose our gods. We will lose most of our people.”
My stomach twisted with hot anxiety, but I didn’t dare reach for a noorestone for comfort.
“But I have secured other measures of safety. I’m here to offer you a chance to join me.”
“Just say it.” Mother’s tone was knife sharp, one that would have caused me to wither away, but Paorah just smiled and bowed his head.
“Very well.” A smug smile tightened his face as he gazed over the chamber. “I have entered into a”—he paused, as though searching for the right word—“partnership, shall we say, in which we will be granted passage to a new haven. To a new home.”
“Where?” someone shouted.
“Who is this partnership with?” asked another.
The angry buzz felt like walking too close to a bee’s nest, tense and filled with danger. A few guards rested their hands on their swords, ready to draw, but it wasn’t until Paorah said the words that a few of them actually did.
“The Algotti Empire.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BLOOD RUSHED THROUGH MY EARS, DROWNING everything but shock. The cacophony of protests, chairs scraping hardwood, and other guards freeing their swords: it was all lost under the thrum of my own heartbeat and the screaming in my head.
Seven had lied to us.
Nine had lied to us.
Every time I thought I understood our situation, every time I thought I had a grasp on the truth, a dangerous new facet turned up—and this was worse than I had imagined: the empire and Anahera working together.
The chamber rang with movement as people lurched for the doors and guards sidestepped to block them. But they were right. We had to leave.
I found Aaru’s eyes right away, but before I could get him to escape with me, he looked at Nine.
The color had drained from her face as she shook her head, like she somehow didn’t know about this. Like she wasn’t an imperial spy.
I felt sick, and I wanted to leave, but all the guards were moving inward and blocking the door, ready to quell the outrage in here as quickly as they had on the streets after the explosions.
“How could you do this?” one of the matriarchs shouted above the din.
“We will not stand for a partnership with the empire!” cried one of the warriors. “They are our enemies.”
Panic was contagious. I felt it rising in my chest, twisting and growing, blackening the corners of my vision. It sent shivers through my blood, and my hands trembled on the sword where I’d clasped my fingers.
One.
Two.
Three.
On the far side of the room, the Anaheran ministers sat calmly in their chairs, watching the chaos. They knew. They expected this. They wanted this. And on his bench, the high magistrate observed the unraveling of civility below, and the way his guards moved in like they might begin slaughtering government officials right here.
I looked at Aaru to find that he’d broken his post and was coming toward me. Other guards were moving around, so he didn’t stand out, except for the fact that he wasn’t threatening senators or matriarchs.
::Calming pills?:: he asked.
I shook my head—they were in the hotel room, safe with all our belongings—but he was right. The panic attack was coming, and all the counting in the world wouldn’t stop it. And if I had a meltdown here and now, everyone would know I wasn’t a guard. My scar wouldn’t be able to hide me.
I did the only thing I could.
I touched the noorestones.
Fifty of them.
Light flickered, and the room filled with a new height of noise, but inside my chest, the tangle of panic eased. My hands stilled. My heartbeat steadied. All it took was a ligh
t touch, like a reassuring brush of fingertips against a comforting blanket.
Aaru took my elbow. ::What did you do?::
I shook my head. “Not now.” Beyond him, I could see Nine coming toward us, determination in her expression.
As the general panic reached new heights, Paorah raised his voice for the first time. “Sit!” He slammed his palm on the bench, loud enough to be heard over the chaos. “Everyone sit and be quiet, or my guards will make you quiet.”
Half the guards raised their swords, the metal blades gleaming wickedly in the noorestone light.
Everyone drew a breath at the same time, or so it seemed. People looked at one another, stricken expressions marring their faces, and one at a time, they began to sit. Their protests died. The knifelike curses were swallowed back.
“Thank you.” Paorah hadn’t risen from his seat, and even now, he stayed where he was. A veil of calm fell over him. “Now, shouting and swearing has done you no good. Try listening for once.”
“You’re out of your mind,” said one of the senators. “We will not join the empire. We will not lower ourselves to become another territory.”
Paorah sighed, and he nodded toward the nearest guard.
Without warning, the guard slit open the senator’s throat.
Blood sprayed.
People jumped away.
The senator slumped over the desk. Dead.
But no one dared speak. Not even a shout or a cry. Nothing.
I could feel a sob welling up in my throat, and I couldn’t stop it, but it made no sound when it came out. Aaru’s fingers were tight around my arm.
Nine had reached us, but she didn’t speak. She just watched the muffled horror of everyone in the chamber.
“All right.” Paorah drummed his fingers over the desk. “Now again, I ask you all to listen. Anyone else speaking out of turn will be dealt with similarly.” He waved the guards back, and all the blue-jacketed men and women began moving toward their posts, leaving the body where it had fallen. As a reminder. “My deal with the Algotti Empire is simple,” he said at last. “We all know the Great Abandonment will not stop with Idris. I don’t know which island will be next, but it is inevitable. Sooner or later, it will be Anahera, and I have a duty to my people. I must protect them.”