She’d passed out just as Thiyo remembered that Sardas was working for Iriyat. And Sardas had abducted him. That made more sense than her previous theories. Merat didn’t value Thiyo and had been content to abandon him, whether that was in prison in Nalitzva or in a dorm in Estva. But Iriyat had always been interested in the islands—and in people with gifts.
And she’d built that room with the chair and the restraints and the jars full of medusa venom and had someone keep Kasrik there and hurt him. There was no good reason for Iriyat to meet Thiyo.
Wherever Thiyo and Ev had gone, Alizhan hoped they’d come back soon. It was a small ship. They couldn’t go far. Her head felt tender and full to bursting with Thiyo’s memories stirred into her own. The thought of going out and running into Sardas or Merat exhausted her.
She picked up the journal instead.
The writer was almost an endearing character. A little pompous, but she was honest about her shortcomings and made no secret of what she wanted. It was hard to think of her as Iriyat, and harder still to think my mother. But it was easy to read about Arav and think my father, to skim those passages with a strange, new feeling. Iriyat had loved him so much. She made it seem easy. He must have been lovable. What would it have been like to know him? If Arav had lived, what kind of life would they have had? How different would Iriyat have been?
Were other people like that—one tragedy away from committing evil acts? Was Alizhan like that?
Still, when Merat and Orosk Varenx locked Iriyat in her room and Iriyat wrote in her journal “I will not treat my child the way they treat me,” Alizhan hurled the book across the cabin. Iriyat hadn’t repeated her parents’ mistakes, but she’d made her own. In this case, different wasn’t better.
And it was one thing for Iriyat to have had that thought twenty years ago, but she’d written this particular entry in the Year 761 of the Balance. Three years ago. Alizhan had been sixteen, living in Varenx House, desperate for the barest hint of Iriyat’s affection, still harboring a secret hope that her family was out there. Iriyat could have told her at any time. Instead she’d written this journal in secret code, in invisible ink, like Alizhan was something to be ashamed of.
Why tell the story at all?
There’d been one entry that stood out, an “incursion of the present,” as Iriyat called it, describing her meeting with Ilyr. Alizhan appeared as a minor character in the long story addressed to her: “You declined to tell me Ilyr’s secret on the first triad of his visit.” Alizhan had thought she was protecting the prince. She’d felt a kinship with him, a man who loved men. And she hadn’t wanted to tell Iriyat out of a perverse fear that sharing Ilyr’s secret might reveal her own. But these were details and not the principle goal of the entry. With some help from Mar, Iriyat had persuaded Ilyr to go to the islands. She’d been convinced it would benefit her somehow. In the conversation she’d recorded, she’d spoken of the trade in venom—Alizhan thought of that room again, and her stomach lurched—but the journal entry had suggested there was more.
Alizhan hated Iriyat for all the lies she’d told and for all the hurt she’d put into the world. She didn’t want to know that woman any better. But she wanted to know what had happened to young Iriyat, the one who’d been so in love. And she wanted to know why this journal existed. She picked the book up.
Mere pages later, Merat and Orosk—her grandparents—tried to force Iriyat to have an abortion. “Fuck,” Alizhan said out loud.
Things were obviously going to get worse.
“Where are you going?” Ev called. Thiyo had laid Alizhan down gently in his berth, then stood up and marched toward the door. Ev recognized something of Alizhan in those movements—that decisive walk disguising his unsteadiness, that determination to do something absolutely scorching reckless.
“We know something Merat doesn’t,” Thiyo said. “That puts us in a position of power.”
“An extremely tenuous position.” Ev crossed the cabin in a stride and closed the door behind her. Thiyo had just exited, but she caught up, got in front of him, and blocked his path. She used her size to back him into the door. “Maybe we should talk about it.”
He stepped to the side, forcing her to move to block his path again. Merat’s cabin was right next to theirs, but Thiyo had been unconscious since they’d boarded. Ev refrained from looking in its direction. When it became clear that Ev wasn’t going to let him pass, he threw up his hands. “There’s no time for this. We have a choice between Merat and Iriyat, and while I’m not eager to befriend either of them, Merat is just a cunning, amoral courtier who sometimes has inconvenient people thrown in prison. And she’s been transparent about what she wants—Iriyat dead and herself restored to power in Varenx House. Iriyat, on the other hand, is possessed by some kind of deranged ambition to control the world, and she will torture and kill any number of innocent people to achieve that goal.”
With that, he stepped past her and got two paces down the deck before Ev said, “Wait, what?” and stopped him. Iriyat wanted to run Laalvur, certainly, and she had no compunctions about torture and killing. But the world?
“Ah,” Thiyo said. He kept his voice low. “You haven’t read that far in the journal. Trust me. It’s a miserable choice—especially given that Merat has a particular hatred for me—but there’s only one sane option. We betray Sardas to Merat and maybe, just maybe, we can disembark in Laalvur and not get dragged right into a cell in the basement of Varenx House.” He paused to breathe. “That’s also in the journal.”
Cells in the basement of Varenx House. Ev wished the detail surprised her. “So we tell Merat. Then what?”
“I don’t know. She has Sardas restrained and we question him? All I care about is not sailing right into Iriyat’s clutches. We’ll figure the rest out—”
“Thiyo.” As quiet as they’d kept their voices in the midst of the noisy deck, they’d still attracted the attention of at least three sailors and a man Ev recognized as one of Merat’s guards. The men were approaching slowly, affecting indifference, as though they just happened to be walking by. But one of them was holding a spear. Ev knew what it felt like to be purposefully surrounded. When Thiyo locked eyes with her, she said, “Run.”
There was no time to see if he took her advice. Hope you listen to me for once in your fiery life. She spun on her heel and punched the man behind her in the nose with a crunch before he could move on her. Her fist came away bloody. He was gripping a knife and his arm jerked up when she attacked, slashing at her. He was using one hand to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. He swung the knife at her middle, but she backed out of range. At the end of his swing, she grabbed his wrist and bent it backward. She yanked the knife from his hand, and still holding his arm, she forced him down and brought her knee up into his already-broken nose.
When the second man came for her, she stabbed him in the gut.
The other two men should have come to their comrades’ aid by now, but since they hadn’t, Thiyo must still be here. Ev whirled. There he was, backed all the way up against the railing, leaning backward toward the water, a spear at his throat. The last man was also armed with a knife, brandishing it to prevent Thiyo from escaping, but when he saw that Ev was free, he charged her. She dodged his first strike and they circled each other. Undistracted by a bloody nose, this man was more precise with his movements, and his second swing sliced at her middle, leaving a shallow cut. But Ev surprised him by dropping her own knife and disarming him as she had the first man. When she bent his wrist, his knife clattered to the deck and she kicked it over the edge. She brought her elbow down hard on the back of his arm and shoved him down. Should she pick up her knife and stab him? Was everyone on the ship hostile to her? She was weighing the consequences versus her chances of survival when she heard shouting.
Thiyo was gone.
Her pulse exploded in her ears and she barreled into the man with the spear, crushing him to the railing and wrenching the spear from his grip. A glance over the edge re
vealed Thiyo bobbing in the dark water far below. Had he been stabbed? Was he still alive?
The moment of distraction cost her, and the former owner of the spear twisted them around so Ev had her back to the railing. Unable to fend him off with one hand clutching the spear, she let it fall into the water below. She shoved at her attacker with both hands, but he was as heavy as her, and his grip on her arms was unshakeable. Then there was a knifepoint pricking her neck—the other man, holding the knife she should have stabbed him with—and a searing pain as she jerked away. Blood ran down her torso. And then there were two men lifting her up and over the railing, pitching her into the air.
She plummeted down into the water.
32
Blink
EV AND THIYO SHOULD HAVE come back by now. Alizhan had read the whole journal, even the parts that had made her want to set the damn thing on fire. Her headache had subsided. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do on this ship. Worry sparked in her mind. She threw open the cabin door and searched the deck with her gaze. No sign of them—just sailors. She stepped out and called their names, caught between hoping they’d pop out from some hatch and dreading that she’d run into their bloody corpses.
Neither happened. Alizhan strode to Merat’s cabin and banged on the door. “Where are Ev and Thiyo?”
Merat sighed. “This is what I get for not having dealt with you sooner.”
What did that mean? Alizhan forced her way in, making Merat take a step backward. Their eyes were level, and Merat’s grey gaze was cold. They were alone. Merat’s cabin was tasteful and luxurious in a way that made Alizhan want to rip the stuffing out of all the pillows and shred all the sheets. “Answer my fucking question. Where are Ev and Thiyo?”
Merat held up her hands with her palms facing Alizhan. From anyone else, it would have been surrender. From Merat, it was a threat. “Such language. Of course I had to take care of them. You shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve told you all along that it’s my goal to restore the glory of Varenx House, and how can I do that when you keep company with peasants and deviants?”
Where were they? Were they really dead? Alizhan felt something rising up around her, overtaking her, filling up all the air and leaving her no room to breathe. She struggled to keep her head up and draw breath. Anger and despair would drown her. She wanted to scream, or run for the rail and throw herself over it, or throttle Merat. She wanted all that and she couldn’t move. Rationally, she knew her heart must be racing, but she felt each pounding beat distinctly, as though time had slowed. She forced a breath in and a question out. “Then why let them come in the first place? Why lie?”
“Well, I had to get you on the ship, didn’t I?” Her voice was all wrong. Bored. Casual. Too soft. It should have been all hard edges and shouting, or low and hissing, or quavering with terror. If she was really confessing to murder, how could she do it so calmly? Merat ought to suffer through what Alizhan was feeling. Instead, she wiggled the fingers of one of her still-raised hands. “I had them disposed of. Don’t worry. It won’t mean anything to you in a moment.”
Alizhan’s throat tasted of acid. “You killed them.”
“Are you slow, in addition to everything else? That’s what I’m trying to tell you. But you don’t have to take it so hard. Come here. Let me help you,” Merat said. “It’ll be much more pleasant. You’ll skip all these unfortunate feelings. All that anger twists your face up. It’ll give you wrinkles. You don’t want that.”
“You killed them,” Alizhan repeated. Merat had murdered them and now she was going to wipe them from Alizhan’s memory. It wasn’t enough for her to kill them once.
“To be clear, I didn’t intend to kill your tall black friend,” Merat said with exaggerated patience. “I would have let you keep her in some suitable role. But the other one had been nothing but trouble to me since Ilyr dragged it home from that godsforsaken island, and I simply couldn’t have that on my ship. And the Adpri tried to stop me.”
How could this be real? Was Merat lying? If there’d been a fight, why hadn’t Alizhan woken up? Why hadn’t she been there to help them? She couldn’t breathe.
“Oh, I thought your fidgeting and twitching was awful, but it’s even worse when you go so still. You’re such a funny little creature. Hard to believe we’re related. We’ll have to train that out of you, or at least keep you docile until you whelp. Here, I’ll fix this.”
Merat’s hand landed on her temple, the pain like a knife, and Alizhan snarled and grabbed her wrist, digging her nails in. Merat grunted, but kept her hand in place. Her fingers weren’t moving, but inside Alizhan’s head, claws dug through her mind, scraping at memories. Twenty years ago, Merat had wanted to erase her from existence and now she was trying to erase Alizhan in pieces. Would Alizhan even remember Thiyo and Ev? Would she know their names, their voices?
Then she remembered a passage of the journal.
My mother could not take anything from me. My practice had paid off. I had grown strong enough to withstand her. But the pain was real, and it was easy to pretend she had succeeded. I knew exactly the reaction to imitate: the blinking, wobbling daze that marks victims of our craft. It is exhausting, having one’s memory altered. My fatigue was genuine.
Alizhan pushed the memory from her mind. Instead, she thought of all the snow blanketing Estva, and how deadly quiet that city had been. All those cavernous rooms full of people with no thoughts or feelings at all. That was what she needed to do right now. She had to be blank. Iriyat’s victims had seamless memories, the gaps sewn over and undetectable. Merat’s victims were the guests at Ilyr’s wedding—their minds ransacked and empty. Thiyo had been aware of the missing time in his memory. Merat didn’t have Iriyat’s fine control. Alizhan would have to be strong enough to withstand her.
She let her hand fall from Merat’s arm and hang limp at her side. Iriyat had left such precise instructions. Blink. Wobble. Alizhan even managed a little smile.
“There,” Merat said. “In time, we might even fix you up as halfway presentable. You’re my blood, after all. We’ll get you married to someone respectable to purify the line. It’s best to get you pregnant as soon as possible. I want an heir who can rule Varenx House when I’m gone.”
Alizhan nodded despite her horror. She kept her expression and her muscles slack.
Merat turned away, waving a hand. “Run along. I have things to do.”
Alizhan snatched her hand out of the air and did everything she’d learned not to do. She forced everything she was thinking and feeling toward Merat, squeezing her hand as she tried to pull away. Merat choked out half a word, then her eyes welled up with tears. Her breathing turned irregular. She stopped resisting Alizhan’s touch. Alizhan took a step forward and put her other hand on Merat’s temple. She tore open Merat’s mind with her own, pushing aside everything in it. There was nothing but fury. That torrent charged through her and she let it flood Merat, blotting out every thought, every memory, every feeling, every sensation, channeling the airless, drowning force of her grief and rage.
Merat jerked under her hands, her eyelids fluttering. Her mouth hung open. She fell to the floor and Alizhan followed her down, still touching her. Merat’s limbs spasmed. Her eyes rolled back and reddened. Her tongue lolled. She pissed herself, a puddle of yellow spreading through her white skirts. And then she stilled.
Alizhan held on until her pulse stopped. Then she dropped Merat’s hand, turned, walked two steps, and vomited.
Her vision swam with black spots. She held herself upright, opened the door and braced herself. “This is my ship now,” she called. Her voice rang in her ears. Fuck, she needed to lie down. Maybe forever. Her whole body remembered Merat’s death—the shaking, the pain, the violent loss of control—as if it had happened to her. Of all the terrible ironies, she wished someone could make her forget that.
There were two sailors on the deck, but they only glanced at her and went back to work. Sardas strolled into view a moment later.
“A
bout that,” he said. He nodded at the sailors, and they returned the gesture respectfully. “Your mother says hello.”
33
Depths
EV FELL WITH HER LIMBS all spread out like she’d never dived in her life. She plunged into the churning water. He swam toward her as fast as he could, encumbered by his clothes and the spear he’d caught when it had fallen over the side. Ev shot back up, spluttering and flailing. He held the weapon away from her and reached out with his good hand, calling her name. She grabbed his arm, then shifted her grip to his shoulders, clutching any part of him she could reach. He floundered under her weight and lost his hold on the spear. The whites of her eyes were visible and she was gasping. He’d never seen her look so panicked. She can’t swim.
Thiyo opened his mouth to talk to her and got splashed with saltwater instead. Before he could spit it out, she pushed him under. Submerged, he wrestled himself away from her. A long-ago swimming lesson from his father bubbled up in his memory and Thiyo circled around behind her. He thrust his arms under hers and brought his hands back toward himself. She was still flailing and he had to kick powerfully to keep them both afloat. But he had control now and he could speak right into her ear.
“Calm down, Ev. Calm down right now. Don’t breathe in any water.” He paused to gulp down a breath. His legs ached from keeping their heads above the water.
Could she hear him or was she in shock? Was it already too late? She stopped struggling against him.
“Good. Kick your feet,” he told her. “Little kicks. That’s how you stay afloat. Can you do that for me, Ev?” She could. He felt her take his advice. Breathing got easier. She wasn’t going to drown right here in his arms. Later—he couldn’t think about later. “Yes, yes, okay, that’s it. Breathe. Just like that. See, you’re swimming. Just keep kicking and breathing. That’s all you have to do. Okay—oh, fuck, you’re bleeding, that’s not good.”
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