“Women lie with women,” Mar supplied, growing tired of my hesitations. “And men with men.”
“Oh,” Ilyr said. I paused for a moment to see if he would continue, to say what or why or how strange but he said nothing at all. His face stilled into an expressionless mask.
“It happens here, too, of course,” Mar said blithely. “But not in the open. Supposedly the islanders see nothing wrong with women lying together, or a man lying with two women, and so on. It is a subject of much speculation in—well, certain books.” Mar cleared his throat. He looked uncomfortable at mentioning pornography in front of the prince and me, which I relished, but I wore my most naive and uncomprehending expression. Ilyr was wide-eyed as well, but I suspect his surprise was genuine. At twenty-two years old, even having grown up in strictest Nalitzva in the shelter of the royal palace, Ilyr had doubtless encountered certain books; he just did not expect foreign leaders to bring them up at parties.
Mar continued quickly, “But of course, we don’t know that for sure, just like we don’t know anything else about them, because they slaughter anyone who gets too close. They see nothing wrong with that, either.”
“Perhaps they do, though,” I said, shifting our conversation from sex to violence. There was no need to linger. That work was done. “Perhaps they regret it, but they have some reason to mistrust us. We can never know unless someone brokers a peace. Imagine how the world would change. Imagine what we could learn from them.” I smiled at Ilyr. “Your bravery would be remembered forever. More wine?”
“It’s a bold idea,” Ilyr said. He held out his glass, and I poured. I don’t recall him looking at me once during the conversation. It was perfect for planting the seed as unobtrusively as possible.
“The trade in medusa venom would be radically different,” Mar mused. “Instead of going through one merchant in Laalvur who happens to have their blessing, we could trade with the islanders directly.”
“Or perhaps,” I said, “we could learn their secrets for hunting medusas and extracting their venom, and begin to do it ourselves. I am sure we could hunt far more than they do, since we know right now that demand far outstrips supply.”
“You’re right,” Mar said with a laugh. “I always forget what a head you have for business.”
Do you, now. I smiled prettily and said nothing.
“That would be the way to do it, though,” Mar said. “Promise your crew riches beyond their imagining, and a place in history, and maybe you’d get somewhere.”
“My crew would sail anywhere with me,” Ilyr said, a bit stiffly. “They are not common mercenaries, but loyal servants of the crown.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” Mar said, in the same tone he might have used to say sure, kid. He does behave perfectly sometimes. He had taken up my cause by this point in the conversation, although knowing Mar, I have no doubt he assumed it was his own brilliant idea to persuade the young prince into doing him a service. “The real challenge would be finding a way in. Not merely surviving their attack, but winning their trust.”
“How would you do it, if you were to attempt such a thing?” Ilyr asked.
“We know so little of the islanders, you would need to tread carefully,” Mar said.
“Listen to them,” I said. “First, before anything else, you must discover what they want. Once you know what a man wants, it is not so difficult to persuade him to do what you want instead.” Oh, delicious irony. I control my expressions, but I had to lift my wine glass to my lips to prevent either of them from seeing my smile.
“I see,” Ilyr said. “But you make it sound as though we’d be at odds, when really, they could benefit from this exchange as well. It would be an exchange, after all—I would offer them our knowledge and resources in return. That’s only fair.”
“I can tell you will be a just ruler, Your Highness,” I said. “But this would be a most delicate matter. They obviously do not trust us. If you could get to the point of speaking with the islanders, rather than simply having them sink your ship, you would need to prove your good will to them.”
“No one else has managed to get to that point in two hundred years,” Mar pointed out.
“It is merely a thought experiment, my lord Ha-Solora,” I said. “Do you not find His Highness gallant and charming enough to be the one who brings about this change?”
Mar cast a long, dark-eyed gaze at Ilyr.
Ilyr, being so pale and blond, blushed a darling shade of pink at Mar’s attention. He probably possessed the same endearing innocence in bed. Such sweetness is a weakness of mine—a weakness that I do not often feel. It was a pity that Ilyr would never enter my bed or Mar’s.
But sex is a tawdry prize. The game offers far more lasting satisfaction.
“I do,” Mar said. “But charm and gallantry will not save him from their cannons.”
“Temperance will not be troubled by their cannons,” Ilyr insisted.
In Laalvur, there is a rather whimsical custom of naming ships after lines from poems or songs. In Nalitzva, they frown on whimsy. They name their ships Temperance or Chastity instead. Perhaps it is because of his youth, but Ilyr struck me as less dour and rigid than some of his countrymen, which would serve him well in the islands.
“Well,” I said, with some cheer to ease Ilyr’s wounded pride. “In that case, I would advise you to speak only of your appreciation for their culture, your desire to live among them, and never mention trade. Do not speak of bringing our ways to the islands. They have gone to great pains to avoid contact with us.”
“Good advice,” Mar agreed. “A light touch is what’s needed.”
“I’m sure His Highness has a very light touch, my lord Ha-Solora,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me, I must see to the rest of my guests.”
I stood carefully, attending to the fall of my skirts. Had Ilyr been interested in me, I might have let them flutter behind me in my exit, but instead I slipped out as unnoticeably as possible. Not that it mattered; he only had eyes for Mar.
And now that the seed is planted, I wait. Contact with the islanders would bear so many sweet fruits.
12
A Dog and a Wolf
ALIZHAN WAS A LIMP WEIGHT in her arms. Ev carried her through the streets of Arishdenan, wending her way to the innermost point, the back of her neck prickling the whole time. She’d never felt more conspicuous in her life. They had to hide. Ev needed to get Alizhan somewhere safer.
Ev picked the inn with the fewest people gathered around its entrance. The paint had flaked off its faded sign, but between the image and the faint remains of lettering, Ev could see it was called The Anchor. The wooden door, dry and brittle, hung crooked on its hinges and groaned when she opened it.
“Too much to drink,” the innkeeper said, surveying Alizhan and handing Ev the key to the room. He made a noise of disapproval. “Don’t let her filth up my floors.”
Thanks to its thick stone walls, the room was dark and silent and cool, and Alizhan began to breathe more steadily as soon as Ev laid her on the bed and closed the door. A moment later, her eyes opened.
“Should I leave?” Ev asked. “Would it be easier for you to be alone?”
Alizhan waved a hand in the air. Ev couldn’t tell if she was being dismissed, or if her idea was. After a few deep breaths, she said, “Stay.”
Alizhan lay on the bed in exactly the way she’d been laid there, as if rolling over or sitting up was beyond her powers. Ev tried to exist as quietly as possible, not moving or thinking or feeling anything in particular.
“You saved us,” Ev said. “Thank you.”
A long silence. There was only the sound of their breath to disturb it.
Then Alizhan scratched idly at her fingertips, rubbing them together. She was still wearing gloves. The gesture was familiar.
“Do your fingers itch?” Ev said. She didn’t have time to ease into the question.
“You think it’s from the book,” Alizhan said immediately. Ev would never get used to
having her questions answered before she’d asked them. Alizhan didn’t move, but there was excitement in her voice. “You think there’s something coating the pages that makes people’s fingers itch.”
“Ivardas was scratching his fingers after touching the pages,” Ev said. “So was my father.”
“I had my gloves off when I stole the book,” Alizhan said. She pulled them off, lifted her hands above her face, and scrutinized her fingertips. She scratched at them again, and said, with surprising detachment, “Maybe it’s poison.”
“Maybe it’s ink,” Ev countered.
“What kind of ink gives people rashes?”
“Those blue smudges only showed up after you stashed the book in salt for a few hours. I think we need to put the book back in salt, let it sit, and see if those smudges get any easier to read.”
“I guess the salt can’t hurt,” Alizhan said. “And it might work! And it’s not like we’re overflowing with better ideas.”
“You don’t really think whatever’s on the pages is poison, right?” Ev said, concerned. “Or maybe you think that’s what’s making you sick?”
Alizhan shook her head. “That’s me. That’s how I am. How I’ve always been.”
“But we were in the city for half a shift before you got sick.”
“If I really need to focus on something—getting away, finding a path through an unfamiliar place, touching someone—to survive, I can grit my teeth and do it. But I pay the price later. When we ran through the Temple, I ransacked the mind of every priest and servant in our way. It was too much. As for walking through the city, I can handle that for a while, sometimes,” Alizhan said. “If I focus.”
“So that’s what you were doing while we were walking to the Temple? Focusing? What about all those times you came to steal from me in the market?”
In answer, Alizhan lifted one shoulder and let it drop. When it became clear that Ev hadn’t magically intuited the meaning of this gesture, she explained, “I was listening to you, mostly.” And then she added, “You’re my landmark. I can always find you. Focusing on you makes it easy to shut out other people. I don’t think I could walk through the city at all if not for you.”
Nothing had ever made Ev feel so naked, as if Alizhan could see right through her clothes and her skin to the rapid beat of her heart beneath it all.
Which, in a way, she could.
Ev tried not to think about Alizhan’s fierce grip on her hand as they ran through the Temple, or how terrifying it had been to cradle Alizhan’s unconscious body in her arms. Could they only touch if their lives were threatened? Would they ever be able to touch each other again?
“You’re afraid again,” Alizhan said. “You were afraid back at your house, too. And so angry.”
“I was woken up mid-shift because a stranger with a sword broke into my house. Being angry and afraid is a perfectly logical response.”
“Yes,” Alizhan said. “But I don’t think you were afraid of him. You weren’t afraid when those two men attacked us on the road—and Zenav was only one man. I don’t think you were angry at him, either. You were angry at me.”
Ev crossed her arms over her chest and said nothing. The gesture was one of irritation, but also one of protection: she wanted to cover herself. As if that would help. But Ev couldn’t complain about Alizhan eavesdropping on her, not really, because otherwise they’d never have been able to get away from Zenav. And Alizhan had saved both their lives by finding a way out of the Temple, even if using her power had nearly killed her.
Still. Ev didn’t have to like feeling so naked.
That was the last of their conversation for some time. The ensuing silence loomed over both of them until Alizhan curled up on the bed and squeezed her eyes shut. Ev went out for a walk.
When Ev returned to the room hours later, lugging a bag of salt, Alizhan was sitting up on the bed, awake and acting as though nothing had happened.
“We need to find Kasrik,” she said. “The salt is a good idea, too.”
“Finding Kasrik is going to involve spending a lot of time lurking in the city,” Ev said. What if he was already dead? Did they have any hope of discovering what had happened to him?
“I’m fine.”
“Right.” Ev split the bag of salt open at the top and packed the book inside. “You know Vatik will still be looking for you. Zenav, too.”
“I can’t stay hidden in this room forever.”
“Who said anything about forever? Lie low for a few triads. Let me find Kasrik.”
“How are you going to find him? You can’t hear what people are thinking.”
“I can see faces and walk through a crowd without collapsing, so I’ll start there.” Ev had only meant to point out the obvious, but Alizhan’s silence said she’d gone too far. “It’s dangerous for you,” she continued, trying to defend herself. Walking into her kitchen to see Zenav looming over Alizhan with his hand casually resting on the hilt of his sword had sent a stab of fear through Ev’s gut. How small she’d looked. How defenseless. Watching Alizhan waver and faint in the alley had been worse. At least Ev could do something about a man with a sword. Whatever sickness was seeping through Alizhan’s body was beyond Ev’s control.
She never wanted to feel that way again.
“I am small,” Alizhan said. She was staring at the wall and her head was cocked. “But now seems like a good moment to remind you that my touch knocks people unconscious, so you don’t have to think of me as defenseless.”
As if Ev could possibly have forgotten that. As if Ev didn’t think of that every time she looked at Alizhan’s face, or the line of her neck, or the slender width of her hips. “Zenav’s sword would have cut you open the same as anyone else.”
“But it didn’t, because I talked him into doing what I wanted! I’m not helpless, Ev. Stop acting like I’m fragile and useless,” Alizhan said. Then, flatly, “Besides, you can’t make me stay in this room. And if you don’t like what I’m doing, you can leave.”
“I just don’t want you to get yourself killed!” How did that make her the villain? How could she and Alizhan work together so well in life-or-death situations, only to fall to bickering when it was just the two of them? Not even one full shift had passed since Ev had volunteered to have her wrists bound behind her back rather than risk never seeing Alizhan again.
Ev liked Alizhan. Alizhan was reckless and impulsive and deliberately difficult, of course, and she never followed Ev’s rule about not peeking inside, not to mention that she was strange and intrusive and the cause of almost all of Ev’s problems, but—
What, exactly? Why did she like Alizhan?
It had something to do with the way Alizhan looked at Ev. Not with her actual gaze, since that wandered aimlessly or fixated on nothing most of the time. Everyone else looked at Ev and wanted her to be someone she wasn’t. Someone prettier. Someone more feminine. Someone who got in fewer fights. Someone who spent less time daydreaming about books.
Alizhan looked at Ev and saw Ev. Too much of Ev, sometimes. But Alizhan liked Ev for who she was, not for who she could be.
Ev owed it to Alizhan to treat her the same way. To let her be herself. Her frustrating, foolish self. But Alizhan was also funny and fearless. Cute, too. And she thought Ev was loyal and heroic and kind, and knowing that made Ev want to be those things.
Ev sighed. She didn’t want to fight. “Please don’t look for Kasrik by yourself.”
“So we’ll do it together, then.”
“And you promise that if I sleep for a shift, you won’t run off and get captured by Vatik or whoever else is after us?”
“As if they could catch me,” Alizhan said. “But fine. We’ll rest.”
Ev nodded, and though sleep fell soft and heavy as soon as she laid her head down, she went to bed feeling lighter.
They didn’t find Kasrik.
What they did find, instead, was a buzz of conflicting rumors about what had happened in the Temple of Doubt. Pamphleteers were cryi
ng every possible headline in the street: a man had been murdered in the sanctuary; a riot had broken out; there had been a fight but no deaths; guards from some of the Great Houses were implicated; a guard from Solor House had broken the sacred law of the Temple and drawn his blade—
“That’s not true!” Ev said under her breath, frustrated. “We know that’s not true.”
“They don’t care,” Alizhan said. “They’re just trying to sell pamphlets. Most of them make things up wholesale. Lots of them are being paid by one Council member or another. Or sometimes a priest. Iriyat knows at least a dozen of them.”
“What?” Ev cried. Obin had always said as much, but she hated to think it was true. Maybe the priests of Doubt were right: there was no way to know anything for sure. But no. She knew what she’d seen.
“A few of them are trying to tell what really happened,” Alizhan reassured her. “Nobody’s paying them to tell a particular story. They never get much attention, though, and they can be wrong, too.”
“How can we find out if Vatik or Zenav survived that fight?” Ev would feel terrible if she’d gotten Zenav killed, even though deep down, she’d always known it was a possible consequence of her plan.
“I expect we’ll see them again, if they lived,” Alizhan said and shrugged.
Ev bought a few more pamphlets as they walked, anyway. None of them seemed to match the details she remembered from the events in the Temple. One of them contained an interview with a priest of the Balance sniffing that no such chaos had occurred in his temple. There was a portrait beside the article labeled with the name “Anavik”—a thin, bald man who looked like he had plenty more divisive and condescending comments waiting behind his pinched frown. Representations of people were a sin against God’s Balance, so the priest had not consented to this caricature. Staring at the portrait made Ev uncomfortable. She wasn’t devout, but it still felt wrong. Pamphleteers had no respect for rules, whether human or divine. And a small portrait of a man was nothing compared to the images available in other pamphlets. She sighed and kept moving.
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