Obin shook his head at her story about Iriyat, the Council, and the priests. “I knew they were all rotten.”
“Not Mar, Papa,” Ev said. She wanted to say he’s not pure and innocent, but no one is, and at least he’s trying to do the right thing, but instead she said, “Nobody’s perfect. He tries.”
“And you’re going away?”
“Yes. We find someone to read the book,” Ev said. She didn’t know how to say decode. “Tell Mom sorry and I love her.”
“She knows.”
“Still.”
“Of course I’ll tell her.”
“And you be careful with Zilal—he’s nice, but he puts people to sleep with his hand.”
“We might need him to do that on our way home,” Obin said, smiling wide.
“Don’t let nobody see you,” Ev said. “Don’t—”
“I was a smuggler before you were born. I know how to do this.”
“I love you,” Ev said. That phrase came easily to her in Adpri because she’d heard it so often. She didn’t know how to say And There Still the Curling Vines Do Grow, and her father wouldn’t know Djal and Mala personally, but she wanted him to know that he’d helped her. “We found your ship. We sail soon.”
“Good. I don’t know what they’ll say about me on Vines,” he said, looking directly at Ev. “But I know you’ll try to understand, because you always do.”
“You could tell me yourself,” Ev pointed out, switching back to Laalvuri.
“I wouldn’t know what to say,” he said in a tone that ended the conversation.
“We’ll talk about this when I come back,” Ev said. “Because I am coming back.” And then she hugged him again.
“Hey,” Ajee said, before Ev could crouch down to say goodbye to Zilal. “Don’t leave yet.” He didn’t hug her, just stood awkwardly close with his arms by his sides. “I meant what I said about being sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff to you. Obin and Neiran took me to task and it made me think about some things. You can still be mad at me if you want, but—tell me we might be friends again? Eventually?”
“Of course,” Ev said. “Especially if you help.” She grabbed him in an impulsive hug. An instant later, he hugged her back fiercely.
23
And There Still the Curling Vines Do Grow
AND THERE STILL THE CURLING Vines Do Grow was anchored in the deep water outside the narrow confines of Arishdenan harbor, so Ev and Alizhan had to take a rowboat out to the ship. Djal had wanted to bring them himself, but he hadn’t fully recovered from his injuries. Instead, Mala met them in the harbor and Ev rowed. Mala conveyed Djal’s wishes in her slow, musical accent. “He said, and I quote, ‘I hope they beat the shit out of him.’”
“We didn’t,” Ev said, and from Mala’s narrowed eyes, Ev guessed she’d been hoping for the same. “Vatik offered to go back and keep an eye out. We might need him later.”
The captain was not in evidence when they arrived, so Djal took them to a cabin to wait while he searched for her. The few minutes of waiting stretched and stretched. Ev had no interest in studying the vibrantly colored cloth hangings decorating the cabin, or the pile of pillows on the bed, set into a niche in the wall. There was a chair opposite the bed. Ev was too restless to sit down. Alizhan sat and drummed her fingers on the chair arm.
The captain’s arrival was preceded by voices outside.
“But Djal promised that this trip, I could help him. I don’t want to spend the whole time babysitting two—” the door to the cabin opened to reveal a chubby adolescent boy and an older woman, and as the boy’s gaze took in Alizhan and Ev, his eyes widened and the tone of his voice turned to awe as he finished his sentence: “—girls.”
The woman didn’t raise a hand, but she gave him a look like a slap. The young man hunched his shoulders, chastened.
Ev could hardly pay attention to him.
The woman towered over him. She was imposing, taller than Ev but more angular, and her skin was lustrous black. She was surely older than Ev, but time hadn’t touched her face—only a knife had. A scar slashed her left cheek underneath her eye, a single flaw in her striking symmetry. Her head was shaved. The bright green fabric of her clothes was patterned with rows of gold circles. Papa rarely wore Adpri prints at home, but Ev recognized the design and its meaning: the sun, a symbol of strength. Two teardrops of beaten gold hung from the woman’s earlobes, catching the light when she moved her head.
Ev had never seen a woman like her. She was beautiful.
“Girls indeed,” the woman said. She appraised Ev, but her expression gave nothing away. “Show it to me.”
Ev held out the ring for inspection, and the woman’s demeanor changed entirely. She grinned and held up her left hand, wiggling her fingers so that her own ring caught the light. “How is it that Obin Umarsad’s daughter came to have a name like Evreyet?”
Djal must have told the captain what he knew about her. Or perhaps this woman really did know her father. Ev tried to hide her concerns and appear calm. “My mother liked it.”
“Yes, the legendary, fearsome Neiran.”
The captain knew her mother’s name. Ev had never thought of small, cheerful Neiran—who lined her eyes carefully with kohl after waking and who jangled about their house weighed down with jewelry, humming happily, her long braid swinging—as fearsome, but when she considered the description, it wasn’t wrong.
“More importantly, how is it that Obin Umarsad doesn’t write me for years, never comes to find me when I’m in the harbor, never invites me to his home, and then sends me his daughter to cart across the sea like a bolt of cloth or a barrel of lamp fluid?”
“I sent myself,” Ev said. “And how is it that you know my father, again?” And why did he never tell me about you? she added silently. What would she have given to know that there were women like this in the world? Women who looked like her, women who cut off all their hair and hung swords from their belts.
“Djal and Mala tell me the two of you want to get to Nalitzva very badly,” the captain said. She’d sidestepped the question. “Why is that?”
“We’re seeking audience with Prince Ilyr,” Ev said as seriously as she could. She’d never said “seeking audience” before, only read it in books.
The captain burst out laughing. “I bet Obin loved that.”
He had not.
She shuffled through some pages in her hands. “I see someone—Djal said it was Mar ha-Solora, but I’m not sure I believed him until just this moment—has paid your passage and furnished you with letters of reference.” She paused to examine the wax seals on all the letters. “Mar’s keeping his own name out of it, but it all looks respectable enough. That’s good. They register everyone who enters Nalitzva, and you’ll never even make it out of the harbor without papers, let alone anywhere near the prince. Anything else you want to tell me about this surprise trip across the sea?”
Ev hesitated. How much Djal and Mala had shared? How much it was safe to share? She had a terrible feeling that the captain was relishing her silence. Djal and Mala trusted this woman, and this was the ship that her father had once worked on, and Ev had never met anyone so much like herself. Perhaps her reasoning was foolish, but Ev wanted to be honest with the captain. “Also, everyone in Laalvur is trying to kill us.”
The captain laughed again. “Now there’s a reason to go to Nalitzva. Lucky for you, I’m no stranger to that particular problem. As for your father and me, that’s a long story.” A brilliant smile. “But the short version is that my name is Ifeleh Umarsad, and you’re my niece.”
Ev tried not to let her jaw drop. “Papa’s your brother.”
“Half-brother, technically,” Ifeleh said. She tilted her head to the side. “The bad half.”
Ev’s eyes couldn’t get any larger. What else was she missing? Were there other family members? Why didn’t Obin ever talk about his family?
“He didn’t tell you any of this, I see,” Ifeleh said. “Well, that’
s a story that requires more time than I have to tell, and it’s waited twenty-some years, so it’ll wait longer. I have things to do. Welcome aboard Vines. This is Gad. He’s here to keep an eye on you. Try not to get in the way.”
She left as abruptly as she’d arrived.
“Where’d you two come from, anyway? Are people really trying to kill you? That’s the only good reason to go to Nalitzva, unless you’re smuggling,” Gad said. “Can’t do anything fun there.”
Gad proved a talkative, if not entirely credible, companion. Ev wasn’t inclined to believe his claim that he’d seen “a thousand sharks,” for instance. But it was nice to have someone to talk to, since Alizhan had holed up with Mala, and Djal and Ifeleh were occupied with their work.
As nice as Gad was, Ev was always looking for anyone else to talk to. One shift, Ev caught a glimpse of Alizhan and Mala strolling the deck together, with Alizhan wearing an expression of great concentration and holding Mala’s hand. It was jarring to see Alizhan sustain such touch, and it stirred a longing in Ev’s chest.
Even more jarring, Djal passed by and grinned at both of them. “Looking lovely and alive this fine shift of the Lyrebird, ladies.”
“He thinks he’s so smooth,” Mala said to Alizhan.
“So do you,” Alizhan said, guileless and cheerful, with no trace of the seriousness that had creased her face a moment ago. Mala looked heavenward and put a hand over her face. Djal burst out laughing.
“Thank you for that. Never could read this one,” Djal said. “Now come here. I heard you’ve been practicing.”
Practicing what? No one had said a thing to Ev, even though she was standing nearby. She felt as though half the conversation was in a language she didn’t speak. Alizhan was hesitating, hanging back by Mala instead of approaching Djal, even though his arms were spread.
“You can’t hurt me, little sister,” Djal said. Alizhan steeled herself, then sprang out of Mala’s arms and clamped him in a hug.
Watching the two of them, Ev was pierced with envy. She was Alizhan’s friend first. She’d fought for Alizhan, left home for her, caught her when she fell. Ev ought to be able to hug her, at least. Then Ev remembered whose company she was sharing, and the strength of her reaction embarrassed her. It was too much to hope that neither Alizhan nor Djal had felt it. Could Mala feel other people’s feelings too? Smoke, that would be the only way to make this more mortifying.
“Ev,” Alizhan said, breaking away from Djal and acknowledging her.
Mala looked at Alizhan and shook her head. “You’re not ready for that.”
“We’ll talk later, Ev, I promise,” Alizhan said, and then she and Mala were walking away. Everyone was always promising to talk to Ev later, never right now.
“You’re alright,” Djal assured her once it was only the two of them standing together. “Or you’ll get there.”
Ev frowned. “Thank you?”
Laughter came easily to him. “I like you, Evreyet Umarsad, even though you never relax. In Adappyr we call each other brother, sister, cousin, aunt, uncle, you know that?”
“Yes,” Ev said. It warmed her every time he did. Ev wore her heritage on her skin and in her hair, but Adappyr itself was just a dot on a map. When Djal and the other crew members called her little sister, it connected her to a place she’d never been. “Can I call you brother?”
“Took you long enough to ask, little sister.”
“Do you miss it? Adappyr?”
He nodded. “Some parts. It’s complicated, like all places. I miss some people. I miss the food, too. I miss that bright, hot sunshine that you can’t get anywhere else in the world. Laalvuri shadows are too long for me.”
“But Adappyr’s an underground city.”
“We have skylights,” he said. “How else would we grow food?”
“I’d like to see it,” Ev said. Her father’s mysterious homeland.
“I hate to tell you this, but we’re sailing the wrong direction for that,” Djal said, and grinned.
“What’s Nalitzva like?”
“Cold. Grand. Imposing. They throw you in prison for spitting on the ground.”
Ev felt like she was talking to Gad again, with his preposterous claims. “They do not.”
“As good as,” Djal said. “You look at somebody the wrong way, you’re in trouble. Say the wrong thing, read the wrong thing, get seen with the wrong person, you’re in trouble. Be careful there, Ev. Laalvur has its problems, but you’ve grown up with a certain kind of freedom, and you take it for granted. Laalvur’s a mess—all different kinds of people, ones who want to help you and ones who want to hurt you—but it has an openness you won’t find in Nalitzva. They got nice, clean, quiet, straight streets there, with no pamphleteers or pickpockets, but they paid for ‘em.”
“Well, we won’t be staying long,” Ev said, unaccountably chilled.
“Let’s hope not, little sister.”
“Djal,” Ev said, because he was moving to end their conversation and get back to work. “Is Adappyr like that? Is that why you can’t go back?”
“Something like that. There was a time—a short time—when Adappyr was free and just. But it didn’t last.”
“What happened?”
“That’s something you’ll want to ask your father,” Djal said, and left.
Ev nearly rushed after him, but he clearly didn’t want to give her the answers she sought. And Djal had never known her father, not really. But someone on the ship had.
Unfortunately, Ifeleh was busy all the time. The ship, as small and crowded as it was, felt perversely lonely to Ev.
Alizhan, in a rare moment away from Mala, sat with her in her bunk and said, “That thing Djal said is bothering you.”
Ev nodded. “But it’s not just that. It’s also the things he said about Nalitzva. How can we possibly expect help from the prince of a place like that?”
“I met him,” Alizhan said. “I liked him.”
“You met him at Varenx House.” Ilyr’s connection to Iriyat troubled Ev. How could they trust anyone associated with her? Nothing Ev had learned about the man was reassuring. “And you think he’s a good person even though his family governs a terrible place?”
Alizhan’s gaze wandered over the worn, dark planks of the cabin. “People aren’t good or bad. They do bad things and good things.”
“Really? You, who can see into people’s most secret depths, don’t think anyone deserves to be called a bad person?” Ev said. “Not even Iriyat?”
Alizhan looked up at Ev, and there was one brief instant of clear grey eye contact, then she turned. “Especially not Iriyat.”
Ev thought of Zilal and the other orphans, and Kasrik strapped to the chair, and Djal with a sword wound to his gut, and didn’t feel so charitable toward Iriyat. But Iriyat hadn’t raised her, so she said nothing. “And you think Prince Ilyr will help us?”
“I’m sure he’s done bad things,” Alizhan allowed. “But I don’t think he’s a bad person. I don’t think your father’s a bad person, either.”
“Do you know what he did?”
Alizhan shook her head. “If a secret isn’t on the surface of someone’s mind, I have to go digging for it. And I didn’t.”
For Alizhan, that was very restrained and respectful. Ev might have appreciated it, except that she really wanted to know.
“Ifeleh knows,” Alizhan added. “If she won’t tell you, I’ll find out.”
“Thank you.”
“But Ev.”
“Yeah?”
“Have you considered that you might not want to know?” Alizhan said, and her light eyes glowed in the darkness of the room. “Sometimes not knowing is nice.”
Ev shook her head. “I need to.”
Ifeleh rarely slept, but she was usually in her cabin during the Rosefinch shift. Ev had to wait hours, but when the moment came, she knocked on the captain’s door and then opened it without waiting for an answer.
Ifeleh didn’t look happy to see her. Ha
d she really been busy this whole time, or had she been avoiding Ev’s questions? “I should throw you out,” she said. “I might’ve been naked in here.”
“Then you should have locked the door,” Ev said. “I need you to tell me about my father, since no one else will.”
“No. You came into my room. You tell me about your father first.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Ev said. “He runs a farm with my mother. We grow fruit and sell it in Laalvur. He’s educated, and I know he came from Adappyr and he was a smuggler for a while, but he never talks about any of that. He hates the rich and powerful. He taught me to fight.”
“Was he a good father?”
“Yes,” Ev said. Dozens of memories of Papa—walking to the market, sparring in the barn, reading in the sunlight—flooded her mind. If Alizhan had been there, she’d have blinked and rubbed her forehead at Ev’s sudden rush of thoughts. “The best.”
“You’re lucky,” Ifeleh said, looking down at her hands. There was a book lying open in her lap, and she closed it and put it aside on the bed. “Not everyone has a good father.”
Ev knew that. She’d met too many orphans. “He taught me to fight because the other kids in the village used to pick on me. They told me my father was a murderer,” Ev said. “It made me cry. My mother always said he wasn’t—she said everyone was just prejudiced against him because he was Adpri—but I could never get him to deny it.”
Ifeleh huffed out a laugh, smiled sadly, and said, “Obin. Of course.”
That wasn’t the response Ev wanted.
“What do you know about Adappyr?”
“It’s an underground city,” Ev said, feeling as though she were reciting a passage she’d memorized in school. “It’s the closest human settlement to Noon, and although it’s still very far from Noon, it’s too hot to live above ground there. It’s also close to the volcano Adap, but people settled there to take advantage of a system of underground caves and a nearby vein of ore, which they mine and export.”
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