It couldn’t all be Lacemaking. Iriyat only had two hands. She would have had to work on Mar and the other Council members. The rest of it would have been accomplished using propaganda like the pamphlet Alizhan had just read. And now she was offering the city a gigantic wedding feast to smooth over any uncomfortable questions. Instead of consequences for what she’d done to the children in that house in Gold Street, there would be singing and drinking in every neighborhood. They’d toast her name.
Iriyat had Mar. She had immense wealth. A network of spies and allies all over the world. Years of experience manipulating her public image. A whole city rooting for her.
What the hell could Alizhan possibly do about any of that? Her former plan to put Iriyat on trial felt ludicrous. Iriyat had destroyed the journal. Alizhan didn’t even have Ev and Thiyo to help anymore.
Ev wouldn’t want you to sulk.
Damn that kid. He was right. And Ev wouldn’t want Alizhan to murder Iriyat, not if Alizhan could bring her to justice in some other way. Alizhan wasn’t sure she could do either, but she knew what Ev would want.
“I still have to play even if I’m going to lose, is that it?” Alizhan said, as if Ev were in the room listening. “You wouldn’t give up. Because it would be wrong. You know, life was a lot easier before I knew about being a good person.”
Thiyo would have agreed with Alizhan on that, but he wasn’t here, either.
Alizhan dabbed at her wet eyes. “I don’t feel bad about killing Merat and I never will.” But Merat had killed her friends and then attacked her. Ev would have understood what she’d done. It would be something else entirely if Alizhan crept into Iriyat’s bedroom and slit her throat.
Was it wrong if Alizhan wanted to? Was it wrong if she didn’t? Alizhan didn’t know—about that or about anything else. And Ev and Thiyo weren’t here to ask.
“Fuck you both for leaving me alone with this,” she whispered.
But she wasn’t totally alone. Kasrik had come to see her. He’d mentioned Eliyan and Mala, which meant he had allies in Eliyan’s orphanage and among the Vines crew. Once, Mar had been an ally, but that time was over.
Alizhan might be able to make other allies among the Council members, but she’d need to show them proof. Iriyat’s journal might have worked, but it was gone now. What would make them believe her?
There was a knock at the door.
Alizhan checked that the pamphlet was tucked safely under her mattress. “Come in.”
Iriyat entered. She was dressed to go out, in a pale blue silk tunic and trousers, but her gloves and her veil were missing and her hair hung loose over her shoulders. Without asking permission, she sat on the edge of Alizhan’s bed.
That was the wrong way to think of it. She sat on a bed in Varenx House—a bed she owned—that Alizhan happened to have slept in recently. Alizhan forced herself to stay seated instead of springing up and backing away.
“I hope you’re feeling more rested,” Iriyat said. “I know this is a difficult time for you, and for us, but we will endure. I want to help you, Alizhan. Anything you need.”
“I didn’t get to finish reading your journal,” Alizhan lied. “I wish you hadn’t burned it. Do you think you could write another?”
“But you have me now,” Iriyat said. “Anything you want to know, you can just ask.”
It had been worth a shot.
Iriyat parted her hair down the center, divided it into sections, and began to braid it. She’d taught Alizhan to braid years ago, and sometimes, on special occasions, she’d let Alizhan play with those long, blond tresses. Watching her hands deftly move through her hair was a glimpse into some other world, one Alizhan could no longer enter. “I’m sure you understand why I couldn’t have those books lying around. They’ve already been the source of so much trouble. I feel terrible about what you’ve been through. I’m glad to see the damn things burned.”
In addition to being evidence, that copy of The Sunrise Chronicles with the translation sewn into it had been the only object Alizhan had to remind her of Ev and Thiyo. Iriyat destroyed memories in more ways than one.
“But if you and I are going to work together—and more importantly, if we’re going to be a family—then we’ll have to be honest with each other. So if you have questions, please ask. I’m grateful to you for avenging your father. My mother truly was a blight on this world. I think this could be the start of something wonderful for us. I wanted to gift you a better world, and I’ve failed in that so far, but perhaps we were always meant to make that better world together.”
Work together? Be a family? Did Iriyat genuinely think they could recover? Was she serious? “It means a lot to you that I committed a murder,” Alizhan said.
“Murder? It was justice. And, as I understand from Sardas, self-defense.” Iriyat finished one of her braids and began working on the other side. “And of course I’m touched that you read my account of her crimes and were moved to make things right.”
That was Iriyat’s version of events? Alizhan decided not to correct her. “Then why did you wait so long to share that story with me?”
“Because I wanted to cure you first,” Iriyat said. “That’s why. I wanted to accomplish all my goals before providing you with that account. And I thought I was close. With every experiment, I came closer. I’m still hopeful that we’ll find one soon.”
There she was, beautiful and serene and ensconced in luxury, sitting on the edge of the bed, braiding her hair and talking about torture. Something blazed to life inside Alizhan. “You wanted to cure me like you ‘cured’ Kasrik.” She could never stop seeing that moment when she’d discovered him tied up in the chair, blackened with bruises and scars and dried blood. Iriyat had done that to him. She hadn’t dirtied her own hands, but she was responsible.
“That was regrettable,” Iriyat said. “I’m investigating other, less painful methods as well, and Sardas has told me of a Nightward plant—”
“Did it ever occur to you,” Alizhan said through gritted teeth, “that I might not want to be ‘cured’?”
“Of course.”
That stunned Alizhan. Why would Iriyat have continued down that path, if she’d known?
“But you always said you wanted it when I asked you. And I knew you might resist at some point, but you’re hardly in a position to make that decision, are you? You’ve never known any other way of living.” Her voice was so soft. Gentle. Coaxing.
The spark of anger in Alizhan exploded. “What the fuck?”
“I’m just doing what’s best for you,” Iriyat said. Alizhan’s shouting had no effect on her. The sound had disappeared from the air without impact, as though Iriyat had erased the moment simply by ignoring it.
Alizhan didn’t stop shouting. She couldn’t. Something had broken open inside her.
“Fuck that. You lied to me my whole life. You tortured Kasrik. You’ve hurt and killed people. Children. I never asked you for that. I don’t want to be cured. Maybe I did once, when I was a kid under your influence, but I know what it’s like to live without all my senses now and I’d never want that for myself. And I never asked you to—to do whatever it is you’re trying to do to the world. Don’t tell me it was for me.”
“You’re upset.” Iriyat finished her second braid and began to pin them up so they’d be hidden under her veil.
“What a fucking brilliant observation.” Alizhan’s gut was churning and her pulse was battering her ears. It was the first time she’d felt anything but numb since she’d cried out all her tears on the ship.
“It was foolish of me to expect you to understand,” Iriyat said. “Especially given how you learned of this. I wanted to tell you myself. I wanted that journal to be a gift for you. I wanted your help.”
“My help? You mean you wanted to keep using me.”
“I am sorry for never telling you. I always wanted to. But you were so young, and I didn’t know who you might tell. I couldn’t trust you with the secret. But you’re wrong—I didn’t
want to keep ‘using’ you, as you put it. I wanted you to understand my vision. To share it. I still want that. I hope you’ll join me in Adappyr.”
“Adappyr?” The change in subject was unexpected. But Iriyat had talked about this on the terrace. And her later journal entries had mentioned it a few times. “You’ve been fucking with the city somehow.”
“I am saving the city,” Iriyat said primly. She covered her head and pinned the first part of her veil into place. “I hired The Lampgreen Company—fifteen hundred men—to exchange their swords for shovels and dig out any survivors buried in recent collapses. I have traveled there many times in recent years and now I will go again to give what aid I can. We depart the triad after next. I won’t force you to accompany me, but I hope you’ll decide to join me. I think you’ll like what you find there. And frankly, after what Sardas told me, I’m concerned for your safety if I leave you alone.”
“You won’t force me to accompany you, but you will offer me a pointed reminder that you know where Ev’s family lives, and you’ll keep me under lock and key if I choose to stay here.”
“As I said on the terrace, I just wanted to meet the people who’d raised Ev, since she was so important to you. And I’m worried about you, Alizhan. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Sardas said you wouldn’t eat unless they forced you. I can’t leave you alone in that state.”
Alizhan huffed. She’d trusted Merat not to hurt Ev and Thiyo, and now they were dead. Her fault. Iriyat’s fault, in a way—if she wasn’t so batshit, this whole mess could’ve been avoided. Ev and Thiyo would still be alive. And Iriyat’s journal had been proof of her skill as a liar.
“There are no more secrets between us. As I said, I won’t force you. It’s your choice.”
“What do you want from me?”
“What I’ve always wanted—to share the world with you. A better world. Perhaps we can make up for some of that happiness we missed along the way. I missed you, you know, these past few months. Give me a chance to make things right. Come with me.” Iriyat pulled her gloves on and stood up. She headed for the door, silk swishing.
Alizhan glared. She’d killed Merat with nothing but her hands and her rage. Could she kill Iriyat? It was tempting to try. But it wasn’t what Ev would do. Ev would look for some other way to solve things first. Alizhan rumpled the bedsheets, clenching and unclenching her fists.
5
Sand
Thiyo didn’t make a sound for the next shift. Ev had no way of telling time, but that was her most reasonable guess—it had felt much longer. He’d spent much of that time curled up in their hammock, squeezing his eyes shut when she came to check on him.
Ev had spent some of the intervening hours on the deck with the crew. She could only talk to Biha, but the others were interested in her and often came over to ask questions through the interpreter. Including Biha, there were eight of them—four men, three women, and a person who didn’t fit neatly into either category. Getting to know Thiyo had taught Ev that such people existed, and in light of her conversation with Biha about magic, she wondered if all the categories that had previously ordered her world were more fluid and complex than she had assumed. Man or woman. Magic or not magic. Good or evil. These categories failed to describe the world. She’d grown up hearing sermons praising God’s Balance, Day and Night and the twilight that made life possible, but she’d never heard a priest praise any other kind of in-between. She didn’t want to revere this stranger—and God save her if Thiyo ever found out she’d had these thoughts—but they’d been excluded from her previous understanding, and she wanted to include them.
The sailors, whatever their gender, were all quite chatty. But none of them had pressed her about how she’d come to be stranded in the ocean and floating on top of a dead medusa. The conversation had turned around more pleasant subjects. Ev had discovered after a few talks that Biha was married—or some islander equivalent of married—to Ngua, the tall man with the formidable singing voice. They wore matching white pearl-and-shell necklaces.
“We don’t say this word marriage,” Biha said. “Our word is ruha. I think you say agreement.”
“This agreement, it happens between a man and a woman?”
Biha shrugged. “It happens between people.”
“Does it mean you only love that one person for the rest of your life?” Ev asked.
“Is that what marriage means to you?” Biha asked. “An agreement is decided by the people who make it. Maybe a man and a woman, maybe not. You can have one agreement forever or you can have one and then end it and have another. Or you can have two different agreements.”
“And that isn’t… wrong? To have two at once?”
“Why would it be wrong, if everyone agrees to it?”
“So there can be three people in an agreement?”
“Three people in one, or one person who has agreements with two different people. Not as common as an agreement between two people, but both kinds happen. Other kinds, too.”
“And yours?” Ev hoped this question wasn’t as rude and nosy as it felt.
“Two people only, and I hope it lasts forever. Maybe sometimes I look at another man.” Biha gave Ev a wicked smile. “Maybe I looked at your man, down there in that hammock, and enjoyed the sight. This is natural and right.”
Thiyo would have liked to hear that it was natural and right to enjoy the sight of him, and Ev’s heart ached that he wasn’t here to say so. He might never be able to say so again. She swallowed a lump in her throat. “He’s not my man,” Ev said. “We’re… friends, I think.”
“You have another man somewhere?” Biha asked. Maybe that was the only reason she could think of that Ev wouldn’t lay claim to Thiyo.
“No,” Ev said. Taking a breath and hoping to God that Thiyo had been telling the truth about islanders, she continued, “But there is a woman. I hope. If she’s still alive.”
“Ah,” Biha said. “I am not blessed in this way.”
Ev didn’t know what blessing she meant. She’d just admitted out loud that Alizhan might be dead. She smiled uncertainly.
Biha nodded at Ngua. “I am burdened with that.”
Not far from them, Ngua was hauling an enormous amount of rope in his strong arms. When he saw Biha and Ev watching, he flashed them a grin. “I wouldn’t think that was much of a burden.”
“Oh, are you twice-blessed then?”
Ev shook her head, not understanding.
“You like a woman and you like Ngua, yes?”
Ev’s face burned. Was she so easy to read—even when Alizhan was half a world away? Still, she confirmed Biha’s theory with a nod.
Biha nodded and smiled. She gestured to Ngua. Then to Ev. “Same and different. Twice-blessed.”
Ev had never thought of it that way before, but it was true.
“Is this why you are asking me about agreeing with more than one person? I think maybe you also like your friend in the hammock down there.” Biha continued, nudging Ev with her elbow. “If you didn’t, I would doubt your eyesight.”
“You’ll feel differently when he wakes up and starts talking back,” Ev joked, an instant before her memory of Thiyo’s lost powers socked her in the gut. How could she have forgotten, even for a moment? She touched her forehead, covering her face. “Or maybe not.”
“Earlier when we talked, you ran off to go check on him,” Biha said. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
Ev nodded miserably. “Ever since the water, he hasn’t been able to talk. I don’t mean he hasn’t been able to use his voice to make sound. He says things. They just don’t mean anything. And he hears things, but he doesn’t understand anything I say. His gift for language is just… gone. I think it was the venom.”
Biha nodded. “Yes. That is very likely.”
“I don’t even think he can speak his native language. Not that I’d recognize it.” In addition to Kasrik, Alizhan’s father Arav had lost his powers from venom, and he’d never regained them. Was that Th
iyo’s future? “And Biha, I can’t even explain… thinking of Thiyo without the ability to speak or listen or write hurts me. It was everything to him. I can’t imagine what he’s going through.”
“Venom burns speakers, healers, memory-changers… anyone you would call ‘magic’ is in danger. Eili doesn’t go in the water with us—she’s too valuable as a tracker. Ngua risks his gift every time he goes in. And so does Kikiahe. He’s a healer. They don’t have scars yet, but the rest of us do.” Biha pulled up her sleeve to expose her left forearm, where a swirl of black lines marked her skin.
“You lead dangerous lives.”
“Ngua says he wouldn’t mind losing it. To be able to sing without driving everyone around him to madness would be a blessing,” Biha said. “But perhaps, given what happened to your friend, Ngua would no longer be able to sing at all.”
“Do you know anyone else this has happened to?”
“I know hunters who’ve lost limbs. And lives. But none who’ve lost gifts. As I said, most people with gifts—other than trackers—don’t lead this life. We’ve known for too long what the risks are. It’s not always the same outcome, though.”
“What do you mean?”
Biha shrugged. “It depends on the medusa—was it young and weak? Was it mature? And it depends on the scarring. How much is there? And then there’s the person. Some people get hurt and get back up again. Some don’t.”
So there was a chance Thiyo could recover? Or was Biha saying he’d either learn to live with what had happened—or he wouldn’t? Ev didn’t know what to say.
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