“He came here, supposedly to deliver my son’s ashes and his most heartfelt condolences,” Tayihe said. She rolled her eyes and blew out an irritated breath. “For some reason, he hasn’t left yet.”
“Smoke,” Ev murmured. Could she warn Thiyo without using words? This was a small village—and a smaller house. If Ilyr was staying here, they’d encounter him soon.
“He’s been gone for a triad. He didn’t say where he was going.”
That was a relief. “If he comes back, do you think… could you keep him away from Thiyo? At least for a little while. We’ve had a rough shift. A rough tri—well, it hasn’t been easy for Thiyo for a long time now.”
“I take it they parted ways before my son’s alleged death.”
Ev nodded.
“I’ll do what I can,” Tayihe said. “I’ve offered him hospitality, and that means something to me. I won’t disrespect that rule. But it doesn’t mean I have to be nice.”
Ev wasn’t surprised to hear Tayihe felt no obligation to be nice. She didn’t get the impression that Ilyr was a favored guest in this household.
“In the mean time, can I offer you food? Or would you prefer to rest?”
“They both sound wonderful.”
Tayihe’s kitchen was open to the sky. The smoke from her fire thinned into the air. She boiled a dry grain Ev had never seen and handed Thiyo a bowl of round, purple fruit. Next to him, Ev regarded the bowl warily. Unfamiliar food had gotten her in trouble in Estva.
“Will this do anything to me? Make me unreadable to mind-readers or anything like that?”
“It will make you less hungry,” Tayihe said dryly. “Don’t eat the rind.”
Thiyo picked one up and showed Ev how to dig her fingernail in where the stem had broken off and divest the fruit from its covering. The inside was firm and a paler purple than the outside. He demonstrated taking a bite and then nudged her with his elbow, making sure Ev knew it was alright. Ev bit into her own—sweet and cool. There were more unfamiliar fruits after that, which Ev sampled happily, as well as preserved fish, which she declined. The clear, red drink that Thiyo had offered her earlier made an appearance. This time, Ev tasted it. The sourness made her pucker her lips. Thiyo pressed his own lips together trying not to laugh at her.
“Thank you for this,” Ev said. “I’m aware of the trouble I’m causing you.”
“You saved my son,” Tayihe said. When Ev blinked, she continued, “I’m not stupid. You said he killed the medusa, but you were both in the water. What are the chances he would have made it this far without you?”
As with every other conversation she’d had recently, Thiyo had stopped paying attention and was staring into the distance. But he appeared contemplative, not disengaged. At least if he had to be alone with his thoughts, he had plenty of thoughts to keep him company.
“He’s tougher than you think,” Ev told Tayihe.
“But not as tough as you.”
Ev didn’t know what to say to that, so she smiled and ducked her head, and Tayihe let it go. She showed them to a bedroom. There was only one bed and it looked like it had been used recently, which meant Ilyr had been here. Ev frowned.
“If he comes back, I’ll make him sleep in the main room,” Tayihe promised. “He’s out drinking, no doubt.”
That surprised Ev, but then again, she’d only met Ilyr once. “Thank you,” she said again, and went to join Thiyo, who had already taken up far more than his fair share of mattress. Tayihe slid the screen shut when she left and Ev drew the curtains to envelop the room in darkness. When she slipped into bed, she was confronted with Thiyo’s face right across from her own.
He was looking at her very intently.
“No,” she told him, and pushed him lightly on the chest. He pouted theatrically. Ev didn’t look away. She felt a strange need to explain herself, even knowing he wouldn’t understand. She whispered, “Your mother is right outside the door, Thiyo! Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I wouldn’t want to insult her like that.”
Thiyo’s pouting turned to pleading. Why were they still having this conversation?
“Are you trying to tell me she wouldn’t be offended? I know islanders do things differently, but I’m the same person I was on the mainland, and I’m offended for her, so it’s still a no.” Ev sighed. Why was it so much easier to talk to Thiyo like this? “You know I’m in love with Alizhan. I miss her so much, Thiyo. She would have known how to help you. Everything would be better if she were here. Instead you’re stuck with me, and I’m useless, and she’s alone and maybe hurt or dead or manipulated into an entirely different person by now. What if I never see her again, Thiyo? We’re a long way from Laalvur. Worse, what if I do see her again, and she doesn’t know me?”
Ev had to stop for a moment, contemplating that. It hurt too much.
“You do understand, right, why we can’t? Aside from the fact that I don’t want to, I mean.” Something like a laugh, but desperate, escaped her throat. “You asked me in the water if I’d slept with her. The truth is, when we were in Din Yaritz, you showed up, drugged out of your mind and almost dead, right in the middle of everything. Alizhan said you wouldn’t mind if we continued. Don’t look at me like that. I know you wouldn’t have minded. But what if you’d had a fit or died? I didn’t know what had happened to you. I didn’t know what to expect.”
Ev squeezed her eyes shut. She’d accused him of looking at her a particular way, but it was a lie. She’d wanted to pretend he was participating in the conversation in a way that proved he understood. When she opened her eyes again, his attention was fixed on her in the same pleading way it had been. “She was right, Thiyo, we should have seized the moment. You would have forgiven us. You probably would have bought us celebratory drinks. Now… now every time I think about seeing her again, I try to imagine how it will happen, and it feels so vanishingly unlikely. But I can imagine a dozen ways either of us could die trying.”
This might be the longest she’d ever spoken to Thiyo without being interrupted. Talking so much was a strange rush. Maybe that was why Alizhan did it all the time. Thiyo’s huge, sad eyes were still locked on hers. But he wasn’t touching her. Whatever he wanted, this was the only way he planned to ask for it.
“I’m sorry, Thiyo, I can’t,” Ev said. She rolled over and went to sleep.
He awoke in darkness, the ragged edge of a scream still caught in his throat. Sweat chilled his skin. Gradually, he became aware that he was in a room in his mother’s house and he wasn’t alone. He knew without looking that the person next to him was Ev.
“Ev,” he said, and it came out like a gasp. “Ev. I’m sorry I woke you. I had a terrible dream I couldn’t speak or understand any language—”
Instead of saying anything, she reached for him and pulled him toward her.
“It was awful,” he said, quieting but unable to go silent. He needed to tell her. Somehow, telling her would make the lingering fear dissipate. “I don’t know if I can imagine a worse fate.”
There was an arm around his shoulders and a hand stroking his hair.
“Shhh,” she said. “Shhh.”
It occurred to Ev, at long last, that she might have jumped to the wrong conclusion earlier. Maybe Thiyo hadn’t been asking for sex.
He laid his head down on her chest, throwing an arm over her and cuddling up against her. She curved her arm around his back and gave him a squeeze. Then she stroked her fingertips down his back, the way her mother used to when she couldn’t fall asleep as a child, and his breathing evened out. After a few quiet moments, he hummed with pleasure.
Thiyo’s back was bare, because unlike her, he’d discarded his clothes on the floor before getting into bed. Ev wished she’d done the same with her own filthy clothes, but then it would have been truly impossible to convey to Thiyo that they couldn’t have sex. She should give him more credit, though. They’d shared a bed several times now and this shift was the only time he’d ever asked for anything, and he hadn’t asked
for more than she was willing to give. She’d misjudged him. And then he’d woken from some terrible dream. She wondered if it was like her own dreams—flooded with dark, burning water.
Whatever it was, it had spurred him to speak to her. She wished she’d understood.
She tried not to think about the fact that he was naked. Neither of them needed that complication in their lives. They were just friends. Right now, this was the only way they had to express that.
“I want to go home and find Alizhan so much,” Ev said softly, her hand still tracing up and down his back. “I want to go home, but I’m scared it won’t be the same when I get there. You must be feeling something similar now, being back here. Even if the place hasn’t changed, you’re different. No wonder you wanted someone to hold onto.”
She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed the top of his head.
“I miss you,” Ev admitted. “It’s stupid to miss you when you’re right there. It makes me feel awful that I think that way. And I know I can’t possibly feel as awful about this as you do. I shouldn’t complain. But I miss your voice. I even miss being interrupted. I miss whatever cocky, prissy, whiny, witty things you were going to say to me. I’ve started to make them up for myself, but I’m not nearly as good at it as you are.”
The only response was slow, untroubled breathing. Thiyo was asleep.
9
No True Lacemaker
Tired but wide awake, Alizhan crept back toward Orosk’s room after Kasrik left. The faster she could restore Orosk, the sooner they could put Iriyat on trial. Eliyan and Kasrik’s pamphlets might sway the public, but to put Iriyat in prison, they would have to persuade the Council of Nine. And Orosk Varenx stood a better chance of that than anyone.
She passed a silent few hours with him, knitting back together what she could. There was more to work with this time—his thoughts had multiplied. He was coming back to himself under her touch. It was unlike anything she’d ever done. As hard as it was, the quiet focus made her feel powerfully alive. Orosk seemed soothed by her touch. She was helping him. This was her gift as it was meant to be used.
This time, when he asked who she was, his voice came to him more easily. He spoke in a full sentence. His gaze was lucid. Orosk was fully present—she’d brought him back. So she told him. “My name is Alizhan. I’m Iriyat’s daughter. Your granddaughter.”
“Iriyat,” he hissed.
“You remember her.”
“Of course I remember her,” he snapped. Whatever peace her work had brought him had vanished with the mention of Iriyat. “My own child. A traitor. She did this to me. God, what year is it? How can you be her child? You must be sixteen at least.”
“Nineteen,” Alizhan said. “It’s 764. And Iriyat did do this to you. She’s hurt others, too. And I want to make it right. Will you go before the Council of Nine and accuse her of attacking you?”
“I will not,” he said, steel in his voice. “I’ll kill her myself.”
“That’s—” Alizhan started to protest, but didn’t know what to say. She’d killed Merat, after all. Orosk would be furious to learn that. But she’d made a promise—in her head, to someone who wasn’t alive to know about it—that she’d try to do the right thing. Unleashing Orosk to murder his own daughter wasn’t anywhere near the right thing.
“Lacemaker justice,” Orosk finished. “What law can touch us? What prison can hold us? There is only one punishment for our crimes.”
“And who applies it? You?”
“The strongest among us,” Orosk said.
“Might makes right?” Alizhan said, incredulous. “By that logic, shouldn’t you bow to Iriyat’s will? She overpowered you.”
Orosk narrowed his eyes. “In a moment of animal rage, she mauled me. But if her work can be set right by such an impure creature as you, she cannot hope to win against me.”
“I saved you,” Alizhan said. She’d toiled over him for hours. Hadn’t he felt what she’d felt? How beautiful the work had been, how purposeful, how right? Alizhan had been out of tune her whole life and she’d suddenly slotted into harmony with the world. Orosk didn’t care. Alizhan was “an impure creature” to him. It shouldn’t surprise her that Merat’s husband was just as much of a bigot as she’d been, but it still hurt. For once, couldn’t someone in her family turn out to be decent? “I’m your granddaughter.”
“You’re no true Lacemaker.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Iriyat had written of what the Lacemakers had done in Laalvur, erasing themselves from collective memory and relegating belief in magic to the realm of absurd superstition. The ignorance they’d cultivated was the soil from which fear and hatred grew. Alizhan wanted to uproot what her ancestors had sown. Orosk was too proud and narrow-minded to understand how much the Lacemakers had hurt themselves, lying and keeping secrets and nurturing bigotry, but Alizhan saw it.
Orosk had no notion of her thoughts, but he grimaced at her vulgarity. “I cannot acknowledge you as my granddaughter, you understand. Your mother defiled the line. She betrayed me. I have no heir. But I am grateful to you, mannerless little tramp that you are.”
“Arav was the only good choice Iriyat ever made,” Alizhan told him. “And I don’t give a fuck about being your heir. All I want is for you to go before the Council and tell them what Iriyat did so they’ll put her in prison.”
“I told you, child. There can be no prison for Iriyat, nor for any Lacemaker.”
“That’s funny, because it seems to me she’s kept you in one for twenty years.”
Rage lit his expression. “You will not speak to me—”
“I will. And I’ll put you right back in Iriyat’s prison if you don’t cooperate.” Alizhan didn’t know if she could. She might be capable of undoing her own work, unraveling all the progress she’d made. But if she did it, she’d be more like Iriyat than ever before. Ev wouldn’t want that.
Still, the threat was effective. Orosk sealed his lips together and glared at her.
“You’ll have to pretend you can’t speak or move until I can get you out of here,” Alizhan said. He’d been bedridden for twenty years, so she didn’t expect him to be able to walk. But if she couldn’t carry him, how could she get him out of the house? In Estva, Thiyo had worked with a woman named Ayat who got around using a chair with wheels. Alizhan didn’t see anything like that in the room. Iriyat wouldn’t have wanted Orosk to go anywhere.
“Abase myself further for your purposes?” Orosk said. “You have already humiliated me enough.”
“You’ll be taking your chances with Iriyat if you don’t,” Alizhan said. “And I’m not the one who humiliated you. I saved you! Why is that so hard to understand?”
“Your very existence is a humiliation to me,” Orosk said. Alizhan was beginning to regret restoring him. Except it had felt so right. She’d thought she was balancing out an act of evil. Doing some good in the world. Things were always so much more complicated than she wanted them to be. “A reminder of my failures as a father.”
“You wish you’d rid yourself of me before I was born, you mean,” Alizhan said. “I know what you tried to do to Iriyat. It was vile.”
“Now your heart is soft for her? I thought you wanted to see her brought low. You wanted me to tell my story to the Council. If you think my actions were wrong, wasn’t she right to defend herself?”
“Yes, actually, she was,” Alizhan said. “But I don’t care about that. I don’t care which crime she goes down for. I need someone the Council will respect to accuse Iriyat, and that’s you.”
“Hmph.”
“Do what I want, and we’ll never need to speak to each other again,” she said. “Iriyat will go to prison, you’ll be restored as Ha-Varensa, and I’ll disappear. That would satisfy you, wouldn’t it?”
Orosk didn’t look happy, but he didn’t object. After a moment, he said, “I suppose it’s the best we can hope for.”
“Fine,” Alizhan said. “I’ll be back later. Keep quiet.”
&
nbsp; 10
The Sun Always Shines And Yet Things Change
Ilyr didn’t arrive in Tayihe’s house while they were sleeping, and once she woke, Ev was eager to leave to avoid encountering him. She was equally eager to get out of the bedroom, where Thiyo had risen from bed and taken his time stretching, all without bothering to dress.
Ev was agitated when she slipped into the kitchen—fully clothed, even though her clothes were disgusting. Biha had promised her new clothes when they were aboard Arrow, but they hadn’t found time and Ev wasn’t about to adopt Thiyo’s habits. His nudity shouldn’t distress her as much as it did. Things were different in the islands and she should accept that. There’d even been naked people among the group that confronted them on the beach. And she’d seen Thiyo naked before. Smoke, he’d seen her before. They’d shared beds. But they were in his mother’s house and Ev had held him after his nightmare and it was too much. Ev had enough problems without having to worry about whether Thiyo would walk into his mother’s kitchen naked. To distract herself, she asked Tayihe for directions to find Halelitha, the woman who had been Thiyo’s ohokutho.
Tayihe, thank God’s Balance, was clothed. Or at least, not naked. She had on the same skirt she’d been wearing last shift, with one panel of woven fabric covering her front and the other covering her back. Her hair mostly covered her breasts. If she noticed Ev trying hard to avert her eyes, she didn’t say anything. She sketched a map on a piece of paper and explained the route.
“Will Halelitha be able to speak with me?” Ev asked.
“I don’t have time to go with you,” Tayihe said. Her manner had been softer last shift when she’d first learned Thiyo was alive. This shift, she was curt. “She remembers everything. I’m sure she can dig up some Laalvuri words for you.”
Ev nodded, drawing her ragged coat around her.
Tayihe appraised her. “You know, when that prince first got here, Thiyo nagged me the whole time. ‘Mama, we have to cover up this and that and those around Ilyr to respect his culture.’” She made a sound of disgust. “That prince came here. Why should I be the one to change? Why should I cover the tits that nursed my child, even when it’s warm as an armpit outside? Why shouldn’t that mainlander take off all his grimy layers of clothing and go naked instead of sweating like a fool? Why didn’t he respect my culture?”
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