“I tell fortunes,” the woman continued. She was addressing Ev in Adpri, as everyone in Ndija had. “I can see the future.”
“Not what we’re looking for,” Ev told her politely, then sped up to get away before the woman offered her anything else. “That’s not real, right?” Ev asked Thiyo under her breath.
He couldn’t answer even if he understood.
Ev walked forward. Nobody could see the future. That was ridiculous. Trackers like Eili and Thiyo’s father could sense medusas in the water, and through them, the islanders could predict waves. That was a kind of future sight, but it was nothing like what the woman had just offered her.
Besides, Ev already knew she wasn’t going to marry Thiyo or have any children with him.
If Thiyo could talk, he could tell her which of these people were offering real magic and which were tricksters. But maybe he’d be as unhelpful as Biha on the subject. Ev didn’t know what to make of it—she’d accepted that magic existed, which already felt like a huge change from what her fellow Laalvuri citizens believed, but now she was supposed to see it everywhere? It was too much. Not everything was magic. Some things weren’t possible. People couldn’t fly or turn into animals. No one could raise the dead or see the future. Magic was human. Part of the body. A sense.
“Know the truth!” called a seller. “Any liar who speaks in front of me will be discovered!”
That seemed possible. Alizhan could do something like that—at least, she always knew if people believed what they were saying. “Will you tell me which of your colleagues are advertising themselves truthfully?” Ev asked.
A toothy smile. “For a price.”
Ev didn’t like the look of that smile. She took a step back and bumped into a seller calling “Ease your pain!”
They turned at the same time, Ev saying “Sorry” and the seller muttering “Watch where you’re—Ev?”
Ev looked into Djal’s face.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted. She hadn’t thought she’d see Ifeleh or any sailor from And There Still the Curling Vines Do Grow ever again after missing the ship’s departure from Nalitzva months ago. Djal had been calling “ease your pain” as though he were offering a service—that must mean Mala was with him. Ev looked around and discovered that the woman was crouching on the ground without a care for the blue-and-green fabric of her skirts, examining a malnourished man who was propped up against one of the buildings, his legs stretched out in front of him. Why would Djal, or Mala, or any of their fellow crew, be in Ndija?
“I could ask you the same, but your head’s as loud as ever, so I already know,” Djal said, as flirtatious and self-assured and irritating as always. “Hello,” he said to Thiyo, and then to Ev, “I like this one, he has flattering thoughts.”
Ev closed her eyes as if it could protect her from the embarrassment she felt. Djal was tall with impossibly smooth brown skin and sharp, symmetrical cheekbones. She’d once told Alizhan that Djal was as beautiful as sunlight falling on the ocean cliffs, in an effort to make her understand his face. Ev had spent her fair share of time appreciating him—and Djal knew it—so she couldn’t blame Thiyo for doing the same.
“You’re too young for me,” Djal told her. “But your good taste is noted, little sister.”
Of course he’d read her mind. “Ugh,” Ev said.
“And my heart belongs to Mala,” he continued, which made Mala snort. It was her first participation in the conversation. She’d spent the rest of the time tsking over the man she was helping, and at the end of their transaction, Ev swore she’d seen Mala pay him instead of the other way around.
“Hello, Ev,” Mala said, standing and brushing off her skirts. “And Thiyo. I’m glad to see you didn’t get her killed. Where’s Alizhan?”
“Not here. It’s a long story,” Ev said, answering for both of them.
“It always is,” Mala said. “Ifeleh will want to hear it, I suppose.”
“She’s here?” At the mention of her aunt, Ev’s heart leapt. They hardly knew each other, but Ifeleh was family, and Ev wanted to know her better. And she was the captain of a ship, an authority figure, someone with some power in the world who might have a clue how to deliver a warning back to the city that had once exiled her. “Can we go see her?”
It felt like years since Thiyo had woken up in the apartment above Dyevyer Erinsk’s tailor shop with Mala holding his hand. She regarded him as skeptically now as she had then—perhaps he’d deserved it last time, since she’d caught him in a lie. But this time he couldn’t lie. Thiyo tried to affect an air of innocence, widening his eyes and shrugging when she directed her gaze his way, but she didn’t respond. She just turned away and kept leading them through Ndija’s haphazard maze of streets.
Well. No matter. Thiyo was far more interested in her companion anyway, a fit, dark-skinned man of surpassing loveliness who had smiled knowingly when he’d looked at Thiyo. This must be Djal, based on Ev and Alizhan’s stories. A mind-reader. At last, someone Thiyo could talk to without drugging himself into a teary mess. It wouldn’t be the same, of course, not unless Djal could talk back. But that was a rare skill, one that usually required touch.
As Thiyo was thinking it, Djal was already shaking his head. Thiyo appreciated that Djal already understood his predicament and had switched easily to communicating with gestures and expressions. He wiggled his fingers, then held his palms open to the sky. He wasn’t uheko, then. He didn’t have touch magic. “Alizhan,” he said apologetically, then pointed at himself and shook his head.
Yes. Alizhan probably could send in addition to receiving, or at least, she’d be able to acquire the ability with practice. Thiyo had thought of that many times—it wasn’t the only reason he missed her, but he was selfish enough to count it as the most important. But Alizhan wasn’t here.
Djal was. And that was a comfort to Thiyo in so many ways. You could touch me anyway, he thought, smiling. Just in case.
Djal’s burst of laughter was a pleasure to hear. He slung an arm around Thiyo’s shoulders—he was only slightly taller—in a gesture that was more brotherly than flirtatious. He waved a hand at his heart, and then at Mala, who was walking ahead.
Are the Adpri so strict and joyless, then? Thiyo thought. You can only love one person?
Thiyo knew it wasn’t really like that. People were made differently, and the fact that some people only loved one person didn’t mean they took less joy in it. People like Ilyr—and possibly Ev, although he hoped not—would be happy to pair off forever with one person they loved. The idea didn’t appeal to Thiyo, but that was the way he was made. He’d always had a taste for adventure.
Djal shook his head at Thiyo’s questions, but then he repeated his gesture toward Mala, which Thiyo took to mean no, not all Adpri are like this, but I am. And then he pointed to himself and gestured more discreetly at a number of women they passed, which Thiyo understood as a sign that even if Djal wasn’t in love with Mala, he wouldn’t be tempted by what Thiyo had to offer.
A pity, Thiyo told him. I make a beautiful woman, you know.
Djal laughed again, and Thiyo relished it. It had been so long since he’d had a frivolous conversation, an exchange purely for the joy of it. He’d flirted wordlessly with Ev, of course, but that was anything but frivolous. Talking to Djal was rediscovering something he’d lost, and he felt as though someone had miraculously reattached one of his limbs—grateful and awed, and yet comfortable and familiar. Or perhaps this was the feeling of coming home to a place he thought he’d never see again—a feeling he hadn’t experienced while sleeping in his childhood bedroom under his mother’s roof in Sunslope, but which threatened to fill his eyes with tears now. Djal squeezed his shoulders, and Thiyo laughed instead.
Ifeleh and her crew were staying at a tavern with a crowned person’s head on the sign. When Ev remarked to Mala and Djal that there was no king in Ndija, they laughed.
“This place is called The Emperor’s Head,” Mala said.
> “They’re not friendly to emperors around here,” Djal said. “That’s why they put their heads on signs. A reminder.”
On further examination of the weathered sign, Ev could see the faded red paint at the bottom of the image. It was the emperor’s head and none of the rest of him. Like Laalvur and Adappyr, Ndija had once been part of the Day Empire. Some places had prospered after it had broken apart, and others had fallen into lawlessness. This tavern, shockingly loud, was just like the rest of Ndija: Ev was on guard against getting tricked or robbed or beaten. Djal, Mala, and Thiyo were careful to hide their wariness, but Ev could tell they were watching. Only Ifeleh, seated alone at a booth in the back, was fearless.
“I have to teach you to be more discreet,” Djal murmured. “It’s like you’re walking around counting your coins in public, the way you think so loud. You can’t do that in a place like this.”
Ev frowned. There would be a good market for nightvine in Ndija—or anywhere with magic, which was everywhere. It had been a relief to know that nobody could read her mind when she was eating it regularly.
“You can learn,” Djal assured her.
They crowded into Ifeleh’s booth, Thiyo staying close to Ev. “I did not expect to see you again,” Ifeleh said, appraising Ev. She spoke Laalvuri, which was a relief. “You ran into trouble in Nalitzva.”
“And everywhere else,” Ev said. “Somehow we got ourselves out. This is Thiyo, by the way. Thiyo, this is Ifeleh, captain of And There Still the Curling Vines Do Grow and my aunt.”
It was a little bit silly to say all that to Thiyo, but Ev didn’t want to exclude him. Thiyo nodded at Ifeleh, which seemed to be all she required.
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Ifeleh said. For a moment, Ev thought that was all the affection she’d get, but then Ifeleh smiled. “Although Ndija’s not a good place to stay alive.”
“Neither are the islands,” Ev said. If she was pleased to have surprised her fierce, worldly aunt, only Djal would know. “What are you doing in Ndija?”
“Preparing to go home,” Ifeleh said.
This conversation was full of surprises. “But… you can’t,” Ev said. All the Adpri in Ifeleh’s crew—all the Adpri Ev had ever met, excluding her father—were exiled criminals. Their right hands were branded with an identifying mark in the shape of a cross. Returning to the city meant death. Her father had fled before they’d branded him, knowing he wouldn’t survive in the city.
“It will be difficult,” Ifeleh said. “But not impossible. And the time has come.”
She slid a piece of paper across the table. The script was Adpri, which slowed Ev down, but she could see that the first line of handwriting said To my old friend. Ifeleh’s name was not written and there was no signature at the bottom of the page.
“Eminyela Ulachiru,” Ifeleh said, providing the answer. “Second Structural Engineer to the City of Adappyr and my childhood friend. We haven’t spoken in two decades.”
That must be when Ifeleh had been exiled. She and her mother must have stayed for a time after Obin had fled. There was so much Ev didn’t know.
“Emi writes that recent collapses in the city are due to human meddling and not, as the First Structural Engineer insists, simply the natural movements of the earth. She thinks someone is bribing him and she fears speaking out, but she wants to prevent further collapses.”
“She asked for your help,” Ev said. She knew who might be bribing Adpri officials to claim that nothing was wrong. “To do what, exactly?”
“Emi thinks someone is exploiting the hatred among Adappyr’s various political factions and neighborhood rivalries—paying people to destroy parts of the city. She’s always been a Believer, but never a Knifeheart. Until now.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“A Believer is someone who took your father’s side against your grandfather,” Mala said when Ifeleh looked to her to answer the question. “They think Obin was telling the truth about Usmam’s violence against his family—and that such violence rendered Usmam unfit for leadership. It means nothing to speak peace out of one side of your mouth and berate your family out of the other. A man’s public life is not worth more than his private life. When we meet, we say the home is the heart.”
It was still strange to think of her own family’s drama at the center of a whole city’s politics. Ev thought of the first time Ifeleh had told her the story of Obin killing their father, and how, in private, Ifeleh had expressed doubts about whether Obin had been right to save her and her mother. Is my life worth a city? she’d asked. Her relationship with her brother was strained by what he’d done. In the wake of Usmam’s death, Adappyr had been swamped by violence, and the decades since had been volatile.
“Most Believers wear a teardrop as their symbol,” Mala continued. “They recognize that Obin’s story was true and that what he did was necessary, but they are pacifists who regret that your father had to kill his own father. It’s a lament and a commitment to peace all at once. They don’t believe in solving problems with violence.”
“And a… Knifeheart?” Ev asked. That didn’t sound like someone she’d want to associate with.
Across the table, Djal drew his collar down until it revealed a small tattoo under his collarbone and above his heart. It was a simple line drawing in black—a heart with a knife piercing it. “We feel differently.”
“Oh,” Ev said, eyes wide. How would her father feel about that? It made a certain sense, all those hours he’d spent teaching her to defend herself, with only the gruff warning don’t hurt anyone you don’t have to. It went unspoken that at some point, she’d have to.
He’d been right.
“Violence isn’t always the right answer,” Mala said. She pulled down the neckline of her dress to reveal the same tattoo. “But sometimes it’s the only answer.”
“Are you all… ?”
Ifeleh let slip a silent laugh. “Do I have a tattoo symbolizing my own father’s murder?” she asked. “No. But I’ve spilled blood before and I will again. Emi thought she might need our help.”
Obin had stabbed his father in the heart. That gruesome detail had been missing from Ifeleh’s retelling aboard Vines months ago. “So you’re going to Adappyr,” Ev said. “Can we come with you?”
“It will be dangerous, but I don’t suppose that will dissuade you,” Ifeleh said.
“Your friend’s suspicions are right, and Thiyo and I know who’s behind the collapses,” Ev said. “The same woman Alizhan and I were running from when you first took us to Nalitzva.” They were halfway across the world, but it still felt perilous to speak Iriyat’s name aloud. She’d found them in Estva. Who was to say she didn’t have someone listening in every tavern in Ndija? “And we have a warning to deliver. These smaller collapses aren’t just political infighting. They’re designed to cause a larger collapse. There will be a quake soon. People should evacuate.”
“I see,” Ifeleh said. “We’ll leave next triad, then.”
Was it a sign of trust that Ifeleh hadn’t protested? Ev hoped so. She looked at Thiyo and edged closer to him. “And there’s one more thing. We were hoping to find a memory-restorer in the Street of the Healing Hands. Do you know of anyone like that?”
Mala shook her head. “I’ve been working in that street for three triads. If there were someone like that, they’d be doing good business. Half those people are liars anyway.”
Ev’s heart fell, and beside her, Thiyo drooped.
“I’ll do what I can for you,” Djal said, addressing Thiyo. Their eyes met, and Djal added, “Not that, though.”
“There are hours to pass until we sleep, but I’m tired of drinking and I’m too smart to gamble in this town,” Ifeleh said to Ev. “Perhaps you’d tell us the story of how you came to be here?”
Ifeleh offered Ev and Thiyo a room with her crew above The Emperor’s Head and Ev gratefully accepted. Mala caught her hand as she was leaving the table, and Ev felt the pleasant buzz of contact. “You’re in pain.”<
br />
“No, I’m fine. They’re just scars. Thiyo’s the one who was wounded.”
Thiyo had stopped a short distance ahead and was watching this exchange. He couldn’t know what they were talking about, and Mala had pitched her voice so only Ev could hear it, but having both their eyes on her made Ev squirm.
“You think because he’s wounded, you have to pretend you’re not?” Mala said. “I heard that story you told. You were in that water with him.”
If Alizhan were here, she’d know about Ev’s drowning dreams. But she wasn’t, and Mala couldn’t look into her head, so Ev withdrew her hand. Dreams couldn’t kill you, no matter how bad they were. “I got out of the water. I’m fine.”
Mala shook her head as Ev walked away, and Thiyo watched her in silence until she passed him to take the stairs. When Ev saw that Djal had followed the two of them into their room, she almost burst out, “I’m fine.” Then she remembered Djal could see into her head and kept her mouth shut.
Djal settled himself comfortably on one of the two narrow beds. Ev sat on the bed opposite him. Intrigued, Thiyo joined her.
“Now,” Djal said. “As I said before, you’re doing the equivalent of counting your coins in public. It’s not safe. You need to learn to keep your thoughts to yourself.”
Ev had done that her whole life.
“Not like this you haven’t,” Djal said. “Keeping quiet on the outside isn’t the same as keeping quiet on the inside.”
Djal had once told he thought she’d be quieter on the inside if she said a few more of the things that were on her mind. He’d been talking about her feelings for Alizhan. Ev had expressed those. Apparently it hadn’t helped.
“Is this one of those exercises where I clear my mind?” Ev asked.
He smiled. “You can try. Much easier to fill it with something else than to empty it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Direct your thoughts to something else. Think of the smell of the air, or your clothes, or whatever you happen to be looking at. It’s like fixing a smile on your face when you don’t want someone to know you’re unhappy.”
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