Reading those pamphlets in public, with two Varenx House guards watching her, made her anxious. So she kept them tucked between the later pages of the book and read the story instead. There was a knight, and a princess, and she liked it very much… but she kept hearing it in her head in a particular voice. A man’s voice, she thought, although it changed depending on who was speaking. But the narrator was a man. It wasn’t her voice. Was it normal to hear someone else’s voice in her head while reading? When people read silently to themselves, wasn’t it their own voice they heard?
Ev closed the book, puzzled and frustrated. She wanted to read more, but the voice—as lovely and changeable as it was—was driving her to distraction. It must belong to someone she knew. Had known.
29
Flowers
Even beyond the fact that they were riding horses—horrible beasts—it was a hard journey to Laalvur. His skin, sticky from sweat but gritty with sand and dust, darkened and burned under the sun. Alizhan’s wounds were less obvious than his, but he knew she was uncomfortable. They didn’t talk and only stopped to rest for one slim shift, when they found a village where they could trade their exhausted horses for fresh ones. Thiyo slept fitfully and he wasn’t sure Alizhan slept at all. At one point, he sleepily wondered if she’d like to be held, and she fitted herself against him without a word. So there was that.
The village they stopped in was home to people who spoke Laalvuri, or something like it. In the time of the Day Empire, the official language had been Hapiri, since Hapir had been the capital. It was similar enough to Laalvuri, and the villages surrounding the two cities more or less spoke those languages.
Alizhan didn’t appreciate the slow, thick accents of the villagers, but Thiyo did. He liked everything he could understand, and bit by bit, he was coming to understand everything. He talked with all the villagers who passed, and most of them stared at him like he’d fallen from the sky, but that wasn’t so bad. Not when he could speak to them.
The desert around Adappyr was mostly flat, with the exception of Adap looming in the distance. Large expanses of hard, sandy ground were broken up by towers of rock emerging from the earth, stacked unsteadily by some invisible hand. As they rode, the desert was carved into cliffs and canyons, and then gradually, its surface warped into hills. On the third triad, as the angle of the sun became more bearable, they had their first glimpse of the sea. Soon enough, Laalvur peeked out between two hills, a high point on the rugged coast marked by clusters of narrow spires.
“Great houses,” Alizhan said. “And the shift-change bell towers.”
They lost sight of the city as they rode closer, moving into the surrounding hills. Alizhan turned off the road onto a narrow track. Perhaps she had some back way into the city that would let them slip past the guards. But the track wound uphill and ended at a farmhouse. An excitable dog—was there any other kind?—greeted them, and Alizhan dismounted and crouched down to pet it. The house looked inhabited, but no one else came out to greet them for a long time.
“They’re afraid,” Alizhan said. She walked to the door and knocked. Instead of saying her own name, she said, “I know you remember me.”
Even by Thiyo’s standards, that was presumptuous. But it worked. A tall bald man who could only be Ev’s father and Ifeleh’s brother came to the door. “Nice to see you too,” he said in a tone that indicated the opposite, and Thiyo might have laughed if he hadn’t been so intimidated. They had bad news to deliver. Alizhan might not know how to tread gently, but Thiyo would try. He wasn’t in the habit of assuming things were his fault. Things were almost always other people’s fault, in Thiyo’s experience. But at the sight of Ev’s father—as fearsome as he was, sadness dragged down the corners of his eyes—Thiyo couldn’t help questioning if there’d been some moment when he could have acted differently and saved Ev. Maybe if he’d dashed into that house before it collapsed, or jumped into the river a few minutes earlier, Ev would be here to see her father, instead of two people bringing word of her abduction. But no amount of analyzing what had gone wrong would make things right, so Thiyo could only stand outside the threshold of Ev’s childhood home and look sorry.
Ev’s father was still staring grimly at Alizhan. It would have made Thiyo hunch down, but Alizhan kept her mouth set in a line and her eyes on something no one else could see. Ev’s father said, “I saw Ev already, so you can stop looking like someone died and instead tell me you can fix her.”
“I can fix her.”
“I guess you can come in, then,” he said. He made eye contact with Thiyo. “I don’t know who you are. I’m Obin.”
“Thiyo. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I’m not so sure it is,” Obin muttered as he turned away and walked into the house. He led them into the kitchen, where there was a round wooden table and a small, cheerful Laalvuri woman who was probably Ev’s mother. Her jewelry flashed and caught the sun when she moved and blue-and-white fabric swished around her calves with every step. Her tunic was long and full-skirted, almost indistinguishable from a dress, except for the few inches of tight, bunched-up trouser he could see at her ankles.
“It’s been so long!” she said to Alizhan. “I was so worried. I know the news isn’t good, but I’m just so glad you’re both alive. Can you fix her?”
Alizhan nodded. “It’s just a matter of getting to her.”
“I couldn’t convince her to leave,” Obin said, frustrated.
“Please sit down. Oh, I’m so sorry, my name is Neiran, I’m Ev’s mother. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Thiyo,” he said. “And no thank you. But may I say what extraordinarily lovely embroidery that is?”
Neiran ducked her chin and her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. It’s my work.” When Thiyo reached out a hand, she offered him her arm so he could examine the cuff of her sleeve. White thread tracked an elegant series of loops all around her wrist in a script-like pattern. Thiyo wished he could introduce Neiran to Dyevyer Erinsk, who would be as delighted as he was by the quality of this work. Neiran added, “I did the tailoring as well.”
“Ev was lucky to grow up with such a talented seamstress as a mother, although something tells me she didn’t have the proper appreciation for your talents.”
Neiran laughed. “Once she got old enough to understand, she tried very hard not to hurt my feelings, but no, Ev never cared much for clothes.”
“Her only flaw,” Thiyo said solemnly. “Luckily I care enough for three people.” He glanced at Alizhan, so she’d know exactly whose slack he was picking up, but she gave no sign of noticing. “I’d love to see more of your work later, if there’s time.”
“You can trust Thiyo,” Alizhan said. Unnecessary and somewhat insulting. Thiyo had already charmed Neiran, and Obin was sure to… Thiyo glanced at Ev’s father. Perhaps he needed Alizhan’s help after all. “He translated the book for us. And then Iriyat destroyed it, but still, at least we know the truth. We have more news for you, too.”
“About Adappyr,” Obin said. It wasn’t exactly an interruption, but his comment had a force to it. He knew he had to be decisive if he wanted to get a word in. “We know.”
“What? How do you—oh, one of the children.”
“They’re all doing well, by the way,” Obin said pointedly.
“Thank you for all you’ve done,” Alizhan said.
Thiyo wasn’t sure what they were talking about. He remembered the story of Ev and Alizhan finding a bunch of gifted children kept under lock and key in one of Iriyat’s properties, and then Iriyat burning the house down. This must be where the children, or at least some of them, had ended up.
“What did the child tell you?” Thiyo asked, since Alizhan wasn’t sharing. He’d never heard of a person who could sense the movements of the earth, but if trackers could sense the movements of medusas in the sea, it wasn’t hard to imagine a corollary. Halelitha had always told him that people’s abilities were as different as people themselves. There were common categ
ories—mindreading, memory alteration, healing, speaking, tracking—but there were rarer skills, too. And new ones came into the world all the time.
“I’ll show you,” Obin said. He stood up and went into another room. When he came back, he laid a sheaf of paper on the table in front of Thiyo. Every page was covered in charcoal scribbles except for the last one, which was thinner paper with squared edges that contained a printed map. “She doesn’t talk.”
Thiyo studied the map and each of the childish drawings and slowly a pattern emerged. The coastline of the Day continent was picked out in startling detail, considering the artist’s hand, and it matched the printed map. There was a circle marking the city of Adappyr, surrounded by larger concentric circles. The volcano was marked, too, as was Laalvur. In the next drawing, jagged lines slashed across the page, emanating from Adappyr. Thiyo flipped to the next drawing, expecting an awful prediction of an eruption or a wave hitting Laalvur, but it wasn’t a map at all. At first the horizontal lines of the drawing—beneath layers and layers of scribbles—made no sense to him. Then he saw it. A cross section of the city of Adappyr, with its six levels, all filled with falling debris. Some sections were darkened with more charcoal than others. If Thiyo showed this image to Eminyela Ulachiru, she’d probably be able to line it up with her blueprints of the city and the areas of greatest damage.
“Has she done this before?” he asked.
Neiran was nodding. “It’s never been so bad as those. But she’s been drawing the city ever since she got here. I’m embarrassed to say how long it took us to put it together. But we realized after a while that every time Orilan made one of these drawings, a few triads later, we’d hear about a collapse in Adappyr.”
“She doesn’t have any other powers,” Obin said. “But she’s got that air about her. Doesn’t speak, doesn’t like to be touched. Loves to run around barefoot and play in the dirt, though. I think they’d picked her up off the street in the hopes that she’d manifest something.”
“Iriyat was looking for a person with these abilities,” Thiyo said. “There was no indication in her writings that she’d found one. I don’t think any of the people working for her had figured it out.”
“That’s good,” Alizhan said.
“Can I meet her?” Thiyo asked. The question popped out of him. He didn’t know anything about children. There were more urgent matters at hand. Still, he wanted to.
“She doesn’t talk,” Neiran reminded him.
“I know. I… have some experience with that.”
“I’ll see if she wants to,” Neiran said. She left.
“We’re worried more quakes might come—and that one of them might be powerful enough to cause a wave here. If Orilan draws anything else, can you contact us? Leave a message with Eliyan at the Temple Street orphanage. Or if you can’t get there for some reason, try The Red and The Black. It’s a tavern in Arishdenan. But try Eliyan first. I’ll make sure she knows where to find us.”
“Is the orphanage where you’ll be?” Obin asked.
“It’s where we’re going first,” Alizhan said. She seemed ready to stand up and leave. “We will find Ev and help her remember.”
“I told you I ran into her,” Obin said. “I gave her a book I’d been saving for her.” He seemed embarrassed by this admission. He must have been carrying the book everywhere for a long time. If Obin had harbored far-fetched hopes of running into his daughter, Thiyo could hardly blame him. Within months of meeting Ev, Thiyo had dedicated part of his mind to always hoping for her attention—even when they’d been in each other’s company hour after hour, he hadn’t been able to stop.
“Did you tell her anything else?” Alizhan asked.
“Not much. I wasn’t sure it was safe to. I don’t know how it is with people who’ve been… changed. I thought I remembered my mother having some folk wisdom about not telling them too much at once. Though, of course, even in our enlightened city, we didn’t believe much in those stories. But anyway, I didn’t want to upset her.”
“Usually people get mad at you if you try,” Alizhan said, speaking from experience.
“You did the right thing,” Thiyo said, because he thought it was what Obin wanted to hear, not because he was sure.
Obin frowned. It would be unsettling to see Ev and not have her recognize him. Thiyo didn’t know how he’d react himself, when the time came. Because it would come. They’d find her, Alizhan would heal her, and they’d figure out some way to bring Iriyat to justice for everything she’d done.
Neiran called him into the courtyard, and then left him alone with the child who was seated next to the square pool in the center. She had a piece of paper spread out on one of the flagstones and she was studiously scribbling away. Thiyo wondered how much paper she went through, if she did this all the time. It must be a considerable expense for Neiran and Obin.
She kept her head bent over the page while he sat down on the ground next to her. Her face and hands were smudged with charcoal, as black as the unbrushed hair hanging loose in front of her face. The drawing didn’t resemble a map. The mass of lines circling the page was clearly important to her, so he didn’t interrupt her work. They sat in silence for several minutes.
When she lifted her hand from the page and acknowledged him at last, he smiled at her. “I’m Thiyo,” he said, touching his chest.
Orilan watched him. She didn’t smile.
“What you do with the earth,” he said, reaching across the stones that bordered the pool until he could touch the red dirt. “It’s important. It’s going to save a lot of people. I don’t know if you knew that.”
Her attention fixed on his hand in the dirt. She stood up—children were so small—and walked until she could crouch by his hand. She stuck both palms flat on the ground and closed her eyes. Once she’d finished, she stared at him, first at his hand, then at his face. Thiyo had the feeling he was being judged.
“I can’t do what you do,” he explained, turning his palm up in apology. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to make you think I could.”
Orilan resumed drawing.
This had been a foolish impulse. Why had he come here? What had he hoped to accomplish? He watched Orilan draw, and then his gaze drifted away from her and he let his focus soften. “I couldn’t talk for a while,” he confessed. “Sometimes people treated me like I wasn’t there. It was lonely. I didn’t want you to be lonely.”
He waited a beat, then unfolded his legs and stood. As he brushed himself off and turned to go, Orilan ran in front of him and thrust her paper toward him.
“For me?” He took hold of one edge. She’d further blackened the page with lines in the last few minutes. It had none of the clarity of her maps. But it meant something to her, and she went up on tiptoes to push it further into his hand. Thiyo blinked, unaccountably moved, his eyes wet. He smiled at her again. “Thank you.”
They left their horses with the Umarsad family and entered the city on foot. Alizhan wanted to crawl through the scrubby thicket of brush and climb the city wall, or failing that, to knock both guards unconscious, but Thiyo persuaded her that he could talk his way in. He’d talked his way out of prison, once.
It was simple enough to pretend to be a lost, confused foreigner with no papers. His grasp of Laalvuri was firm now, but he remembered all too well what tenuous felt like.
Given his preferences, Thiyo would have preferred to do this in a dress. Neiran had spontaneously offered him one of Ev’s when he’d expressed admiration for it, a dark green gown with gold embroidery at the neck. She hadn’t said anything about bringing it back or giving it to Ev. She’d said “You’re almost the same height as her,” which meant she knew he wanted it for himself. The recognition and the kindness were so unexpected that his breath had caught in his throat and he’d been unable to thank her for a long moment. In his experience, mainlanders cared a great deal about which clothes went with which set of body parts, but not Neiran. She was pleased to have found an appreciative audience at las
t. Her beautiful work was folded carefully in a canvas bag he’d slung over his shoulder, along with Orilan’s drawing. He was reasonably sure the clothes would fit, but was loathe to put them on without bathing first, and there hadn’t been time.
The guards were both men and might have been more easily swayed by sad eyes and a pleading tone if he’d had his long hair and less scruff on his chin. But he played up the filthy state of his clothes, conveying desperation and urgency with every gesture. With a handful of accented words, he told them a story about how the woman he loved was in mortal danger and he had to find her. She’d been kidnapped and he had to rescue her. There hadn’t been time to arrange for a passport or letters of credit. It was all true. Eventually, they let him through. No papers necessary.
Alizhan was leaning against a building waiting for him after he got in, looking as ragged as he felt but somehow wearing it better. Hair was slipping out of her braid on purpose. That streak of dirt on her cheek was an accessory. The ripped seam in the side of her tunic was alluring. Thiyo had no such hopes for himself. He’d elicited pity from the guards for good reason.
More importantly, Alizhan hadn’t even bothered to watch his performance.
“I knew you could do it,” she said.
“You could have been part of the show,” Thiyo said, foolishly stung that she hadn’t needed him. But he was glad she’d had enough confidence in him to leave him to his own devices. There’d been a moment, approaching the guards, where a bead of sweat had rolled down his side and he’d wondered if he might suddenly forget how to talk again. Even now that he could speak, there was an awful uncertainty that lingered in his mind. His confidence, which had always been endlessly renewable, was now as much of an act as what he’d done in front of those guards.
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