If you don’t trust Liviya, then why break into Eitans estate? We can’t be sure his brother is part of the military at all.
Miren wavered. She hadn’t considered that.
Davri looked uncertain. What do you expect to find at the estate?
“He might have sent letters,” Miren answered, but even that seemed thin. “Maybe Eitan’s brother asked him to pull some favors, so he would get the Fire Singer for his crew. If his brother is a captain—we don’t know. Maybe he asked for bribe money, or . . . something.”
Miren rubbed her eyes. She felt like a child trying to explain why she should be allowed to go hunting alone.
Davri signed slowly, Eitan might have records in his study.
Miren’s heart thumped. “Really?” She felt hope bearing down on her like an approaching avalanche. “What kind of records? About the military?”
Davri eyed her. Would it matter if I said no?
Miren paused. It should matter, but she couldn’t imagine herself going back to the barn now, having done nothing. Turning back would be like betraying Kesia. If there was even the slimmest chance, how could she not take it? “No.”
Davri nodded. Let’s go.
“Not both of us. You should—”
I’m not letting you do this alone.
“If something happens to you, we won’t be able to keep our deal with Liviya.”
Then I recommend we don’t get caught.
Davri—
We discussed this already, he signed, his gestures impatient. We do this together.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes at the sentiment. “Fine.”
They continued around the edge of town toward the estate, keeping out of sight. The town ended at the base of the hill, but the main road continued, zigzagging up toward the estate. Along the western side of the hill, however, Miren noticed a line of trees.
“That way,” she murmured.
They kept under cover as much as they could. The moon was bright, and even from this distance Miren saw figures walking along the outskirts of the estate. Still, they were far enough away that Miren thought it safe to speak.
“What do you know of Eitan and his brother?” she asked.
Eitan and Elul are twin brothers, Davri signed, his hands visible in the moonlight. Eitan is older, so the estate is his. Elul wanted to start his own farms, but Eitan wouldn’t spare him the land. Elul hoped to marry into a Second Circle family, but the engagement fell through. It makes sense that he would join the army. There aren’t many options for those who aren’t heirs to estates.
“How do you know so much about this?” Miren still hadn’t fully memorized the list of names Liviya had given them.
It was part of my training.
“Training? You had training?”
As a nobleman. Father hired tutors to teach me about the kingdom, mathematics, history, manners—
“You had a tutor for manners?”
A very important subject, mind you, Davri signed. And I was very good at it. I was good at almost all areas of study. My father had high hopes for me.
“What changed?”
He shrugged. I became a Singer.
“What?”
Davri winced. Quiet!
“He stopped training you just because you earned a Voice?”
Singers do not make good aristocrats, Davri signed. We can’t speak, so we can be ignored.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Davri shrugged. It’s true, though.
They continued weaving through the trees, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Fear rose in Miren as the estate grew closer; she wondered if they should turn back, but the question never made it past her lips.
The moon shone brightly overhead by the time they crested the hill, finding themselves behind trees that were still at least forty paces from a fence surrounding the property. Even from here, Miren could tell that this estate was far larger than Cheliem’s. Multiple windows stared out from a sprawling mansion with a marble facade and pillars on both sides of a grand entrance. A pristinely cut lawn surrounded the estate and spread toward the western side, where dark shapes resolved into evenly spaced rosebushes and trees.
Guards armed with rifles circled the grounds every few minutes.
Miren and Davri crouched behind a tree for perhaps a half-hour, watching the guards. Miren thought she had time to climb over the fence without being spotted; she just wasn’t sure how to do it. The fence itself was comprised of thin, upright iron rods, with a single rail at the very top, nearly twice her height.
Miren whispered, “How long would it take you to Sing a block of ice so we could climb over?”
Davri signed something.
“I can’t see what you’re signing.”
He took her hand. She instinctively pulled away, but he pressed his hand into her palm, signing letters. T and OO and L and AU and NG.
“Too long,” Miren repeated. “I guess it would be.” Davri would have to build and melt the ice in the time between the guards’ patrols, assuming they wouldn’t hear him first. “Well then, you’ll have to lift me over and wait for me to come back this way.”
Davri shifted and reached for her hand again.
“Don’t argue with me,” Miren said, pulling out of reach, “unless you have a better idea.”
He paused for a moment. She offered her hand, and he spelled another word: D and AY and N and J and R and UH and S.
“I know it’s dangerous,” she hissed, wrenching her hand away. “I’m not an idiot, I—”
She stopped as another guard ambled into view, gritting her teeth as he passed. They just needed to get over the fence, then they could use the garden as cover. There were likely several entrances around the sides of the estate, though they would probably be locked. Would estates this large have night staff? She would need to hide somewhere inside, or wait in the garden . . .
It wasn’t possible.
Miren turned and leaned against the tree, her jaw clenched.
Then she started back down the hill without a word. A moment later, she heard Davri follow.
She focused on her path, struggling to avoid tree roots in the dim light. She didn’t realize she had hit the bottom of the hill until the tree canopy above her gave way to moonlight. She stopped in the grass, suddenly too tired to walk all the way back to the barn. She looked up at the deep, clear sky, the moon staring down at her like a blinking eye.
Nothing. There was nothing she could do.
She could try to reach the coast of Kaleo, she could hide from the Crown’s Guard, she could make deals. But the truth was that Kesia’s fate was in someone else’s hands now.
The truth was that she had failed.
She had not protected Kesia. She had not done enough. And for that, Miren had lost her sister. After tonight, it felt less likely than ever that Liviya would help them—if only because finding Kesia felt so improbable. It was as though the world had swallowed up all memory of her.
She heard footsteps, a pair of boots. She looked up and saw Davri, his face contorted in grief and sympathy. This trip had been pointless. They hadn’t even made it past the gate, and she realized Davri hadn’t expected them to.
But he had gone anyway.
“Why are you doing this?” She almost regretted the words as she said them, but now that she had asked, she wanted an answer. “Why are you doing so much to find her?”
He paused, looking wary. My father told me to come inside when the ship was spotted. I thought he was being overly cautious, but I didn’t argue. I was reading in the study when a guard told my father what had happened.
Miren watched his face as he continued. If I had known, I would have brought her into the estate, or hidden her, or— He threw his hands up, not looking at her. I’m very, very sorry.
An owl hooted overhead. The grass whispered as a breeze swept through the field. They listened in silence.
Miren should thank him for being here, for indulging her stupid decision
s, for standing up to Liviya. She could imagine Kesia’s disgruntled look. He’s a good person, her sister would have said.
That’s not the issue, Miren would have replied. But then Kesia would have asked what the issue was, and Miren would have dodged the question. Sometimes Miren suspected Kesia knew the real answer.
I don’t want to lose you, Kesia.
Miren buried her face in her hands and cried.
Once the tears began, she couldn’t stop. Sobs shook her shoulders and grated her throat. She heard Davri’s footsteps as he approached and felt his arms wrap around her slowly, as if asking for permission. This time, she didn’t resist him, feeling his own voiceless crying shake his shoulders.
Twenty-One
Kesia
Kesia awoke to the whine of grating metal.
Her body insisted it was too early to rise, but everyone else sat up on their mats and blinked against the light spilling from the hallway.
“Where’s the Fire Singer?” asked a familiar voice.
Kesia hobbled to the door, still dizzy with sleep. Nadav, looking more irritable than usual, stood beside the airship captain.
“There she is.” Katzil gestured for her to hurry. “Let’s go, let’s go.” To Nadav, “I’ll have her back to you in time for factory work.”
Nadav nodded as he Sang Kesia’s collar open and waved her away, closing the door to the barracks.
Kesia followed Katzil, blinking against fatigue and struggling to keep up. The captain’s gait was brisk as he hurried down the stairs.
“A representative of the Council is coming today,” he explained. “He wants a demonstration before sunrise.”
He gave her an excited look, then glanced away quickly.
Kesia’s mind struggled to understand. A council representative? Council of what? But the captain was walking too quickly for her to ask, even if she had had the nerve to do so.
Outside, the world was chilly and dark. Stars blinked from a deep blue canvas. The compound was quieter than she had ever heard it; Kesia could hear the dull roar of the surf somewhere to her right.
Miren’s voice leaped into her mind. You’re near the coast! What if you could find a boat?
Kesia glanced west, but she only saw the hazy shape of buildings and a wall. It was too dark to make out more. She knew they were on a cliffside; it didn’t make sense for there to be an entrance on the western side of the compound when they were so high above the shore.
The captain nearly jogged down the path to the hangar, where the clang and murmur of work broke the dawn quiet. Despite the early hour, it seemed nearly the entire crew was here.
“Go on to the furnaces and wait for my order,” Katzil said.
Kesia nodded. As she headed for her station in the metal boat—the gondola, someone had called it—a few men looked up from their work. She smiled, and one or two smiled back.
Behind her, Katzil shouted, “Those furnaces better be full to the brim with coal! And check the water turrets again.”
Kesia hurried up the stairs and into the furnace room. The same two boys who’d been there before were shoveling coal into the furnaces. They looked at her; she waved a greeting.
“You look way too happy for this hour,” one muttered.
“She looks too happy for a slave,” the other said.
Kesia lowered her hand, feeling sick at the word slave. She stood by the door and waited, trying to make herself shrink, focusing on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
The pilot and gauge-watcher soon boarded, looking jittery but focused.
“Start the fires,” Katzil called, coming aboard. “He’s here. And close the door. We don’t want him to see . . .” His gaze caught Kesia’s as she started her Song. The gauge-watcher closed and latched the furnace room door. They didn’t want the representative to see the room?
That’s important! Miren’s voice was saying. It must be!
But Kesia turned her attention to the furnaces, her Song still too weak to keep them all going. She took a breath and pushed more power into her Voice.
A minute later, the engine rumbled to life—the propellers whirred. Kesia Sang harder to fill the sudden drop in heat.
One of the boys flinched at the flame. “Hey, watch it, Singer!” he barked.
She felt the floor shift.
We’re flying!
The flight was longer than she expected. Perhaps a quarter hour in, she sat down, her Song pulling at her insides as it always did, her stomach tight with hunger and fatigue.
Her mind drifted to the captain’s words. Why wouldn’t Katzil want the representative to look in here? It was dirty, of course—a cloud of soot hovered over the room, and she and the boys were smeared with it. But there was grime everywhere.
He didn’t want the representative to see her.
She had never heard of Avi’or having slavery. They had outlawed the form of indentured servitude that Kaleo still practiced, which rumor had it wasn’t much better than slavery. Was slavery illegal in Avi’or? If so, perhaps Amos Steel would get in trouble if the Avi’ori government knew of all the Singers being held there.
If she revealed herself to the representative of their Council, would he be appalled? Would he help her?
Kesia’s heart leaped, her breath coming short as she Sang. She could be free. She could free everyone. She just needed to get the representative’s attention.
She glanced at the boys, then pulled herself to her feet, willing the dizziness to pass. The boys were staring mindlessly into the fires and didn’t seem to notice her. She inched her way to the door, all the while continuing her Song.
She tried the latch. Locked. She would have to wait for the men to open the door from the outside. She leaned against the wall but stayed on her feet, Singing, her knees feeling like twigs.
Eventually, the faint tilting sensation stopped. The whir of the propellers faded into silence.
We’ve landed. Kesia halted her Song, feeling the engines already begin to cool. Run, Miren told her. As soon as the door opens, run.
I don’t know if I can.
Yes, you can. Do it! For me, Kesia.
The latch clicked and creaked open.
Now, now, now, it has to be now!
She bolted.
“Hey!” someone shouted, but no one was ready for her. She launched herself through the airship’s hatch and looked around.
There—by the large doors of the hangar stood a man in a dark coat and trousers, untouched by the grime around him. He turned a corner out of the warehouse, tipping his hat at the workers.
Kesia sprinted after him, her legs and chest protesting immediately. Go, just go! she told herself.
When she neared him, she clapped hard for his attention. He turned, and Kesia saw his pinched brow and pointed lips. His eyes widened at the sight of her.
Slaves, she signed, her hands shivering. Slaves, many slaves. She pointed to the refinery. Help us, we’re slaves, we’re trapped!
She heard running footsteps behind her. The man was still staring at her blankly. Slaves! she repeated. We’re trapped, forced to work!
“You!” Katzil shouted, running over.
She cowered, looking at the representative, pleading with her eyes. Please, please help! she signed.
The man stared at her, seeing her filthy rags and her iron collar.
“You need a Fire Singer?” he said, “to power the ship?”
“Uh, no, no,” Katzil stammered. “It just makes things easier. She lights the furnaces all at once, we don’t need—”
“That’s quite a cost, you know,” the representative said. “I don’t know how to cover that in the budget reports.”
Katzil’s gaze flitted between the representative and Kesia. “Well, the ballistics you requested will be expensive. We’ll have to make adjustments in the design to account for the weight. I’m sure this extra expense”—he glanced at Kesia—“can be considered part of it.”
“Fine.” The representative stared at Kesia. S
he pleaded with her gaze. “Either way, my benefactor will not be pleased.”
Katzil blinked. “Y—yes, sir. I understand.”
The representative glanced at Kesia, a sneer of disgust pulling at his lips. “And next time, chain her to the furnace.”
He walked away, heading toward the gate.
Kesia’s spirits sank. He didn’t help me. He didn’t care. He knew. He knew.
Something slammed into Kesia’s back and sent her sprawling. Her iron collar smacked onto the ground, shooting pain down her spine. She pushed herself upright. Katzil aimed a pistol at her.
“Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t—I can’t believe you just—you’re a fool, girl.”
A rumbling note, a snap in her collar. She turned to see Nadav standing over her. When had he arrived?
The Earth Singer hummed a note, and the collar yanked her upright, choking her as he dragged her toward the refinery.
They’ll kill me. She was no longer useful. She pulled at the collar, but there was no relief, the metal clamped around her throat, refusing her air. She should give up—it was over—her lungs were burning.
The Earth Song stopped. She collapsed on the cement, gasping for air.
She wasn’t in the refinery. There was no noise here, no clattering or shouting. She opened her eyes to an empty warehouse, lit only by an open door. The Earth Singer stood a few paces away. Above her, Parviz loomed.
Kesia wheezed.
“I don’t think you know what you’ve done.”
Parviz kicked her, and pain exploded through her abdomen. She curled into herself, her vision lighting with stars, her breath gone. Breathe, breathe.
He yanked her up by her hair, pain ripping her skull. “You’ve cost this entire business a lot of money.”
He slammed her onto the ground again, her shoulder screaming. Everything hurt. Her lungs ached for freedom; her head was swimming. I’m going to die, I’m going to die—
“We built that prototype for the army. Some people on the Council wanted to see if we could rule the skies. We’d certainly end the war earlier than Kaleo expects, wouldn’t we?”
Divided Fire Page 17