Shadebloom: The Gardener's Hand, #3

1

DAY OR NIGHT

I keep waking up naked in bed with you, but it never happens the way I imagine it, Thiyo complained. There’s always a great deal of pain involved, for one, and a total absence of pleasure. I’m sure we can do better.

The bed, in this case, was a hammock. They were on a boat—someone must have rescued them from the water. An islander craft, from the looks of it. It must have been tracking the medusa they’d killed. Thiyo didn’t remember how long they’d floated atop its carcass, or how they’d gotten from there to this boat, but he didn’t much care. He was alive and safe and in bed with Ev. He rolled onto his side, rocking the hammock, and grinned at her.

Ev blinked at him as if she hadn’t understood. Typical. Why he’d developed such tender feelings for a prude, he’d never know. Of course, she was gorgeous, tall and strong and curvy, fierce and gentle, with a smile more brilliant than the sun. And there were all those times she’d saved his life. And if they weren’t both exhausted—and already in bed—she’d absolutely be capable of throwing him over her shoulder and carrying him off to have her wicked way with him. He had a great appreciation for all of those things. But she was so shy.

Put a spear in her hands and a sea monster in front of her and she was the most decisive, fearless person alive. But the mere mention of sex left her speechless and shuffling her feet. His most heartfelt compliments made her duck her head or roll her eyes. No one else had ever been this reluctant.

He sighed and spared a glance for their surroundings. None of the crew were in sight, but judging from the hammocks, there were eight of them. The painted wood panels inside the hull and the woven hammocks were all in shades of black, red, and yellow, which put him in mind of Kae. If they’d caught the medusa he’d killed, they’d be on their way home now, which meant Thiyo was going back to the islands.

He examined himself. New black scars lashed his arms and legs—the venom must have eaten through his clothes—and there was one nasty cluster that raked diagonally across his torso. The fingers of his right hand were still crooked, but his collection of cuts and bruises from Nalitzva had faded. He touched his face and felt the familiar shapes of his nose and cheekbones. His fingertips didn’t run across any scars there. His hair was still a mess of short, wavy locks, but there was nothing to be done about that except wait. Not bad for someone who’d been thrown overboard and confronted with a sea monster.

Lying on her side and facing him, Ev looked even better. The scars—charcoal black whorls against the deep, warm brown of her skin—only added to her beauty. He reached down and traced one that ran along her calf. She shifted a little, but didn’t knock his hand away. These are a mark of courage, he said. Something to be proud of. Hunters like to display theirs.

He didn’t move his hand any further up her leg, although there were scars to trace there, and plenty more he’d like to touch. But he’d only do that if invited.

Ev smiled, shook her head at him, and stroked a hand through his hair, pressing his head back down toward the hammock. She closed her eyes, indicating that they should both go back to sleep. Thiyo didn’t want to—they’d lived and he wanted to talk about it, or better yet, celebrate it—but he respected Ev’s wishes. She was touching him, at least. There would be time to talk about it later.

When Thiyo’s breathing slowed to the even rhythm of sleep, Ev slipped out of their shared hammock and stilled its rocking. She pulled her shredded clothes from their pile and covered herself as best she could with the saltwater-stiff rags that remained. At odds with the silence of her feet on the wooden stairs, her heart hammered as she emerged onto the deck. The sky had lightened over the course of their journey, though she couldn’t say how long they’d been sailing.

Time was standing still. She felt as adrift on this ship as she had in the ocean with Thiyo. At least before she’d persuaded him to attack the monster, they could both have died whole. Since their rescue, he’d been too dazed to realize what had happened. What would he do once he did?

Alizhan would have known how to make this better. Her absence was a rip in the fabric of the world.

The crew members noticed Ev, but they didn’t stop their strange, two-fold conversation, which was happening through words and hand gestures at once. Even the sailors who could speak were participating in the vigorous—but silent—discussion. Without understanding either the spoken or the signed language, Ev knew what they were discussing. Her.

They were islanders, sailing home with a prized medusa in their nets. But they couldn’t bring a foreigner to their shores.

If they were going to stare at her, Ev refused to feel bad about staring at them. She’d only ever seen one islander, but she’d thought the others would resemble him—tall and slender, with long, angular faces and sharp eyebrows, tan skin with a smattering of freckles. It wasn’t that the crew members didn’t look anything like Thiyo. Most of them had eyes shaped like his and glossy black hair, but there was something different…

With a start, Ev landed on the answer. None of them were as stunning as Thiyo. It made her cheeks heat with embarrassment, even though Alizhan wasn’t there to read her mind. How naive, to think they might all be beautiful. Where else in the world was that true? And how foolish, to fixate on Thiyo like that.

Ev refocused her attention on the sailors. Since islanders lived in isolation from the rest of the world, she hadn’t expected so much variety in size, shape, and color. But the sailors were as different from each other as a random crowd in Laalvur’s famously diverse harbor. Four of them were as tall or taller than her, including two men with enormously broad chests and round bellies. The others were smaller and more compact, although none of them looked like they’d go down quickly in a fight. Most of the sailors had tan or brown skin, but one was as pale as a Nalitzvan, with white hair to match. Among them, Ev saw straight hair and curls, flat noses and pointed ones, hairy chests and smooth.

A short, muscular young woman broke away from the group and came toward Ev. Adpri? she asked.

Laalvuri, Ev said.

Oh, the woman said, her amber eyes going wide. She shook her head and the heavy mass of her black curls hardly moved. Sorry. That’s better for me, though—obviously. She laughed. She was speaking Laalvuri. Unlike Thiyo, she had an accent. It wasn’t so much a change in any particular consonant or vowel as it was a meticulous care with every syllable. It had the effect of smoothing the rhythm of her speech, calming all the stresses.

Do you speak every language? Ev asked. For all she knew, maybe most islanders could. She’d only met one.

The woman laughed again. Not by a long way. If you only spoke Adpri, I would have had to direct you to Teawi. But we like to have a few different languages among the crew. You never know who you’ll meet out here. She tilted her head at Ev. My name is Biha.

Ev.

"Welcome aboard Arrow."

Ev didn’t smile. Please don’t misunderstand me. I am grateful that you rescued us. But I have to ask—are we prisoners?

Biha wasn’t bothered by the question. Come here, she said, and led Ev around behind the mast. It was a small ship and it took only a moment to reach the stern. Trailing behind the vessel, caught in a net of thick rope, was the gelatinous carcass of the monster Thiyo had killed. Ev’s stomach threatened to revolt, but she didn’t turn away.

You killed the medusa?

My friend did, Ev said. Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about⁠—

We’d been tracking it, Biha interrupted. It’s what we do. We were surprised to find it already dead, and even more surprised to find it with… passengers. It was a difficult moment—some of the crew didn’t want to save you, since you’re foreign and it’s illegal to bring you to Kae. They wanted to take the prize and return home. But some of the crew argued that by rights, the kill is yours. If we were going to take it, the least we could do would be to save your lives. Still others argued that we ought to give you a share of the profits. Biha paused, holding so still it was obvious she was working hard to hide the identities of the crew members she was discussing, as well as her personal opinion. It didn’t matter to Ev. We came to the conclusion that saving your lives is fair recompense for the kill. We will take the medusa to Kae, and you will come with us. There is no chance you will be permitted to stay there more than a triad or two, but we will have repaid you by pulling you from the water. After that, some other ship will take you to Ndija or somewhere else on the mainland.

I don’t care about the profits.

Biha’s brown eyelids and dark lashes flipped down over her tawny eyes. Once. Twice. Then what do you care about?

My friend. Is he going to be okay?

"He killed a medusa in open water and came away with all his limbs. Just a few scars for decoration. I’d say he’s more than okay. I don’t know how it is where you live, but if he comes ba—that is to say, in our world, he’d be treated as a hero."

So Biha and the crew had recognized Thiyo as an islander. Ev wondered if they knew exactly who he was. How many islanders left? Was Thiyo famous? Ev reconsidered sharing everything with Biha. These people might have saved their lives, but it hadn’t been altruism. It had been a transaction. That medusa represented a profit.

You should both rest, Biha said. You will be safe among us. For now, if we are going to talk, let us sit. She left the stern and returned to the deck where the rest of the crew was gathered. She chose a spot near the railing and sat right down on the wood, crossing her legs. Ev had heard rumors that islanders went naked, but Biha was wearing a tunic and trousers, both yellow-brown with a faded black geometric print, loose and long-sleeved to protect her from the elements. The rest of the crew were dressed in equally well-worn clothes. Though their clothes were in disrepair, the sailors themselves were cheerful and decorated, sporting tattoos and jewelry. A few thin braids were scattered among Biha’s mass of black curls, each one marked with a shell or a bead. Around her neck was a leather cord strung with white shells. Ev had grown up hearing wild tales of islanders, but they just looked like people.

Ev sat down next to Biha, pulling her tattered tunic so it didn’t slip off her shoulders.

Ah. Clothes. Biha smiled. I think we can find some in your size, although not among my things. But the rest of us are taller. I am sorry if we caused offense—we had to take them off to check your wounds.

I understand. And thank you again. What do you think will happen when we arrive in Kae? Will people be angry?

You and… your friend killed a medusa. I understand you to be offering it to us. The least we can do is to give you some time to recover. I will speak to the others on your behalf.

Across the deck, there was still a silent, ongoing conversation. Ev watched the sailors’ hands shape sentences. What would it be like to talk like that? If they know I can’t understand their language, why are they still using their hands?

Biha seemed as surprised by this question as she had been by Ev’s lack of interest in the medusa corpse. Do your people not have a gesture language?

We do. Or some of us do—the ones who can’t hear.

And what if you want to speak without disturbing someone’s rest?

We whisper.

Much easier to use your hands, no? Biha said. It’s useful. And Eili, our tracker, is deaf, so it’s her primary language. But we all learned both languages as children—everyone does.

Here was a topic worth probing. You all learn both…

A gesture language and a spoken language. And more, for those with the aptitude. I speak Laalvuri, as you can see. Eili knows all the gesture languages of the islands—they’re similar, but not the same. Most of us can make ourselves understood throughout the islands, although it gets more difficult the farther you get from home. Fiheyi and Kikiahe speak Nalitzvan, Teawi speaks Adpri, and so on.

So… how many island languages are there?

Biha laughed. That kind of question makes people argue for hours. Where does one stop and another begin? There are enough that my people place a high value on learning other languages.

And yours don’t didn’t need to be said. Ev opted to ignore the unspoken insult and focus on the new information. Perhaps lots of islanders had Thiyo’s gift. Accustomed to tiptoeing around the subject, Ev hesitated before posing the next question. Have you ever heard of anyone learning a language with… magic?

Of course, Biha said easily.

Is that how you learned Laalvuri?

Biha shrugged. It’s harder for some than for others. But it’s all magic.

That doesn’t make sense.

I had heard mainlanders were like this. Yes or no. Day or Night. You know there is a twilight where we all live, yes?

We call it The Balance, Ev said. I don’t understand what that has to do with my question.

Can you sing, Ev?

Ev shrugged. Not beautifully, but I can.

Is it magic?

My singing? Absolutely not.

Biha hummed with amusement. Have you ever been in the presence of someone who could sing so well they made you shiver?

Ev nodded.

"That is a kind of magic, yes?"

No, Ev said stubbornly. It’s hard work and skill and maybe some luck. Using the voice you were born with.

People are born with different voices, Biha agreed. And some people are born with other abilities, too. And you are right, yes, there is hard work and skill and maybe some luck in all of it. Magic is like that. You and I can sing well enough. Ngua, over there, Biha inclined her head toward the tallest and broadest man, Ngua can sing so well you’d weep to hear it.

That’s wonderful. Beautiful. But that’s not magic.

Many people can do it. But why should that mean it isn’t magic?

When I say magic, I mean something outside the bounds of what normal people can do. Speaking a language without ever studying it. Knowing someone else’s thoughts. Changing their memory.

Who are these ‘normal people’? Biha asked, and Ev had the impression she was enjoying their discussion a little too much. As for singing, I have seen a man who was brandishing a sword, ready to kill, lay down his weapon and kneel at Ngua’s feet.

"Okay. That might be magic."

Aha. And do you speak more than one language, Ev?

Yes. Laalvuri, Adpri, and a few courtesies in Nalitzvan. I see where you’re going with this. But I learned them as a child. It wasn’t magic.

Biha smiled and raised her eyebrows. Wasn’t it?

Ev hadn’t found a way to ask the questions she needed to ask and now she was more confused than ever. She sighed. Thank you for this. For rescuing us. I think I’m too tired to appreciate this conversation, but maybe we can continue it later.

As she moved to stand, Biha touched her hand. Ev almost flinched—she’d met too many people who could do harm with a touch. But Biha’s hand was only a hand. I like you, Ev, so I will tell you now that we know who your friend is. He’s a divisive character.

I’m not surprised to hear that.

We will have some questions when he wakes.

Good luck with that. What do you know about Thiyo? Ev asked.

He’s the one who left.

Ev searched Biha’s expression. What did she think of that choice? Did she disapprove? Did her crew members? Alizhan would have known. Ev didn’t, and so she said nothing.

And based on our conversation, I think I recall hearing that he was a talker, Biha said.

That startled a little half-sad smile out of Ev. I suppose he does like to hear himself talk.

Biha frowned. "I must have made a mistake. This pair of words always trips me up. Not a talker. A speaker. We were just discussing them—people who can learn dozens of languages."

When you were arguing that it’s not magic, you mean? Ev said.

I wanted to expand your understanding, Biha said, eager to rekindle that conversation. But yes. You asked me if I spoke every language—a strange question, unless you’d recently encountered an islander who could do just that.

Ah, Ev said. She bit her lip.

When Ev went back down to check on Thiyo, he was awake. Waiting for her. He raised an eyebrow as she sat back down in the hammock. Curious. Suspicious. Why had Ev told him to go back to sleep if she was going to get up and wander?

Ev touched his shoulder. Thiyo.

His gaze slid to her hand. Then their eyes met. Ev tried to convey everything in that single instant of looking, as if that would be less painful. Perhaps he already knew. It was strange for him to be silent, even for this brief moment.

Then he spoke.

Of course they had to do this the hard way. There was no easy way.

Thiyo continued speaking. It sounded casual, whatever it was. Chatty. Nonchalant. When Ev didn’t react, there was break in the flow of sound—she wasn’t sure it qualified as words—and then he picked it up again, more hesitantly. His tone changed once, and then again. Was he experimenting? He stopped and restarted.

If that was a language, she’d never heard anything like it. A hodgepodge of repeated syllables, it sounded like the wordless babble of infants.

Thiyo, she began. Smoke, this was hard. She started again. Thiyo, I can’t understand you. You’re speaking—well, to be honest, I’m not sure. Whatever it is, I don’t understand. I need you to speak Laalvuri. Or Adpri. Even Nalitzvan, if that’s all you can manage. I could work with that. What Ev really needed was for Thiyo to recover and be himself again so he could listen to their mysterious rescuers—or captors. Ev kept that to herself. She didn’t want to overwhelm him. Nod if you understand anything I’m saying.

He didn’t.

Thiyo. Please. Nod if you understand. Ev demonstrated, lifting and lowering her chin.

Even with her rambling, she’d only spoken for a moment or two. In that time, Thiyo’s expression had crumpled from uncomprehending to stricken. Now his eyes were wide with panic. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and shook his head.

Ev tried again. She spoke slowly. She attempted to say it in Adpri and Nalitzvan, and each time she spoke to him, his bewilderment gradually gave way to something far worse. Ev had never seen him look so lost or helpless—not in prison, not when he’d had a sword to his throat, not when he’d faced the man who’d broken his heart, not even when he’d been stranded in the ocean with a giant medusa. It crushed her.

Hey, hey, she said, tightening her grip on his shoulder. She moved her hand down and grasped his arm, choosing a place that was free of those twining black scars. We will figure this out.

She didn’t know that. She couldn’t. She could only think of Kasrik, who’d once been like Alizhan until Iriyat’s priests had tortured it out of him with preserved medusa tentacles. Unlike the scars swirling and tangling over Thiyo’s skin and her own, Kasrik’s scars striped his arms straight up and down. The work of a different kind of a monster—a human one. He’d lost his ability because of them. She’d pitied him, but she hadn’t taken his loss as seriously as she could have. He’d become like her. She’d never been able to read minds and she was living her life just fine.

But having spent so much time traveling through foreign lands, the confusion and vulnerability of being unable to speak or understand were fresh in her mind. Thiyo had never suffered that experience, and now he was condemned to it. He’d had every language, and now he had none. Each time she spoke to him, he recoiled.

There were few light sources down here, but when he turned away from her, Ev caught a glint of tears in his eyes.

So instead of speaking comforting words, as she wanted to, Ev pulled him up into a hug and squeezed. He held onto her. That, at least, they could both understand.

2

FAIR WARNING

Iriyat plucked a thornfruit from the bowl and pinched the brown rind between two manicured nails until it popped and split. She lifted the fruit, its newly revealed pulp as red as her lips, and ate it in one bite. She dropped the rind into an empty dish on the table between them, then gestured at the overflowing bowl next to it. Don’t you want some? You used to love these.

Alizhan stared at her white hand hovering over the mound of fruit. When Sardas had commandeered Honesty and sailed back to Laalvur under Iriyat’s orders, she’d envisioned herself in a cell in the basement of Varenx House. Instead, she’d been directed back to her childhood bedroom to sleep and then invited to a meal on the terrace. Iriyat had even lit a fire in the terrace’s fire pit—a decorative touch, since Laalvur was never cold. The comforts were a small difference. Cell or no cell, Alizhan was a prisoner.

And what did it matter? She’d had some foolish, grand plan to return home, to accuse Iriyat of her crimes and force her to stand trial. To bring the journal to light. To see justice for the people she’d already hurt and to protect the ones she might hurt in the future. To save the city. To change the world.

But what was the point of the world? Ev and Thiyo were dead.

I’m not hungry, Alizhan said. They’d force-fed her on the ship. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed between that terrible shift when she’d killed Merat and their arrival in Laalvur. Seven or eight triads, probably, since she’d woken up with a smear of blood between her thighs this shift. Enough time to die of starvation, if only someone would let her.

Are you sure? Iriyat said, the picture of concern. You look thin. Sardas told me you weren’t eating. You’ve always been skinny, but I don’t want you to waste away. And you love thornfruit!

I’m not hungry, Alizhan repeated.

I want to apologize, Iriyat said. I know you’ve had a difficult time. And I’m to blame for some of it. Iriyat pulled two books out of her lap. One was a Nalitzvan copy of The Sunrise Chronicles into which Thiyo had sewn his own translation of Iriyat’s journal. The other was volume eleven of A Natural History of the World—Iriyat’s original, encoded journal. Sardas had taken both from Alizhan when he’d put her under guard. Those two texts represented Alizhan’s best chance at persuading the rest of the world that Iriyat was a criminal, so she ought to feel panic, seeing them in Iriyat’s hands. Instead, she felt hollow.

I was going to provide you with the cipher, Iriyat continued. When you were ready.

When I was ready. Alizhan couldn’t muster the energy to do more than repeat what Iriyat had said in a dead tone. When could a person be ready to find out her mother had been lying to her and exploiting her all her life?

There was so much I wanted to tell you, and I thought I could do it more clearly in writing, but instead I’ve caused you a great deal of suffering. So I want to apologize and make things right. And I think that starts with this.

With a single, elegant movement of her arm, Iriyat dropped both books into the fire. Alizhan jumped up, meaning to plunge her hands into the blaze. Flames were already licking at the pages, which were curling, crackling, and crumbling into the fire pit. She hesitated. Then Iriyat was upon her, moving faster than Alizhan had guessed, pulling her arms behind her.

Don’t, darling. I hate to see you hurt yourself.

Those two books together represented months of struggle. She and Ev had sailed across the ocean to find someone who could read the encoded text. Thiyo had labored for weeks on that translation. Ev and Thiyo had died.

With that thought, all the fight went out of Alizhan. Iriyat had a tight grip on her wrists, but it wasn’t necessary. There was nothing worth fighting for.

Alizhan didn’t resist when Iriyat spun her around. She didn’t even startle when Iriyat pulled her into a hug.

I was very sorry to hear of your loss, Iriyat said.

Don’t.

If you ever want to talk about it, I’ll be here. You know now that I also lost someone I loved, so I understand.

Not even the allusion to her father made Alizhan soften. There was nothing left in her but ashes. She turned her head to watch the smoke rise from the fire. At last, Iriyat drew back. Will you sit?

What choice was there? Would her legs even hold her up? Every time she thought about Ev and Thiyo, she wanted to crumple. The chair was the only thing that kept her from puddling on the terrace.

Please eat. I went all the way out of the city to get these, you know. One of those dusty little villages on the outskirts. Orzatvur, I think? It was the funniest little farm. A big, hulking, surly Adpri exile sold me these. From the way he treated me, you’d have thought I was holding his family hostage.

Orzatvur. Iriyat had found Ev’s family somehow. Panic spiked. Or threatening him, Alizhan muttered.

Iriyat’s laugh was as delicate and manicured as her fingertips. She picked another fruit out of the bowl and squeezed it till it split. A drop of red juice plopped onto the tabletop, ruining the geometric pattern of the tiles. Indeed. I can’t imagine why.

Were Obin and Neiran—and even Ajee, God help him—in danger? Ev wasn’t here to protect them. They don’t even know she’s dead. Alizhan’s voice went so low it cracked when she said, You’d never hurt them, of course.

Of course, Iriyat said smoothly. But I wanted to meet them, since they raised the young woman who stole you away from me.

At least they were giving up on the pretense that the Umarsad family were random strangers. That’s not what happened.

Ah well, Iriyat said, contemplative and nostalgic. I suppose all parents feel that way about the people their children fall in love with.

Alizhan went still for a moment. She’d become accustomed to her grandmother’s bigotry and disgust. Merat had loathed Ev and Thiyo. Alizhan had conflated her hatred of them with her ruthlessness, and she’d expected Iriyat to be just like Merat. But she wasn’t. What Iriyat had said about Ev stealing Alizhan away was a casual figure of speech. It was jarring to realize Iriyat didn’t hate Ev. She’d even said she was sorry.

Alizhan still didn’t want to hear it.

My parents felt significantly less charitable toward Arav, Iriyat said. My mother was a monster, as you know. It’s grisly, but I am grateful to you for killing her. Sardas told me.

It was hard to think through the fog of grief and panic. But there was something important: Iriyat had slid almost imperceptibly from my parents to my mother.

Because her father was still alive. Alizhan had been the little ghost in Varenx House, and he’d been the other ghost. The one in the room upstairs who never came out. Alizhan’s pulse picked up just thinking about it. But what good would it do her?

But let’s put that aside. I wrote it down because it was the only way I knew to share it with you, but I want things to be different between us now.

I don’t want anything from you. Alizhan didn’t even want justice anymore. She wanted to be done.

I know this is a difficult moment for us, but I believe we’ll get through. We just need some time to talk. I have to leave for Adappyr in a triad, but I was hoping you’d come with me. I won’t force you, of course. It’s your choice. Although I worry about leaving you alone in this state, so if you want to stay here, I’ll have to have someone—Sardas, perhaps—watch over you.

A choice, Alizhan said flatly. Go to Adappyr with you or stay here under Sardas’s constant surveillance.

I just want you to be safe.

Fuck off, Alizhan said, standing up. I’m going back to bed.

Alizhan couldn’t muster the energy to pull the curtains closed. She collapsed onto her bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling. She preferred to sleep in total darkness, when she had preferences. But her room was never bright, since there were no Dayward windows, only a perforated stone wall on the Nightward side meant to let cool air pass through. As it had always been, the room was full of potted plants bursting with blooms of all colors and leaves reaching in all directions. Iriyat’s hybridized creations.

Something scratched at the stone screen. Alizhan ignored it, but it continued for many long minutes, developing a steady rhythm. Not an animal, then.

Her bedroom was on the second story. There were no trees or vines on the Nightward side. Anyone who’d climbed up the stone screen had gone to some effort to contact her. Alizhan didn’t get up. There was a short list of people who might have taken the trouble, and she didn’t want to see any of them. She didn’t want to see anyone who wasn’t Ev or Thiyo.

The scratching stopped. Fuck you, came as a low hiss through the screen. I know you’re in there. Get up and come talk to me.

The voice belonged to an angry teenage boy. Kasrik. Alizhan pushed herself upright and went to crouch next to the screen. The holes were too small to get a good visual, but from the sound of his voice, she could tell where Kasrik was. What?

What do you mean, what? I came to give you the news. Fair warning, all of it’s bad. We’ll work on getting you out of here, too. There are some friends in town you’ll want to see.

Ev and Thiyo are dead, Alizhan said. She didn’t have any other friends. There was no way to soften the blow—or maybe there was, and she didn’t want to.

Who the hell is Thiyo? Kasrik said. Never mind. I’m sorry about Ev. I liked her better than you.

Alizhan said nothing.

Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Shit, Alizhan, I don’t know what to say. I’m really, really sorry. But let’s talk about the rest of it. Did you get that book translated?

It doesn’t matter.

Of course it fucking matters! Do you even know what’s going on here? God. I’m sorry about Ev, I am, but while you were gone, Iriyat got her hands around this city’s throat and if we don’t stop her, no one will. There was a pause, and then a tightly rolled tube of paper was pushed through one of the holes in the stone. It dropped to the floor and uncurled. Another one followed. These are some pamphlets. I don’t have time to stay here and tell you everything. Me and Eliyan have work to do. But try to be in here during Rosefinch shift, and I’ll come back. I worked it out with Vatik so he’s the one patrolling the grounds while I’m here. You can still trust him.

Alizhan had let most of his words pass over her, and she hadn’t bothered to pick up the pamphlets, but that gave her pause. He shouldn’t know about Vatik. Kasrik had lost his powers when he’d been tortured. How do you know?

I’m getting better, he said, a touch of pride in his voice. "Ev told me to pay attention to faces, and that was all I could do for a while. But once I started to learn that, little by little, the other stuff—thoughts, feelings, you know, all that came back. Sometimes I see Mala when Vines is in port, and she thinks it’s getting better because I’m young and still growing. I’m not the same as I was, but maybe I could be, eventually."

Good, she said softly. That was one less burden to bear. I’m glad.

Does that mean you’ll stop sulking? Ev wouldn’t want you to sulk.

Alizhan huffed. Presumptuous little shit. It helped that he was right. Fuck off.

Alizhan. He said her name like a warning. She got Mar.

What do you mean, got Mar? There was no point in asking who she was.

Read the pamphlet, Kasrik said. She heard the sound of his shoes scraping the stone as he climbed down.

3

A ROMANCE FOR THE AGES!

1 Yahad 764

MAR HA-SOLORA AND IRIYAT HA-VARENSI TO MARRY

Laalvur holds its breath in anticipation of an unforgettable celebration

Two of our city’s most beloved figures, Mar ha-Solora and Iriyat ha-Varensi, have announced their intent to marry. These two members of the Council of Nine need no introduction, both longtime leaders of Great Houses and familiar faces in all corners of the city. Such a wedding deserves feasting and dancing in the streets, and the happy bride- and groom-to-be have promised a joyful and abundant celebration on the fifteenth triad of the month of Rimersha, with the ceremony beginning at the call of the Lyrebird shift.

Theirs is a romance to be remembered. The pair have been seen strolling Arishdenan harbor holding hands. When asked for comment, Mar, besotted, said, If I’m being truthful, I’ve been in love with Iriyat for years. And with tears sparkling in her eyes, his future bride said, After I lost my parents in the last wave, I thought I could never love again, but Mar showed me how wrong I was. We want to share that feeling with all of Laalvur.

Have two more beautiful people ever fallen in love? Their wedding will be a historic event!

4

CURED

Alizhan finished reading the pamphlet and shoved it under her mattress. She sat down heavily on the bed. Iriyat and Mar were getting married? Mar had always been a little infatuated with her—until he’d discovered her role in performing cruel experiments on the city’s gifted orphans, including Kasrik. When Alizhan had last been in Laalvur, Mar had made an enemy of Iriyat by demanding that the other members of the Council of Nine hold her accountable for the orphanage in Gold Street. But Iriyat had burned the orphanage and erased all evidence of her involvement there. Now the entire city seemed to have forgotten that Mar had moved against Iriyat—including Mar himself.

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