My head did look strange with only half my hair, but some people in Shotet wore their hair this way, shaved on one side and long on the other. And the silverskin looked like a piece from the armor that my mother had collected in her seasons of sojourning. Like the armor on my wrist, I would always wear it, and it would make me feel strong.
I found my own eyes in the glass.
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”
I didn’t quite mean it yet, but I thought maybe, over time, I might start to.
“I agree,” he said. “In case that wasn’t clear from all the kissing we’ve been doing.”
I smiled, and turned, perching on the edge of the sink. There was worry tugging at the corners of Akos’s eyes, though he was smiling. He had looked that way since the discussion with the renegades about our plan.
“What’s going on, Akos?” I said. “Are you really that concerned that I can’t beat Ryzek?”
“No, it’s not that.” Akos looked as uneasy as I felt. “It’s just . . . you’re really going to kill him?”
That wasn’t quite what I expected him to ask.
“Yes. I’m going to kill him,” I said. The words tasted rusty, like blood. “I thought that was clear.”
He nodded. He looked over his shoulder at the renegades, gathered on the first floor still. I followed his gaze to his mother, who was having a close conversation with Teka, a mug of tea clutched in both hands. Cisi wasn’t far away from them, staring blankly at the furnace. She hadn’t spoken or stirred since the planning session. Many of the others were next to the transport vessel, tucking themselves under blankets, using the bags they had carried here as pillows. We would be up with the sun.
“I need to ask you for something,” he said, returning his focus to me again. He took my face in his hands, gently. “It’s not fair to ask this of you. But I want to ask you to spare Ryzek’s life.”
I paused, certain for a moment that he was joking. I even laughed. But it didn’t look like he was joking.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“You know why,” Akos said, letting his hands fall.
“Eijeh,” I said.
Always Eijeh.
He said, “If you kill Ryzek tomorrow, you’ll be sealing Eijeh forever with Ryzek’s worst memories. His condition will be permanent.”
I had told him, once, that the only restoration possible for Eijeh rested in Ryzek. If my brother could trade memories at will, surely he could return all of Eijeh’s memories to their rightful place, and take back his own. I could imagine a way to make him do that. Or two.
And for Akos, Eijeh had been a faint glow in the distance for as long as he could likely remember, a tiny flicker of hope. I knew it was impossible for him to let go of that. But I couldn’t risk everything for it, either.
“No,” I said, my voice steady. “First of all, we don’t know how all the memory trading has affected either of their currentgifts. We don’t even know if he can set Eijeh right anymore.”
“If there’s even a chance,” Akos said, “a chance to restore my brother, I have to—”
“No!” I pushed him back. “Look at what he did to me. Look at me!”
“Cyra—”
“This—!” I pointed to the side of my head. “All my marks—! Seasons of torture and trails of bodies and you want me to spare him? Are you insane?”
“You don’t understand,” he said urgently. He touched his forehead to mine and said, “I’m the reason Eijeh is the way he is. If I hadn’t tried to escape Voa . . . if I had just surrendered to my fate earlier . . .”
I ached.
Somehow it had never occurred to me that Akos held himself responsible for Ryzek unloading his memories on Eijeh. It had been clear to me that Ryzek would have found a reason to do that to Eijeh at one point or another. But all Akos knew was that Ryzek had inflicted that particular harm on Eijeh as a result of his failed escape.
“Ryzek was always going to do what he did to Eijeh, whether you tried to escape or not,” I said. “Eijeh is not your responsibility. Everything that has happened to him is Ryzek’s fault, not yours.”
“It’s not just that,” Akos said. “When we were taken from our house—it was because of me that they knew which kid to take, him or Cisi. Because I told him to run. It was me. So I promised my father, I promised—”
“Again,” I said, angrier this time, “Ryzek’s responsibility! Not yours! Surely your father would understand that.”
“I can’t give up on him,” Akos said, his voice breaking. “I can’t.”
“And I can’t participate in this ridiculous quest you’re on, not anymore,” I snapped. “I can’t watch you destroy yourself, destroy your life, to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. Someone who is gone, and will never come back!”
“Gone?” Akos’s eyes were wild. “What if I had told you that you were beyond hope, huh?”
I knew the answer to that. I would never have fallen for him. I would never have turned to the renegades for help. My currentgift would never have changed.
“Listen,” I said. “I have to do this. I know you understand that, even if you can’t admit it right now. I need . . . I need Ryzek to be gone. I don’t know what else I can say.”
He shut his eyes for a moment, then turned away.