Yma’s frown deepened. In this light the creases in her face were more pronounced. She was lined, not from age—she was still too young for that, prematurely white haired though she was—but from grief. Now I knew how to account for her constant smile. It was just a mask.
“Most of the others . . .” Yma sighed. “They don’t know what I am. Zosita and Teka are—were—the only ones. This close to my mission’s completion, it would have been too much of a risk for me to have any contact with anyone anyway.”
I stood, joining her at the window. The currentstream had already turned a deeper red.
“Tomorrow the renegades are moving against Ryzek,” I said. “Right before he executes Orieve Benesit, I will challenge him to the arena in such a way that he can’t refuse.”
“What?” she demanded, sharp. “Tomorrow?”
I nodded.
She gave a short laugh, her arms crossed. “You foolish child. You think you’ll be able to defeat Ryzek Noavek in the arena? You really only do think one way. Like a trained killer.”
“No,” I said. “I came to you with a plan. Your role in it would be simple.” I reached into the satchel at my side and took a vial from the packet I had brought with me. “All you have to do is pour this vial into Ryzek’s calming tonic in the morning. I assume you’ll be at his side when he drinks it.”
Yma frowned at the vial.
“How do you know he’ll be drinking calming tonic?”
“He always does before he kills someone,” I said. “So that he can stomach it.”
She snorted a little.
“Believe what you want about his character, I don’t really care,” I said. “But he drank it the day he ordered me cut to pieces for the public’s enjoyment, and I promise you he will drink it in anticipation of killing Orieve Benesit. And all I’m asking is that you pour this in, nothing else. If I fail, then your place at his side will still be secure. He has no reason to suspect you. But if you do this, and I succeed in my plan, I’ll never even have to lay a hand on him, and you will be able to take your vengeance without having to marry him first.”
She took the vial, examining it. It was sealed with wax that Akos had taken from my desk; I used it to stamp envelopes with the Noavek symbol, just as my mother and father had.
“I’ll do it,” Yma said.
“Good,” I said. “I trust you’ll be careful. I can’t afford for you to get caught.”
“I have been careful with every word and glance since you were a mere child,” Yma said. “I sincerely hope, Miss Noavek, that you are not doing this for atonement, because you will not get it. Not from me. Not after all that you have done.”
“Oh, I’m not nearly noble enough for that,” I said. “For me it’s all about petty revenge, I promise you.”
Yma sneered at my reflection in the window. I let myself out of her house. I had to move quickly if I wanted to be back at the safe house before the others woke.
CHAPTER 34: AKOS
CYRA WAS AHEAD OF Akos, standing in the sun, a hood up to shield her face. She wore a heavy cloak to disguise the currentshadows, her hands buried in long sleeves. Behind her was the amphitheater where she’d almost lost her life, but to watch her walk, with that straight spine, it was like nobody had ever tried to peel her apart.
A group of Shotet soldiers stood by the big double doors that led straight to the amphitheater floor. Word on the street—collected by Sovy, who, according to Jorek, “knew everyone”—was that the soldiers called to appear in the amphitheater today were being rewarded for a good scavenge. Akos didn’t know what they were supposed to have brought back that was so worthy of this honor, but it didn’t really matter—they were just a ruse anyway. Ryzek wanted a crowd to witness Ori’s execution.
The big double doors opened. Akos squinted into bright light, and the roar of a huge crowd filled his ears. There were so many faces inside that he felt like the entire city was there, though it was more like a fifth of it—and the other four-fifths would watch the live feed on screens around Voa. If they bothered to watch at all.
Cyra turned back with a glimmer of silver, the sun hitting her now-healed throat. Her chin bobbed up and down in a nod, and then the tide of the crowd carried her away from him. Time to go.
“So.” Isae had come to stand at his shoulder. “We never actually determined how we were going to get through the first door.”
“Honestly, I had pretty much decided to just . . . smash the guard’s head into the wall,” Akos replied.
“I’m sure that won’t draw any attention at all,” Isae replied. “There’s Eye Patch. Let’s go.”
Isae had taken to calling the renegades by nicknames instead of learning their real names. “Eye Patch” was obviously Teka, Jorek was “Fidget,” Jyo was “The Flirt,” and Sovy was “The One Who Doesn’t Speak Thuvhesit,” which was long, but she hadn’t used it much. It went both ways, though—Akos had caught Teka referring to Isae as “The Haughty One” that morning as they all shoved food in their mouths, eyeing the hole Akos’s mom had made in the ceiling with her floater.
Akos spotted Teka and Cisi standing near the amphitheater doors, and made his way over, keeping Isae in his periphery. They had all been surprised when Teka offered herself up to help them get into the underground prison. It was clear she didn’t care about saving Ori’s life. But maybe Cyra’s point about taking away Ryzek’s moment of triumph over his fate had struck her.