Some notorious band of space pirates had just been sentenced to fifteen seasons in prison. Shotet subtitles: “Band of Zoldan traditionalists sentenced to fifteen seasons in prison for speaking out against unnecessarily restrictive Assembly regulations.” Not so accurate.
“The sojourn is supposed to be an acknowledgment of our reliance on the current and the one who masters it,” I said quietly. “A religious rite, and a way of honoring those who came before us.”
“The Shotet you describe is not the one that I’ve seen,” Akos said.
I glanced back at him. “Maybe you see what you want to see.”
“Maybe we both do,” Akos said. “You look worried. Do you think Ryzek will stop leaving you alone?”
“If things get bad enough.”
“And if you refuse to help him again? What’s the worst he can do?”
I sighed. “I don’t think you understand. My mother was beloved. A deity among mortals. When she died, all of Shotet mourned. It was like the world had come apart.” I closed my eyes, briefly, letting an image of her face pass through my mind. “If they find out what I did to her, they will tear me limb from limb. Ryzek knows that, and he’ll use it if he gets too desperate.”
Akos frowned. Not for the first time, I wondered how he would feel if I died. Not because I thought he hated me, but because I knew that his fate echoed in his head whenever he looked at me. I might be the Noavek he would one day die for, given how much time we spent together. And I could not believe that I was worth that, worth his life.
“Well,” he said. “Let’s hope he doesn’t, then.”
He was angled toward me. There were only a few inches separating us. We were often close together, when sparring, when training, when making our breakfasts, and he had to touch me to keep my pain at bay. So it should not have felt strange that his hip was so close to my stomach, that I could see ropy muscle standing out from his arm.
But it did.
“How is your friend Suzao?” I said as I stepped back.
“I gave some sleeping potion to Jorek to slip into the medicine he takes in the morning,” Akos said.
“Jorek’s going to drug his own father?” I said. “Interesting.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see if Suzao actually collapses into his lunch. Might make him angry enough to challenge me to the arena.”
“I’d do it a few more times before you reveal yourself,” I said. “He needs to be afraid, as well as angry.”
“Hard to think of a man like that being afraid.”
“Yeah, well, we’re all afraid.” I sighed. “The angry more than most, I think.”
The currentstream made the slow transition from green to blue, and still we didn’t descend on Pitha, still Ryzek delayed the sojourn. We coasted along the edge of the galaxy, out of the Assembly’s reach. Impatience was like a humid cloud that had settled over the ship; I breathed it in whenever I left my isolated quarters. And these days, I rarely left my quarters.
Ryzek couldn’t delay our descent forever—he couldn’t forgo the sojourn altogether, or he would be the first sovereign to ignore our traditions in over one hundred seasons.
I had promised him that I would keep up appearances, which was why I found myself at a gathering of his closest associates again, on the observation deck several days after the attack. The first thing I saw upon entering was the darkness of space through the windows, open to us like we were soaring into a huge creature’s mouth. Then I saw Vas, clutching a mug of tea with bleeding knuckles. When he noticed the blood, he dabbed at it with a handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket.
“I know you can’t feel pain, Vas, but there is some value in taking care of your own body,” I said to him.
He raised his eyebrows at me, then set his mug down. The others were gathered on the opposite end of the room, holding glasses, standing in small groups. Most had collected around Ryzek like debris around a drain hole. Yma Zetsyvis—white hair almost glowing against the dark backdrop of space—was among them, her body stiff with obvious tension.
Otherwise the room was empty, the black floors polished, the walls just curved windows. I half expected us all to float away.
“You know so little about my gift, for all the time we’ve known each other,” Vas said. “Do you know I have to set alarms to eat and drink? And check myself constantly for broken bones and bruises?”
I had never thought about what else Vas had lost when he lost the ability to feel pain.
“That’s why I let the little wounds slide,” Vas said. “It’s exhausting, paying this much attention to your own body.”
“Hmm,” I said. “I think I might know something about that.”
Not for the first time, I marveled at how opposite we were—and how similar that made us, both our lives revolving around pain, in one way or another, both spending an exorbitant amount of energy on the physical. It made me curious if we had anything else in common.
“When did you develop it?” I said. “What was happening at the time?”
“I was ten.” He leaned against the wall and ran his hand over his head. His hair was shaved close to his scalp. Near his ear, there were a few cuts from the razor—he probably hadn’t noticed them. “Before I was accepted into your brother’s service, I attended a regular school. I was scrawny then, an easy target. Some of the bigger children were attacking me.” He smiled. “Once I realized I couldn’t feel pain, I beat one of them half to death. They didn’t come after me again.”