“You,” she whispered, “are the only person he could possibly hold over me now.”
She touched his chin to steady it as she kissed him. Her mouth was warm, and wet with tears. Her teeth scored his bottom lip as she pulled away.
Akos didn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure he could remember how.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I won’t do that again.”
She backed away, and shut herself in the bathroom.
CHAPTER 20: CYRA
I ATTENDED ZOSITA SURUKTA’S execution the next day, as I was supposed to. It was a crowded, loud event, the first celebration that had been allowed since the Sojourn Festival. I stood off to the side, with Vas, Eijeh, and Akos, as Ryzek gave a long speech about loyalty and the strength of Shotet unity, the envy of the galaxy, the tyranny of the Assembly. Yma stood at his side, her hands on the railing, her fingertips tapping out a lilting rhythm.
When Ryzek dragged the knife across Zosita’s throat, I felt like crying, but I suppressed my tears. Everyone in the crowd roared as Zosita’s body fell, and I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, Yma’s hands were trembling on the railing. Ryzek wore a streak of Zosita’s blood. And far off, in the crowd that watched, Teka held a hand over her mouth.
As Zosita’s blood spread across the floor, as Akos’s father’s blood had, and so many others, I felt the wrongness of her death like an ill-fitting shirt I could not remove.
It was a relief, to still be able to feel that.
All across the loading bay were piles of gray jumpsuits, arranged by size. From where I stood, they looked like a line of boulders. The jumpsuits were waterproof, designed specifically for sojourns to Pitha. There were piles of waterproof masks along the back wall too, to keep the rain from our scavengers’ eyes. Old supplies, from some other sojourn, but sufficient.
Ryzek’s sojourn craft, with its sleek, golden wings, waited by the release hatch. It would take him, me, Yma, Vas, Eijeh, Akos, and a few others to Pitha’s surface to play political games with the Pithar leadership. He wanted to establish “friendly relations”—an alliance. Military assistance, too, surely. Ryzek had a talent for this that my father never had. He must have gotten it from my mother.
“We should go,” Akos said, from over my shoulder. He held himself stiffly today, cringing when he had to lift a cup to his lips, crouching rather than bending to pick things up.
I shivered at his voice alone. I thought that when I kissed him, days ago, it would free me from feelings like those, by taking away the mystery of what it would be like, but it had only made things worse. Now I knew what he felt like—what he tasted like—and I ached with want.
“I guess so,” I said, and we descended the steps to the loading bay floor, shoulder to shoulder. Ahead of us, the small transport ship gleamed like sunstruck glass under the harsh lights. The polished side bore the Shotet character for Noavek.
Despite its ostentatious outsides, the inside of the ship was as simple as any other transport vessel: at the back was an enclosed bathroom stall and a tiny galley; lining the walls were jump seats with seat belts; and up front, in the ship’s nose, was navigation.
My father had taught me to fly, one of the only activities we ever did together. I had worn thick gloves so my currentgift wouldn’t interfere with the ship’s mechanisms. I had been too small for the chair, so he had gotten a cushion for me to sit on. He was not a patient teacher—he screamed at me more than once—but when I got it right, he always said, “Good,” with a firm nod, like he was hammering the compliment in place.
He died when I was eleven seasons old, on a sojourn. Only Ryzek and Vas had been with him at the time—they were attacked by a band of pirates and had to fight their way out. Ryzek and Vas returned from the conflict—with the eyes of their vanquished enemies in a jar, no less—but Lazmet Noavek did not.
Vas fell into step beside me as I walked toward the ship. “I have been instructed to remind you to put on a good show for the Pithar.”
“What, was I born a Noavek just yesterday?” I snapped. “I know how to handle myself.”
“Noavek you may be, but you have become increasingly erratic,” Vas said.
“Go away, Vas,” I said, too tired to come up with another barb. Thankfully, he heeded me, striding toward the front of the ship, where my cousin Vakrez stood with one of the maintenance workers. A flash of bright hair alerted me to Teka—not working on our ship, of course, but off to the side with her hands buried in a panel of wires. She didn’t have any tools in hand—she was just pinching each wire in turn, her eyes closed.
I hesitated for a moment. I could feel myself stirring to action, though I wasn’t sure exactly what that action would be. I just knew that I had spent too long standing still while others warred around me, and it was time to move.
“I’ll meet you in the ship,” I said to Akos. “I want to speak to Zosita’s daughter for a moment.”
He hesitated with a hand near my elbow, like he was about to comfort me. Then he seemed to change his mind, shoving his hand in his pocket and shuffling toward the ship.
When I drew closer to Teka, she pulled her hand from the tangle of wires, and marked something on the small screen balanced on her knees.
“The wires never shock you?” I said.
“No,” she said without looking at me. “Feels like humming, unless they’re busted. What do you want?”
“A meeting,” I said. “With your friends. You know which ones.”