“So you can have your servant back, is that it?” he snapped. Losing patience, too. “Well, I’m done. I’m ready to die for your family, whatever that means.”
She bent over, so their faces were on the same level, and said, “I know what it is to become something you hate. I know how it hurts. But life is full of hurt.” Shadows pooled in her eye sockets like they were proving her point. “And your capacity for bearing it is much greater than you believe.”
Her eyes held his for a few seconds, and then he said, “What kind of a rousing speech is that, ‘Life is full of hurt’?”
“The last time I checked, your brother was still here,” she said. “So you should keep yourself alive to get him out, if nothing else.”
“Eijeh.” He snorted. “Like that’s what this is about.”
He hadn’t been thinking about Eijeh when he took Suzao’s life. He’d been thinking about how badly he wanted Suzao dead.
“Then what is it about, exactly?” She folded her arms.
“How should I know?” He threw out his arms, emphatic, and smacked his hand against the wall. He ignored the ache in his knuckles. “You’re the one who made me this way, why don’t you tell me? Honor has no place in survival, remember?”
Whatever spark there had been behind her eyes fizzled at the recollection. He was about to try to snatch the words back, when a knock came at the door. He watched her open it from the edge of his bed. The guard with the most boring job imaginable was standing there, with Jorek behind him.
Akos leaned his face into his hand. “Don’t let him in.”
“I think you’re forgetting whose quarters these actually are,” Cyra said, sharp, and she stepped back so Jorek could come in.
“Damn it, Cyra!” He came to his feet. His vision went black for a few ticks, and he stumbled into the door frame. Maybe she was right—he did need to eat something.
Jorek’s eyes widened at the sight of him.
“Good luck,” Cyra said to him, and she shut herself in the bathroom.
Jorek looked anywhere else, at the wall decorated with armor and the plants dangling from the ceiling and the bright pots and pans stacked on the rickety stove. He scratched his neck, leaving pink lines on his skin, his nervous habit. Akos moved toward him, every part of his body heavy. He was breathless by the time he got to a chair and sat.
“What are you doing here?” he said, feeling savage. He wanted to dig in his nails, refuse to let anything else slide away. Even if it meant hurting Jorek, who had already seen more than his fair share of hurt. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” Jorek said, quiet. He sat down next to Akos. “I came to thank you.”
“This wasn’t a favor, it was a transaction. I kill Suzao, you get Eijeh out.”
“Which will be easier to do when we land in Voa,” Jorek said, still in that horrible quiet voice, like he was trying to soothe an animal. Maybe, Akos thought, that was exactly what he was trying to do. “Listen, I . . .” He furrowed his brows. “I didn’t really know what I was asking you to do. I thought . . . I thought it would be easy for you. You seemed like the sort of person it would be easy for.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” Akos cradled his head in his hands. He couldn’t stand to think of how easy it had been. Suzao hadn’t had a chance, hadn’t known what he was walking into. Akos felt more like a murderer now than he had after his first kill. At least that—Kalmev’s death—had been wild and mad, almost a dream. Not like this.
Jorek set a hand on his shoulder. Akos tried to shrug him off, but he wouldn’t be shrugged, not until Akos looked at him.
“My mother sent me with this,” Jorek said. He drew a long chain from his pocket, with a ring dangling from it. It was made of a bright metal, orange pink in color, and stamped with a symbol. “This ring bears the seal of her family. She wanted you to have it.”
Akos ran shaking fingers over the links of the chain, delicate but doubled over for strength. He gathered the ring into his fist, so the symbol of Jorek’s mother’s family would imprint on his palm.
“Your mother,” he said, “thanks me?”
His voice broke. He let his head rest on the table. No tears came.
“My family is safe now,” Jorek said. “Come and see us sometime, if you can. We live on the edge of Voa, between the Divide and the training camp. Little village right off the road. You’ll be welcome among us, for what you’ve done.”
Akos felt heat on the back of his head, Jorek’s hand pressing gently. It was more comforting than he would have thought.
“Oh. And . . . don’t forget to put my father’s mark on your arm. Please.”
The door closed. Akos wrapped his arms around his head, the ring still in his fist. His knuckles were split from the fight; he felt the scabs tug when he bent his fingers. The bathroom door squealed as Cyra opened it. She rustled around in the kitchen for a little while, then set a hunk of bread in front of him. He ate it so fast he almost choked on it, then dropped his left arm and turned it so the kill marks faced her.
“Carve the mark,” he said. He was so hoarse the words almost didn’t come out.
“It can wait.” Cyra ran her hand over his short hair. He shivered at the light touch. Her currentgift wasn’t hurting him anymore. Maybe Jorek had given him some relief after all. Or it was just the bread.