“No, no,” Akos said. “Don’t hack at it—slice. Slice!”
“I am slicing,” I said. “Maybe if your knives weren’t so dull—”
“Dull? I could cut your fingertip off with this knife!”
I spun the knife in my hand and caught it by the handle. “Oh? Could you?”
He laughed, and put his arm across my shoulders. I felt my heartbeat in my throat. “Don’t pretend you’re not capable of delicacy; I’ve seen it myself.”
I scowled, and tried to focus on “slicing.” My hands were trembling a little. “See me dancing in the training room and you think you know everything about me.”
“I know enough. Look, slices! Told you so.”
He lifted his arm, but kept his hand against my back, right under my shoulder blade. I carried the feeling with me for the rest of the night, as we finished the elixir and got ready for bed and he shut the door between us.
I closed my eyes as I locked him in, went down the hallway to my bathroom, and poured my sleeping potion into the sink.
I changed into the same clothes I wore for training, loose and flexible, and shoes that would be silent on the floorboards. I braided my hair tightly so it wouldn’t get in my way, then pinned it under so no one could grab and pull it in a fight. I strapped the knife to the small of my back, sideways, so I could grab the handle easily. I likely wouldn’t use it; I preferred my bare hands in a crisis.
Then I slipped behind the wall panel in my room and crept through the passages toward the back door. I knew the way by heart, but I felt for the notches at every corner anyway, to make sure I was in the right place. I paused by the circle carved into the wall near the kitchens, the sign of the secret exit.
I was really doing it. Helping a group of renegades murder my brother.
Ryzek had lived his life in a daze of cruelty, obeying the instructions of our long-dead father like the man was standing over him, and relishing none of it. Men like Ryzek Noavek were not born; they were made. But time could not move backward. Just as he had been made, he had to be unmade.
I pushed through the hidden door and walked straight through the feathergrass stalks to the gate. I saw pale faces in the grass—Lety’s, Uzul’s, my mother’s—beckoning me toward them. They whispered my name, and it sounded like the shuffle of the grass in the wind. Shivering, I typed my mother’s birthday into the box by the gate, and the door sprang open.
Waiting a few feet away, in the dark, were Teka, Tos, and Jorek, faces covered. I jerked my head to the side, and they filed past me, into the feathergrass. I closed the gate behind them, then overtook Teka to show them the back door.
It seemed to me, as I led them down the passageways to my brother’s wing, that such a monumental thing shouldn’t take place in complete silence. But maybe the reverent quiet was an acknowledgment of what we were doing. I touched the corners, feeling for the deep grooves that suggested upcoming staircases. I traveled by memory, sidestepping protruding nails and cracked floorboards.
At the place where the passageways split, the left leading to my part of the house, and the right leading to Ryzek’s, I turned to Tos.
“Go left, third door,” I said. I handed him the key to Akos’s room. “This will unlock the door. You may have to be a little forceful with him before you drug him.”
“I’m not worried,” Tos said. I wasn’t, either—Tos was big as a boulder, no matter how skilled Akos had become at defending himself. I watched as Tos clasped hands with Teka and Jorek, in turn, and disappeared down the left passage.
When we drew closer to Ryzek’s part of the house, I moved more slowly, remembering what Ryzek had said to Akos about the advanced security near his rooms. Teka touched my shoulder, and slipped past me. She crouched, and pressed her palms flat to the floor. Her eyes closed, she took deep breaths through her nose.
Then she stood, nodding.
“Nothing in this hallway,” she said softly.
We walked that way for a little while, stopping at each corner or turn so that Teka could use her currentgift to sense the security system. Ryzek would never have anticipated that a girl who lived slathered in grease and crowded by wires could bring about his undoing.
Then the passageway came to an abrupt halt. Boarded up. Of course—Ryzek had probably ordered the little hallways closed after Akos nearly escaped.
My stomach lurched, but I didn’t panic. I slid the wall panel back, and stepped into the empty sitting room beyond it. We were only a few rooms away from Ryzek’s bedroom and office. Between us and him, there were at least three guards and the lock that only my Noavek blood could open. We wouldn’t be able to get past the guards without causing a disruption that would draw the others to us.
I tapped Teka’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “How long do you need?”
She held up two fingers.
I nodded, and drew my knife. I held it near my leg, my muscles twitching in anticipation of sharp movement. We walked out of the sitting room, and the first guard was there, pacing the hallway. I walked in his footsteps for a few seconds, matching my gait to his. Then I clapped my left hand over his mouth and stabbed with my right, sliding the blade under his armor and driving it between his ribs.
He screamed into my hand, which was only good enough to muffle, not to silence. I let him fall, and sprinted toward Ryzek’s quarters. The others followed me, no longer bothering to be quiet. I heard shouts up ahead. Jorek ran past me and barreled into another guard, knocking him off his feet with sheer force alone.