Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark #1)(117)

“Second, you warned me that they were going to frame an innocent person for the renegade attack, knowing that I would do something about it.”

She scowled. “First you tell me about the people I’ve lost, and then you accuse me of bringing about my own sister’s execution? How does that make sense?”

“And last,” I continued, “all the tapping you do. What is it with you and Teka and the tapping? It’s not even a particularly good pattern.”

Yma’s eyes skirted mine.

“You’re a renegade,” I said. “That’s why, after all that he took from you, you’re still able to stand at my brother’s side. Because you know you need to be close to him in order to take your revenge.”

She stood, robe rippling behind her as she moved toward the window. For a long time she was still, a white pillar in the moonlight. Then, at her side, she tapped her first finger against her thumb. One, three, one. One, three, one.

“The tapping is a message,” she said without turning around. “Once, my sister and I taught ourselves a song to remember the fates of the family Noavek. She taught it to her daughter, Teka, as well.” She sang it, her voice creaking. “The first child of the family Noavek will fall to the family Benesit.” I followed her fingers as they found the rhythm again, and her body swayed. “The rhythm was one, three, one, three. . . .”

Like a dance.

“I do it,” she said, slowly, “when I need strength for the task at hand. I sing that song in my head, and I tap out its rhythm.”

Like at her sister’s execution, her fingers on the railing. Like at dinner with my brother, her hand on his knee.

She turned to me.

“So, what? Have you come to get leverage? Do you intend to trade me for your freedom? What?”

“I have to admire your commitment to this game of pretend,” I said. “You gave over your husband—”

“Uzul was sick with Q900X. Several ingredients in the treatment protocol are a violation of our religious principles,” Yma snapped. “So he sacrificed himself for the cause. I assure you, it was not what I wanted, but as a result of his selflessness—something you clearly know nothing about—I won my place at Ryzek’s side.”

My currentshadows moved faster, still spurred on by shifts in my emotions.

“I take it you haven’t spoken much to the other renegades,” I said. “You know they’re responsible for saving my life? I’ve been working with them for a while now.”

“Have you,” Yma said, flat, frowning at me.

“You didn’t really think whatever excuse Ryzek gave for carving up my face was true, did you?” I said. “I helped renegades sneak into Noavek manor to assassinate him, and after the plan failed, I got them out safely. That’s how I got arrested. Teka, your niece, was there.”

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.”