Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark #1)(118)
“I have been careful with every word and glance since you were a mere child,” Yma said. “I sincerely hope, Miss Noavek, that you are not doing this for atonement, because you will not get it. Not from me. Not after all that you have done.”
“Oh, I’m not nearly noble enough for that,” I said. “For me it’s all about petty revenge, I promise you.”
Yma sneered at my reflection in the window. I let myself out of her house. I had to move quickly if I wanted to be back at the safe house before the others woke.
CHAPTER 34: AKOS
CYRA WAS AHEAD OF Akos, standing in the sun, a hood up to shield her face. She wore a heavy cloak to disguise the currentshadows, her hands buried in long sleeves. Behind her was the amphitheater where she’d almost lost her life, but to watch her walk, with that straight spine, it was like nobody had ever tried to peel her apart.
A group of Shotet soldiers stood by the big double doors that led straight to the amphitheater floor. Word on the street—collected by Sovy, who, according to Jorek, “knew everyone”—was that the soldiers called to appear in the amphitheater today were being rewarded for a good scavenge. Akos didn’t know what they were supposed to have brought back that was so worthy of this honor, but it didn’t really matter—they were just a ruse anyway. Ryzek wanted a crowd to witness Ori’s execution.
The big double doors opened. Akos squinted into bright light, and the roar of a huge crowd filled his ears. There were so many faces inside that he felt like the entire city was there, though it was more like a fifth of it—and the other four-fifths would watch the live feed on screens around Voa. If they bothered to watch at all.
Cyra turned back with a glimmer of silver, the sun hitting her now-healed throat. Her chin bobbed up and down in a nod, and then the tide of the crowd carried her away from him. Time to go.
“So.” Isae had come to stand at his shoulder. “We never actually determined how we were going to get through the first door.”
“Honestly, I had pretty much decided to just . . . smash the guard’s head into the wall,” Akos replied.
“I’m sure that won’t draw any attention at all,” Isae replied. “There’s Eye Patch. Let’s go.”
Isae had taken to calling the renegades by nicknames instead of learning their real names. “Eye Patch” was obviously Teka, Jorek was “Fidget,” Jyo was “The Flirt,” and Sovy was “The One Who Doesn’t Speak Thuvhesit,” which was long, but she hadn’t used it much. It went both ways, though—Akos had caught Teka referring to Isae as “The Haughty One” that morning as they all shoved food in their mouths, eyeing the hole Akos’s mom had made in the ceiling with her floater.
Akos spotted Teka and Cisi standing near the amphitheater doors, and made his way over, keeping Isae in his periphery. They had all been surprised when Teka offered herself up to help them get into the underground prison. It was clear she didn’t care about saving Ori’s life. But maybe Cyra’s point about taking away Ryzek’s moment of triumph over his fate had struck her.
“What’s your read on the guard?” Teka asked him when he was close enough to hear her. She was wrapped in gray fabric, her hair combed over her missing eye in a sweep of gold. He looked over her shoulder at the guard stationed outside the door Cyra had told them to use. It was the same color as the wall, with an old-fashioned lock that took a metal key. Probably buried in one of the guard’s pockets.
But Akos wasn’t supposed to be figuring out the door, he was supposed to be figuring out the man. He was no more than five seasons Akos’s senior, broad-shouldered and wearing earned armor. The heel of his hand was balanced on the handle of his currentblade, which was sheathed at his hip. Capable, Akos guessed, and not easy to knock senseless.
“I could take him down, but not quietly,” Akos said. “I’d probably get myself arrested.”
“Well, we’ll call that our backup plan,” Isae said. “What about distraction?”
“Yeah, sure.” Teka folded her arms. “The man was hired to guard a secure door that leads to Ryzek Noavek’s secret underground prison, and his failure to do so will probably result in his execution, but he will definitely abandon his post just because you wave something shiny at him.”
“Say ‘secret underground prison’ a little louder, why don’t you?” Isae said.
Teka snapped a reply, but Akos wasn’t paying attention. Cisi was tugging his sleeve.
“Let me see your vials,” she said. “I have an idea.”
Akos kept a few vials with him wherever he went—sleep elixir, calming tonic, and a blend for fortitude among them. He wasn’t sure what Cisi needed, but he undid the strap holding the vials against his arm and handed the hard little packet to her. All the glass clinked together as she sorted through it, choosing the sleep elixir. She uncorked it, sniffed it.
“That’s strong,” she said. Isae and Teka were still bickering. About what, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to get between them unless they started throwing punches.
“It’s useful for certain situations,” Akos replied vaguely.
“Go buy me something to drink from that cart over there, would you?” Cisi said, nodding to the big shaded cart across the square. She sounded confident enough, so he didn’t ask questions. He slipped through the crowd, sweat curling over the back of his neck. Like Teka, he wore a gray robe over his armor, which didn’t exactly make him inconspicuous—he was still the tallest person in sight—but made him look a little less like the person who had rescued Cyra Noavek from the amphitheater the day before.