Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark #1)(62)

“It was, of course, my voice that spoke over the intercom,” Zosita added.

“You . . .” I cleared my throat. “You know Ryzek’s going to execute you. Publicly.”

“I am aware of that, Miss Noavek.”

“Okay.” I winced as the currentshadows spread. “Are you prepared to endure an interrogation?”

“I assumed he wouldn’t need to interrogate me if I came of my own accord.” She raised her eyebrows.

“He’s concerned about the exile colony. He’ll want to get whatever information he can out of you before he . . .” The word execute stuck in my throat.

“Kills me,” Zosita said. “My, my, Miss Noavek. You can’t even say the words? Are you so soft?”

Her eyes shifted to the armor that covered my marked arm.

“No,” I snapped.

“It’s not an insult,” Zosita said, a little more gently. “Soft hearts make the universe worth living in.”

Unexpectedly, I thought of Akos, whispering an apology in Thuvhesit, instinctively, when he brushed past me in the kitchen. I had played his gentle words over and over in my mind that night, like it was music I couldn’t get out of my head. It came to me just as easily now.

“I know what it’s like to lose a mother,” I said. “I don’t wish it on anyone, even renegades I hardly know.”

Zosita let out a little laugh, shaking her head.

“What?” I said, defensive.

“I . . . celebrated your mother’s passing,” she said. I went cold. “As I celebrated your father’s, and would have celebrated your brother’s. Even yours, perhaps.” She ran her fingers over the metal railing beside her. I imagined her daughter’s fingerprints, pressed there earlier minutes ago, now wiped clean by her touch. “It is a strange thing to realize that your worst enemies can be loved by their families.”

You didn’t know my mother, I wanted to snarl. As if it mattered, now or ever, what this woman thought of Ylira Noavek. But Zosita was already half faded in my mind, like her own shadow. Marching, in this moment, toward her own doom. And for what? For a well-aimed blow against my brother? Two renegades had fallen to Vas in that attack. Had it been worth their lives?

“Is it really worth it?” I said, frowning. “Losing your life for this?”

She was still smiling that strange smile.

“After I fled Shotet, your brother summoned what remained of my family to his home,” she said. “I had meant to send for my children when I reached a safe place, but he got to them first. He killed my eldest son, and he took my daughter’s eye, for crimes they had no part in.” She laughed again. “And you see, you aren’t even shocked. You have seen him do worse, no doubt, and his father before him. Yes, it is worth it. And it was worth it to the two who died trying to take down your brother’s steward. I don’t imagine you can understand.”

For a long time we stood, with just the hum of the pipes and distant footsteps to break the silence. I was too confused, too tired, to hide the wincing and flinching as my currentgift did its work.

“To answer your question, yes, I can endure an interrogation,” Zosita said. “Can you tell lies?” She smirked again. “I suppose that’s a silly question. Will you tell lies?”

I hesitated.

When had I become the sort of person who helped renegades? She had just told me that she would have celebrated my death. At least Ryzek wanted to keep me alive—what would the renegades do to me, if they managed to overthrow my brother?

Somehow, I didn’t care.

“‘I tell lies better than I tell truths,’” I said. It was a quote from some poetry I had read on the side of a building with Otega on one of our excursions. I am a Shotet. I am sharp as broken glass, and just as fragile. I tell lies better than I tell truths. I see all of the galaxy and never catch a glimpse of it.

“Let us go tell some, then,” Zosita said.





CHAPTER 19: AKOS


AKOS BENT OVER THE pot, resting on a burner in his little room on the sojourn ship, and breathed in some of the yellow fumes. Everything in front of him blurred, and his head dropped, heavy, toward the countertop. Just for a tick, before he caught himself.

Strong enough, then, he thought. Good.

He’d had to ask Cyra to get him some sendes leaf to strengthen the drug, so it would work faster. And it had worked—he had tested it the night before, dropping asleep so soon after swallowing it that the book he was reading slid right out of his hands.

He turned off the flames to let the elixir cool, then jerked to attention at the sound of a knock. He checked the clock. In Thuvhe, he’d been more aware of the world’s rhythms, dark in the Deadening time and bright in the Awakening, the way the day closed like a shutting eye. Here, without the sunset and sunrise to guide him, he was always checking. It was the seventeenth hour. Time for Jorek.

The corridor guard was there when he opened the door, looking critical. Jorek was behind him.

“Kereseth,” the guard said. “This one says he’s here to see you?”

“Yes,” Akos said.

“Didn’t think you could receive visitors,” the guard said with a sneer. “Not your quarters, are they?”

“My name is Jorek Kuzar,” Jorek said, leaning hard into his surname. “So. Get out of his face.”