Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark #1)(77)

I forced myself to swallow. Teka’s knife was still at my throat, but that wasn’t what was making it hard to speak. It was finally articulating what I had been thinking for months. It was finally doing something instead of just thinking about it, for the first time in my life.

“I want safe transport out of Shotet for someone,” I said. “Someone who doesn’t exactly want to leave.”

“For someone,” the one who had spoken earlier said. “Who?”

“Akos Kereseth,” I said.

There were mutters.

“He doesn’t want to leave? Then why do you want to get him out?” the man said.

“It’s . . . complicated,” I said. “His brother is here. His brother is also lost. Beyond hope of recovery.” I paused. “Some people are fools for love.”

“Ah,” Teka whispered. “I see how it is.”

I felt like they were all laughing at me, smiling under their dark masks. I didn’t like it. I grabbed Teka’s wrist and twisted, hard, so she couldn’t point the knife at me. She groaned at my touch, and I pinched the flat of the blade between my fingers, pulling it free. I flipped it in one hand so I was gripping the handle, my fingers slippery with whatever had been painted on the blade.

Before Teka could recover, I lunged, pinning her against my chest by the arm and pointing the knife at her side. I tried to keep as much of the currentgift pain to myself as I could, gritting my teeth so I wouldn’t scream. I was breathing hard right next to her ear. She was still.

“I may be a fool, too,” I said. “But I am not stupid. You think I can’t identify you by the way you stand, the way you walk, the way you speak? If I’m going to betray you, I will do it whether you wear masks and hold me at knifepoint or not. And we all know that I can’t betray you without betraying myself. So.” I blew a strand of Teka’s hair away from my mouth. “Are we going to have this discussion with mutual trust, or not?”

I released Teka, and offered her the knife. She was glaring at me, clutching her wrist, but she took it.

“All right,” the man said.

He undid the covering that shielded his mouth. Beneath it, his thick beard crept down to his throat. Some of the others followed suit. Jorek was one of them, standing off to my right with his arms crossed. Unsurprising, since he had so baldly requested his Noavek-loyal father’s death in the arena.

Others didn’t bother, but it didn’t matter—it was their spokesman I had cared about.

“I’m Tos, and I think we can do what you ask,” the man said. “And I think you’re aware that we would require something else in return.”

“What is it you’d like me to do?” I said.

“We need your help getting into Noavek manor.” Tos crossed his thick arms. His clothes were made of off-planet fabrics, too lightweight for the Shotet cold. “In Voa. After the sojourn.”

“Are you an exile?” I said, frowning at him. “That’s off-worlder garb you’re wearing.”

Were the renegades in contact with the exiles, who had sought safety from the Noavek regime on another planet? It made sense, but I hadn’t considered the ramifications before. The exiles were undoubtedly a more powerful force than the rebellious Shotet who had turned against my brother—and more dangerous to me, personally.

“For our intents and purposes, there is no difference between exile and renegade. We both want the same thing: to unseat your brother and restore Shotet society to what it was before your family soiled it with inequity,” Tos replied.

“‘Soiled it with inequity,’” I repeated. “An elegant turn of phrase.”

“I wasn’t the one who devised it,” Tos said humorlessly.

“To put it less elegantly,” Teka said, “you’re starving us and hoarding medicine. Not to mention carving out our eyeballs or whatever else gets Ryzek’s blood pumping these days.”

I was about to protest that I had never starved anyone or kept them from adequate medical care, but suddenly it didn’t seem worth arguing. I didn’t truly believe it, anyway.

“Right. So . . . Noavek manor. What do you intend to do there?” It was the only building that I, specifically, could help someone access. I knew all the codes Ryzek liked to use, and beyond that, the most secure doors were locked with a gene code—part of the system Ryzek had installed after our parents died. I was the only one left who shared Ryzek’s genes. My blood could get them wherever they wanted to go.

“I don’t think you need to know that information.”

I furrowed my brow. There were only a few things a group of renegades—or exiles—could want inside Noavek manor. I decided to make an assumption.

“Let’s be clear,” I said. “You’re asking me to participate in the assassination of my brother.”

“Does that bother you?” Tos said.

“No,” I replied. “Not anymore.”

Despite all that Ryzek had done to me, I was surprised by how easily the answer came to me. He was my brother, my very blood. He was also the only guarantee of safety I currently had—any renegades who overthrew him would not care to spare the life of his sister, the murderer. But somewhere between ordering me to participate in Zosita’s interrogation and threatening Akos, Ryzek had finally lost any loyalty I had left.