Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark #1)(96)

Teka sat in one of the empty chairs. Slung her body across it, really, her knees spread wide and her arm dangling over the back of the chair.

“By the look of it, little Noavek won’t last much longer,” she said. “We’re trying to figure out a way to break her loose. Now that you’ve come here—stupid move, I should add—maybe you can help us.”

“Break her loose?” Akos turned to Jorek. “Why would you want to do that?”

Jorek hoisted himself onto the counter across from Cisi. He flashed a smile at her, his eyes going sleepy, the way people’s often did when they were around his sister. Akos recognized, then, the gift of it. Not just a force that strangled Cisi, kept her from crying, but also one that gave her power over other people.

“Well,” Jorek said, “this is a renegade stronghold. As you may have gathered.”

Akos hadn’t really thought about it. Jorek seemed to know things other people didn’t, but that didn’t mean he was a renegade. And Teka was missing an eye, which meant she was no friend of Ryzek’s, but that wasn’t a guarantee, either.

“So?” Akos said.

“Well.” Jorek looked confused. “She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Akos demanded.

“Cyra was working with us,” Teka said. “During the attack on the sojourn ship, I was supposed to take her out—take out Ryzek’s Scourge while announcing his fate on the intercom, see?”

“Don’t call her that,” Akos said. He felt Isae’s eyes on him, and his cheeks went hot.

“Yeah, yeah.” Teka waved him off. “Well, she bested me, and she let me go. And then she found me, requested a meeting. She offered to give us whatever we wanted—information, help, whatever—if we did something for her in exchange: get you out of Shotet.” Teka looked at Jorek. “That’s why she didn’t tell him. Because she wanted to get him out, but he wouldn’t leave without his brother.”

Jorek clicked his tongue.

Those weeks after Ryzek had threatened him, after Cyra tortured Zosita and kept up appearances on Pitha, she had let him think she was just doing whatever Ryzek said. Let Akos believe the worst of her. And all that time she was out working with renegades, giving whatever she could to get him out. It was like she had become someone new and he hadn’t even noticed.

“She was helping us assassinate Ryzek when she got caught. She got us out, but it was too late for her,” Teka said. “But we followed through on our end. Snuck back in, and she was gone—we don’t know where they put her—but you were there, incapacitated, locked up in your room again. Half-starved, might I add. So we got you out. We thought you might be useful in keeping her on our side.”

“I also wanted to help you,” Jorek supplied.

“Yeah, you’re a hero. Noted,” Teka said.

“Why . . .” Akos shook his head. “Why would Cyra do this?”

“You know why,” Teka said. “What’s the only thing more important to her than her fear of her brother?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. Exasperated, clearly. “You, of course, have that singular honor.”

Isae and Cisi were staring, one with suspicion and the other, confusion. He didn’t even know how to start explaining it. Cyra Noavek was a name every Thuvhesit knew, a monster story they told to scare each other. What did you say, when you found out the monster wasn’t worthy of the name?

Nothing. You said nothing.

“What did Ryzek do to her?” he said darkly.

“Show him,” Teka said to Jorek.

Jorek touched the screen on the far wall, flicking the news feed out of the way. A few swipes of his fingers and there was footage playing on the screen.

The sights moved in from far away, showing an amphitheater with a cage of white light across its gaping top. The seats in the amphitheater were full, the lower rows on stone benches and the higher rows on metal ones, but it was clear from the somber faces that this wasn’t a celebration day.

The sights narrowed around a platform, suspended over the seats in wood and metal. Ryzek stood on top of it, polished from his black shoes to the armor that covered his chest. His hair was freshly clipped, showing off the bones in his head, the sheen of his scalp. Cisi and Isae sat back at the sight of him, both at once. Akos was past fear of Ryzek, now. Had long since moved into pure revulsion.

Standing at Ryzek’s left was Vas, and at his right . . .

“Eijeh,” Cisi breathed. “Why?”

“He’s been . . . brainwashed. Sort of,” Akos said, careful, and Jorek snorted.

The sights panned left, to the edge of the platform, where soldiers surrounded a kneeling woman. Cyra. She wore the same clothes he’d seen her in days ago, but they were torn in places now, and dark with blood. Her thick hair covered her face, so for a tick he wasn’t sure if Ryzek had taken out one of her eyes. He did that when a person was disgraced, sometimes, so they couldn’t hide it.

Cyra lifted her head, showing off a few purple-blue bruises and a dull—two-eyed—stare.

Then Ryzek spoke: “Today I bring difficult news. Someone we thought to be one of our most faithful—my sister, Cyra Noavek—has revealed herself to be the worst kind of traitor. She has been collaborating with our enemies across the Divide, providing them with information about our strategy, military, and movements.”