Carve the Mark (Carve the Mark #1)(97)

“He doesn’t want to admit that there’s a real renegade group out there,” Jorek said, over the roar of disgust from the crowd. “Better to say she’s collaborating with Thuvhesits.”

“He chooses his lies well,” Isae said, and it didn’t quite sound like a compliment.

Ryzek continued, “I have also recently uncovered proof that this woman”—he pointed at his sister, conveniently showing off the line of kill marks that went from his wrist all the way up to his elbow—“is responsible for the death of my mother, Ylira Noavek.”

Akos covered his face. There was no worse blow Ryzek could have dealt Cyra than this. She’d always known that.

“I confess that my familial attachment has obscured my judgment in this matter, but now that I have learned of her betrayal and her”—Ryzek paused—“her vicious murder of our mother, my vision is clear. I have determined that the appropriate level of punishment for this enemy of Shotet is execution by way of nemhalzak.”

When the footage shifted back to Cyra, Akos saw that her shoulders were shaking, but there weren’t any tears in her eyes. She was laughing. And as she laughed, the currentshadows danced, not under her skin like blood running through veins, but on top of it, like smoke around a thurible. They had done the same thing the night Ryzek forced her to hurt Akos, floated away from her body in a haze.

Her currentgift had changed.

Ryzek nodded to Vas. Vas crossed the platform, drawing the knife at his back. The soldiers around Cyra stepped aside for him. Cyra smirked at him, and said something inaudible. Ryzek said something inaudible back, stepped close, and leaned in, his lips moving fast over words no one else could hear. Vas grabbed her by the hair, forcing her head back and to the side. Her throat was exposed; Vas angled the blade over it, and as the knife dug in, Akos gritted his teeth, and looked away.

“You get the idea,” Jorek said. There was silence as the footage stopped.

“What did he do?” Akos said roughly.

“He . . . scarred her,” Teka said. “Took all the skin from throat to skull. Not sure why. All the rite requires is flesh. Mutilator’s choice.”

She drew a line from the side of her neck up to the middle of her scalp. Akos felt like he might throw up.

“That word he used, I don’t know it,” Isae said. “Nem—nemhalzet?”

“Nemhalzak,” Jorek said. “It’s the elimination of someone’s status, perceived or actual. It means anyone can challenge her to the arena, to fight to the death, and it means she’s no longer formally considered Shotet. With all the people she’s hurt at his behest, and all the people who loved her mother, well . . . there are plenty of people who want to challenge her. Ryzek will let as many of them do it as it takes to kill her.”

“And with that wound in her head, she’s losing blood fast,” Teka said. “They put a bandage on it, but obviously that’s not enough for what he did to her.”

“She’ll fight all those challenges in that amphitheater?” Akos said.

“Most likely,” Teka said. “This is supposed to be a very public event. But that force field will fry anything that touches it—”

Akos talked over her. “Obviously you have a ship, or you wouldn’t have been able to dump me on that hospital landing pad.”

“Yeah,” Jorek said. “A fast, stealthy one, too.”

“Then I know how to get her,” Akos said.

“I don’t remember agreeing to some detour rescue mission,” Isae snapped. “Particularly not for Ryzek Noavek’s little terror. You think I don’t know the things she’s done, Kereseth? The rest of the galaxy hears plenty of Shotet rumors.”

“I don’t care what you think you know,” Akos said. “You want my help getting any further? You’ll wait for me to do this first.”

Isae crossed her arms. But Akos had her, and she seemed to know it.

Ara offered Cisi and Isae a spare room upstairs, and a cot on the floor in Jorek’s room for Akos. But judging by the look Cisi gave her brother as they reached the top of the staircase, she wasn’t about to just let him leave. So he followed her into a little bedroom with a big, bulgy mattress in it, and a furnace in the corner. Multicolored light spotted the floor, sunset burning through the windows.

He took off his armor there, but left the knife in his boot. There was no telling what would happen here. Akos felt like Vas and Ryzek were around every corner.

“Is—Badha,” Cisi said. “Why don’t you clean up first? I need to talk to Akos.”

Isae’s head bobbed, and she left, nudging the door shut with her heel. Akos sat down on the bed next to Cisi, blue and green and purple dots of light marking his shoes. She put her hand on his wrist.

“Eijeh” was all she said.

So he told her. About all the memories Ryzek had poured into Eijeh, and all the memories he had drained. About the new words Eijeh used and the way he spun a knife on his palm just like Ryzek did. He didn’t tell her how Eijeh had watched while Ryzek hurt Akos, not once, but twice, and he didn’t talk about how Eijeh had used his visions to help Ryzek. There was no reason for her to lose hope.

“That’s why you didn’t try to escape,” Cisi said softly. “Because you needed to kidnap him to do it, and that’s . . . harder.”