The Fates Divide (Carve the Mark #2)(108)

“I’m surprised you didn’t object to me coming,” I say to her as unkindly as my currentgift will allow.

“I’m trying to trust your judgment from now on,” she says, looking down at her fingers, twisted together. “You want to go to Hessa, so you’ll go to Hessa. You wanted me to show mercy, so I’ll try to do that, too, from now on.”

I nod.

“I’m sorry, Cee,” she almost whispers.

I feel a pang of guilt. I didn’t tell her that I tried to reach out to Shotet when she decided to unleash the anticurrent weapon on the Shotet. And I haven’t told her how I’ve been using my currentgift to soften her and persuade her since all this started. And I don’t plan to confess. I would lose everything I’ve gained, that way. But I don’t feel good about the deception.

The least I can do now is forgive her. I turn over one hand, and hold it out to her, inviting her closer. She rests her palm on mine.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too,” I say, and it’s one of the easiest things I’ve ever said. Sometimes I might lie to her, but this, at least, is true.

She bends to kiss me, and I touch her cheek, holding her in place for a few long moments before she pulls away. She smells like sendes leaf and soap. Like home.

I will never be heralded as the one who made Chancellor Benesit turn away from further aggressive action and invite the Shotet to peace talks in the wake of the attempted attack on Voa. It might have been one of the more destructive wars in Assembly history, if I hadn’t been there. No one will call me skilled in diplomacy, or poised, or a remarkable adviser.

But that’s as it should be. When all goes according to plan, I fade into the background. But I will be there, standing behind a chancellor as she maneuvers through this uneasy peace. I will be the one she looks to for guidance, for comfort when her grief and anger surge within her again and again. I will be the arm that guides the hand. No one will know.

Except me. I’ll know.





CHAPTER 54: CYRA


I WOKE TO BUZZING. A fenzu glowing blue, turning lazy circles above my head. Its iridescent wings made me think, suddenly, of Uzul Zetsyvis, who had thought so fondly of them, his cash crop and his passion.

Around me was white—white floors, white sheets, white walls, white curtains. I was not in a hospital, but a quiet house. Growing from a pot in the corner was a black flower with layer after layer of plush petals, unfolding from a dark yellow center.

I recognized the place. It was the Zetsyvis home, standing on a cliff overlooking Voa.

Something felt wrong. Off, somehow. I lifted an arm and found it to be heavy, my muscles shaking with the slight effort. I let the limb drop to the mattress, and contented myself by watching the fenzu fly, tracing paths of light in the air.

I knew what was off: I wasn’t in pain. And from what I could see of my own bare arms, the currentshadows were gone.

Fear and relief intermingled within me. No pain. No currentshadows. Was it permanent? Had I expended so much energy in the anticurrent blast that my currentgift had left me forever? I closed my eyes. I couldn’t allow myself to imagine that, a life without pain. I couldn’t let myself hope for it.

A while later—I had no sense of how long—I heard a knock at the door. Sifa carried a mug of tea toward me.

“I suspected you might be awake,” she said.

“Tell me about Voa,” I said. I planted my hands, trying to push myself up. My arms felt like jelly. Sifa moved to help me, and I stopped her with a glare, struggling on my own instead.

Instead, she sat in a chair near my bed, her hands folded in her lap.

“Your currentshadows countered the anticurrent blast. The Shotet exiles arrived within days to seize control of Voa, in the power vacuum that resulted from Lazmet’s death,” she said. “But what you did seems to have depleted you. No, I’m not sure if the disappearance of your currentshadows is permanent,” she added, answering the question I hadn’t yet asked. “But you saved a lot of people, Cyra.”

She sounded . . . proud. As a mother would have been.

“Don’t,” I said. “I’m not yours.”

“I know.” She sighed. “But I was hoping we might work our way toward something other than outright hostility.”

I considered that.

“Maybe,” I said.

She smirked a little.

“Well, in that spirit . . . look at this.”

She rose to draw the curtain back from the window beside my bed. I was in the part of the house positioned on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the city of Voa. At first, all I saw was the sparkle of distant lights, the buildings of Voa. But then:

“It’s noon,” Sifa said.

Voa was covered—shielded by what looked like dark clouds. They were only a shade or two lighter than the Ogran sky. My currentshadows had found a home over Voa, sending it into endless night.

I felt better—physically—in the next few days than I had since I was a child. Izit by izit, my strength returned, as I ate food prepared by Sifa, Yma, and Teka in the Zetsyvis kitchen. Yma burned the bottom of almost everything she made, and presented it without apology. Sifa cooked odd-tasting Thuvhesit dishes that were packed with too many spices. Teka made uncommonly good breakfasts. I helped where I could, sitting at the counter with a knife to chop things until my arm got too tired. The weakness was infuriating to me, but the lack of pain more than made up for it.