The Fates Divide (Carve the Mark #2)(38)

I winced, half out of pain and half at my own clumsy phrasing. Slow down on making enemies, Akos’s whisper from earlier reminded me, his lips brushing my ear. Such a short while ago, but everything was different now.

“Lovely,” Aza said, sharp. “Thank you for that insight, Miss Noavek.”

“We need to kill him.” The words launched from my mouth without warning, sounding desperate and small. Everyone looked at me, and I was thankful to the currentshadows staining my skin and the relentless Ogran darkness for disguising my blush.

“We do,” I added, as an afterthought. “He’s a greater danger to Shotet than the chancellor of Thuvhe ever will be.”

“Forgive me for saying so,” a wry voice spoke from somewhere near Aza, coming from a man with a shadowed face and a somewhat pointed beard. “But are you really telling us that we should focus our attention on just one man instead of the declaration of war that has just come our way?”

“Just one man?” I said, anger rising fast and hot within me. “Does the chancellor of Thuvhe go after a person’s family for multiple generations to punish them for disloyalty? Does the chancellor of Thuvhe collect eyeballs in jars? No. Thuvhe can wait. Lazmet needs to be handled now.”

“How dare you,” the bearded man said, stepping toward me fast, “even speak of the horrors committed by your father in such a cavalier fashion? How dare you even stand here—”

I moved forward to meet him in the space between us, now clear of people. I was ready, ready to fight, ready to scream. I had seen my father come back from the dead and I didn’t know what to do with all that I felt about it except punch this man right in his perfectly shaped facial fuzz.

“This is unproductive,” spoke a cool, clear voice from my right. It belonged, of course, to our resident oracle. Sifa came to stand between me and my would-be opponent, her hands tucked into her sleeves.

“Behave like an adult, please,” she said to the man. And to me: “You, too, Miss Noavek.”

My instinct was to snap back at her—I hated to be patronized—but I knew that would only make me look more impetuous, so I denied myself the impulse.

“Can you guide us, Oracle?” Aza said to Sifa.

“I am not yet sure,” Sifa said. “Things are changing quickly.”

“Maybe you could just tell us whether we should focus our energy on Lazmet Noavek or on Thuvhe,” Aza pressed.

Sifa glanced at me.

“Thuvhe is the greater threat to you,” she said.

“And we should just trust you?” I said. “Without knowing what your aim is?”

“You will speak to the oracle with respect,” Aza scolded.

“The oracle’s job is to work for the best future for our planet,” I said. “But whose best future is that, exactly? Thuvhe’s, or Shotet’s? And if it’s Shotet’s, then is it the best path for the Shotet exiles, or the Noavek loyalists?”

“Are you suggesting I have given preferential treatment to Thuvhe thus far?” Sifa scowled at me. “Trust me, Miss Noavek, I could have buried the fates of your family, and told the other oracles to deny them as well, if I had thought it would result in the best future for our planet. But I didn’t. Instead, I allowed your family to use their new ‘fate-favored’ status to justify seizing control of Shotet government. My lack of intervention is why your family ever came into power in the first place, because it was what needed to be done, so do not think to accuse me of favoritism!”

Well. She had a point.

“If you all ignore my father now,” I said, “you will regret it. You will.”

“Is that a threat, Miss Noavek?” the bearded man demanded.

“No!” Nothing was coming out right. “It’s an inevitability. You asked me here to tell you about my family—well, I just did. Thuvhe may destroy Shotet lives, but Lazmet will destroy Shotet’s soul.”

I could almost feel them rolling their eyes at me. Perhaps I ought to have chosen less dramatic words, but I had meant them. It was difficult to explain to a person who feared for his life that death was not the worst he could encounter. Lazmet Noavek was.





CHAPTER 16: AKOS


“ARE YOU STILL SLEEPING?” Jorek said. His face was right next to Akos’s somehow, even though Akos’s bed—or really, his hole in the wall—was high off the ground. Jorek had to be standing on the edge of another bunk.

Akos wasn’t still sleeping, and he hadn’t been since the general clamor of everybody getting up and going to the mess hall woke him up. He just hadn’t gotten up yet. Getting up meant splashing water on his face and neck, combing his hair flat, changing his clothes, eating, all things he just . . . didn’t care to do just then.

“And if I am?” he said, rubbing his face with his palm. “Am I neglecting some duty I don’t know about?”

“No,” Jorek said, frowning. “I guess not. But Cyra was arguing with exiles all morning, and I thought you’d be with her, since you two are basically welded to each other.”

Akos felt guilty at that. Pretty much the only duty he did still have was to keep Cyra away from pain, and he wasn’t doing such a good job at that lately, even though her currentgift was worse here.

“Well, I can’t get up if you’re blocking my way, can I?” he said.