The Fates Divide (Carve the Mark #2)(56)

Suddenly I needed to get out, to move. I walked to Pary’s ship, on the far side of the hill, away from the gardens, so I wouldn’t run into Akos. The ship’s hatch opened at the touch of a button, the interior lights on, guiding me to a seat near all the restrained plants of Ogra.

I was sitting there, in front of the plant that looked like a giant mouth, my head in my hands, when the hatch opened again. I lifted my head, sure it would be Akos, that we could finally talk about what we had heard. But it wasn’t.

It was Sifa.

She didn’t close the hatch, so I could still hear the buzz of insects and the whisper of wind while she stood, staring at me. I stared back. The pain that surged through me at the sight of her, at the thought of what she had surrendered me to as a child, was startling. I stayed still to keep it contained. No flinching, no shaking, no moaning. Nothing that invited comfort. I didn’t want her to see that she could hurt me.

“You spoke to Vara,” she said to me at last.

I sat up, and pushed my braid over one shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks for that, by the way,” I said, twitching a little at a currentshadow racing across my face. “Nothing like the news of your own abandonment coming from a stranger.”

“You have to know—” she began, and then I was on my feet, boots planted on the grate floor, a line of guiding light between my feet.

“Yes, please, tell me what I have to know,” I snapped. “Is it how you felt dumping your own daughter into a family of monsters? Or lying to your son for his entire life? Is it how you did it for the good of Thuvhe, or Shotet, or the goddamn current? Because yes, that’s really all I want to know—how hard this was for you.”

I felt huge, suddenly, like a wall of muscle. She wasn’t frail—she had a certain wiry strength to her—but she was not built like me, solid through the hips and shoulders. I could have knocked her down with a punch, and part of me wanted to try. Maybe it was the part of me that was Noavek, the part that wouldn’t have existed if she had kept me safe instead of trading me away.

Sifa stayed by the hatch, silhouetted by the lights on the little runway behind her. Her hair was piled on one side of her head, scraggly, like she hadn’t combed through it in days. She looked so tired. I didn’t care.

“What did you see?” I said. “What did you see in our futures that made you trade us? What could possibly have been so bad that it was better to hand me over to the Noaveks than to let me suffer it?”

She closed her eyes, face tightening, and I felt cold creeping down my spine.

“I am not going to tell you that,” she said, opening her eyes. “I would rather you hate me than know what I saw become of you, of Akos. I chose the best path for you, the one that had the greatest potential.”

“You don’t have the right,” I said in a low voice, “to decide my path for me.”

“I would do it again,” she said.

I was thinking about that punch again.

“Get away from me,” I said.

“Cyra—”

“No,” I said. “Maybe you could determine what happened between us when I was an infant, but you have lost that power.”

I stood. As I moved toward the hatch, to pass her, her posture changed. She slumped oddly against the doorway, head angled down, hair spilling around her face.

And then raised her voice in a harrowing scream.

Another vision, then. Something horrible.

At first I stood before her, simply listening, her voice scraping at the insides of my head. And then I crouched before her as she slid down the wall to the ground, unwilling to offer comfort, but unwilling to leave without knowing what she saw.

It took some time for her to go quiet. The scream stopped with a sound like a gag. I had learned that asking Sifa direct questions rarely resulted in anything productive, so I didn’t speak. My currentshadows burning across my belly, I waited, hunched there in the dark. Behind me, the mouth-plant snapped its brittle jaws.

It took so long for her to speak that my legs went numb.

“There’s been an attack on Shissa,” she said, breathless. “Courtesy of Lazmet Noavek.”

My first thought—though it shamed me a moment later—was: So?

Thuvhe had struck us first. Alarming though it was to think of an armed force at my father’s command, this was a war, and both sides suffered in a war.

But I had not forgotten how I felt when the sojourn ship broke apart over Voa. Wherever Akos was, he was about to feel the same thing. Despite my anger at our enemies, I couldn’t wish this on someone I loved.

I left Sifa there, the woman who had given me blood and then given me away. I had no comfort to give her and no desire to give it. I sprinted down the white stone path to the gardens to find him. But that place was empty, the beetles buzzing undisturbed. So I ran, instead, to the room where we had slept. The bed was empty.

I went from room to room, searching out Cisi’s bed—empty. But in the room that would have been Sifa’s, I found Yssa instead. Her red hair clung wetly to her cheeks, as if she had just bathed.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what, the attack?” I said. It was a strange thing to apologize to me for.

“Attack?” she said. She didn’t know yet, then. “What attack?”

I shook my head. “In a moment. What are you sorry for, Yssa?” I said, impatient. “I need to find Akos, now.”