The Fates Divide (Carve the Mark #2)(83)

“Then why did you care what color my eyes were?” Akos said. “Why did you have me brought here to speak to me again?”

Lazmet didn’t answer.

“Why did you bother,” Akos said, stepping toward him, “to turn Ryzek into a murderer?”

“The word ‘murderer’ is reserved for people we don’t like,” Lazmet said. “Anyone else, and they’re a warrior, a soldier, a freedom fighter. I trained my son to fight for his people.”

“Why?” Akos said, tilting his head. “What do you care for his people, for your people?”

“We are better than them,” Lazmet said, slamming his glass down on the table beside his chair. He stood. “We learned the reaches of this galaxy when they hadn’t even come up with names for themselves. We know what is valuable, what is fascinating, what is important, and they throw it away. We are stronger, more resilient, more resourceful—and they have somehow managed to keep us low since they became aware of us. We will not remain low. They do not deserve to be above us.”

“You think of the Shotet as you,” Akos said. “I see.”

“You have your ideals, I am sure—you have that shine in your eyes.” Lazmet sneered a little. “And I have something else.”

“And that’s . . . what?” Akos said. “Cruelty? Curiosity?”

“I want,” Lazmet said. “I want, and I will take whatever I can get my hands on. Even if it’s you.”

Lazmet came toward him. He hadn’t noticed before that he was taller than his father. Not by a lot, because Lazmet towered over most people, but by enough that it was noticeable.

Akos imagined himself as the Armored One, and eviscerated himself, for the tenth time that day. He had been practicing since Vakrez left the day before. He had barely slept, in order to practice. He had learned to suppress his currentgift quickly, and to bring it back just as quickly. It required all of his energy, but he was improving.

He felt the pressure of Lazmet’s currentgift against his mind, and gave in to it. It was strange, the sensation like someone wiggling a wire into his head and touching it, lightly, to the part of his brain that controlled his movements. His fingers twitched, then tapped together, without him telling them to. Lazmet’s mouth twitched as he registered the movement, and Akos felt the imaginary wire retract.

“Vakrez has given fascinating reports on the state of your insides, Akos,” Lazmet said. “I have never seen him puzzle quite so much over someone. He says you are making progress in the right direction.”

“Eat shit,” Akos said.

Lazmet smiled a little.

“You should sit,” he said. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

Lazmet crossed into the sitting room. It was a simple room, with a soft rug by a fireplace, and bookshelves packed with books in all languages. Lazmet sat in the armchair next to the fire, and buried his toes in the plush of the carpet. Akos followed, hesitant, and stood by the fire. He was tired, but he wanted to take his little rebellions where he could get them. Instead of sitting, he braced himself on the mantel, and stared into the flames. Someone had dusted them with some kind of powder that turned them blue, just at the edges.

“You grew up with an oracle,” Lazmet said. “Do you know that I spent much of my adult life trying to find an oracle?”

“Did you try looking in a temple?” Akos said.

Lazmet laughed a little. “You realize, of course, that it’s not simply a matter of going where they are. Capturing someone who knows you are coming is nearly impossible. Which is why I confess I am confused as to why your mother left you and your brother to be stolen away. She must have known you would be taken.”

“I’m sure she did,” Akos said bitterly. “She must also have believed it was necessary.”

“That is cruel,” Lazmet said. “You must be angry.”

Akos wasn’t sure how to answer. He wasn’t Cyra, digging in her claws wherever she could, though he definitely understood the impulse.

“You know, I’m not sure I understand your strategy here,” he said eventually. “And there is one, so don’t disrespect me by pretending there isn’t.”

Lazmet sighed. “You’re being boring again. But maybe you’re right—I do have something I want from you. And something I’m willing to trade.”

He crossed the room again, going to the table where he had covered up his meal. The smell still lingered in the air, juicy meat and rich sauce, with the feathergrass burned just to the point where its hallucinogenic qualities disappeared and only its spicy flavor remained.

Lazmet moved to the next seat at the table, and lifted a metal dome that had been covering the place setting there. Revealing another roasted deadbird. Another side of fried fenzu shells. And a diced saltfruit.

“This meal is yours,” Lazmet said. “If you will tell me how you got into this manor.”

“What?” Akos had fixated on the food. The rest of the room went dark around him. His stomach was beginning to ache.

“Someone must have helped you get into this house,” Lazmet said, patiently. “None of our outer locks were disabled or tampered with, and you could not possibly have scaled the wall without someone noticing. So tell me who it was that let you in, and you may eat this meal.”