Ivory and Bone(54)

Before my mother can say another word to try to smooth things over, Kesh appears at her side, trailing behind Shava, who walks with a sense of purpose directly to Chev’s elbow.

I can’t help but move closer myself, my eyes on your eyes, but you never notice. You watch Shava warily, sensing, as I do, that this is no usual greeting.

“Sir,” she starts. “I hope you’ll excuse me. This may seem like a strange time for me to approach you, but what I have to say cannot wait. I’ve been watching your door, waiting for you to emerge from your hut all morning. I have something very important to tell you—a warning, in fact, about an attack that is planned against you. An attack that could come at any time.”

It seems as if every eye in camp has turned toward Shava—her shocking words release an almost palpable force of tension into the air. My father must feel the pull even from inside the kitchen. He emerges through the door along with several elders from my clan and yours, their focus locked on the tight gathering in front of your hut.

“What’s going on here? Shava, give our guests some room.” My father’s booming voice announces his arrival, and Shava cringes.

“I’m sorry, it’s just . . . I just . . . I felt the need to say something, to warn Chev and his whole family about the danger that is coming.” Shava’s expression clouds with self-doubt. Her gaze shifts over her left shoulder and then her right, until her eyes settle on her mother. We all watch as Fi gets slowly to her feet from the spot where she’s been seated all morning beside Kesh and crosses the gathering place with a gravity that makes something spin in the bottom of my stomach.

“Don’t worry,” says Shava’s mother. “You’re betrothed to a son of the Manu, and this is your clan now. You owe no further loyalty to Lo.”

Lo?

I startle at the mention of her name. What could she have to do with danger and plots to cause harm?

“Shava, if you have something to say, just say it.” I’m surprised by the tone of my own voice, but I can feel the sudden weight of your eyes on my face—a weight that fell there the moment Shava’s mother mentioned the name of your old enemy. My only thought is that there must be some mistake or even a purposeful deceit. Why else would Shava choose this morning, the morning after you and I argued about Lo, to attach her name to some incredible accusation of a plot against Chev?

“I think we should discuss this inside,” you say.

I glance around. People stand in the gathering place—members of your clan and mine—listening intently to the developing tale.

“Yes,” Shava says. “Thank you. I think I really would prefer to sit down.”

My father leads us into the now-empty kitchen. Shava is offered a place to sit along the wall, and she drops down beside a pile of discarded eggshells. The room is warm. Beads of sweat form on Shava’s forehead and temples, creating a frame of moisture around her eyes.

Shava’s mother sits beside her, but Chev does not hang back. He enters the room with purpose, followed closely by you. Without hesitation, Chev takes a seat directly in front of Shava. Kesh is last to enter the shade of the room. A patch of sunlight that clings to the top of his head reluctantly falls away as the door drapes shut. Even through the purple shadows of this darkened space, I see the tight pinch of fear across his brow.

Clearly, he knows no more of what Shava is about to say than Chev does.

“Go ahead,” Shava’s mother prompts. “You no longer need to fear. Your loyalties are with your betrothed’s clan now, and Chev is a friend of this clan. He is also the rightful High Elder of the Bosha clan, as your grandmother has told you many times. Tell him what you know.”

“I know,” Shava starts, but her voice breaks on her words. My mother comes up quietly and hands her a waterskin to drink from.

Shava takes a long, shaky drink with unsteady hands. “I know,” she continues, her voice strong and clear this time, “that someone is plotting your murder.”





TWENTY-TWO


The room itself seems to suck in a breath.

“And who is plotting to murder me?” Chev rocks forward, moving so close to Shava that only a small sliver of light separates the silhouettes of their shadowed faces.

“Lo—the High Elder of the Bosha clan.”

You are the first to react. “Lo?” you ask. “How could it be Lo? Her father is High Elder—”

“Lo’s father is dead.”

A note fills the air, a chorus of gasps.

“That’s not possible,” I say. “Just yesterday, she was on her way to see her father. She said she had to help him—”

“Lies,” Shava whispers, as if Lo might somehow hear her, or have spies listening in.

Spies . . .

“But why? Why pretend her father is alive if he’s dead? What does any of this have to do with murder?” My tone is beyond skeptical—it’s accusatory. I lean over the spot where Shava sits. Am I hoping to intimidate her? Behind me, my mother opens a vent in the roof, letting in a shaft of light, but my shadow paints the floor like a stripe of night, keeping Shava cloaked in violet darkness.

“Everything is by design,” she answers. “We didn’t land on your shore and then discover Chev here. We knew Chev was here, so we came to your shore. Lo wants to manipulate perceptions. She creates elaborate secrets—secrets she claims are to protect the clan. It’s a clan secret that her father has died—that anyone has died. The truth, she says, would expose our weaknesses.”