“I got you out of the Cloister,” said Runajo. “Out of that room.”
The last time she’d seen Inyaan, she had been locked in a room for “ascetic seclusion” by order of her brother, the Exalted. That meant having tubes of the Cloister’s living stone burrow into her arms every day and drain her blood to feed the city. When Runajo had brought Juliet to Lord Ineo, one part of her bargain had been that he’d use his influence with the Exalted to get Inyaan out.
Inyaan’s lips stretched into a flat grimace. “For what part of that should I thank you?”
She twisted her arms, tilting the insides up. Runajo barely kept herself from recoiling. Inyaan’s skin was livid with half-healed cuts and scars.
She remembered now what Inyaan had told her the last time they spoke in the Cloister: that the royal family of Viyara, being of divine blood, were required to offer their blood every day. That while they could use the same ointments to speed healing, they were not allowed the drugged bloodwine that the Sisters drank when they needed to dull the pain of sacrifice.
Inyaan had been so desperate to escape the seclusion, Runajo hadn’t thought of anything else.
“I am out of that room,” said Inyaan. “But I am still in seclusion. Except now my brother laughs at me as I bleed.”
Runajo swallowed. She was so tired of hurting people.
“Then don’t thank me,” she said. “Plan out a way to punish me. You won’t be the first, and unlike some, you do have the power. But don’t ignore me.”
“Why?” asked Inyaan.
Why does nobody ever want to listen? Runajo thought.
“Because this city is dying,” she burst out, “and right now, Lord Ineo and the High Priestess are going to turn it into a slaughterhouse. You have heard, haven’t you? The offering of Catresou prisoners? That’s blasphemy by your own laws—and it’s not going to fix the Ruining, just slow it down. There will be open war with the fugitive Catresou, and of course we’ll win, but when they’re all dead, what next? Start slaughtering the rest of the city?” She drew a trembling breath. “I think I have another way to strengthen the walls and buy us time without death, but I can’t work the calculations by myself. Not nearly fast enough. I need help.”
Inyaan stared at her. “So?”
So you have to help me, Runajo wanted to scream. You have to help me or you’re as good as a murderer. But Inyaan wasn’t going to care. It was so easy not to care, after all. To pick one thing you wanted—power for the Mahyanai, prestige for the Sisters of Thorn—and let the rest of the world burn for it.
Hadn’t Runajo done the same?
And then she knew what to say.
“Because this city is dying, and Sunjai is in it. Are you ready to let that happen to her?”
Inyaan was very still except for her hands, twisting at each other. Then she said, “No.”
The room Inyaan took her to was modest, compared to the rest of the palace: the walls were decorated only with simple, shallow spirals, and the little wooden table was unadorned.
“Wait here,” said Inyaan, and left.
Runajo waited. It felt like forever before Sunjai strode into the room, her smile just as obnoxious as ever.
“So I hear you finally need someone’s help,” she said. “I’ll remind you that when I asked for help, you told me we were all going to die.”
“Did Inyaan tell you anything?” asked Runajo, straightening up.
Sunjai crossed her arms. “Maybe. But I wasn’t listening too closely. It was time for me to give her the daily dose of healing creams.”
Runajo felt a sick pang as she remembered the half-healed cuts on Inyaan’s arms.
“You think she was better off in ascetic seclusion?” she asked.
“At least her brother wasn’t there,” said Sunjai, her voice low. “And I think you had no right to do as you willed with her, simply because you fancied it.”
It was true, wasn’t it? Runajo had wanted to help Inyaan, so she had simply done as she pleased, without a thought for the consequences. The same as she had done with Juliet.
“Well, right now what I fancy is keeping the city alive,” said Runajo. “And stopping Lord Ineo’s sacrifices.”
Sunjai’s mouth flattened. “I still haven’t agreed to help you.”
“You will,” said Runajo, “because Inyaan sent you.”
But then she remembered Sunjai saying, back in the Cloister, We’re comrades, aren’t we?
There had been a time when Sunjai thought they were friends, or something like it. Runajo hadn’t ever realized it until it was too late, just like she hadn’t realized . . . anything, it seemed.
She never learned, until she had hurt people.
“I’m sorry,” she said. The words were soft, but still hurt in her throat. “I was never kind to you or Inyaan. And I’m sorry.”
Sunjai rolled a shoulder. “You don’t need to be kind to me.” She paused. “I’m going to help you, but I want to know: why did you get yourself thrown out for that Catresou girl?”
Runajo wasn’t sure how she could even begin to explain that.
“Why did you spend all your time following after Inyaan and wiping her tears?”
It was something she had actually wondered about. Once, she had thought Sunjai just wanted the prestige of being the only friend of the Exalted’s younger sister, but she knew now that she had been wrong.
“She’s the blood of the gods,” said Sunjai, deadpan. “I owe her all that and more.”
Runajo rolled her eyes. “No, I mean, truthfully. Can you even explain why she’s your friend?”
“She’s the blood of the gods,” Sunjai repeated, and suddenly Runajo realized that her voice was quiet not with deadpan sarcasm but absolute sincerity. “She deserves all my loyalty and worship. But she’s kind enough to call me her friend.”
“You . . . believe in the gods,” said Runajo.
Mahyanai didn’t believe in the gods. Everybody knew that. It was something they were all proud of: that while the rest of the world might cringe and beg before imaginary masters, might require the dream of a second life in order to face death, the Mahyanai were brave enough to bear the truth.
“Why do you think I joined the Sisterhood? The pretty clothes?” Sunjai’s voice was bitterer than Runajo had ever heard it. “Our people are parasites who mock the holy rites that shelter them. I wanted to make recompense. To please the gods with my penance. I’d pour out every drop of blood in my body for that.”
Runajo’s skin crawled. Because while she didn’t care what Sunjai chose to do with her own blood—if she believed in the nine gods, if she longed for penance, then she believed the sacrifices were holy. She didn’t think they were a tragic necessity, she thought it was holy and right when the High Priestess cut someone’s throat before the face of Ihom.
And then she realized: this was why Sunjai was going to help her.
“Then,” she said, “you surely don’t like that Lord Ineo has taken the sacrifices into his own hands.”
Sunjai made a noise of disgust deep in her throat. “I’d like to see him led out to pollute the sacrifices with his unwilling blood.”
“Good,” said Runajo. “Because I know how to make it stop. Do you want to help?”
Sunjai looked her up and down, and her mouth curved up as she said, “Yes.”
13
ONE DAY LEFT.
Juliet woke, and remembered instantly: the next day, the sacrifices would begin. Her people would die and she would safeguard their slaughter, so the rest of Viyara could live.
Runajo wasn’t there in the bedroom. She was never there now, and Juliet reminded herself that it didn’t matter if she never slept, because she was only paying for her own choices.
At the breakfast table, Juliet forced herself to eat, barely noticing what, until Arajo burst into the room and sat down beside her.
“Just look at that,” she said, dropping a little square of paper on the table, and yawned.
Juliet stared. Two lines were written on it, in rather wobbly script:
I saw the stars through the window,
But they were not as lovely as you.
“What is it?” she asked.