And last, the strict, pale fingers of Yma Zetsyvis on my wrist.
The current moved through all of us at once, my friend, my enemy, my mother, and me, all wrapped together in the darkness that was life itself.
CHAPTER 53: CISI
BREAKING NEWS, THE SCREEN says. Lazmet Noavek confirmed dead in Shotet assault on Hessa, major city of Thuvhe.
I look the nurse steadily in the eye. I want to tell her that I don’t care if my intestines are spilling out on the floor, she will get me a wheelchair, and she will clear me to fly with Isae Benesit to Thuvhe. But of course I can’t say that. Other people’s currentgifts falter when their bodies weaken, but not mine, apparently.
Instead, I search for what might persuade her. The usual Othyrian things—fine fabrics—don’t seem like the right choice. She’s too hard-nosed for that. She’s not someone who has let herself long for things. She would take comfort in something she can access—like a hot bath, or a comfortable chair. Water is easy for me, so I send it toward her, not the rolling waves that would work on Isae, but the still warmth of someone soaking. Buoyant and motionless.
I don’t bother with subtlety. I fill the room with it. My cheeks heat and my stomach aches from the stitches that still hold my guts in.
“I’m from Hessa,” I say, and it feels muffled, even though I can hear myself clearly. One of the oddities of my gift. “I need to go. Clear me.”
She’s nodding, blinking dully at me.
I haven’t spoken to Isae since Ast’s arrest. She came to assure me that it was done, that he was gone. Since he wasn’t a citizen of the Assembly, he was shipped off to his home moon to await trial, and they would deal with him in whatever manner they chose. But he wouldn’t be allowed to set foot on an Assembly planet again.
One day, that might mean fewer planets. There are rumors of secession over Othyr’s proposed oracle oversight law. It is too soon to know about the other nation-planets, but Thuvhe has thrown itself in with Othyr, so our path through that issue, at least, is clear.
We aren’t sure what happened in Shotet yet. News is slow to come out of there. What we do know is the anticurrent weapon didn’t work. Something ink-dark met it in the air, right in the middle of Voa, protecting the city from its blast. No one can explain it, but I’m taking it as a sign of better things to come.
The nurse wheels me to the hospital landing pad in a small, portable bed that can be secured to the wall of an Othyrian ship. Every jostle of the bed makes shooting pains go through my abdomen, but I am just happy to be going home, so I try not to let the pain show. The first child of the family Noavek will succumb to the blade. Well, maybe I had succumbed, but I hadn’t died. That was something.
As the nurse activates the wall magnet that will hold my bed steady during takeoff, Isae steps down from the nav deck, where she was speaking with the captain. She’s dressed in comfortable clothes: a sweater with sleeves long enough to cover her hands, tight black pants, and her old boots with their red laces. She looks uncharacteristically nervous.
She offers me a handheld screen with a keyboard. “Just in case you want to say something you can’t say aloud,” she says.
I hold it in my lap. I’m angry with her—for not listening to me instead of Ast, for not believing me—but this reminds me why I care about her. She thinks about what I need. She wants me to be able to speak my mind.
“I’m surprised you didn’t object to me coming,” I say to her as unkindly as my currentgift will allow.
“I’m trying to trust your judgment from now on,” she says, looking down at her fingers, twisted together. “You want to go to Hessa, so you’ll go to Hessa. You wanted me to show mercy, so I’ll try to do that, too, from now on.”
I nod.
“I’m sorry, Cee,” she almost whispers.
I feel a pang of guilt. I didn’t tell her that I tried to reach out to Shotet when she decided to unleash the anticurrent weapon on the Shotet. And I haven’t told her how I’ve been using my currentgift to soften her and persuade her since all this started. And I don’t plan to confess. I would lose everything I’ve gained, that way. But I don’t feel good about the deception.
The least I can do now is forgive her. I turn over one hand, and hold it out to her, inviting her closer. She rests her palm on mine.
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you, too,” I say, and it’s one of the easiest things I’ve ever said. Sometimes I might lie to her, but this, at least, is true.
She bends to kiss me, and I touch her cheek, holding her in place for a few long moments before she pulls away. She smells like sendes leaf and soap. Like home.
I will never be heralded as the one who made Chancellor Benesit turn away from further aggressive action and invite the Shotet to peace talks in the wake of the attempted attack on Voa. It might have been one of the more destructive wars in Assembly history, if I hadn’t been there. No one will call me skilled in diplomacy, or poised, or a remarkable adviser.
But that’s as it should be. When all goes according to plan, I fade into the background. But I will be there, standing behind a chancellor as she maneuvers through this uneasy peace. I will be the one she looks to for guidance, for comfort when her grief and anger surge within her again and again. I will be the arm that guides the hand. No one will know.
Except me. I’ll know.
CHAPTER 54: CYRA
I WOKE TO BUZZING. A fenzu glowing blue, turning lazy circles above my head. Its iridescent wings made me think, suddenly, of Uzul Zetsyvis, who had thought so fondly of them, his cash crop and his passion.
Around me was white—white floors, white sheets, white walls, white curtains. I was not in a hospital, but a quiet house. Growing from a pot in the corner was a black flower with layer after layer of plush petals, unfolding from a dark yellow center.
I recognized the place. It was the Zetsyvis home, standing on a cliff overlooking Voa.
Something felt wrong. Off, somehow. I lifted an arm and found it to be heavy, my muscles shaking with the slight effort. I let the limb drop to the mattress, and contented myself by watching the fenzu fly, tracing paths of light in the air.
I knew what was off: I wasn’t in pain. And from what I could see of my own bare arms, the currentshadows were gone.
Fear and relief intermingled within me. No pain. No currentshadows. Was it permanent? Had I expended so much energy in the anticurrent blast that my currentgift had left me forever? I closed my eyes. I couldn’t allow myself to imagine that, a life without pain. I couldn’t let myself hope for it.
A while later—I had no sense of how long—I heard a knock at the door. Sifa carried a mug of tea toward me.
“I suspected you might be awake,” she said.
“Tell me about Voa,” I said. I planted my hands, trying to push myself up. My arms felt like jelly. Sifa moved to help me, and I stopped her with a glare, struggling on my own instead.
Instead, she sat in a chair near my bed, her hands folded in her lap.
“Your currentshadows countered the anticurrent blast. The Shotet exiles arrived within days to seize control of Voa, in the power vacuum that resulted from Lazmet’s death,” she said. “But what you did seems to have depleted you. No, I’m not sure if the disappearance of your currentshadows is permanent,” she added, answering the question I hadn’t yet asked. “But you saved a lot of people, Cyra.”
She sounded . . . proud. As a mother would have been.
“Don’t,” I said. “I’m not yours.”
“I know.” She sighed. “But I was hoping we might work our way toward something other than outright hostility.”
I considered that.
“Maybe,” I said.
She smirked a little.
“Well, in that spirit . . . look at this.”
She rose to draw the curtain back from the window beside my bed. I was in the part of the house positioned on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the city of Voa. At first, all I saw was the sparkle of distant lights, the buildings of Voa. But then: