I DESCENDED THE STAIRS that led beneath the renegade ship to the hold, where my brother was locked in one of the storage rooms. The doors were solid metal, but each one had a vent near the low ceiling so air could circulate through the ship. I approached his room slowly, running one finger along the smooth wall. The lights flickered above my head as the ship shuddered.
The vent was at eye level, so I could see inside. I expected Ryzek’s body to be limp on the floor next to bottles of solvent or cans of oxygen, but it wasn’t. At first I didn’t see him at all, and I gulped air, frantic, about to scream for help. But then he stepped into my line of sight, his body cut into stripes by the blades of the vent.
Still, I could see his eyes, unfocused but full of contempt.
“You’re more of a coward than I thought you were,” he said in a low growl.
“It’s interesting being on this side of the wall this time,” I said. “Be careful, or I will be as unkind to you as you were to me.”
I held up my hand, letting smoky current unfurl around it. Tendrils of ink-darkness wrapped around my fingers like hair. I ran my nails along the vent, lightly, marveling at how easy it would be to hurt him here, with no one to stop me. Just the opening of a door.
“Who did it?” Ryzek said. “Who poisoned me?”
“I already told you,” I said. “I did.”
Ryzek shook his head. “No, I’ve been keeping my iceflower blends under lock and key since the first assassination attempt that you participated in.” He was almost, but not quite, smiling. “And by ‘lock and key,’ I mean a gene lock, accessible by Noavek blood alone.” He waited a beat. “Locks that we both know you were, and are, unable to open.”
My mouth dry, I stared up at him through the narrow space. He had security footage of the first assassination attempt, of course, so he had likely seen me trying to open the lock on his door with no success. But it didn’t seem to surprise him.
“What do you mean?” I said, quiet.
“You do not share my blood,” he said, pronouncing each word deliberately. “You are not a Noavek. Why do you think I started using those locks? Because I knew only one person would be able to get through them: me.”
And I had never tried to get past them before the assassination, because I had always kept my distance from him. Even if I had, I was sure he would have kept a convincing lie ready for the occasion. He was always prepared to lie.
“If I’m not a Noavek, then what am I?” I said sharply.
“How should I know?” He laughed. “I’m glad I was able to see your face when I told you. Emotional, volatile Cyra. When will you learn to control your reactions?”
“I could ask the same of you. Your smiles are getting less and less convincing, Ryz.”
“Ryz.” He laughed again. “You think you’ve won, but you haven’t. There are things I haven’t told you, your true parentage aside.”
Within me everything was turbulent. But I stood as still as I could, watching his lips part in that smile, his eyes crinkle at the corners. I searched his face for a sign of shared blood, and found none. We didn’t look alike, but that in itself was not strange—sometimes siblings took after different parents, after distant relatives, bringing long-forgotten genes back to life. He was either telling me the truth or he was playing with my mind, but either way, I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me react any further.
“This desperation,” I said in a low voice, “does not become you, Ryzek. It’s almost indecent.”
I reached up, and pressed the vents flat with my fingertips.
But I could still hear him as he said, “Our father . . .” He paused, and corrected himself. “Lazmet Noavek is still alive.”
CHAPTER 42: AKOS
HE LOOKED OUT THE observation window at the dark sky. A strip of Thuvhe showed on the left, white with snow and cloud cover. No wonder the Shotet had named the planet “Urek,” which meant “empty.” From up here, its blankness was the only thing about it worth noting.
Cisi offered him a mug of tea, yellow green. The blend for fortitude, judging by its shade. He wasn’t any good at mixing that one, since he’d spent most of his time working with hushflower, to put people to sleep and to kill their pain. It didn’t taste like much—bitter like a new stem, freshly snapped—but it made him steadier like it was supposed to.
“How’s Isae?” he asked her.
“Isae is . . .” Cisi frowned. “I think she heard me, on some level beyond her grief. But we’ll see.”
Akos was sure they would, and probably not what they wanted to see. He’d seen the hate in Isae’s face as she glared at Cyra near the hatch door, her sister’s body laid out behind her. One talk with Cisi couldn’t take away hate like that, no matter how much warmth there was between them.