He turned. He wore a smug smile.
“You should be more like her, sister,” he said. “You are an excellent fighter. But up here . . .” He tapped the side of his head. “Well, it’s not your strength.”
The shadows traveled faster beneath my skin, spurred on by my anger. But I kept my mouth closed.
“You gave Kereseth a weapon? You took him through the tunnels?” Ryzek shook his head. “You slept through his escape?”
“He drugged me,” I said tersely.
“Oh? And how did he do that?” Ryzek said lightly, still smirking. “Pinned you down and poured the potion into your mouth? I don’t think so. I think you drank it, trustingly. Drank a powerful drug prepared by your enemy.”
“Ryzek—” I started.
“You almost cost us our oracle,” Ryzek snapped. “And why? Because you’re foolish enough to let your heart flutter for the first painkiller who comes around?”
I didn’t argue. He had spent a long time searching the galaxy for an oracle, with my father and without. In one night, that oracle had almost escaped. My doing. And maybe he was right. Maybe whatever small trust I had felt for Akos, whatever appeal he had held, had come because he offered me relief. Because I was so grateful for the reprieve from pain—and from isolation—that my heart had softened. I had been stupid.
“You can’t blame him for wanting to rescue his brother, or for wanting to get out of here,” I said, my voice quaking with fear.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Ryzek said, laughing a little. “People will always want things that will destroy us, Cyra. That doesn’t mean we just let them act on what they want.”
Ryzek pointed to the side of the room.
“Stand over there and don’t say a word,” he said. “I brought you here to watch what happens when you don’t keep your servants under control.”
I was shivering, burning, and I looked like I was standing under a canopy of vines, marked by their shadows. I stumbled to the side of the room, my arms clutched tightly around me. I heard Ryzek’s order to enter.
The huge doors at the other end of the room opened. Vas walked in first, armored, his shoulders back. Behind him, flanked by soldiers, was the sagging, stumbling form of Akos Kereseth. Half his face was covered in blood, coming from a gash in his eyebrow. His face was swollen, his lip split. Beaten already, but then, he had gotten good at taking a beating.
Behind him walked Eijeh—also bleeding and beaten, but more than that . . . vacant. His face was rough with a patchy beard, and he was gaunt, a shred of the young man I had seen from my hidden vantage point two seasons ago.
I could hear Akos breathing from where I stood, sputtering. But he straightened at the sight of my brother.
“My, my, aren’t you a sight,” Ryzek said, descending the steps slowly. “How far did he get, Vas? Past the fence?”
“Not even,” Vas said. “Got him in the kitchens, coming out of the tunnels.”
“Well, let me clarify your miscalculation, for future reference, Kereseth,” Ryzek said. “Just because my late mother enjoyed the old-fashioned appearance of this house doesn’t mean that I didn’t outfit my home with the most advanced security measures possible after her passing. Including motion sensors around secure rooms, such as your brother’s.”
“Why are you keeping him here?” Akos said through gritted teeth. “Does he even have a currentgift? Or have you starved it out of him?”
Vas—casually, lazily—backhanded Akos. Akos crumpled, clutching his cheek.
“Akos,” Eijeh said. His voice was like a light touch. “Don’t.”
“Why don’t you tell him, Eijeh?” Ryzek said. “Have you developed a currentgift?”
Akos peered past his fingers at his brother. Eijeh closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, nodded.
“Rising oracle,” Akos murmured in Shotet. At first I didn’t know what he meant—it was not a phrase we used. But Thuvhesit had different words for all three oracles—one falling, close to retiring; one sitting, prophesying from the temple; and one rising, coming into the fullness of his or her power.
“You would be correct in assuming that I have not been able to make him use his gift for my benefit,” Ryzek said. “So instead, I intend to take it.”
“Take it?” Akos said, echoing my own thoughts.
Ryzek stepped closer to Akos and crouched in front of him, his elbows balanced on his knees.
“Do you know what my currentgift is?” he said lightly.
Akos didn’t answer.
“Tell him about it, Cyra dear,” Ryzek said, jerking his head toward me. “You are intimately acquainted with it.”
Akos, bracing himself with one hand, lifted his eyes to mine. There were tears mixed with the blood on his face.
“My brother can trade memories,” I said. I sounded empty. Felt like it, too. “He gives you one of his, and takes one of yours in return.”