Akos went still.
“A person’s gift proceeds from who they are,” Ryzek said. “And who they are is what their pasts have made them. Take a person’s memories, and you take the things that formed them. You take their gift. And at last . . .” Ryzek ran his finger down the side of Akos’s face, collecting blood. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, examining it. “At last, I will not have to rely on another to tell me the future.”
Akos threw himself at Ryzek, moving fast to give the soldiers the slip, his hands outstretched. He pressed his thumb hard into the side of Ryzek’s throat, pinning his right arm with the other, teeth bared. Animal.
Vas was on top of him in seconds, yanking him by the back of his shirt and punching him hard in the ribs. When Akos was flat on his back, Vas pressed a shoe to his throat, and raised his eyebrows.
“One of my soldiers did this to you once,” Vas said. “Before I killed your father. It seemed to be effective then. Stay still or I will crush your trachea.”
Akos twitched, but stopped thrashing. Ryzek picked himself up, massaging his throat and brushing dust from his pants and checking the straps of his armor. Then he approached Eijeh. The soldiers who had walked in with Akos were now flanking Eijeh, each one with a firm grip on one of his arms. As if it was necessary. Eijeh looked so dazed I was surprised he was still awake.
Ryzek lifted both hands, and touched them to Eijeh’s head, his eyes focused and hungry. Hungry for escape.
It was not much to watch. Just Ryzek and Eijeh, joined by Ryzek’s hands, stares locked, for a long time.
When I first watched Ryzek do this, I was too much of a child to understand what was going on, but I did remember that it had taken only a moment for him to trade one memory. Memories happened in flashes, not as drawn-out as reality, and it seemed strange that something so important, so essential to a person, could disappear so quickly.
Breathless, all I could do now was watch.
When Ryzek released Eijeh, it was with a strange, bewildered look. He stepped back, and looked around like he wasn’t sure where he was. Felt his body like he wasn’t sure who he was. I wondered if he had thought about what trading his memories away would cost him, or if he had just assumed that he was so potent a personality there was more than enough of him to go around.
Eijeh, meanwhile, looked at the Weapons Hall like he had only just recognized it. Was I just imagining the familiarity in his eyes as they followed the steps up to the platform?
Ryzek nodded to Vas to take his foot from Akos’s throat. Vas did. Akos lay still, staring at Ryzek, who crouched beside him again.
“Do you still blush so easily?” Ryzek said softly. “Or was that something you grew out of, eventually?”
Akos’s face contorted.
“You will never disrespect me with silly escape plans again,” Ryzek said. “And your punishment for this first and only attempt is that I will keep your brother around, taking piece after piece from him until he is no longer someone you wish to rescue.”
Akos pressed his forehead to the ground, and closed his eyes.
And no wonder. Eijeh Kereseth was as good as gone.
CHAPTER 13: CYRA
THAT NIGHT I DIDN’T take a painkiller. I couldn’t rely on Akos to make it anymore, after all, and I didn’t really trust myself to make it alone yet.
When I returned to my room I found the dagger I had given Akos on my pillow. Left there as a warning, by Ryzek, I assumed. I locked Akos’s room from the outside.
It was hard to say whether he wasn’t speaking to me, or I wasn’t speaking to him. In any case, we didn’t exchange words. The Sojourn Festival carried on all around us, and I was called to stand at my brother’s side, dark-streaked and silent, at some of the festivities. Akos was always at my back, his occasional touch compulsory, his gaze distant. Every time his skin grazed mine to bring relief, I twitched away at first, all trust gone.
Most of the time I spent at the arena, presiding over challenges at Ryzek’s side. Arena challenges—one-on-one, public fights—were a long-standing Shotet tradition, originally intended as a sport to hone our combat skills in the days when we had been weak and abused by almost everyone in the galaxy. Now, during the week of the Sojourn Festival, it was legal to challenge almost anyone you had a grievance with to fight, either until one person surrendered, or until death.
However, a person couldn’t challenge someone whose social status—arbitrarily decided by Ryzek, or someone he appointed—exceeded their own. As a result, people often chose to provoke their true enemies by targeting the people around them, friends and loved ones, until the other extended the challenge. As the festival advanced, the fights became bloodier and more deadly.