The room was full of murmurs. Moving between each group was a servant with a tray in hand, offering drinks or bites of food. Their synchronized movements were the closest thing to dance here.
“Quiet in here,” Akos said softly, his fingers curling around my elbow. I shivered, trying to ignore it. He’s just dulling your pain, that’s all it is, nothing has changed, everything is the same as it always was. . . .
“Pitha isn’t known for its dances,” I said. “Or any form of combat, either.”
“They’re not your favorite, then, I take it.”
“I like to move.”
“I’ve noticed.”
I could feel his breath against the side of my neck, though he wasn’t that close—my awareness of him was stronger than it had ever been. I tugged my arm free to take the drink the Pithar servant offered.
“What is this?” I said, suddenly aware of my accent. The servant eyed my shadow-stained arm uneasily.
“Its effects are similar to an iceflower blend,” the servant replied. “Dulls the senses, lifts the spirits. Sweet and sour, both.”
Akos also took one, smiling at the servant as she walked on.
“If it’s not made of iceflowers, what’s it made of?” he asked. Thuvhesits worshipped iceflowers, after all. What did he know of other substances?
“I don’t know. Salt water? Engine grease?” I said. “Try it; I’m sure it won’t hurt you.”
We both drank. Across the room, Ryzek and Yma were smiling politely at Chancellor Natto’s husband, Vek. His face had a grayish cast, and his skin sagged from his bones like it was half liquid. Maybe gravity was stronger here. I certainly felt heavier than usual, though that was probably due to Vas’s constant gaze. Making sure I behaved.
I cringed at my half-empty glass. “Disgusting.”
“So, I’m curious,” Akos said. “How many languages do you actually speak?”
“Really, it’s just Shotet, Thuvhesit, Othyrian, and Trellan,” I said. “But I know a little Zoldan, some Pithar, and I was working on Ogran before you arrived and distracted me.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“What?” I said. “I don’t have any friends. It gives me a lot of free time.”
“You think you’re so difficult to like.”
“I know what I am.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“A knife,” I said. “A hot poker. A rusty nail.”
“You are more than any of those things.” He touched my elbow to turn me toward him. I knew I was giving him a strange look, but I couldn’t seem to stop. It was just the way my face wanted to be.
“I mean,” he said, removing his hand, “it’s not like you’re going around . . . boiling the flesh of your enemies.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “If I was going to eat the flesh of my enemies, I would roast it, not boil it. Who wants to eat boiled flesh? Disgusting.”
He laughed, and everything felt a little better.
“Silly me. I clearly wasn’t thinking,” he said. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but I think you’re being summoned by the sovereign.”
Sure enough, when I looked at Ryzek, his eyes were on me. He jerked his chin up.
“You didn’t bring any poison, did you?” I said without looking away from my brother. “I could try to slip it in his drink.”
“Wouldn’t give it to you if I did,” Akos said. When I gave him an incredulous look, he explained, “He’s still the only one who can restore Eijeh. After he does that, I’ll poison him with a song on my lips.”
“No one does ‘single-minded’ quite like you, Kereseth,” I said. “Your task while I’m gone is to compose your poisoning song so I can hear it when I get back.”
“Easy,” he said. “‘Here I go a-poisoning . . .’”
Smirking, I swallowed the last of my vile Pithar engine grease, handed the glass to Akos, and crossed the room.
“Ah, there she is! Vek, this is my sister, Cyra.” Ryzek was wearing his warmest smile, his arm outstretched toward me like he intended to fold me into his side. He didn’t, of course, because it would have hurt him—the currentshadows were there to remind him, staining my cheek and the side of my nose. I nodded to Vek, who stared blank-eyed back without greeting.
“Your brother was just explaining the Shotet rationale behind some of the kidnapping reports associated with Shotet ‘scavengers’ over the past decade,” he said. “He said you could vouch for the policy.”
Oh he did, did he?
My anger, then, was like dry kindling, quickly ignited. I couldn’t find a path through it; I just stared at Ryzek for a few moments. He smiled back at me, still with that kind look in his eyes. Beside him, Yma was also smiling.
“Because of your familiarity with your servant,” Ryzek said lightly. “Of course.”