Mother was still rushing toward me, an unfamiliar expression of joy on her face, and I took one hesitating step forward. Two. Three. For a full moment, I forgot.
Then, Zara said, “Seven gods, Mira. What happened?”
After the scar, I’d started turning my head slightly, hardly ever looking at anyone straight on. It had been conscious at first, trying to hide the mark, but this time I’d been turning my face away from Mother, and toward Zara.
Mother halted just three paces from me, all her maternal concern evaporated as she searched for the source of Zara’s alarm. Then, she noticed.
Of course.
She noticed everything, especially about my physical form.
She stalked forward and gripped my chin between her thumb and index finger, and sharply turned my face.
While she inspected the scar, she was so very still, with her mouth pushed into a frown and her chin lifted high so that she could look down on me. Her breathing was long and steady, as though she’d taken all her shock and gathered it deep inside.
Seconds ticked by. I counted them. Five, six, seven . . . Time was passing, I knew it, but somehow it seemed the world would pause its spinning until she gave it permission to continue. Her scrutiny was completely overwhelming.
The amber bottle that held my calming pills was in Ilina’s pack, but suddenly I wished I’d taken one before coming here. Home. My heart raced and black vines curled around the edges of my vision. This was what I’d dreaded. Mother confronting the scar.
And I could feel Ilina and Aaru watching us, me with my arms limp at my sides, and Mother with my face pinched between her fingers. What were they thinking? Were they even watching? Maybe it was too much to hope they’d found books and were too engrossed in someone else’s struggles to notice.
“What happened?” Mother’s tone was sharp and cold and smooth, like ice.
I couldn’t speak, because she still had my jaw, but it hadn’t truly been a question anyway. Not one I was meant to answer. This was just the illusion of asking, almost touching concern, but not quite reaching it.
What happened? The council happened. Elbena happened.
“It’s hideous. Your face is ruined.” She released me at last. “Fallen Gods, Mira. What were you thinking?”
As if I’d done this to her. As if I’d wanted to be scarred for the rest of my life.
But even if I’d been brave enough to speak those words, I was planted in place, my feet rooted, and my soul sinking deeper into the ground. My mouth couldn’t form a defense.
Not that there was a real defense. I’d made the choice to speak for Hartans in the Shadowed City. I’d known the cost of such defiance would be high.
I hadn’t known it would be this high.
“You’ll never be able to speak in front of a crowd again,” she murmured. “It’s over now.”
She was right. Who could bear to look at me?
“Who would be able to pay attention to your words when your face is so distracting?” she went on. “You used to be so beautiful. You commanded the admiration of thousands.”
But now I didn’t.
“Now you can’t,” she whispered.
Mother had loved one piece of me, and now it was gone.
“This is what I always warned you about.” She caressed my good cheek. “I always told you to be careful, to take care of yourself. Didn’t I?”
With the tears pooling in my eyes, obscuring her face, I didn’t trust myself to speak. I just nodded.
“And now this.” She sighed. “You weren’t careful, were you?”
I shook my head, because she was right. I hadn’t been careful. I hadn’t thought through the consequences of my actions. If I’d just done as Elbena had ordered, everything would be fine.
“I’m sorry.” My voice was a tiny squeak, broken under the pressure of a sob struggling to escape.
“I’m just so disappointed,” Mother said. “I gave you the best of everything. I even let you run around the sanctuary with that dragon. All so you would be happy and beautiful and admired by millions. But now, with this”—she gestured at my face—“I don’t know what you’ll do. Can you even smile anymore?”
Could I?
“Try it.” She stepped back. “Let’s see your smile.”
Rushing filled my ears, my heartbeat a punctuating thunder as I forced a smile onto my face. This was supposed to be something I was good at—something I’d practiced every day as a child, ensuring people melted when I grinned.
But Mother’s eyes widened in alarm and disgust. “Oh, Mira.”
My false smile fell.
“It’s twisted. Your face doesn’t move correctly anymore.”
A faint whimper worked its way out of my throat.
“I don’t know what you’ll do,” she muttered. “Not anymore. But now I see why you were sent home.”
Sent home? “I don’t know what you mean.”
“And now you’re being deliberately stupid.” Mother took my face again and glared at the scar. “I can’t believe you spoiled your chance to make amends with the Luminary Council. They’ll never want anything from you again. Not like this.”
She was right. I had been given a chance to earn the council’s trust again. And I’d turned against them. That was why I’d been cut. Scarred.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” I couldn’t contain the tears anymore. They spilled down my face, catching on the scar: a shame upon my shame.
“Oh, don’t cry. Do you think—”
Ilina surged up from the sofa, fire in her eyes, her hands curled into fists.
It would be so easy to let my best friend stand up for me. I always had, because she was braver than us mere mortals. Scowls did not cow her.
But Ilina couldn’t fight my battles for me. Chenda had been right about that. If I wanted to be heard, believed, and followed, I needed to learn when to rely on friends, and when to stand up for myself.
“Stop.” My voice. My demand.
Ilina didn’t move, but Mother squeezed my face harder. Her glare became steel as I wrenched myself away—out of her grasp.
Speak, I ordered myself. Speak now.
“What is wrong with you?” The words nearly choked me to death. “You act like I wanted this, but you weren’t there. You didn’t see what happened.”
“Do not use that tone with me, Mira.” Mother didn’t raise her voice, but she didn’t need to. Just the words were enough to make me cringe.
But I fought the urge to wither under her glare, and instead, I said what I knew Ilina would have: “Do you even know who did this to me, Mother?” I dragged my finger down the scar. “Of course you don’t. You didn’t ask. You just blamed me for this violence.”
Mother opened her mouth to respond, but I didn’t give her a chance. I couldn’t—not if I wanted to finish what I needed to say.
“It was Elbena. The Luminary Councilor. She took a knife and cut me, so if you want to be angry or blame someone, blame her.” My tears blurred her shocked expression. “And blame yourself.”
She stepped backward. “I did nothing.”
“You wanted a perfect daughter to represent the treaty, and you spent years molding me into your puppet. Your doll. My face has always been about your vanity.” My voice shook with the truth, with everything I’d ever wanted to say just spilling out of me now. “You care more about my face than you care about my feelings.”
Mother’s glare hardened into granite. Her anger had never been explosive, but for a moment I wondered if that might change.
Maybe everyone else was wondering, too.
1.Zara stood on the balcony still, her hands motionless on the rail. Her eyes were wide—a little frightened.
2.Hristo was just returning to the parlor. He’d never been able to protect me from Mother, not when she was the one who controlled his job, but now he looked between Mother and me, his expression hopeful, perhaps.
3.Ilina leaned forward, as though ready to leap to my rescue, but as the momen
ts ticked on, a faint smile turned up the corners of her mouth.
4.And then there was Aaru, watching in complete silence. But I’d warned him, hadn’t I? The scar changed everything.
Mother’s eyes narrowed into menacing slits, like she was trying to contain her anger through physical force.
“I came for answers, Mother.” My next words were pinched: “I don’t need anything else from you.”
One.
Two.
Three.
Mother didn’t look away. Didn’t blink.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
“Fine.” Mother spun toward Zara, who was still on the balcony watching. “Didn’t you send for your father?”
My sister shook her head. “Hristo went.”
“But I told you to do it.” Mother stalked toward Zara.
Freed from her scrutiny, my knees buckled a little. I caught myself before I fell, but even if I hadn’t, Ilina had crossed the room and reached my side. “Good work,” she whispered. “Now maybe sit.”
She was right. I did need to sit. My legs felt strangely weak as I reached the nearest chair and dropped to the cushion, but the truth of what had just happened hit harder with every beat of my pounding heart.
I’d stood up to my mother.
And I’d won.
LESS THAN AN hour later, Father arrived and swept me into a hug. For seventeen long heartbeats, his arms were tight around me and I felt like a child again.
But when he pulled away, he was already distant, his mind on more important matters.
It stung. Earlier, I’d watched Hristo and his father embrace, seen the concern over Hristo’s hand, and listened to him explain that the ship’s medic and Doctor Chilikoba had already looked at it and pronounced it fine. Even now, they sat close together, their heads bent toward each other to keep their conversation private.
I hadn’t expected my father to react with that much concern, but he didn’t even notice the scar until Mother brought it up to him.
“Hristo’s father is safe,” Ilina murmured. “So maybe mine weren’t taken because of me?”
I squeezed her hand. “I think you’re right, but we’ll see what my parents know. There’s a lot they need to answer for.”
While we’d been talking, the rest of the staff had joined us in the parlor. Nadya, who was the family seamstress, came down with her daughters, Sylva and Sofiya (both household and personal maids), and rearranged the room so that everyone could face one another. I positioned myself next to Ilina, and across from Aaru so I could see if he tapped anything.
Our chef came last, bringing trays of pastries, fruit, and pots of tea, and for once, I didn’t care what Mother saw me eat. After my first poor choice regarding food in the Pit—throwing away a rotten apple and loaf of chalky bread—I’d vowed never to turn down food again. Aaru had the same idea, and for several minutes after introductions were made, the fugitives among us focused on filling our stomachs.
But once the food was gone and the trays removed, there was no more delaying. I had to ask. Aside from Hristo’s father, the rest of the staff had retreated to their respective duties, so it was just the three others in my group, three parents (mine and Hristo’s father), and one sister (Zara, hidden on the balcony after our parents had sent her to her room). Eight people total.
I could say it. I could.
“Father,” I began, but I didn’t know how to finish. I should have practiced this—figured out what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it, like I would have if I’d been giving a speech. I’d have practiced my tone, my expression, and said the words over and over until I knew them by heart.
But I hadn’t thought I’d need all that for this moment—talking to my parents and asking them a question.
Ilina nodded at me, encouraging. And Aaru tapped on the arm of his chair, ::Strength.::
I lifted an eyebrow in question, knowing I didn’t need to say the words. Strength through silence?
He shook his head. ::Just strength.::
I took a steadying breath. “Father,” I said again. “You know where I’ve been? Since the Luminary Council had me arrested?”
Father nodded, his gaze darkening as it flickered to the others. “Yes, I know where they sent you.”
Of course he’d known. He’d been with me when the Luminary Council had decided my fate, one hand on my shoulder. Mother had sat next to me, trembling with rage.
It hadn’t been a real trial, not with an outside judge and witnesses and people to speak on my behalf. No, it had just been another meeting in the council chambers, but this time with more guards, and me having sat in a jail cell for two days.
But my parents had both been there as the Luminary Council decided to send me to the Pit, and Father had squeezed my shoulder while Mother had stood to protest. Not that it had done any good. The squeezing or the protesting.
“One of the guards said something interesting.” Interesting wasn’t the right word; this was the reason I should have practiced. “I mean,” I amended, “he told me something I didn’t want to believe, but I’ve had a lot of time to consider it, and now I’m here with you, the architect of the Mira Treaty. So I can just ask.”
Father’s expression was impassive.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Aaru’s head was cocked with listening. I didn’t have to turn to know Ilina and Hristo were studying him just as intently.
“What is your question?” Trepidation colored Father’s tone, but his posture was relaxed and his expression neutral. Next to him, Mother was frowning.
Give me peace. Give me grace. Give me enough love in my heart. Now that I was on Damina, connected to the god and goddess of love through skin and stone, the prayer whispered through me, warming. I said the words: “Did the Mira Treaty sell the Fallen Isles to the Algotti Empire?”
A faint gasp came from behind me: Hristo’s father, I suspected. Mother’s expression closed off. And on the balcony, Zara’s eyes snapped to Father, shock written plain on her face.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Aside from a frown and confusion in his tone, my father gave nothing away. His hands were motionless on the arms of his chair, dark brown against the pale cushions, and his breathing seemed even.
Such a lack of reaction to such a bold question . . .
Aaru’s quiet code was subtle, so fast against his knee that I almost missed it. ::His heart is racing.::
He could hear that?
I focused on my father. “I mean exactly what I said I mean. The guard I spoke with in the Pit—who knew far more about why I was imprisoned than he should have—told me he believes that the Mira Treaty is a sham. That it’s a deed of sale, and not a declaration of our greater intent.”
Father was shaking his head.
::He’s scared,:: tapped Aaru.
I stood, putting on my best Hopebearer expression, my best Hopebearer voice for commanding crowds. And, maybe, the same apparent fearlessness that had earned me the title of Dragonhearted. I put them on like a gown and cosmetics and gemstones around my throat. “Father,” I said, “tell me the truth. Did the Mira Treaty sell the Fallen Isles to the Algotti Empire?”
Father replied, “Yes.”
AARU
Four Days Before Arrest
THE FALLOUT FROM FATHER’S DEATH WAS IMMEDIATE:
Safa was sent back to her parents. All of my sisters cried, because they knew about her father. As I walked Safa down the road, I reminded her about the boat waiting on the bank of the stream. We’d visited it every few months, keeping it stocked and ready, just in case anyone found out about her Voice of Idris. ::Perhaps we’ll be able to take you in again,:: I said as we walked, ::but don’t forget there’s always a third option.:: She just hugged herself, her shoulders hunched over her narrow frame.
Dema invited me to her uncle’s house. We sat in the parlor, under the watchful eyes of chaperones. Using the quiet code, Dema assured me that she would try to keep our engagement, but alre
ady her father and uncle wanted to match her with someone else. Someone more suitable. ::Do what is best for you,:: I replied, and she gave me a look that said she’d never been told that before.
Then there was Mother. She’d always woven mats and made other small items to trade, but she’d been able to slow down in the last year. Now, she worked in earnest. All the time. She didn’t sleep, and sometimes her fingers bled.
Essa asked me if Mother wove because it was easier than crying, and I said yes, because that might have been true—partly. But I knew the rest: weaving and trading was the only kind of work Mother was allowed to do, and we would soon be in desperate need of money.
We were down to one income—mine—but there were seven mouths to feed. Danyal couldn’t work for another year. Mother couldn’t work ever. Nor could any of my sisters.
Our future loomed uncertain.
WHY, THOUGH?
Why did the law prevent Mother from earning chips? Or my sisters? Korinah, Alya, and Hafeez were all old enough to work . . . but they weren’t boys. They spent their days contributing in every way possible: our house was always clean, food always cooked, the garden always tended, blankets always being woven. . . .
And those things helped. They did. But we weren’t so self-sufficient that we didn’t need chips, and I alone could not provide enough.
My questions had always been there, kept under the surface by Father’s certainty and Mother’s fear, but now the unfairness seethed within me, gnawing, growing, gaining momentum.
When a few men at work asked how my family would survive, I confessed that we couldn’t. Not under the law.
Why?
::It doesn’t make sense,:: said one man.
::It’s because they’re women—not as strong,:: said another.
::My wife has given birth to seven children,:: replied the first. ::That takes strength.::
::Surely Idris would rather a woman work than a family starve,:: said a third man.
::My betrothed wants to work,:: said a fourth. ::She showed me her design for a house. It is masterful. But if we can build it, she can’t take credit.::