The Fates Divide

by Veronica Roth

  "The only treason I acknowledge," I said, "is treason against the oracles. And I have never once committed that crime. The same cannot be said of our governing body."

  Aza said, "Two seasons ago, Ogra was on the verge of war because the Assembly wanted to release the fates of the fated families to the public, was it not? I read the transcript. You yourself, Lusha, seemed particularly angry about their choice."

  "I didn't see a reason to break our traditions," Lusha said stiffly.

  "That act," Teka said, "of needlessly declaring all the fates to the general public, resulted in the kidnapping of an oracle of our planet, and culminated in the very war that we're in right now. The Assembly sowed the seeds for this war by defying the oracles. And now they want to crush us because of it?"

  I didn't know if she was making any headway. I wasn't good at reading faces. Nevertheless, she persisted:

  "The Assembly is threatened by any planet that is fate-faithful," Teka said. "It started with us, but don't think it will end with us. Tepes, Zold, Essander, Ogra--all the fate-faithful planets are at risk. If they can call us backward and orchestrate a war to get rid of us, they can do it to you. We all have to stand together if we want to keep their power limited, as it should be."

  I tried to read Rokha and Lusha's body language--I was not so poor at that--but it was difficult without understanding Ogran culture better. Rokha's hands were folded neatly on the table in front of them. Lusha's arms were crossed. Surely not a good sign, in any culture.

  I cleared my throat. "I have an idea, before we even get that far."

  Everyone turned toward me, Teka with her mouth puckered.

  "I have met Isae Benesit, Chancellor of Thuvhe. She spent days with Shotet renegades when she was in Voa. She just sent someone to Ogra to talk about an alliance. She knows that we are not the same as Lazmet Noavek." I lifted my shoulder. "It's not Shotet that's the problem for her; it's the current regime. And we are in agreement on that point."

  "First you say it's the Assembly waging this war, and then it's just Isae Benesit?" Lusha demanded. "Which is it?"

  "It's both," I said. "The Assembly is using Isae Benesit for a reason--they want to follow the law. They won't attack without cause. So if Thuvhe won't attack us, the Assembly has no intermediary through which to wage war. The conflict dissipates. Appease Isae, and we appease the Assembly. Unseating Lazmet would appease Isae."

  "Let me guess," Teka said. "Your proposed solution is to kill him."

  I wasn't sure how to answer, so I didn't try.

  "You Noaveks," she said. "Always eager to draw blood."

  "I refuse to choose a complicated solution just because it leaves my hands clean," I snapped. "I have been urging you all to take Lazmet Noavek seriously since his face first appeared on screens across the galaxy. He is powerful and he holds half of Shotet in his fist. If he is dead, we can reclaim our people and negotiate a peace. Until he is dead, peace will be impossible."

  I was sitting like my mother, I realized. Back straight, hands folded, legs crossed at the ankles. Perhaps she was not my mother by blood, but I carried more of her in me than I carried of the oracle who had traded me for the sake of fate. I had not ceased to be a Noavek. It was not often a comfort, but in this situation, where strength was required, I did not disparage it.

  Rokha bobbed their head a few times.

  "I think there is a solution here that suits all of us," they said. "Miss Noavek, since this is your idea, we will arrange for you to propose your solution to Chancellor Benesit herself, on a secure feed. In the meantime, we will open discussions--Shotet and Ogra both--with Tepes, Zold, and Essander. Just to explore our options. Lusha?"

  "Discussions, only," Lusha said, jabbing the table in front of her with one finger. "Covert ones. We don't want the Assembly to think we are planning some kind of rebellion."

  "We can send our envoys on delivery vessels as they exit the planet's atmosphere," Aza said. "The Assembly hardly pays attention to Ogra to begin with--they won't be checking your flight ledgers."

  "Fair," Lusha said. "We are agreed, then. Miss Noavek, we will arrange for you to speak to the Chancellor of Thuvhe within a week."

  I felt my pulse in my fingertips. I needed time, more time than I could ask for, more time than they could give me. And even with time, could I really plan to assassinate my own father--could I even do it successfully, given what had happened when I made the attempt on Ryzek's life?

  If you can't do it, no one can, I reminded myself. If you can't do it, we're done for anyway, so you may as well try.

  When I stood, it was on steady feet, and with steady hands. But I felt anything but steady.

  CHAPTER 32: CYRA

  TEKA AND I RETURNED to the small apartment to which Aza had assigned us. It was a single room, with a stove half as wide as the one I had used on the sojourn ship--I thought of its permanent splatters with a sharp pang that made me hesitate with my jacket buttons--and a bathroom we couldn't both stand in at the same time. Still, there was a little desk where I read late at night, when Teka turned away from the light. She kept tools and wires and computer parts in a box in the corner, and built little things in her spare time, little remote control vehicles with wheels, or a hanging ornament that sparked when the wind blew.

  She stripped off her jacket as soon as we were through the door, and tossed it on the bed, its sleeves inside out. I was more careful with mine, undoing each metal button with both hands. The luminous thread was stitched around each buttonhole, keeping it from tearing--a finely made thing, it was, and one I hoped I would get to keep.

  Teka was over at my desk, touching her fingers to the page I had left open with a notebook beside it.

  "'The family Kereseth is one of the oldest of the fated families--arguably the first, though they have never expressed much interest in debating that point. Their fates rarely, if ever, guide them toward leadership positions, but rather to sacrifice or, more mysterious still, seemingly unremarkable destinies.'" Teka frowned. "Are you translating this from Ogran yourself?"

  I shrugged. "I like languages."

  "Do you speak Ogran?"

  "I'm trying to learn it," I said. "Some scholars say it's more poetic than most languages--has more rhyming or near-rhyming sounds. I prefer Shotet for poetry, personally, because I don't enjoy rhymes, but . . ."

  She was staring at me.

  ". . . I do enjoy the challenge of it. What?"

  "You're odd," she said.

  "You just built a little machine that makes chirping sounds," I said. "And when I asked you what it was for, you said 'chirping sounds.' And I'm the one who's odd?"

  Teka smiled a little. "Fair."

  Her gaze returned to the book. I knew she was about to ask me why I was translating the section about the Kereseth family, and maybe she knew that I knew, too, because she never actually asked the question.

  "It's not what you think. I'm not looking into them because of him," I said. "It's . . ."

  I hadn't told anyone what Vara said to me. My Kereseth blood seemed like a secret that ought to be kept. After all, it was the Noavek name that made me useful to the exiles now. Without it, they might dispose of me.

  But I had committed worse crimes in front of Teka than having the wrong name, and she was still here. In the past, the idea of trusting another person would have terrified me. But I didn't feel that fear now.

  "The oracle told me something," I said.

  And I told Teka the story.

  "Okay, so you're telling me it doesn't bother you at all that Akos ended up being attracted to someone who shares genes with a person he believed to be his sister. And mother." Teka was flopped on the floor, cracking the shells of some kind of Ogran nut--roasted to get rid of its poisonous qualities, of course--with her fingernails.

  "I'll say it one more time," I said. "He and I. Are not. Related. At all! In any way!"

  I was leaned up against the side of the bed, my arms draped over my bent knees.

  "Whateve
r," Teka said. "Well, at least you aren't actually planning to commit patricide, then. Since Lazmet isn't actually your father."

  "You're really fixating on the blood-relationship thing," I said. "Just because we aren't technically related doesn't mean he's not my father. And I say that as someone who would really like for him not to be my father."

  "Fine, fine." She sighed. "We should probably start planning this whole assassination thing, if you have less than a week before you're talking to Isae."

  "We?" I raised my eyebrows. "I'm the one who volunteered for this stupid mission, not you."

  "You're obviously going to need my help. For one thing, can you even fly yourself back to Thuvhe?"

  "I can fly a ship."

  "Through Ogra's atmosphere? I don't think so."

  "Okay," I said, "so I need a pilot. And a ship."

  "And you need to find out where Lazmet is. And get in, unseen. And figure out how you're going to kill him. And then how you're going to get out afterward." She sat up, and popped the flesh of the nut, stripped of its shell, into her mouth. Tucking it into her cheek, she said, "Face it, you need help. And you're not going to get many volunteers yourself. You may have observed, the exiles aren't exactly wild about you."

  "Oh really," I said flatly. "I hadn't noticed."

  "Well, they're stupid that way," Teka said, flapping her hand at me. "I'll get you the people you need. They like me."

  "Can't imagine why."

  She threw the broken shell at me, hitting me in the cheek. I felt better than I had in a long time.

  Later that night, after hours of talking ourselves in circles about the assassination plan, Teka fell asleep fully clothed in her bed. I cleaned up the shells--which now covered the floor--and sat at the book of fated families to resume my translation.

  The sight of the word Kereseth, written in Ogran, sparked heat behind my eyes. I picked up my pen, pausing every few seconds to wipe tears from my eyes or snot from my nose.

  I had pretended, with Teka, that I was translating this section of the book to learn more about my own family, that it had nothing to do with Akos.

  But the unfortunate truth was that I was still in love with him.

  CHAPTER 33: AKOS

  A FEW SEASONS AGO, he'd been dragged into the city of Voa by soldiers of Ryzek Noavek, badly beaten, with his scared brother at his heels. The warm, dusty air had choked him. He hadn't been used to crowds, or the loud laughs of people gathered around food stalls, or all the weapons, tapped casually in the middle of conversation, like they didn't matter.

  Now he walked with his palm balanced on the knife sheathed at his waist, without thinking much of it. He had tied a cloth around his nose and mouth, and cropped his hair close to his head, to keep from being recognized by the wrong people. But it didn't seem likely he would be. Most of the people he passed were too focused on getting where they were going to give him more than a quick glance.

  There weren't crowds in the streets anymore. Those who were walking did it with heads down, their bags tucked close to their sides. Soldiers dressed in armor stamped with the Noavek seal walked the streets, even the poorer ones at the edge of the city where Akos had gotten off the small transport vessel that had carried him here. Half the little shops were boarded up, or had their doors chained shut. There had obviously been some looting and vandalism in the wake of Ryzek's death--not surprising--but things seemed under control now. Too much control, with Lazmet sitting on the throne.

  Akos was getting to know his way around Voa, at least the part of Voa that Ara--Jorek's mother--and Jorek lived in. If the city was arranged in concentric circles around Noavek manor, Ara and Jorek lived with Ara's brother in one of the middle rings, the perfect place to disappear. The apartments were crowded together, each one a different style, with a door in a different place, forming a maze. Akos had stumbled into two courtyards that morning when he left, and had to backtrack to where he started each time.

  Ara had sent him to the market to search out flour for her baking, and he'd come up empty. The market had a news feed in one of the stalls, so he'd gone to see if there was any word about Ogra.

  He'd left Ogra without saying anything to Cyra, knowing it would make her hate him--that was the point. If she hated him, she wouldn't look for him. She would assume he had gone back to Thuvhe, and leave him be.

  Akos had to keep forcing his attention back to the path he was walking instead of what was around him. He passed by a line of people so long he couldn't see what they were waiting for until two blocks later, when he saw a run-down office with the Shotet character for "medicine" above it. A health clinic. Down an adjacent alley, two kids fought over a bottle of something Akos didn't recognize.

  A lot of people had been hurt in the attack, and basic supplies like antiseptic or silverskin were limited. Loved ones were always waiting at health clinics, lately, in the hope they might inch closer to what they needed. Still others bought black market "cures" that either didn't do anything or made things worse. Ara and her family had, fortunately, been untouched by the blast.

  Akos spotted the wall of graffiti he used as a landmark. The colors were bright, most of the symbols still unintelligible to him, though he recognized the one for Noavek, standing out in the center. He tapped on the wooden door just past it, looking left and right to make sure he was alone. He could still hear the scuffling of the kids in the alley behind him.

  Ara's brother's house was packed with junk, like a lot of Shotet houses were, all the furniture pieced together from other things. The drawer handles in the kitchen were made of floater parts, and the knobs on the oven were claw grips from the toy robots Shotet children battled with.

  Sitting at the low table on the other side of the room were Ara Kuzar, a bright blue shawl around her shoulders, and Jorek. He had let a full beard grow in on his face, patchy in places, and he wore armor with the seal of Noavek under his shoulder. He looked worn, but he still gave Akos a smile when he walked in.

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Kuzar--no flour," Akos said to Ara. "No news from Ogra, either. I think the Noavek propaganda machine is going strong."

  "This affectation of calling me 'Mrs. Kuzar' was cute at first," Ara said wryly. "But it's getting downright alarming. Sit. You need to eat something."

  "Sorry," he mumbled, sitting across from Jorek. He pulled the scarf down around his neck, and ran a hand over his shorn hair, still surprised at how short it was. It was prickly in the back. "How's the manor?"

  "Boring," Jorek said. "I saw the side of Lazmet's head today. Most of the upper-level guards are stationed near Ryzek's secure rooms--you know, the ones Cyra's blood couldn't get us into. But he walked through the back door today."

  Akos logged that information away, along with everything else he'd heard about Lazmet since getting to Voa, which wasn't much. He was a myth in people's minds more than a man, so what they knew sounded like legends and folk tales instead of facts.

  "At least I don't have to fight in Thuvhe or anything," Jorek said. "Not that I would. That attack was . . ." He shook his head. "Sorry. Don't mean to bring it up."

  Akos tucked a hand into his pocket and took out a strip of dried hushflower petal. He was chewing them more than he should these days. He would run out soon. But the tension in his jaw and shoulders was giving him headaches, and he needed to be able to think, if he wanted to face what was next.

  He was here, in Voa, to kill Lazmet Noavek. And it wouldn't be easy.

  "There's something I need to talk to you about," Akos said.

  "I was wondering when you'd get to the point," Jorek said.

  Ara set a plate down in front of Akos. There wasn't much on it--a roll, probably a little stale by now, some dried meat, some pickled saltfruit. She brushed the crumbs off her fingers and sat down next to her son.

  "What Jorek means is, we like having you here, but we know you don't do things without a good reason," Ara said, flicking the side of her son's nose to chastise him. "And crossing the galaxy is no small thing."r />
  Jorek rubbed his nose.

  "Not everyone can wait things out on Ogra. Some of us have to get our hands dirty," Akos said.

  "But those who can stay safe, should," Ara said.

  Akos shook his head. "I had to get my hands dirty, too. Call it . . . fate."

  "I call it a choice," Jorek said. "And a dumb one."

  "Like leaving your girlfriend--and your mother and brother--without a word of explanation," Ara said, and she clicked her tongue.

  "My mother and brother don't need me to leave word to know where I am. And this is how things are between Cyra and me," Akos said, defensive. "She plotted for weeks to send me away without telling me about it. How is this different?"

  "It is not particularly different," Ara said. "But that doesn't make it right, either time."

  "Don't scold him, Mom," Jorek said. "He was basically born scolding himself."

  "Scold me all you like," Akos said. "Especially because I'm about to ask for something you won't like."

  Jorek's arm snaked across the table, and he stole some meat from Akos's plate.

  "I want you to let me into the back gate of Noavek manor," Akos said.

  Jorek choked on the meat he was now chewing, prompting Ara to thump him on the back with her fist.

  "What are you going to do once you're inside?" Ara said, narrowing her eyes.

  "It's better if you don't know," Akos said.

  "Akos. Trust me. Even you, pupil of Cyra Noavek, are out of your depth with Lazmet," Jorek said, after he had swallowed his bite. "There isn't a single shred of decency in him. I don't think he even has the capacity for it. If he finds you, he'll turn you into a goddamn stew."

  "He won't kill me," Akos said.

  "Why, because of your stunning good looks?" Jorek snorted.

  "Because I'm his son," Akos said.

  Ara and Jorek stared at him in silence.

  Akos pushed his plate across the table, toward Jorek.

  "Want my roll?" he said.

  CHAPTER 34: AKOS

  AKOS RID HIMSELF OF the heavy robe he had worn to get there, tossing it in an alley. It would only slow him down past this point, and he was cloaked by night, anyway.

  He kept his footsteps as quiet as he could as he crept along the high wall behind Noavek manor. He still remembered staring out at this wall when he was a prisoner, teaching Cyra to make painkillers. It had been his way out: Go through the hidden hallways. Get to Eijeh. Leave through the back gate, using the code Cyra had showed him without meaning to.