The Fates Divide

by Veronica Roth

  I laughed a little.

  It took me a few moments to realize the source of my sudden relief: my currentshadows, which had burrowed under my skin again when we landed on Ogra, now coasted on top of it. Their ache and sting were still present, but so diminished that I was nearly giddy with it. To one who is in pain all the time, even minor differences can be miracles, of a sort.

  "We just got pinged by an Assembly patrol," Yssa announced.

  Teka and I exchanged an alarmed look.

  "They say they have an old warrant on a craft matching this description," Yssa said, reading from the nav screen.

  "Warrant for what? Being Shotet?" Ettrek asked.

  "Could be for drugging and spacing Isae Benesit when we didn't want to go with her to Assembly Headquarters," Teka suggested.

  "You did what to Isae Benesit?" Yssa said.

  "She had just murdered my brother in the hold, what else was I supposed to do?" I said.

  "Oh, I don't know . . . give her a medal!" Ettrek said, waving his arms.

  I glanced at Eijeh. He was eyeing Ettrek like he was about to reach out and smack him.

  It was getting easier to think of Eijeh as two people in one body--or one new, blended person--since I saw so much of my brother, yet so little of him at once. It was Ryzek's pride that made him chafe against Ettrek cheering his murder, but it was Eijeh's passivity that tempered his reaction. They had, together, become something . . . else. New, but not necessarily better.

  Time would tell.

  "Tell them the Ograns lent us this craft and we don't know about the original crew," Teka said to Yssa. "Should be convincing if you record your image on the sights. You don't sound Shotet at all."

  "Okay," Yssa said. "The rest of you get out of range."

  We stood back while Yssa activated the sights in the nav screen to record her message, in fitful Othyrian. She was a talented liar, for an Ogran.

  It would take days to get from Ogra to Urek. I spent most of my time leaning over the table in the galley, drawing a map of Noavek manor, floor by floor. I went through the servants' passages in my memory, again and again, feeling in the dark for notches and circles and false panels. I told myself it would be useful for the mission ahead of us, as well as a good way to avoid Sifa, but those weren't the only reasons I did it. I felt like re-creating the place on paper was a way of purging myself of it, room by room. When I was done with this, that place would no longer exist to me.

  At least, that was the theory.

  When I was finished, I ordered Eijeh--I had taken to referring to him by that name, because that was the body he was in, and he hadn't yet objected--into the galley. The others had been confused by my inclusion of Eijeh in our little group, but I just told them I wanted to bring the oracles along, and no one asked any further questions.

  He stepped into the room with a wariness to his expression that made me think, unexpectedly, of Akos. Ignoring the sharp feeling that brought to my throat, I pointed at the drawings of Noavek manor, labeled by floor in my jagged, unsteady handwriting.

  "I want you to check these for accuracy," I said. "It's difficult to re-create a place from memory."

  "Maybe you want to spend your days wading through memories of Noavek manor," Eijeh said, sounding more like Ryzek in that moment, "but we do not."

  "I do not give a shit what you want," I snapped. "This is the problem you have, the problem you've always had. You think you have hurt worse than anyone else in the galaxy. Well, no one cares about your story of woe! There is a war going on. Now check! The damn! Drawings!"

  He stared at me for a few moments, then stepped toward the table and bent over the drawings. He surveyed the first one briefly, then reached for the pen I had left at the edge of the table, and started redrawing the lines around the trophy room.

  "I don't know Lazmet nearly as well as you do," I said, when I had calmed somewhat. "Is there anything you can recall about him that might help us get to him? Strange habits, particular proclivities . . . ?"

  Eijeh was silent for a while, stepping to the right to look at the next drawing. I wondered if I would have to bully him into answering my question the way I had bullied him into checking my maps, but then he spoke.

  "He reads mostly history," he said, in a strange, soft voice I had not heard from him before. "He's obsessed with texture--all his rugs and clothes have to be soft. I heard him scolding one of the staff for starching his shirts too much once. She made them too stiff." He gulped, and scratched out one of the doorways I had marked, drawing it on the other side of a bedroom. "And he loves fruit. He used to have one of his transports smuggle in a particular variety from Trella--altos arva. It's often boiled down and used in smaller quantities as a sweetener, because most people can't handle how sweet it is raw. The rest of this looks fine."

  He set the pen down, and straightened.

  "You know you're only going to get one chance at him, right?" Eijeh said. "Because once he knows you're there--once he knows what you're trying to do--"

  "He'll control me with his currentgift," I said. "I know."

  Eijeh nodded. "Am I allowed to leave now, or are you going to threaten me with death again?"

  I flapped my hand at the door. A plan was beginning to come together in my mind. I leaned back against the counter and stared at the drawings, hoping for inspiration.

  We had to wait to get in touch with Jorek until we were in receiving range of Thuvhe, which was four days into the journey.

  By the time we reached it, I was tired of the smell of the recycled water--chemical, from the purification process--and the canned food we had been reheating on the galley's little stove, and the itchy fabric that covered my sleep pallet. I was also tired of the memories I had here, of lying clutched together with Akos on blankets, and bumping hands at the galley counter as we both reached for bowls, and trading sly looks over Teka's head whenever she stood between us.

  It was the first time I had considered--and only for a moment--that the destruction of the sojourn ship might have had a positive side. At least I wouldn't be able to return to my memories of him there.

  I felt sick at even the momentary deviation in my thoughts. There was nothing positive about the obliteration of my home, and the loss of life that had accompanied it. I was just going mad, trapped in this ship.

  I was combing through my wet hair with my fingers when I heard thundering footsteps down the hall outside, and stuck my head out of the bathroom to see who it was. Teka was tripping toward me, barefoot and paler than usual.

  "What?" I said.

  "Jorek," she said. "Jorek's been arrested."

  "How?" I said. "Wasn't he working as a guard at the manor? He's a Kuzar!"

  "I talked to his mother." Teka came into the bathroom and started pacing, heedless of the puddles of water I had left while drying off. She left small footprints in her wake. "Ara said last week, they were contacted by Akos."

  I felt his name as a kick to the stomach.

  "What?" I said. Akos was in Thuvhe. Akos was at home, outside of Hessa, pretending the war didn't exist. He was--

  "He persuaded Jorek to let him into Noavek manor. Jorek didn't want to, but he owed Akos a favor." Teka paced even faster.

  "And what did he intend to do in Noavek manor?" I demanded. "Does she know?"

  "She suspects the obvious," Teka said. "That he went to do the same thing we're about to do."

  I stepped back. Leaned against the wall.

  I hated this. The moment the anger squirmed away. It was easier to boil with rage that Akos had abandoned me without a word, easier to let that act confirm what I suspected about myself, that no one could stand me for long. But knowing that he had left me like that for a reason . . .

  Teka went on: "A week after Akos got to the manor, Jorek was arrested. Ara thinks--"

  "Akos wouldn't have given Jorek's name," I said distantly, shaking my head. "Something must have happened."

  "Everyone has a limit," Teka said. "It doesn't mean Akos meant
to--"

  "No," I said. "You don't know him like I do. He just--wouldn't."

  "Fine, whatever," Teka said, throwing up her hands. "But Jorek is probably going to be executed, because you and I both know Lazmet Noavek doesn't just have people arrested and let them go!"

  "I know, I know." I shook my head. The thought of Akos in Noavek manor again made me feel like screaming. He couldn't be there.

  "Does she know if Akos is dead?" I asked quietly.

  "One of her sources says no," Teka said. "Says he's being kept prisoner, but nobody knows why--what good can he do Lazmet?"

  It was a measure of exactly how much I feared my father that I didn't feel much relief. Lazmet's reasons for wanting people alive were worse than his reasons for wanting them dead. I had watched the work he did on my brother, the slow work of destroying and rebuilding him. The way he ensured his own future, his own legacy, by constructing his son in his own image. Now that Ryzek was gone, would he do the same to Akos?

  How much harm had he already done?

  "I don't know," I said. "But whatever it is, it's not good."

  Teka stopped pacing.

  We stood facing each other, the almost certain loss of two friends between us.

  I expected to feel the acute pain of grief, but there was nothing. The black hole in my chest had devoured every last feeling in my body, leaving me empty, just a sack of skin held up by bone and muscle.

  "Well," Teka said. "Let's go kill your dad, then."

  CHAPTER 45: CYRA

  FROM THE MOMENT UREK entered our view, a globe of swirling white, I felt like a countdown began. We had three days. Three days to finish planning an assassination and carry it out. Three days to end this war before it destroyed Thuvhe and Shotet both.

  I had never seen the skies above Voa so empty. In the distance there was a government patrol vessel, painted with the seal of the family Noavek. It was one of the newer ones, all diagonal lines, like it was perpetually diving. It gleamed in the hazy light of day.

  It was the only ship in sight.

  "Don't worry," Teka said, likely noticing that the rest of us had gone silent. "We're cloaked. We look like a patrol ship to them."

  At that very moment, a red light flashed on the nav panel. Yssa looked back at Teka with eyebrows raised. It was a call, probably from the patrol vessel.

  "Patch them through," Teka said, unbuckling herself and moving to stand at Yssa's shoulder.

  "This is patrol ship XA774. Please identify yourself."

  "Patrol ship XA993. What are you doing afloat, XA774?" Teka said, without faltering for even a moment. "I don't see you listed on the updated schedule."

  She was pantomiming for Yssa, pointing out the spot where Ettrek's people had told us to land, urging her to move fast.

  "At what time was your schedule issued, 993?"

  "1440," Teka replied.

  "You're out of date. This one was issued at 1500 hours."

  "Ah," Teka said. "Our mistake. We'll make our way back to our docking station."

  She slapped a hand over the switch to turn off our communicator. "Go!"

  Yssa pressed hard on the accelerator with the heel of her hand, and we zoomed toward the landing spot. Teka was nearly knocked off her feet by the sudden movement, so she clung to the back of Yssa's chair as we lost altitude. Yssa lowered the ship to the patch of empty rooftop on the outer rim of Voa that Ettrek's contacts had indicated.

  "Is there really a patrol ship XA993?" I asked.

  Teka grinned. "No. They only go up to 950."

  Right after we touched down, before Yssa could even turn off the engine, a group of people rushed toward the ship, carrying a huge stretch of fabric between them. I watched through the nav window as they threw the fabric over the ship, drawing it taut with long cords. As the hatch opened behind me, they completely covered the nav window.

  Ettrek deboarded first, greeting a man with black hair long enough to brush his shoulders with a clasped hand. When I moved closer, I realized they had to be brothers, maybe even twins.

  "Wow, you weren't kidding," the brother said. "Cyra fucking Noavek is with you."

  "How did you know my middle name?" I said.

  He smiled, and offered me a hand. "My name is Zyt. Short for something so long I don't even remember it myself. I'm Ettrek's older brother."

  "You probably don't want to shake my hand," I said. "You're welcome to shake Teka's twice, though."

  "Don't volunteer me for extra handshakes," Teka said. "Hi. Teka Surukta."

  "Here are some oracles," I said, gesturing behind me to Eijeh and Sifa. Zyt raised his eyebrows.

  We did the rest of the introductions under the cover of the cloth they had thrown on top of our ship, which looked sturdy and likely served as good camouflage. Then Zyt led us to the rooftop access door, and down several flights of stairs. The stairwell had no windows, and smelled like garbage, but I was glad it gave us shelter.

  I moved away from my brother--and I wasn't even sure which of them I meant--to skip ahead a few steps.

  "What's it like out there?" I asked Zyt, falling into step beside him.

  "Well, at first there was a lot of looting," Zyt said. A lock of hair fell against his cheek. "Good for business. But then Lazmet took power, and that pretty much scared sense into everyone. He imposed a curfew, started rounding people up and arresting them, stuff like that. Bad for business."

  "What business are you in, exactly?" I said.

  "Smuggling," Zyt said. His eyelids fell heavy over his eyes, narrowing them somewhat, and he had a mouth given to smiles. He gave me one then. "Mostly medicine, but we smuggle whatever's lucrative--supplies, weapons, whatever."

  "Ever smuggle fruit?" I said.

  "Fruit?" Zyt raised his eyebrows.

  "Yeah, I need to get my hands on some altos arva. It's Trellan," I said. "And since imports from Trella are illegal . . ."

  "Smuggling is the only option. I see." Zyt tapped his chin with a finger. There was a bruise under his nail. "I'll find out."

  If we had altos arva, we could use it to get into Noavek manor undetected, pretending that Lazmet's customary shipment of it had arrived early. The guards likely wouldn't dare to risk Lazmet not getting what he wanted. They would let us right in.

  "Hey," Zyt said, "you should probably cover up your head. That silverskin's . . . conspicuous."

  "Right."

  I had been prepared to obscure my face once we arrived in Voa, so I wore a long black coat with a hood. It was made of a light, tough material called marshite, imported, like most waterproof fabrics, from Pitha. I put the hood up, and Zyt opened the door at the bottom of the stairs to the bright light of day.

  The wind made the folds of my coat snap and billow as I walked. The streets of Voa were emptier than I had ever seen them before, full of scurrying men and women folded inward, eyes down. It had never been easier to disappear among them.

  "It's not far," he said. "Are all your people keeping step?"

  I looked over my shoulder. Everyone had their hoods up, so it was difficult to tell who was a smuggler and who wasn't. I counted a bright streak of hair--Teka--and the bump of a knot atop a head--Ettrek--the bridge of a freckled nose--Yssa--and a loping gait--Sifa--and turned back.

  "Looks like it," I said.

  Zyt led us down two streets before approaching a small, ramshackle apartment building. A light above us flickered as he turned the key in the lock. The apartment beyond--on the ground level--was cramped and messy. There were tables and cabinets and chairs leaned up against the walls in the hallway.

  I stood aside as the others filed in, counting Teka, Ettrek, and Yssa before I realized I had forgotten to check for Eijeh. Just as I felt the beginnings of panic, I saw him jogging toward the door.

  "What kept you?" I snapped.

  "Untied shoe," he said.

  "You know that you can just walk with an untied shoe for a street or two, right? It's not actually life-threatening."

  Eijeh just rolled h
is eyes, and closed the door behind him.

  The apartment wasn't much. One room served as living room, dining room, and bedroom, the floor spread with slim mattresses, one of which had a hole with stuffing coming out of it. There was a bathroom, but the shower was just a pipe protruding from the ceiling, and there was no sink. Still, Zyt was heating water for tea when I went into the kitchen.

  "We'll rest here tonight," Zyt said when I poked my head in.

  "Need help?" I said.

  "Not unless you're skilled in the dangerous art of chopping hushflower."

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  "Oh really? Full of surprises, you are. Come chop it, then."

  It was crowded, with two people in the kitchen, but I took a place at the cutting board, and he stood at the stove. He handed me the fresh hushflower--contained in a jar--and the gloves I would need to prepare them without poisoning myself, and pointed me toward the knife drawer.

  I set the hushflower on the cutting board, upside down, and pressed the flat of my knife to the place where the petals joined to split them apart. Then I sliced the dark red streak down the center of one of the petals, and it lay flat, as if by magic.

  "Nice," Zyt said. "How did you learn?"

  I paused. I was tempted to call Akos a friend, but it seemed too simple for what he had been to me, too small a word.

  "Ah. Forget I asked," Zyt said, and he reached for a jar of something else, high up on the slanted shelves.

  "Is this your place?" I asked. "Or someone else's?"

  "It was my mother's, before she died. Chills and spills took her. That was before we had figured out how to smuggle medicine." Zyt bent his head over the pot of water he had set on the only burner, and tapped the jar he held to dust the water with powdered fenzu shell.

  I kept chopping the hushflower. It was my family's fault that his mother had not had access to medicine--Lazmet had begun the practice of hoarding donated medicine from Othyr, and Ryzek had only continued it. I had gotten the expensive inoculation when I was a child.

  "I was in love with him, the one who taught me how to prepare hushflower," I said. I wasn't sure why I was telling him this, except that he had shared some pain with me, and I wanted to do the same. The exchange of suffering didn't have to be even--but it was a kind of currency, his sorrow for mine. A way toward trust. "He left me. No explanation."

  Zyt made an exaggerated disgusted noise in the back of his throat, and I smiled.