by Jodi Meadows
I left the twelfth uncovered. The room stood as dim as my cell in the Pit, but when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t imagine myself back there. The Pit seemed far away, almost like a false memory. And the sounds: muted voices, thumping footsteps, the roar of thunder, and the crash of rain. It was all offensively loud.
Nor could I imagine what Aaru was doing right now. Had they moved him back to his cell yet? Were his feet healed enough to send him to the forge to work on the God Shackle? It was night, but the position of the sun meant nothing underground; perhaps he was awake right now, too, wondering about me.
Probably hating me.
I pulled back the heavy curtains and peered through the rain-drenched darkness. Below, I could just make out the glow of noorestones as the Luminary Guards patrolled the inn. Was Hristo down there? And what about Ilina? Was she here somewhere, too?
On impulse, I tested the window, but it was nailed shut. Someone had clearly believed I was brave enough to slip out and try to navigate down the steep roof.
The curtains fell closed as I backed away. Grimly, I returned to the speech and read it five more times.
If I spoke these words, like Elbena wanted, there would be consequences for thousands of strangers. If I refused, there would be consequences for my family, my friends, and four people I wanted to call friends.
With shaking hands, I covered the final noorestone over the headboard. Darkness washed across the room, but it wasn’t absolute.
The faint glow from the window.
The hints of light beneath the noorestone covers.
The dull illumination from beneath the door.
I closed my eyes against the not-darkness, feeling like I was melting into the bed. The speech swirled through my mind with its awfulness:
Seventeen years ago, the Mira Treaty took a stance against discrimination, against occupation, and against the pillaging of our islands. The treaty states that to truly honor the Fallen Gods, all islands must be equal and independent. Anything less is immoral. Unethical.
This truth is indisputable.
Since then, many strides have been taken toward making reparations, ensuring the success of Harta and her First Matriarch, and offering the freedom of choice for those who want to work and reside all across the Fallen Isles.
But in doing so, we have inadvertently disrespected the gods, and the standards of our individual islands. We must protect our cultures and societies as fiercely as we protect our people. Our history, values and ethics, accomplishments and triumphs, and divine gifts must be preserved.
Remember, our gods grant gifts to the people born of their islands—of their bodies. Those gifts become muted when we leave, and to leave forever is to forsake their gifts and graces. That is no way to give thanks. We must show our gratitude by staying loyal to our gods, and to our islands.
To that end, it is my belief that Bophans belong on Bopha, Hartans belong on Harta, and approving this decree will be the first step in restoring the balance the gods wanted for us from the beginning. We are united, and we are equal, but it is by our gods’ will that we remain separated.
There were so many problems in that speech, glossed over and hedged with pretty, reassuring statements, that even I could not count them all. I hated that someone could wrap so many lies in layers of truth.
This was how Chenda had ended up in the Pit: refusing to say something like this. And now the same choice fell on me, only I knew the terror of the Pit.
And I didn’t want to go back.
ELBENA SPENT THE next day reminding me what it was like to be the Mira Minkoba.
She came to my room two hours after dawn, leading a troupe of five maids. The women kept their eyes downcast as they laid out a breakfast of salmon and cheese quiche, fresh berries drowned in yogurt and honey, and a strong, black tea that Mother never would have let me drink for fear of staining my teeth.
“This is a traditional Bophan breakfast,” Elbena said, scooping a spoonful of yogurt. Behind her, the maids glanced at one another, exchanging looks I couldn’t fully decipher—but I knew they weren’t positive.
As the maids moved around my room, drawing a bath and laying out my cosmetics, I thought about the speech and how it would affect life on Bopha. I wished I could ask, but with Elbena here, I didn’t dare.
Throughout breakfast, Elbena went through the latest fashions and gossip from the different Isles, as though I’d been away a year, not a month.
“What about Chenda M’rizz?” I asked. “Will I see her tonight?”
Elbena cocked her head. “Chenda? It’s possible, I suppose. I didn’t realize you were close.”
So either Elbena didn’t know that Chenda was in the Pit, or she didn’t want me to know. It was hard to say which.
“We aren’t close,” I confirmed. “But I’ve always wanted to be.” No need to mention I’d spent thirteen nights across the hall from her. It wasn’t as if we’d actually talked.
“Well.” Elbena leaned forward. “I heard that the Dawn Lady had quite the scandalous affair. People say she and her paramour were going to run away together, but he was killed during one of the riots.”
She spoke so casually about someone dying. Had she always been so callous? Maybe I’d simply never noticed.
“From what I understand, she’s been taking some time to herself for the last couple of decans. I’d be surprised if she joined us tonight.”
Time to herself. Was that the excuse the Luminary Council had given to explain my absence? Had I been taking some time to myself with hard labor, starvation, and torture?
When breakfast was finished, it was time to prepare for my visit to the central Shadow Spire. We began with the bath. While I soaked in blissfully hot water, scented with lavender and chamomile, the maids began the process of restoring me. Two started on my callused hands and cracked nails, while the others took to washing and combing my hair. Quietly, they mused about what to do with it, because the once-soft strands had turned brittle and broken during my time in the Pit. Several pieces (too many to count) fell out, and every time, the maids tensed as though expecting a reprimand.
But when I said nothing about it—what could I say?—they moisturized with coconut oil and shea cream and strong, gentle hands. They weren’t Krasimir, but they were good, and for a few minutes, I forgot.
About the dragons.
About the speech.
About the Pit.
About the people who . . .
The day went by swiftly after that, with a pause only for a light lunch of tiny crab-cake sandwiches, soup, and honey-drizzled strawberries. Then, my hair went into a single, sweeping braid, with three gold wires in each strand to distract from all the broken ends.
“That looks wonderful.” Elbena’s hands floated around the back of my head. “Just wonderful. It’s simple, but elegant. Bophans value simple elegance. You know that, right?” She cast me a sidelong glance, urging me to join in the praise.
“Thank you,” I murmured, unable to give Elbena what she wanted, and unable to give these women what they deserved. In only a few hours, I was supposed to put my support behind a decree that would send all Hartans to another island, whether they wanted to go or not. And Elbena expected me to pretend like nothing was wrong.
How could someone who’d been raised in the light of the Lovers be so cold?
“We’re happy to do our part for the Hopebearer,” said one of the women.
My face heated. They knew who I was, but I didn’t even know their names. And with Elbena looming over me like a vulture, I didn’t dare ask.
Instead, I forced my hand steady as I applied the cosmetics, all carefully arranged just how I’d kept them at home. I erased my sleepless night, and with warm shades of powder, I softened the sharp lines of my cheekbones and darkened my eyes to appear deep and knowing.
If only I could look the part, perhaps I could persuade people to the truth. But what was the truth? I used to believe I knew all there was to understand about the world, but if
the last two months had taught me anything, it was this: for the rest of my life, I would question everything.
Then, I could delay no longer. The sun edged westward and it was a good drive from my inn to the central spire, with checkpoints along the way.
“They can’t be too careful these days,” Elbena said as she and a squad of seven Luminary Guards escorted me downstairs and out of the inn, where the white-and-copper carriage waited for us.
The front garden was huge and green, with trimmed hedges and climbing vines that flowered on the fence of gorgeously wrought iron. The gate stood closed, as if the owners expected attack at any moment. As if they had anything to fear from the restaurants and shops nearby. The people strolling along the cobblestone street wore fine white silks and tall boots as they stepped around puddles from last night’s storm.
The carriage door swung open, and Dara Soun, the lady president of the Twilight Senate, unfolded herself from the interior.
Elbena leaned toward me and murmured, “Remember to watch what you say.”
“I’ll be good.” It wasn’t as though Dara was going to help me escape. She’d been the lady president since before I was born and if she’d bothered to help Chenda, it clearly hadn’t worked. Dara Soun was no ally of mine.
“Elbena! Mira! Welcome.” Dara’s voice was huskier than I remembered, and her face bore more lines around her eyes and mouth; even the copper tattoos that crawled up her neck had started to sag and wrinkle. She smiled, but it looked forced and uncomfortable.
“Thank you for welcoming us to your island.” Elbena bowed deeply. I followed a moment later.
“Always a pleasure. It’s not every year we have such esteemed company to welcome the Twilight Senate back after the Hallowed Restoration.” Dara returned the gesture and ushered us into the carriage. “If you’re ready to go . . .”
I waited while a Luminary Guard made a show of not appearing as though he was searching the carriage for danger as he offered a hand to help me step inside.
That was something I’d always hated: we acted as though we trusted our neighbors, even as we expected them to betray us.
The Luminary Guard was Hristo, though, so when I took his hand to climb into the carriage, I never wanted to let go.
But I did let go.
Right away.
Because if I’d held on even a moment too long, Elbena would have noticed. The thought of her realizing Hristo wasn’t really a Luminary Guard and punishing him—that was more than I could stand.
I slid to the far side of the carriage and straightened my gown. The long skirt and train had been bleached into a silvery white, but the bust was all gold brocade, filled with tiny draconic details. A matching sash circled my ribs, creating a high waist that disguised my gaunt form. I’d worn this to a charity ball just six months ago and received twenty-seven compliments on it. When I’d seen my seamstress again, I had repeated every kind thing people had said about her creation, word for word. She’d been so happy she cried.
The gown was loose now, though my muscles beneath the silk were harder. Still, it felt amazing to wear something so luxurious. Even after everything had been stripped away in the Pit and I’d learned to live with less, I still wanted this: my personal guard, meals cooked by renowned chefs, and things that made me feel pretty.
Maybe that was silly.
“Will Councilor Bilyana be joining us tonight?” I asked as Elbena slid into the seat next to me.
“Of course. You can see her later, if you want.”
“Of course,” I said, mimicking Elbena’s tone. “I can’t wait.”
She shot a warning look at me.
Soon, Dara, Hristo (in disguise), and one of Dara’s men joined us in the carriage. It was a close fit. As we eased into motion, only to stop and wait for the gate to open, and then start again down the street, Elbena kept patting my hand where it rested on my knee. But rather than glare at her as she intruded on my space, I turned my attention to the bright city outside.
People walked down the road as though nothing horrible was happening anywhere. As though dragons weren’t being seized and neglected and killed. As though earthquakes weren’t destroying families. As though—somewhere on another island, hidden beneath the ground—people weren’t kept in small cages with their own filth, rewarded with rancid food for good behavior.
I tried not to imagine going back to that. To chapped hands, to pitch-black nights, to the weeping of my neighbors. To Altan.
I shook away those thoughts and focused on the Shadowed City. I needed to be alert.
Streetlights stood sentinel every five paces: noorestones placed in high steel cages, the crystals arranged so that the ground beneath them would never be dark.
“What are you looking at?” Dara watched me as I peered at the outside world.
“You have so many streetlights here.” I’d counted twenty-one already, and we hadn’t left the block where my inn was located.
“Bophans don’t like the dark,” she said. “You might have noticed.”
“That’s always seemed odd to me. You worship the Shadow Goddess.” I wanted to suck the words back in—Elbena was frowning—but Dara just waved away my gaffe, as though it had never happened.
“There are no shadows without light, Mira. And where there is light, there are always shadows.” She spoke the words as though imparting some great knowledge or understanding of the universe upon me. “In Bopha, our worship is twofold: the shadow, and the light that makes the shadow possible. To expect one without the other is”—she paused, as though trying to figure out how to explain this to an outsider—“the same as expecting a shout to have no sound.”
I thought I understood. “It wouldn’t be right to worship only shadows without also loving the thing that makes shadows possible?”
Dara smiled warmly. “That’s correct.”
“You said the worship was twofold, though. Light and shadow, but something has to block the light to make the shadow. Do you worship that, too? What makes shadows?”
The lady president leaned forward, her neck tattoos twitching as she drew a breath. “We do, Mira. We block the light to make shadows. That is human nature.”
The carriage turned a sharp corner, and when we straightened, the Shadow Spires rose ahead, filling the sky with their enormity.
“You can see,” Dara said, “why these recent arson attacks have been so horrific.”
“Lighting people on fire is always horrific.”
“Of course.” She said it like she was agreeing so we didn’t argue. Like lighting people on fire was somehow worse here. “It destroys a person’s shadow. A terrible fate anywhere.”
I searched my mind for their afterlife beliefs. Daminan people were united with their soul mates for eternity. Khulani warriors were taken to fight in a great battle. Hartans were given endless, loving families. Bophans . . .
“Only our shadows move on,” Dara said. “I could see you trying to remember.”
I blushed. “Forgive me. It’s been some time since my studies covered other beliefs.”
“Worry not.” She leaned back in her seat. “Bopha takes our shadows and adds them to her own. But without, we cannot join her in eternity. That’s why the fire killings are even more abhorrent to us. A person cannot cast a shadow when the light is coming from them.”
“What happens if they die without a shadow?”
Dara bowed her head. “Nothing happens, dear Mira. Nothing at all. They simply end.”
I shuddered. The thought of nothing happening after death was enough to haunt me for days. I changed the subject. “What do you think will be served at dinner tonight?”
That was an easy question. Dara had chosen the menu. While she described all seven courses, I divided my attention between that and the window. But mostly, I wished I were sitting next to Hristo. If I could even meet his eyes, that would be something, but he sat on the other side of Elbena, and everyone would know something was wrong if I leaned forward to look around her
.
If Hristo had known the quiet code, I could tap a message. I could say hello. I could say I missed him.
The carriage stopped at three points on the drive, and every time a police officer opened the door, peered around the interior, and asked to see Dara’s papers. “Thank you, Lady President Soun.”
“They know who you are,” I said the last time, as we drew closer to the spires. “Why do they need to see the papers?”
“I may be the leader of the Bophan people, but I am still a person like anyone else. If I insist on checkpoints to ensure the safety of tonight’s dinner, I must submit to the inspections as well.”
If only she felt so passionately about the equality of Hartans.
A wide band of park ground ringed the Shadow Spires. Broad-leafed trees grew at regular intervals. Benches (I counted five) and tables (two within sight) had been sprinkled across the grass. All were painted bright white, and already glowed under the streetlights.
The spires themselves were something else entirely.
From the docks, I’d thought the buildings were marble and copper, but that had been under the afternoon light. Now, as we passed between two of the towers, I noticed the noorestones embedded right into the walls. They’d been placed next to the veins of copper that swirled over the exteriors, like the tattoos that covered Dara’s throat, or Chenda’s face.
When the carriage stopped and we were released, I dropped back my head to find that the bright noorestones climbed up the towers all the way to the top of every spire.
Three footsteps thumped behind me. I held my breath, hoping it was Hristo, but the sound was too noisy to be him; Hristo moved like a ghost when he wanted. And he wouldn’t risk his cover.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Elbena stood next to me and lowered her voice. “Doesn’t it make you wish you could see beautiful things like this all the time?”
I kept my voice equally soft, under the gentle cacophony of a stream of people on their way to the wide-mouthed doors of the central spire. “Of course.”
