“She’ll be here,” Ranami said. Or at least she hoped Phalue would be. They’d had another fight. It seemed to be something they did often nowadays. The first weeks of their courtship had been infused throughout with a golden haze, everything brighter and better. But then Phalue would say something or do something that reminded Ranami of the vast differences between them. Phalue might be beloved because of her common mother, but she lived in a palace. She ate when she was hungry, she slept when she was tired and she wore her simple clothes not because they were all she had but because she disdained the silken ones. Phalue had a wealth of choices.
Ranami had not had the same.
“We had a fight,” Ranami admitted to Gio. “But she has always come back.” Phalue’s temper often sent her careening from Ranami’s home, a whirlwind of biting words and slammed doors. Ranami loved how passionate Phalue was, though it made her seem a little foolish at times. Because she’d always return, usually a few minutes later, with sweet apologies and a yearning to start over.
So Ranami was sure, when she’d contacted the rebellion for this false kidnapping, that Phalue would arrive at the Alanga ruins, storming in like a typhoon that very same night. Instead, they’d all slept here, morning fog leaving dewdrops on their eyelashes.
“Perhaps this is the time she does not come back,” Gio said. He scratched at his stubble and then laid his hands on the sword in his lap. “Phalue has always cast off lovers the way an unlucky fisherman throws back fish that are too small.”
Ranami knew she was not a small fish, not to Phalue. She knew it surely as she knew all the back alleys of the city. “It’s been three years,” she said. “What fisherman holds on to a fish that long that he does not intend to keep?”
Gio shrugged, acquiescing. “That may be. But she is not here.”
“Keep your men and women at the ready,” Ranami said. “When she arrives, she’s like to knock a few heads on her way in.”
This wasn’t ideal, but every other tactic she’d tried had fallen on deaf ears. How else could she get Phalue to listen? The island was fractured, its people at cross purposes. The only one who could heal such a wound would be the governor. Ranami couldn’t just tell Phalue all the policies that needed to be implemented. Phalue needed to understand the reasoning behind them.
It was a tall order, Ranami thought miserably. She hadn’t asked Phalue to change when she’d turned her down. Phalue had come to it herself without any of Ranami’s help. Like so many street urchins, Ranami had long admired the governor’s daughter from afar, dreaming of finding Phalue’s favor, of climbing out of the gutters and into a palace.
But dreams had a way of only making sense while you were having them.
Something rustled outside. Ranami straightened. “I think that’s—”
It was all she had time to say before she heard a cry from outside, a thud, the sound of steel against steel. She looked to Gio, who gave her a nod.
Phalue knew how to make an entrance at least. Stupid, reckless Phalue, whom Ranami loved beyond all reason. She leapt from her bamboo chair and ran toward the doorway. The walls of the ruins were covered in moss and vines, but the main walls still stood. It must have been a beautiful sight in its prime. There were still pieces of carved plaster littering the ground. As soon as she reached the outer door, she saw Phalue. Even now, her heart jumped; her stomach swooped – as though she were leaping from a cliff and into the Endless Sea. Phalue stood over an unconscious rebel, her expression thunderous, her jaw so tight Ranami was sure her teeth must be hurting. There was no soft beauty to Phalue’s face, no gently curving brows or generous lips. Her cheeks looked carved of jagged coral, her nose a piece that had not been smoothed away. Black, thick brows were like slashes across her forehead. Hers was the beauty of ospreys, of sea serpents, of a wave crashing against rocks.
It was a wonder Ranami had been able to turn her away at all.
“Phalue!” she called out.
When their eyes met, Ranami remembered: they had fought. “I’m safe,” she said. “No one’s harmed me.”
Phalue apparently had not remembered their fight because she sheathed her sword in one smooth movement, took two steps forward and buried her hands in Ranami’s hair. Their foreheads pressed together, and Ranami felt Phalue’s fingers tremble. “I was afraid,” Phalue choked out. “I thought—I should have known someone might want to hurt you. What do they want? Money?”
Phalue kissed her, and Ranami forgot where she was in the softness of her lover’s lips.
“It doesn’t matter,” Phalue said when they broke apart. “We can go now. The guards are unconscious.”
Ranami peered around her. “You didn’t hurt them, did you?”
Phalue gave her an odd look. “Oh, they’ll hurt when they wake up, but what does it matter? I’ve never killed anyone before; I wasn’t about to start now.” She let out a shaky laugh. “Can you imagine what my father would say? Killing is not the purview of governors, or something like.” Her gaze went beyond Ranami’s brow and she stiffened.
Ranami whirled to see Gio.
Right. The entire reason she was here in the first place. “Phalue,” she said, putting a hand to her sword arm before she could draw it again. She knew her too well. “I want you to meet Gio. He has some things he wants to say to you.”
Phalue’s gaze slid back to hers. “Was he held here with you?”
And here was the part she’d been dreading, the reason she’d halfway hoped that Phalue would not come. “Not exactly,” Ranami said. “I came of my own free will.”
“You . . . what?” Phalue seemed more surprised than angry. And then she peered more closely at Gio, running her gaze over his close-cropped hair, the scarred eye, the sword at his hip. She looked to Ranami in disbelief, and then back at Gio again. “Ranami, that’s the leader of the Shardless. My father wants to kill him. The Emperor wants to kill him. He and his people have been causing innumerable problems for the Empire. Did you know they toppled the governor on Khalute? It’s a small isle, but sooner or later the Emperor will send his soldiers and his constructs.”
“I know,” Ranami said, lifting her hands, trying to forestall Phalue’s anger. “Some of the rebels are here for a very specific reason – but I found out they were here and I got in touch with them.” It had taken more than just a little work to do so. They weren’t exactly known for being friendly and open with outsiders. But she’d read Caleen’s Treatises on Fiscal Equality, and quoting it had apparently impressed the Shardless enough to get her a contact. Arranging this false kidnapping had taken even more convincing. At first they’d hoped she would turn against Phalue, work with them while undermining the governor’s rule. But she’d refused. There had to be another way, one that involved installing Phalue as governor.
Phalue’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a price on his head. I should report this.”
Ranami saw, out of the corner of her eye, Gio straightening, his arm moving to his sword.
“Phalue,” Ranami said, her voice gentle, “who will you report to?”
Phalue’s expression flitted from determination, to confusion, to dismay. Ranami knew her thoughts – they’d shared their worlds with one another, their hopes and disappointments. The only person Phalue could report this to was her father, and he’d use the reward money to throw another lavish party or to build another addition that his palace didn’t need. Her lips pressed together. “I could find a spy construct to report to. The money doesn’t matter as much as the Empire’s safety.”
“Just listen to what he has to say. Please.” Ranami took Phalue’s hands in her own, running her fingers over the calluses.
“We could both be hanged just for talking to him,” Phalue said, her gaze still on Gio. “Whatever he has to say, it’s not worth your life.”
Ranami squeezed her palms. “Remember what you said to me when we fought? You said that you couldn’t change the way you’d been raised, that you felt like I was looking down on you for not being bor
n on the street. I know you’ve worked hard. I’m not asking you to change your past. I’m asking you to consider your future, and the choices you have ahead of you.”
“Choices not everyone else has,” Gio said. He’d relaxed again, his voice taking on a somber, oratory tone. “I won’t mince words with you – we need your help. The caro nuts the farmers grow here are all sent to the heart of the Empire for sale, where they fetch the best prices. The farmers themselves cannot afford to purchase any. The oil in these nuts is an effective cure for the bog cough, and we are entering another wet season. The children of these farmers have already begun to die.”
At least Phalue hadn’t tried to kill him, or stomped away. But she lifted her shoulders and sighed. “I have an allowance. I can purchase some caro nuts to give to the farmers.”
It was a kind gesture. And Phalue was full of kind gestures. It was part of what Ranami loved about her. But that would only help a few farmers; it wouldn’t solve the problem. Phalue had never felt that itch in the back of her throat, the aches in her body from long work that couldn’t better her status, the helplessness of watching loved ones suffer.
Gio looked her in the eye. “That won’t be enough. I want you to help us steal some of the caro nut shipment and let the farmers have them.”
Phalue scoffed. “You’re mad.”
Gio shrugged. “I’ve never claimed otherwise. I’m not a baker or a net-mender. No empire lasts for ever, and I think this one has been overripe for a long, long time.” He began to tick off fingers. “The Emperor is old, and few people have seen this daughter of his – not since she was a baby. He’s shut himself away, and rumor has it he’s pursuing experiments with the bone shards he’s collected. He says we need to keep contributing bone shards to power the constructs, because the Alanga might someday return. It’s been hundreds of years. If it weren’t for the ruins and the odd artifact, I’d hesitate to believe they ever existed. They are not coming back. The Emperor’s sworn duty – to protect us from their magic with his own – is looking more and more like we’ve set an old dog to guard a pair of unworn slippers.
“The premise of the Empire? The very things it was built upon? They don’t exist anymore. But still everything goes to the heart of the Empire to be picked through before the scraps are returned to us. We are tired of picking through scraps, Phalue. We want to build something new. Think of it: a stop to the Tithing Festivals. Wealth distributed more equitably. A Council made up of representatives from each of the islands. You could be a part of this if you wanted. The people would love you more than they already do.”
It didn’t move her. Ranami had tried such speeches on her, and Phalue had only repeated her father’s talking points. Everyone had a job to do in the Empire. Those that worked hard were rewarded. She gave examples of those who had lifted themselves from poverty. And yes, a few had, while the rest reached and scraped and hoped. It was like explaining the concept of a tree to a giant squid.
“You want to help the farmers? Help them meet their quotas.”
“They can’t always do so,” Gio said.
“Some of them do,” Phalue said. “If they do, why can’t the rest?”
Ranami clenched her jaw. “You would place the lives of children on meeting quotas?”
Phalue pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know it’s not about that.” She looked to Ranami. “You frightened me half to death. Do you know what it’s like to wander into your lover’s home and find it overturned and her gone? I don’t want to do this anymore – these fights, these partings and then finding my way to you again. We need to find another way to make this work.”
Oh, by the depths of the Endless Sea – was she proposing again? Here, in front of the leader of the Shardless Few and the two who still lay unconscious on the floor? This would be the least romantic of all Phalue’s proposals. Ranami had told her “no”, more than once. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry her. She did, more than anything. But that was in the dream world, where there was only love and the two of them, not here, where their two worlds scraped painfully against one another. She did not want to be a governor’s wife. She couldn’t sit in that palace and live that life, knowing that she’d been raised in the gutter, that her heart would always hurt every time she saw an urchin on the street. No matter how many times she told Phalue that, she wasn’t sure how to explain what that really meant to her. “Phalue . . .” she said, and then stopped, unsure of what else to say. There was too much to feel that she couldn’t put into words. Someday, Phalue would get tired of asking. Someday, she would move on. If only she’d stop asking.
But this time, Phalue didn’t propose. “I want you to move into the palace with me. It’s been long enough. I am respectful of your wishes, and I come to the city to visit you, but you don’t need to live in a shack. And sometimes what I want has to matter too.”
Was this some strange attempt at compromise? “Are you saying you’ll help them?” Ranami asked.
Phalue shook her head, and for a moment, Ranami’s heart sank. And then she exhaled, long and slow. “This is the Shardless Few we’re talking about, Ranami. You think this is some sort of game? That you can invite them here to stay, to help the farmers, and they’ll just leave? I know you think me naive, but I’m not so naive as that.”
Gio wisely only crossed his arms and said nothing.
“I know it bothers you,” Phalue continued, “but these things are this way for a reason. The farmers receive land from my father; they owe him their fealty. Yes, I think the way he spends the money is stupid, but it is still his right to send the caro nuts to the wealthier islands, where he can fetch the best price for them. He still pays the farmers their fair share. He keeps order and peace, and that deserves payment.”
Ranami gritted her teeth. Again, this old argument. They could go around in circles like this for hours. If even the leader of the Shardless couldn’t move Phalue, what hope had she? “I don’t know how to make you understand,” she said. Her eyes felt hot, and to her embarrassment, tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d done everything she could to bridge this gap between them. It felt like an ending, one she didn’t quite know how to swallow.
Phalue took her hands in her own. “You went to a lot of trouble and have put us both in danger. And Ranami – I would break mountains for you. This is certainly the strangest thing you’ve ever done, and the most idiotic, but if it means that much to you, then fine. It’s not as though my father will miss a little extra money. Just this once though.” She brushed the tears from Ranami’s cheeks with her thumbs, then kissed the tracks they’d left. “No more of their children will die from bog cough – not this season. And you –” Phalue turned her attention to Gio. “I’m sending a message to the Emperor that you’re here. By the time he receives it, we’ll be finished and you should be gone. This island is not ripe for your rebellion. We’re fine as we are.”
Gio must have nodded his assent because Phalue slipped her arms around Ranami’s waist. “There. Can we not fight anymore?” Behind her, one of the unconscious rebels stirred and groaned, putting a hand to his head.
“Thank you,” Ranami said – and she wasn’t sure if she was talking to Gio or Phalue.
12
Jovis
Somewhere in the Endless Sea
I had ill luck. Soon after I’d told Mephi to stop blowing into the sail, the wind died down completely. We rocked in the waves, gentle as a baby’s cradle, the sun baking the deck hot beneath my bare feet. Mephi lay in the shade at the bow of the ship, curled on a blanket I’d laid out for him. Once in a while he turned over in his sleep, murmuring. If I laid a hand on his back, he quieted.
I sifted through my navigational charts and watched him, a hand at my sore ribs. I really had no idea what sort of creature he was. No one truly knew the depths of the Endless Sea or what lived in it. The islands all had a short, shallow shelf before they dropped off, vertical, into the depths. They all moved through the Endless Sea, so there must have been a bo
ttom to each of them. My brother and I had often bragged of diving far enough to feel where the island had begun to narrow again. Every child did.
Mephi looked almost like several creatures. Almost like a kitten. Almost like an otter. Almost like a monkey with his webbed, dexterous paws. What would he look like if the nubs on his head sprouted into horns? Almost an antelope? And what sort of creature could create its own wind and could talk besides?
I rubbed at my forehead and tried to force my scattered thoughts into some sort of order. What I knew was this: I’d given up a chance at finding out more about Emahla’s disappearance in order to keep this creature from harm.
My heart pulled me in two different directions. I wanted to care about Mephi. He murmured in his sleep again, and I felt the frown I hadn’t known was there dissolving. No, that was a lie I was telling myself. I already cared about him. But Emahla . . .
We’d been children when we’d met, so young that my brother, Onyu, had still been alive, before the Tithing Festival that had taken his life. I’d been digging for clams at the beach, my mother a short distance away, her skirts hiked up and tied about her thighs.
I wish I could say I remembered the first words she spoke to me. I wish I had a grander story, one where I saw her and was struck dumb, or one where I knew that she was special. Her father brought her with him as he went stilt-fishing close to shore, and she watched me for a while. I braced for the usual comments: “Are you from here?” “Do you speak Empirean?” “What are you?” But Emahla only found a stick and began to dig with me too. “Bet you I can find more clams,” she said. From then on, we were friends. To me, she was just a girl – all black bushy hair, gangly limbs, fingers and toes that always seemed to be sticky. Sometimes I couldn’t wait to see her. Sometimes I hated her with the passion only a child can gather. And after Onyu died, she became my best friend.
The Bone Shard Daughter: The Drowning Empire Book One Page 10
