Gio only watched me as I blathered, his dark eyes calm. “Six trained fighters against one smuggler,” he said, as though that settled it. Perhaps it did. He lowered himself back into his seat, though he’d turned it to face me. “I have no qualms about your abilities in a fight. But we have other pieces falling into place, and you’ll be working with me. We’ll need the ten days.”
I’d heard about Khalute, Gio’s assassination of the governor there, his takeover of the island for the Shardless Few. Some stories said he’d done it alone. Some stories said that was where he’d lost the eye. Well, I’d had my fill of stories and songs, and I knew how they could be built more of dreams than truth. I glanced around the cavern, the carved pillars, the empty sconces. “I’ll be working with you in what way? You want to know how I do it?”
The grim set of his face shifted, his lips pressing together like two cliffs in a quake. “Yes. But you won’t tell me that.” He shook his head. “No. I’ll be going with you.”
24
Ranami
Nephilanu Island
The theft of the caro nuts had gone well. The next step – telling Phalue what the rebels had truly planned – that hadn’t gone nearly as well. Ranami sat by the ocean, a book in hand, waiting for Phalue to arrive. She dipped a toe into the water and watched the fish dart away from the ripples.
It could have gone worse, though Ranami wasn’t sure what worse would have meant. Once Phalue had truly understood what it was like for the farmers, she’d done her part with gusto. She’d run out to the guards, claiming she’d been attacked in the woods. She’d led them on a merry chase, leaving Ranami to gather as many boxes of nuts as she could carry.
But Phalue never could do anything halfway. Once she’d made her mind up, she threw herself into the task at hand.
Once she’d made her mind up.
Ranami supposed it was a big leap – asking a person to steal caro nuts and then asking them to keep quiet as you overthrew their father. She breathed in the ocean air, heavy with the scent of rain, and tried again to read. After finding herself reading the same paragraph three times, she snapped the cover shut. History couldn’t compare to the present, not with such turmoil ahead.
“You wanted to meet me?” Phalue’s voice emanated from above.
Ranami set the book aside, rose and threw her arms around Phalue’s neck. She smelled faintly of floral soap and sweat. She must have hurried here.
Phalue’s arms tightened briefly around Ranami’s waist and then she stepped away. Their embraces had been like this lately, the brief visit of a bee to a flower and nothing more.
“I have something to ask of you,” Ranami said.
Phalue crossed her arms. “Don’t you think you’ve asked enough?”
Ranami knew that tone. They were about to have a fight. Phalue was heading breakneck in that direction, and once she got going there was little that could slow her down.
Ranami tried anyway. “Have I done something to make you angry?”
“It’s not that simple. It’s not about what you’ve done and haven’t done. Yes, I’m angry, but try to see this from my viewpoint. I love you. I would move mountains for you. And, apparently, I would betray the Empire for you.”
“You were doing the right thing.”
“It’s lovely that it’s that simple for you. You take me to the farms, you show me how terribly these people live and how little they ask for – so I try to make amends. And then you take me into the very heart of the stronghold of the Shardless Few. Remember how I said I would send a letter to the Emperor telling him the Shardless Few were here? Gio told me that they intercepted my letter. I knew it wouldn’t be so simple: one task and they’d leave. Do you think he’ll be content to let me walk away from this freely? I know too much now. You’ve brought me to the den of hungry tigers.”
Ranami was speechless. She hadn’t thought of that – she’d only thought of how much she’d wanted to bring Phalue into the fold, to show the trust in her that she’d bestowed upon Ranami. “You won’t tell your father?”
Phalue pursed her lips. “No, I won’t. But you’ve split my loyalties. You’re asking me to choose. Do I choose my father, or do I choose the Shardless? And there’s you, standing very clearly with them. You know all their secrets. I love you, Ranami, but you never told me you were in this deep.”
The hurt in her voice stung more than all the kicks Ranami had received as a gutter orphan. She hadn’t been in so deep in the beginning, but when she’d gone to them for help, they’d answered. It was more than she could say for most people. And the more they’d given, the more she’d owed them in return.
“There could have been other ways. I could have convinced my father to step down. Now, if I choose my father, I lose you. If I choose you, I lose everything else. I’ve never been overly fond of my father’s rule, and I don’t agree with him, but he’s not a cruel man. He’s indulgent and lazy, and could probably use the sort of whipping my mother dispensed upon me once in a while. I’ve read a few of the books you asked me to. I know revolutions aren’t bloodless and calm. And I won’t see him hurt.”
“Help us then. Help us make this a peaceful coup.”
Phalue closed her eyes as though summoning the patience to deal with an unruly child. Then she wrapped her arms around Ranami again, and this time it felt like a true embrace. “Tell me what happens afterward.” Her breath tickled Ranami’s hair.
Ranami tried to push away but found Phalue’s grip too tight. “After?”
“Yes. After my father is deposed. Build me a dream, Ranami. Am I governor then? Do you come to the palace to live with me? Would you be a governor’s wife under these sorts of circumstances? Would the rebels allow you to? Would they allow me to?”
“I don’t think it would happen that way.”
Phalue let go. “Then what are you doing this for?”
Them together – it had never been Ranami’s end goal, not the way it was for Phalue. Ranami loved Phalue – she felt it to her very bones – but there were other things to consider. And this wasn’t something she could explain without hurting her. She knew, when she looked at Phalue, that it wasn’t the same for her. “I have to think of everyone else,” Ranami said.
“I trust you,” Phalue said, “but I don’t trust the Shardless.”
“We could use your help,” Ranami blurted out, “infiltrating the palace. We’ve set people to learn this information, but informants are not always reliable. Knowing when the guards change shift, the weaknesses in the walls—”
Phalue threw up her hands. “Think about what you’re asking of me. That’s all I want.”
Ranami drew in a deep breath, steadying her voice and her hands. This was like that crack that led to the ancient tunnels. If she wavered too long in the middle, she’d only find herself trapped. She had to either retreat or push forward. She pushed forward. “Please just trust me.”
Phalue cupped her cheeks in her hands, and Ranami felt the calluses on her palms as Phalue kissed her forehead.
“I knew you’d be trouble from the first moment I saw you,” Phalue said. But she said it with fondness, not scorn. Her fingers trailed down over Ranami’s neck, caressing her shoulders. Ranami leaned into her touch, thinking of all the nights together, curled in one another’s arms. “But this is something you’ll have to do alone. I can’t help you. I love you enough not to stop you. I see how important this is to you. Just don’t hurt my father. Promise me you won’t.”
They could do it without Phalue, but it would be a fair bit harder. Her gaze focused beyond Phalue, to the road. Five of the governor’s soldiers marched toward them. Ranami clutched at Phalue’s jerkin. She’d stolen four boxes of caro nuts for the farmers. “They’re here for me,” Ranami gasped out. “They’re coming.”
Phalue’s hand went immediately to the sword at her belt.
“Sai,” one of the soldiers called.
A cold cell, damp as the gutters she’d slept in as a child. No light, no fresh
air, grasping at scraps of food. “Please don’t let them put me in a cell. I can’t go to a place like that.” Her fingers curled in Phalue’s shirt; she couldn’t have let go if she’d tried. The panic that writhed inside her was an animal thing, wide-eyed and kicking, a mouse in the claws of a cat. “Don’t let them take me.”
Phalue used her free hand to gently disentangle Ranami’s fingers. “Don’t worry.” Her voice soothed. “You’re not going anywhere except back home.” She turned to face the approaching men. “Tythus,” Phalue said to the guard at their head as they halted in front of her. “Does my father need something?”
Ranami had a vague memory of meeting the young man at some point. He’d been smiling then though.
“Unfortunately he does,” Tythus said. He looked uncomfortable, as though he were about to tell a struggling cart driver that his last ox had died. “He heard of your trip to one of the caro nut farms. Four boxes of nuts went missing.”
Ranami couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Phalue would defend her, but at what cost?
“Your father has sent me to bring you in.”
You. He was looking at Phalue.
For a moment, Ranami couldn’t process the words. She should have felt relieved that it wasn’t her. But Phalue? She didn’t dare grab on to Phalue again, but she needed something to steady herself.
Phalue’s shoulders tightened. “He thinks I’ve stolen boxes of caro nuts? Don’t be ridiculous, Tythus.”
Tythus’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He hesitated before gripping the hilt of his sword. “It’s your father’s order. He wasn’t in a good mood.”
For a moment, they just stared at one another. And then Phalue let go of her sword. “I’ll come peaceably. No need for any worry. Whatever he’s gotten into his head, I’ll sort it out.”
Tythus nodded and let out a breath. He stood to the side. “After you.”
Phalue glanced back at Ranami, and she could see the glint of fear in Phalue’s eyes. And then she turned her head, and let them lead her away.
25
Lin
Imperial Island
The tabletop was smooth and cool beneath my fingertips, and I tried not to sweat. Father had called me in for questioning again, but this time I thought I knew the answers.
“Where did you go on your fifteenth birthday?”
I’d nearly finished reading the green-bound journal. I wished I’d written more specifically about my immediate world, the way things had smelled and tasted. Mostly I’d written about the way I’d felt about things. I’d written a little about my father, and strangely, even my mother – whom I knew had died when I was just a little girl. The father I’d written of was firm but kind, and that was all I could glean. I’d written like I’d known who I was and would never have cause to doubt it.
Father was watching me. My thoughts had flown away, though my gaze had remained locked on his. I was so tired. So much studying.
My fifteenth birthday.
I thought back to the journal, trying to organize my scattered thoughts. Oh yes. I’d written of that day with a good deal of excitement. “A lake, up in the mountains. We spent the day there.” I smiled, as if remembering something pleasant. And if I thought about it, I could almost see the lake I’d written about. The sunlight glittering off its surface, the wind rustling through the trees. “We took a picnic lunch and ate on the shore, throwing crumbs to the birds.”
Father nodded. He let out a long breath; he’d been holding it. “You said it was one of the happiest days of your life.”
How could I have known that? I’d only been fifteen. That was eight years ago. But I held my tongue and watched as he slid a key across the table to me. I waited, not daring to touch it.
“The library,” he said. “It’s down the hall from here if you take a left, four doors down on the left, near my rooms. It’s time you started learning how to create a construct, and how to write its commands.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his sash pocket and slid it across the table to me. “Here is a list of titles you should start with. Finish reading them and come back to me so I can test your knowledge.”
I glanced at the titles, recognizing them as books I’d already stolen and subsequently replaced, devouring the contents as if the words were fish and I a starving cat.
“You may go.”
I rose to my feet but was held fast by the question rising in my throat. It was important to have this unfettered access to the library, but I still felt the absence of my memories like a hollowed-out portion of my chest. “If the lake was one of the happiest days of my life,” I said, hesitating, unsure if I should continue, “why did we not ever go there again?”
Father’s eyes narrowed. “Who says we didn’t?”
My heart jolted. Of course. We might have. But I didn’t let it show on my face. I held my ground, hoping he was bluffing, hoping I was calling his bluff.
Father thumbed absently at his robe at the spot where he usually kept his long chain of keys. His gaze went to the window, to the lights in the city below and the stars above. “I’m not sure. We had other things to do. Always other things.”
“We could still go.”
The look he shot me carried with it a tidal wave of pain and remorse. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?” he said, his voice soft. And then he shook his head and waved his hand. He cleared his throat. “Go. Read the books. Tell me when you’re done.”
I left the questioning room, more baffled than I’d been all those times I couldn’t answer his questions. The library key – the real one – lay heavy in my pocket. I could have hoped for a new key, a new room, but at least this way I could study day or night in the library without being spied upon.
But the library was not empty when I arrived, and spies were not always constructs.
Bayan sat on the rug, his back to the wall and a book in his hands. He looked up when I entered. The light from the lamps seemed to gild him, turning his taupe skin golden. He looked even more beautiful by lamplight, an ethereal being of light and shadows. “You got another key,” he said, his voice flat.
I brandished it, taking a little delight in the fact that I now officially had more keys than he did. “I did. And well earned, too.”
He only nodded back at me, his face solemn. And then he reached into his sash pocket and produced another key – this one with a golden bow. “So did I.” The solemn look on his face burst open, cleanly as a cracked egg, revealing the smile beneath. “Poor Lin, always playing catch-up.” The words didn’t bite the way they usually did. I couldn’t tell if it was his tone, or if it was because I had a few more keys Bayan knew nothing about.
I shrugged. “What are you reading?” I strode toward him and leaned over his shoulder to look.
He twisted away from me, cradling the book as though it were an infant and I’d just jeered at it. “It’s none of your business.”
“Does it matter? I’m allowed to read it now too.”
“You wouldn’t understand it,” he spat back at me.
Oh, a fair bit more defensive than he should have been. I made as if to turn around, and then as soon as he’d relaxed, whirled and bent my head to the side.
“‘Era of the Alanga’?” I read aloud. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying?”
He glared at me, sullen. “Aren’t you?”
Well, he had me there. I couldn’t look for the books I needed to reprogram Mauga, the Construct of Bureaucracy, not while Bayan was here. So I lingered. “Is it interesting?”
He seemed to weigh whether my words mocked him or not. When he couldn’t dig out even a grain of contempt or derision, he sighed. “Yes, it’s interesting. It’s about the time before the Sukai Empire was even a thought in someone’s mind. Before the Alanga began fighting one another.”
“What does the book say it was like?” I should have been needling him, trying to get him to leave, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. Father’s entire justification for the bone shard collecting, fo
r the constructs, was to keep the Alanga from rising again.
“They could make the wind rise up when they called it, they lived for thousands of years and no one dared to challenge them. Each one ruled an island. It could be a dream or it could be a nightmare, depending on who you asked. If you didn’t agree with the way they ran things, it wasn’t like you could disagree. But things didn’t get really bad until they went to war against one another. Their capacity for destruction was immense.”
I thought of Deerhead Island, the way it had been wiped from the map. Father had put out a statement saying the sinking had been caused by a mining accident, which, if the servants’ gossip was anything to judge by, had been less than reassuring. “Did the Alanga sink islands?”
“It doesn’t say.”
“But the Sukais found a way to kill them.”
“Yes, well, we know all about that.” He snapped the book shut. “Unless you don’t remember lessons?”
I wasn’t a lackwit; I still knew my numbers. “It’s not like that. You know it’s not like that. You gave me this illness in the first place.”
He ran a hand over the binding of the book. “It could be that you had forgotten through ordinary means.”
“What, like old age?”
He looked at me, startled, and then we both burst out laughing again. I really should have hated him. I’d strongly disliked him for the past five years. And now it seemed that was fading. The sharp edges of him looked different, now that I understood why he disliked me. We diminished into giggles, and then into silence once more. “Does it say how the Sukais killed the Alanga? I know Rise of the Phoenix likes to pretend it was a special sword. Father said that isn’t true: it just plays well with commoners.”
“A special sword that gets handed from one Sukai to another so they can kill the Alanga? Why wouldn’t the Alanga just take the sword from them then? They certainly were powerful enough to.”
The Bone Shard Daughter: The Drowning Empire Book One Page 21
