They were not round and squat like passenger floaters, or jagged and hulking like the sojourn ship. Instead, they were smooth and sleek, like birds caught mid-dive, with their wings folded back. Each one was multicolored, formed from different metals, and big enough to hold at least six passengers, though some were larger.

Mechanics in dark blue jumpsuits swarmed our vessel when it landed. Ryzek got off first, jumping down before the steps had even descended from the hatch.

Akos had come to his feet, his hands squeezed into fists so tight I could see tendons standing out from knuckle bone.

"Are you still in there?" Akos asked Eijeh, quiet.

Eijeh sighed, and dragged one fingernail under another. I watched him carefully. Ryzek was obsessed with clean fingernails, and would sooner have broken one off than allow dirt beneath it. Was this gesture, Eijeh scraping fingernails clean, something that belonged to him, too, or was it Ryzek's, a sign of Eijeh's transformation? How much of my brother now pulsed inside of Eijeh Kereseth?

He answered, "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do." Akos pressed a hand to his brother's chest and pushed him back against the metal wall of the vessel-not violently, but urgently, leaning in close. "Do you remember me? Cisi? Dad?"

"I remember . . ." Eijeh blinked slowly, like he was just waking. "I remember your secrets." He scowled at Akos. "The time you stole with our mother after the rest of us went to sleep. How you followed me around all the time because you couldn't manage on your own. Is that what you mean?"

Tears shone in Akos's eyes.

"That isn't all of it," Akos said. "That isn't all I am to you. You have to know that. You-"

"Enough." Vas walked to the back of the ship. "Your brother is coming with me, Kereseth."

Akos's hands twitched at his sides, itching to strangle. He was Vas's height now, so their eyes met on the same plane, but he had half the other man's bulk. Vas was a war machine, a man of muscle. I couldn't even imagine the two fighting; all I could see was Akos on the ground, limp.

Akos lunged, and so did I. His hand was just reaching for Vas's throat when I got to them, one hand on each chest, pressing them apart. It was surprise, not strength, that made this effective; they both moved backward, and I wedged myself between them.

"Come with me," I said to Akos. "Now."

Vas laughed. "Better listen to her, Kereseth. Those aren't little heart tattoos she hides under that arm guard."

Then he took Eijeh's arm, and together they left the ship. I waited until I could no longer hear their footsteps before backing off.

"He's one of the best soldiers in Shotet," I said to Akos. "Don't be an idiot."

"You have no idea," Akos snapped. "Have you ever even cared about someone enough to hate the person who took them from you, Cyra?"

An image of my mother came to mind, a vein in her forehead bulging, like it always did when she was angry. She was scolding Otega for taking me to dangerous parts of the city during our lessons, or for cutting my hair to my chin, I couldn't remember which. I had loved her even in those moments, because I knew she was paying attention, unlike my father, who didn't even look me in the eye.

I said, "Lashing out at Vas because of what happened to Eijeh will only get you injured and me aggravated. So take some hushflower and get ahold of yourself before I shove you out the loading bay doors."

For a moment it looked like he might refuse, but then, shaking, he slid a hand into his pocket and took out one of the raw hushflower petals he kept there. He pressed it into his cheek.

"Good," I said. "Time to go."

I stuck out my elbow, and he put his hand around it. Together we walked through the empty hallways of the sojourn ship, which were polished metal, loud with echoes of distant feet and voices.

My quarters on the warship looked nothing like my wing of Noavek manor-the latter had dark, polished floors and clean white walls, impersonal, but the former was packed with objects from other worlds. Exotic plants suspended in resin and hanging from the ceiling like a chandelier. Mechanical, glowing insects buzzing in circles around them. Lengths of fabric that changed color depending on the time of day. A stain-spattered stove and a metal coldbox, so I didn't have to go to the cafeteria.

Along the far wall, past the little table where I ate my meals, were hundreds of old discs that held holograms of dancing, fighting, sports in other places. I loved to mimic the staggering, collapsing techniques of Ogra dancers or the stiff, structured ritual dances of Tepes. It helped me focus through the pain. There were history lessons among the discs, too, and films from other planets: old news broadcasts; long, dry documentaries about science and language; recordings of concerts. I had watched them all.

My bed was in the corner, under a porthole and a net of tiny burnstone lanterns, the blankets still rumpled from the last time I had slept in it. I didn't allow anyone into my quarters on the sojourn ship, not even to clean.

Dangling from a hole in the ceiling, between the preserved plants, was a length of rope; it led to the room above, which I used for training, among other things.

I cleared my throat. "You'll be staying through here," I said, crossing the crowded space. I waved my hand over the sensor next to a closed door; it slid open to reveal another room, also with a single porthole to the outside. "It used to be an obscenely large closet. These were my mother's private quarters, before she died." I was babbling. I didn't know how to talk to him anymore, now that he had drugged me and taken advantage of my kindness, now that he had lost the thing he had been fighting for and I hadn't done anything to stop it. Which was my pattern: stand by while Ryzek wreaks havoc.

Akos had paused next to the door to look at the armor that decorated the wall. It was nothing like Shotet armor, bulky or unnecessarily decorated, but some of it was beautiful, made of gleaming orange metal or draped with durable black fabric. He made his way into the next room slowly.

It looked a lot like the one he had left behind in Noavek manor: all the supplies and equipment necessary to brew poisons and potions were along one wall, arranged the way he liked it. In the week before his betrayal, I had sent a picture of his setup ahead of us to be copied exactly. There was a bed with dark gray sheets-most Shotet fabric was blue, so the sheets had been hard to find. The burnstones in the lanterns above the bed had been dusted with jealousy powder, so they burned yellow. There were books on elmetahak and Shotet culture on the low bookcase next to the bed. I pressed a button next to the door, and a huge, holographic map of our location sprawled over the ceiling-right now it displayed Voa, since we were still hovering above it, but it would show our path through the galaxy as we traveled.

"I know quarters are close here," I said. "But space on the ship is limited. I tried to make it livable for us both."

"You made this place?" he said, turning toward me. I couldn't read his expression. I nodded.

"Unfortunately, we'll have to share a bathroom." Still babbling. "But it's not for long."

"Cyra," he interrupted. "Nothing is blue. Not even the clothes. And the iceflowers are labeled in Thuvhesit."

"Your people think blue is cursed. And you can't read Shotet," I said quietly. My currentshadows started to move faster, sprawling under my skin and pooling beneath my cheeks. My head pounded so hard I had to blink away tears. "The books on elmetahak are in Shotet, unfortunately, but there's a translation device next to them. Just place it over the page, and-"

"But after what I did to you . . ." he began.

"I sent the instructions before that," I replied.

Akos sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm sorry, about . . . everything. I just wanted to get him out. It was all I could think about."

His brow was a straight, low line above his eyes that made it too easy to see his sadness as anger. He had cut his chin shaving.

There was a rumble in his whisper: "He was the last thing I had left."

"I know," I replied, but I didn't know, not really. I had watched Ryzek do things that made my stomach turn. But it was different for me than it was for Akos. I at least knew that I was capable of similar horrors. He had no way of understanding what Eijeh had become.

"How do you keep doing this?" he said. "Keep going, when everything is so horrible?"

Horrible. Was that what life was? I had never put a word to it. Pain had a way of breaking time down. I thought about the next minute, the next hour. There wasn't enough space in my mind to put all those pieces together, to find words to summarize the whole of it. But the "keep going" part, I knew the words for.

"Find another reason to go on," I said. "It doesn't have to be a good one, or a noble one. It just has to be a reason."

I knew mine: There was a hunger inside me, and there always had been. That hunger was stronger than pain, stronger than horror. It gnawed even after everything else inside me had given up. It was not hope; it did not soar; it slithered, clawed, and dragged, and it would not let me stop.

And when I finally named it, I found it was something very simple: the desire to live.

That night was the last night of the Sojourn Festival, when the last few transport vessels landed in the loading bay and we all feasted on the sojourn ship together. The people we brought with us were supposed to be energetic by now, their confidence and determination bolstered by the celebratory events of the past week, and it seemed to me that they were. The crowd that carried Akos and me on their tide toward the loading bay was buoyant and loud. I was careful to keep my bare skin away from them; I didn't want to draw attention to myself by causing people pain.

I walked to the platform where Ryzek stood braced against the railing, Eijeh at his right. Where was Vas?

I wore my Shotet armor, polished to perfection, over a long, sleeveless black dress. The fabric brushed the toes of my boots as I moved.

Ryzek's kill marks were on full display; he kept his arm flexed to show them at their best. Someday he would begin a second row, like my father. When I arrived, he flashed a smile at me, which made me shudder.

I took my place on his left at the railing. I was supposed to display my currentgift at times like these, to remind all the people around us that despite Ryzek's charm, we were not to be trifled with. I tried to accept the pain, absorb it like I did the cold wind when I had forgotten to wear the right coat, but I found it difficult to focus. In front of me, the waiting crowd wavered and swam. I wasn't supposed to wince; I wouldn't, I wouldn't. . . .

I let out a relieved exhale when the last two transport vessels drifted through the open loading bay hatch. Everyone applauded when the ships' doors opened, and the last group of Shotet spilled in. Ryzek held up both of his hands to quiet the crowd. It was time for his welcoming speech.

But just as Ryzek opened his mouth, a young woman stepped forward from the group that had just left the transport vessel. She had a long blond braid and wore, not the bright colors of the more common Shotet in the crowd below, but subtle blue-gray finery to match her eyes. It was a popular color among Shotet's wealthy.

She was Lety Zetsyvis, Uzul's daughter. She held a currentblade high in the air, and the dark tendrils wrapped around her hand like strings, binding the blade to her body.

"The first child of the family Noavek," she shouted, "will fall to the family Benesit!"

It was my brother's fate, spoken plainly.

"That is your fate, Ryzek Noavek!" Lety shouted. "To fail us, and to fall!"

Vas, who had pushed through the crowd, now seized her wrist with the certainty of a well-trained warrior. He bent over her, pressing her hand back so she was forced to her knees. Her currentblade clattered to the floor.

"Lety Zetsyvis," Ryzek said, lilting. It was so quiet in the room that he didn't even need to raise his voice. He was smiling as she struggled against Vas's grip, her fingers turning white under the pressure.

"That fate . . . is a lie told by the people who want to destroy us," he began. Beside him, Eijeh bobbed his head a little, like Ryzek's voice was a song he knew by heart. Maybe that was why Ryzek didn't look surprised to see Lety on her knees below us-because Eijeh had seen it coming. Thanks to his oracle, Ryzek already knew what to say, what to do.

"They are people who fear us for our strength and seek to undermine us: the Assembly. Thuvhe," Ryzek continued. "Who taught you to believe such lies, Lety? I wonder why it is that you espouse the same views as the people who came to your house to murder your father?"

So that was how Ryzek was twisting things. Now, instead of Lety declaring my brother's fate, a crusader for the truth, she was spouting the same lies that our Thuvhesit enemies supposedly told. She was a traitor, possibly even one who had allowed assassins to penetrate her family's home so they could kill her father. Ridiculous, really, but sometimes people just believed what they were told. It was easier to survive that way.

"My father was not murdered," Lety said in a low voice. "He took his own life, because you tortured him, you tortured him with that thing you call a sister, and the pain was driving him mad."

Ryzek smiled at her as if she was the mad one, spewing nonsense. He cast his gaze all around him at the people who waited with bated breath to hear his response.

"This," he said, gesturing to Lety. "This is the poison our enemies wish to use to destroy us-from within, not without. They tell lies to turn us against each other, to turn us against our own families and friends. That is why we must protect ourselves against not only their potential threats to our lives, but also their words. We are a people who has been weak before. We must not become so again."

I felt it, the shiver that went through the crowd at his words. We had just spent a week remembering how far our ancestors had come, battered across the galaxy, our children taken from us, our beliefs about scavenging and renewal universally derided. We had learned to fight back, season by season. Even though I knew that Ryzek's true intentions were not to protect Shotet, but rather himself and the Noavek dynasty, I was still almost taken in by the emotion in his voice, and the power he offered us like an outstretched hand.

"And there is no more effective blow than to strike against me, the leader of our great people." He shook his head. "This poison cannot be allowed to spread through our society. It must be drained, drop by drop, until it poses no more harm."

Lety's eyes were full of hate.

"Because you are the daughter of one of our most beloved families, and because you are clearly in pain after the loss of your father, I will give you a chance to fight for your life in the arena instead of simply losing it. And since you assign some of this supposed blame to my sister, it is she who will face you there," Ryzek said. "I hope you see this as the mercy it is."

I was too stunned to protest-and too aware of what the consequences would be: Ryzek's wrath. Looking like a coward in front of all these people. Losing my reputation as someone to fear, which was my only leverage. And then, of course, the truth about my mother, which always loomed over Ryzek and me.

I remembered the way people chanted my mother's name as we walked the streets of Voa during my first Procession. Her people had loved her, the way she held strength and mercy in tension. If they knew that I was responsible for her passing, they would destroy me.

Veins of dark stained my skin as I stared down at Lety. She gritted her teeth, and stared back. I could tell she would take my life with pleasure.

As Vas jerked Lety to her feet, people in the crowd shouted at her: "Traitor!" "Liar!" I felt nothing, not even fear. Not even Akos's hand, catching my arm to soothe me.

"You okay?" Akos asked me.

I shook my head.

We stood in the anteroom just outside the arena. It was dim but for the glow of our city through the porthole, reflecting sunlight for a few hours yet. The room was adorned with portraits of the Noavek family over the door: my grandmother, Lasma Noavek, who had murdered all her brothers and sisters to ensure that her own bloodline was fate-favored; my father, Lazmet Noavek, who had tormented the goodness from my brother because of his weak fate; and Ryzek Noavek, pale and young, the product of two vicious generations. My darker skin and sturdier build meant I took after my mother's family, a branch of the Radix line, distant relation to the first man Akos had killed. All the portraits wore the same mild smiles, bound by their dark wooden frames and fine clothing.

Ryzek and every Shotet soldier who could fit in the hall waited outside. I could hear their chatter through the walls. Challenges weren't permitted during the sojourn, but there was an arena in the ship anyway, for practice matches and the occasional performance. My brother had declared that the challenge would take place just after his welcome speech, but before the feast. Nothing like a good fight to the death to make Shotet soldiers hungry, after all.

"Was it true, what that woman said?" Akos said. "Did you do that to her father?"

"Yes," I said, because I thought it was better not to lie. But it wasn't better; it didn't feel better that way.

"What is Ryzek holding over you?" Akos said. "To make you do things you can barely stand to admit to?"

The door opened, and I shuddered, thinking the time had come. But Ryzek closed the door behind him, standing beneath his own portrait. It didn't look quite like him anymore, the face in it too round and spotted.

"What do you want?" I said to him. "Aside from the execution you commanded without even consulting me, that is."

"What would I have gained by consulting you?" Ryzek said. "I would have had to hear your irritating protestations first, and then, when I reminded you of how foolish you were to trust this one"-here he nodded toward Akos-"how that foolishness nearly lost me my oracle, when I offered this arena challenge to you as a way to make it up to me, you would agree to do it."

I closed my eyes, briefly.

"I came to tell you that you are to leave your knife behind," Ryzek said.

"No knife?" Akos demanded. "She could get stabbed before she ever has a chance to lay a hand on that woman! Do you want her to die?"

No, I answered in my own head. He wanted me to kill. Just not with a knife.

"She knows what I want," Ryzek said. "And she knows what will happen if I don't get it. Best of luck, little sister."

He swept out of the room. He was right: I knew, I always knew. He wanted everyone to see that the shadows that traveled under my skin were good for more than just pain, they also made me lethal. Not just Ryzek's Scourge. Time for my promotion to Ryzek's Executioner.

"Help me take my armor off," I mumbled.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Don't question me," I snapped. "Help me take my armor off."

"You don't want your armor?" Akos said. "Are you just going to let her kill you?"

I started on the first strap. My fingers were callused, but the straps were pulled so tight they still stung my fingertips. I forced them back and forth in small increments, my movements jerky and frantic. Akos covered my hand with his own.

"No," I said. "I don't need armor. I don't need a knife."

Twisting around my knuckles were the shadows, dense and dark as paint.

I had taken great pains to ensure that no one else discovered what had happened to my mother-what I had done to her. But it was better that Akos knew, before he suffered for knowing me, more than he already had. Better that he never look at me with sympathy again than that he believe a lie.

"How do you think my mother died?" I laughed. "I touched her, and I pushed all the light and all the pain into her, all because I was angry about having to go to some other doctor for some other ineffective treatment for my currentgift. All she wanted to do was help me, but I threw a tantrum, and it killed her." I tugged my forearm guard down just enough to reveal a crooked scar carved just below my elbow, on the outside of my arm. My first kill mark. "My father carved the mark. He hated me for it, but he was also . . . proud."

I choked on the word.