"How are you feeling? A little sleepy?" he said as he slammed the vial down in front of him.

The glass cracked, but the vial stayed in one piece, still wet from the sleeping potion he had poured in Suzao's cup. Silence spread through the cafeteria, starting at their table.

Suzao stared at the vial. His face got blotchier with every second. His eyes were glassy with rage.

Akos leaned closer, smiling. "Your living quarters aren't as secure as you'd probably like. What is this, the third time you've been drugged in the past month? Not very vigilant, are you?"

Suzao lunged. Grabbed him by the throat, lifted, and slammed him hard into the table, right on top of his tray of food. Soup burned Akos through his shirt. Suzao drew his knife and held the point over Akos's head like he was going to shove it in Akos's eye.

Akos saw spots.

"I should kill you," Suzao snarled, flecks of spit dotting his lips.

"Go ahead," he said, straining. "But maybe you should wait until you're not about to fall over."

Sure enough, Suzao looked a little unfocused. He let go of Akos's throat.

"Fine," he said. "Then I challenge you to the arena. Blades. To the death."

The man didn't disappoint.

Akos sat up, slowly, making a show of his trembling hands, his food-stained shirt. Cyra had told him to make sure Suzao underestimated him before they made it to the arena, if he could. He wiped the spit flecks from his cheek, and nodded.

"I accept," Akos said, and drawn by some kind of magnetism, his eyes found Jorek. Who looked relieved.

CHAPTER 22: CYRA.

THE RENEGADES DIDN'T PASS me a message in the cafeteria, or whisper one in my ear as I walked across the sojourn ship. They didn't hack into my personal screens or cause a disruption and kidnap me. A few days after the scavenge, I was walking back to my quarters and I saw blond hair swinging ahead of me-Teka, holding a dirty rag in grease-streaked fingers. She glanced back at me, beckoning me with a curled finger, and I followed her.

She led me not to a secret room or passageway, but to the loading bay. It was dark there, and the silhouettes of transport vessels looked like huge creatures huddled in sleep. In a far corner, someone had left a light on, attached to the wing of one of the biggest transport vessels.

If rain and thunder were music to the Pithar, the churn of machinery was music to the Shotet. It was the sound of the sojourn ship, the sound of our movement side by side with the currentstream. So it made sense that in this part of the ship, where their conversation would be buried by the hum and thrum of machinery on the level below us, was a small, shabby gathering of renegades. They were all dressed in the jumpsuits that maintenance workers wore-maybe they were all actually maintenance workers, now that I thought about it-and they had covered their faces with the same black mask Teka had worn when she attacked me in the hallway.

Teka drew a knife, and held the blade against my throat. It was cold, and smelled sweet, not unlike some of Akos's mixtures.

"Move any closer to them and I will knock you out cold," Teka said.

"Tell me this isn't your whole membership." In my mind I ran through what I could do to free myself, beginning with stomping on her toes.

"Would we risk you exposing our entire membership to your brother?" Teka said. "No."

The light clipped to the wing of the transport ship lost one of its metal bindings, and swayed on its cord, dangling now from only one fastener.

"You're the one who wanted to meet," one of the others said. He sounded older, gruffer. He was a boulder of a man, with a beard thick enough for things to get lost in. "What did you want, exactly?"

I forced myself to swallow. Teka's knife was still at my throat, but that wasn't what was making it hard to speak. It was finally articulating what I had been thinking for months. It was finally doing something instead of just thinking about it, for the first time in my life.

"I want safe transport out of Shotet for someone," I said. "Someone who doesn't exactly want to leave."

"For someone," the one who had spoken earlier said. "Who?"

"Akos Kereseth," I said.

There were mutters.

"He doesn't want to leave? Then why do you want to get him out?" the man said.

"It's . . . complicated," I said. "His brother is here. His brother is also lost. Beyond hope of recovery." I paused. "Some people are fools for love."

"Ah," Teka whispered. "I see how it is."

I felt like they were all laughing at me, smiling under their dark masks. I didn't like it. I grabbed Teka's wrist and twisted, hard, so she couldn't point the knife at me. She groaned at my touch, and I pinched the flat of the blade between my fingers, pulling it free. I flipped it in one hand so I was gripping the handle, my fingers slippery with whatever had been painted on the blade.

Before Teka could recover, I lunged, pinning her against my chest by the arm and pointing the knife at her side. I tried to keep as much of the currentgift pain to myself as I could, gritting my teeth so I wouldn't scream. I was breathing hard right next to her ear. She was still.

"I may be a fool, too," I said. "But I am not stupid. You think I can't identify you by the way you stand, the way you walk, the way you speak? If I'm going to betray you, I will do it whether you wear masks and hold me at knifepoint or not. And we all know that I can't betray you without betraying myself. So." I blew a strand of Teka's hair away from my mouth. "Are we going to have this discussion with mutual trust, or not?"

I released Teka, and offered her the knife. She was glaring at me, clutching her wrist, but she took it.

"All right," the man said.

He undid the covering that shielded his mouth. Beneath it, his thick beard crept down to his throat. Some of the others followed suit. Jorek was one of them, standing off to my right with his arms crossed. Unsurprising, since he had so baldly requested his Noavek-loyal father's death in the arena.

Others didn't bother, but it didn't matter-it was their spokesman I had cared about.

"I'm Tos, and I think we can do what you ask," the man said. "And I think you're aware that we would require something else in return."

"What is it you'd like me to do?" I said.

"We need your help getting into Noavek manor." Tos crossed his thick arms. His clothes were made of off-planet fabrics, too lightweight for the Shotet cold. "In Voa. After the sojourn."

"Are you an exile?" I said, frowning at him. "That's off-worlder garb you're wearing."

Were the renegades in contact with the exiles, who had sought safety from the Noavek regime on another planet? It made sense, but I hadn't considered the ramifications before. The exiles were undoubtedly a more powerful force than the rebellious Shotet who had turned against my brother-and more dangerous to me, personally.

"For our intents and purposes, there is no difference between exile and renegade. We both want the same thing: to unseat your brother and restore Shotet society to what it was before your family soiled it with inequity," Tos replied.

"'Soiled it with inequity,'" I repeated. "An elegant turn of phrase."

"I wasn't the one who devised it," Tos said humorlessly.

"To put it less elegantly," Teka said, "you're starving us and hoarding medicine. Not to mention carving out our eyeballs or whatever else gets Ryzek's blood pumping these days."

I was about to protest that I had never starved anyone or kept them from adequate medical care, but suddenly it didn't seem worth arguing. I didn't truly believe it, anyway.

"Right. So . . . Noavek manor. What do you intend to do there?" It was the only building that I, specifically, could help someone access. I knew all the codes Ryzek liked to use, and beyond that, the most secure doors were locked with a gene code-part of the system Ryzek had installed after our parents died. I was the only one left who shared Ryzek's genes. My blood could get them wherever they wanted to go.

"I don't think you need to know that information."

I furrowed my brow. There were only a few things a group of renegades-or exiles-could want inside Noavek manor. I decided to make an assumption.

"Let's be clear," I said. "You're asking me to participate in the assassination of my brother."

"Does that bother you?" Tos said.

"No," I replied. "Not anymore."

Despite all that Ryzek had done to me, I was surprised by how easily the answer came to me. He was my brother, my very blood. He was also the only guarantee of safety I currently had-any renegades who overthrew him would not care to spare the life of his sister, the murderer. But somewhere between ordering me to participate in Zosita's interrogation and threatening Akos, Ryzek had finally lost any loyalty I had left.

"Good," Tos said. "Then we'll be in touch."

Rearranging my skirt around my crossed legs, I searched the crowded hall that evening for Suzao Kuzar's regiment. They were all there, lined up along the balcony, exchanging giddy looks. Good, I thought. They were overconfident, which meant Suzao was also overconfident, and more easily defeated.

The room was humming with chatter, not quite as full as it had been when I fought Lety a few months before, but a much larger crowd than most Reclaimed challengers would ever hope to attract. That was also good. Winning an arena challenge could always give someone higher social status technically, but for it to really matter, everyone in Shotet society had to mutually agree on it. The more people who watched Akos defeat Suzao, the better his perceived status would be, which made it easier for him to get Eijeh out. Power in one place tended to transfer to power elsewhere-power over the right people.

Ryzek had stayed away from tonight's challenge, but Vas joined me on the platform reserved for high-ranking Shotet officials. I sat on one side of it and he sat on the other. In dark spaces it was easier for me to avoid stares, with my currentgift buried in shadow. But I couldn't hide it from Vas, who was close enough to see my skin flush with dark tendrils every time I heard Akos's name spoken in the crowd.

"You know, I didn't tell Ryzek about how you spoke to Zosita's daughter on the loading bay before the scavenge," Vas said to me, in the moments before Suzao entered the arena.

My heart began to pound. I felt like the renegade meeting was marked on me, visible to anyone who looked carefully enough. But I tried to stay calm as I replied, "Last time I checked, it wasn't against Ryzek's rules to speak to maintenance workers."

"Maybe he wouldn't have cared before, but he certainly does now."

"Am I supposed to thank you for your discretion?"

"No. You're supposed to treat this like a second chance. Make sure all this foolishness has just been a momentary lapse, Cyra."

I turned back to the arena. The lights lowered, and the speakers squealed as someone turned on the enhancers that dangled over the fighters, amplifying sound. Suzao entered first, to the screams and cheers of the crowd. He lifted his arms to inspire more screaming, and the gesture did its job: everyone erupted.

"Arrogant," I muttered. Not because of what he had done, but because of what he was wearing: He had left his Shotet armor behind, so he was in just a shirt. He didn't believe he needed armor. But he hadn't seen Akos fight in a long time.

Akos entered the arena a moment later, wearing the armor he had earned and the boots he had worn on Pitha, which were sturdy. He was greeted with jeers and obscene gestures, but they didn't seem to reach him, wherever he really was. Even the wariness that was always in his eyes was gone.

Suzao drew his knife, and Akos's stare suddenly hardened, like he had made a decision. He drew his own knife. I knew which one it was-it was the blade I had given him, the plain knife from Zold.

At his touch, no current tendrils wrapped around the blade. To the crowd, so used to seeing people fight with currentblades instead of plain knives, I was sure it was as if the knife was wrapped in the hand of a corpse. All the whispers about him-about his resistance to the current-were now confirmed. All the better, for his gift to frighten them-fearsomeness gave a person a different kind of power. I would know.

Suzao tossed his knife back and forth, spinning it on his palms as he did. It was a trick he had to have learned from his zivatahak-trained friends, because he was clearly a student of altetahak, his muscles bulging beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"You seem nervous," Vas said. "Need a hand to hold?"

"I'm only nervous for your man," I said. "Keep your hand to yourself; I'm sure you'll need it later."

Vas laughed. "I guess you don't need me anymore, now that you've found someone else who can touch you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean." Vas's eyes glittered with anger. "Better keep your eyes on your little Thuvhesit pet. He's about to die."

Suzao had struck first, lunging at Akos, who sidestepped the lazy move without batting an eye.

"Oh, you're quick," Suzao said, his voice echoing through the amplifiers. "Just like your sister. She almost got away from me, too. She'd almost opened the front door when I caught her."

He snatched at Akos's throat again, and tried to lift him up to press him against the arena wall. But Akos brought the inside of his wrist to Suzao's, hard, breaking the hold and slipping away. I could hear the rules of elmetahak strategy, telling him to keep his distance from a larger opponent.

Akos spun the knife once on his palm, the move dazzling with its speed-light reflected off the blade, scattering across the floor, and Suzao followed it with his eyes. Akos took advantage of the momentary distraction, and punched him hard with his left hand.

Suzao stumbled back, blood streaming from his nostrils. He hadn't realized that Akos was left-handed. Or that I had been making him do push-ups for as long as I had known him.

Akos pursued him, bending his arm and thrusting up with his elbow, hitting Suzao again in the nose. Suzao's yell echoed in the space. He lashed out blindly, grabbing the front of Akos's armor and hurling him sideways. Akos's balance faltered, and Suzao pressed him to the ground with a knee and punched him hard in the jaw.

I winced. Akos, looking dazed, pulled his knee up to his face like he was going to try to throw Suzao off. Instead, he drew a knife from the side of his boot, and drove the blade into Suzao's side, right between two of his ribs.

Suzao, stunned, fell over, staring at the handle protruding from his side. Akos swiped with his other knife. There was a flash of red on Suzao's throat when he collapsed.

I hadn't even realized how tense I was until the fight was done and my muscles relaxed.

All around me was noise. Akos bent over Suzao's body and yanked his second knife free. He wiped the blade on his pants, and sheathed it again in his boot. I could hear his shaking breaths amplified by the enhancers.

Don't panic, I thought toward him, like he could hear.

He wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, and lifted his eyes to the people sitting around the arena. He turned in a slow circle, as if he was staring every one of them down. Then he sheathed his knife, and stepped over Suzao's body to walk down the aisle toward the exit.

I waited a few seconds, then walked off the platform and into the crowd. My heavy clothes billowed away from my body as I went. I held up my skirts with both hands and tried to catch up to Akos, but he had too much of a lead; I didn't see him as I marched through the corridors toward our quarters.

Once I reached the door, I paused with my hand near the sensor, listening.

At first, all I heard were heavy breaths that turned into sobs. Then Akos screamed, and there was a loud crash, followed by another one. He screamed again, and I pressed my ear to the door to listen, my lower lip trapped between my teeth. I bit down so hard I tasted blood when Akos's screams turned to sobs.

I touched the sensor, opening the door.

He was sitting on the floor in the bathroom. There were pieces of shattered mirror all around him. He had ripped the shower curtain from the ceiling and the towel rack from the wall. He didn't look up at me when I came in, or even when I walked carefully across the fragments of glass to reach him.

I knelt among the shards, and reached over his shoulder to turn the shower on. I waited until the water warmed up, then tugged him by his arm toward the spray.

I stood in the shower with him, fully clothed. His breaths came in sharp bursts against my cheek. I put my hand on the back of his neck and pulled his face toward the water. He closed his eyes and let it hit his cheeks. His trembling fingers sought mine, and he clutched my hand against his chest, against his armor.

We stood together for a long time, until his tears subsided. Then I turned the water off, and led him into the kitchen, scattering mirror pieces with my toes as I walked.

He was staring into middle distance. I wasn't sure that he knew where he was, or what was happening to him. I undid the straps of his armor and guided it over his head; I pinched the hem of his shirt and peeled the wet fabric away from his body; I unbuttoned his pants and let them drop to the floor in a soaking-wet heap.