I had daydreamed about seeing him this way, and even about one day undressing him, taking away some of the layers that separated us, but this was not a daydream. He was in pain. I wanted to help him.

I wasn't aware of my own pain, but as I helped him dry off, I saw the currentshadows moving, faster than they had in a long time. It was like someone had injected them into my veins, so they traveled alongside my blood. Dr. Fadlan had said that my currentgift was stronger when I was emotional. Well, he was right. I didn't care about Suzao-in fact, I was planning to spit on his funeral pyre just to hear it sizzle-but I cared about Akos, more than anyone.

By then he had returned to his body, and he was responsive enough to help me bandage his arm and to walk into his bedroom on his own. I made sure he was under the covers, then put a pot on one of the burners at the apothecary counter. He had made a potion to keep me from having dreams, once. Now it was my turn.

CHAPTER 23: AKOS.

EVERYTHING WAS SLIDING AWAY from Akos, silk on silk, oil beading on water. Losing time, sometimes, a few ticks passing in an hour in the shower-he got out with pruny fingers and bright skin-or a night of sleep lasting all the way until the next afternoon. Losing space, other times, and he was standing in the challenge arena, streaked with another man's blood, or he was in the feathergrass, stumbling over the skeletons of those who had gotten lost there.

Losing hushflower petals to the inside of his cheek, so he could stay calm. Or the steadiness of his hands when they wouldn't stop shaking. Or words on the way to his mouth.

Cyra let him go on that way for a few days. But the day before they were supposed to land in Voa again, when he had skipped a few meals in a row, she came into his room and said, "Get up. Now."

He just looked at her, confused, like she was speaking a language he didn't know.

She rolled her eyes, grabbed his arm, and pulled. Her touch stung. He winced.

"Shit," she said, letting go. "See what's happening? You're starting to feel my currentgift, because you're so weak your currentgift is faltering. That's why you need to get up and eat something."

"So you can have your servant back, is that it?" he snapped. Losing patience, too. "Well, I'm done. I'm ready to die for your family, whatever that means."

She bent over, so their faces were on the same level, and said, "I know what it is to become something you hate. I know how it hurts. But life is full of hurt." Shadows pooled in her eye sockets like they were proving her point. "And your capacity for bearing it is much greater than you believe."

Her eyes held his for a few seconds, and then he said, "What kind of a rousing speech is that, 'Life is full of hurt'?"

"The last time I checked, your brother was still here," she said. "So you should keep yourself alive to get him out, if nothing else."

"Eijeh." He snorted. "Like that's what this is about."

He hadn't been thinking about Eijeh when he took Suzao's life. He'd been thinking about how badly he wanted Suzao dead.

"Then what is it about, exactly?" She folded her arms.

"How should I know?" He threw out his arms, emphatic, and smacked his hand against the wall. He ignored the ache in his knuckles. "You're the one who made me this way, why don't you tell me? Honor has no place in survival, remember?"

Whatever spark there had been behind her eyes fizzled at the recollection. He was about to try to snatch the words back, when a knock came at the door. He watched her open it from the edge of his bed. The guard with the most boring job imaginable was standing there, with Jorek behind him.

Akos leaned his face into his hand. "Don't let him in."

"I think you're forgetting whose quarters these actually are," Cyra said, sharp, and she stepped back so Jorek could come in.

"Damn it, Cyra!" He came to his feet. His vision went black for a few ticks, and he stumbled into the door frame. Maybe she was right-he did need to eat something.

Jorek's eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Good luck," Cyra said to him, and she shut herself in the bathroom.

Jorek looked anywhere else, at the wall decorated with armor and the plants dangling from the ceiling and the bright pots and pans stacked on the rickety stove. He scratched his neck, leaving pink lines on his skin, his nervous habit. Akos moved toward him, every part of his body heavy. He was breathless by the time he got to a chair and sat.

"What are you doing here?" he said, feeling savage. He wanted to dig in his nails, refuse to let anything else slide away. Even if it meant hurting Jorek, who had already seen more than his fair share of hurt. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did," Jorek said, quiet. He sat down next to Akos. "I came to thank you."

"This wasn't a favor, it was a transaction. I kill Suzao, you get Eijeh out."

"Which will be easier to do when we land in Voa," Jorek said, still in that horrible quiet voice, like he was trying to soothe an animal. Maybe, Akos thought, that was exactly what he was trying to do. "Listen, I . . ." He furrowed his brows. "I didn't really know what I was asking you to do. I thought . . . I thought it would be easy for you. You seemed like the sort of person it would be easy for."

"I don't want to talk about this." Akos cradled his head in his hands. He couldn't stand to think of how easy it had been. Suzao hadn't had a chance, hadn't known what he was walking into. Akos felt more like a murderer now than he had after his first kill. At least that-Kalmev's death-had been wild and mad, almost a dream. Not like this.

Jorek set a hand on his shoulder. Akos tried to shrug him off, but he wouldn't be shrugged, not until Akos looked at him.

"My mother sent me with this," Jorek said. He drew a long chain from his pocket, with a ring dangling from it. It was made of a bright metal, orange pink in color, and stamped with a symbol. "This ring bears the seal of her family. She wanted you to have it."

Akos ran shaking fingers over the links of the chain, delicate but doubled over for strength. He gathered the ring into his fist, so the symbol of Jorek's mother's family would imprint on his palm.

"Your mother," he said, "thanks me?"

His voice broke. He let his head rest on the table. No tears came.

"My family is safe now," Jorek said. "Come and see us sometime, if you can. We live on the edge of Voa, between the Divide and the training camp. Little village right off the road. You'll be welcome among us, for what you've done."

Akos felt heat on the back of his head, Jorek's hand pressing gently. It was more comforting than he would have thought.

"Oh. And . . . don't forget to put my father's mark on your arm. Please."

The door closed. Akos wrapped his arms around his head, the ring still in his fist. His knuckles were split from the fight; he felt the scabs tug when he bent his fingers. The bathroom door squealed as Cyra opened it. She rustled around in the kitchen for a little while, then set a hunk of bread in front of him. He ate it so fast he almost choked on it, then dropped his left arm and turned it so the kill marks faced her.

"Carve the mark," he said. He was so hoarse the words almost didn't come out.

"It can wait." Cyra ran her hand over his short hair. He shivered at the light touch. Her currentgift wasn't hurting him anymore. Maybe Jorek had given him some relief after all. Or it was just the bread.

"Please." He lifted his head. "Just . . . do it now."

Cyra reached for her knife, and Akos watched her arm muscles contract. She was solid muscle, Cyra Noavek, with not much to spare. But inside, growing softer all the time, a fist learning to unclench.

She picked up his wrist. His fingers rested on her skin, dimming the shadows that flowed through her. It was easier, without them, to see that she was beautiful, her hair in long, loose curls, shining in the shifting light, her eyes so dark they looked black. Her aquiline nose, with its fine bones, and the splotch next to her windpipe, a birthmark, its shape somehow elegant.

She placed the tip of the knife against his arm, beside his second mark, with the hash through it.

"Ready?" she said. "One, two . . ."

On "two," she dug in, merciless, with the tip of the blade. Then she found the little bottle in the drawer, with its brush. He watched her touch the dark liquid to his fresh wound with all the finesse of a painter at an easel. Sharp pain went down his arm. A rush of energy followed it-adrenaline-pushing out the aching, throbbing mess of the rest of him.

She whispered the name across his skin: "Suzao Kuzar."

And he felt it, felt the loss and the weight and the permanence, just as he was supposed to. He allowed himself to find relief in the Shotet ritual.

"I'm sorry," he said, not sure what he was apologizing for-being mean to her earlier, or everything that had happened since the challenge, or something else. He'd woken the day after the challenge to her sweeping up broken glass in the bathroom, and later, to her screwing the towel rack back into the wall. He didn't remember ripping it off. Beyond that, he was startled to learn that she knew how to use tools, like a commoner. But that was Cyra, stuffed full of random knowledge.

"I'm not so jaded I don't remember," she said, eyes shifting away from his. "That feeling, like everything is broken. Breaking."

She placed a hand in his, and lifted the other to touch his neck, lightly. He twitched at first, then relaxed. He still had a mark there where Suzao had choked him in the cafeteria.

Then she was moving her fingers back toward his ear, along the scar Ryzek had cut into his neck, and he was leaning into her touch. He was warm, too warm. They never touched like this. He never thought he wanted them to.

"You make no sense to me," she said.

Her palm was on his face, then, her fingers curled behind his ear. Long, thin fingers with tendons and veins always standing at attention. Knuckles so dry the skin was peeling in places.

"All that has happened to you would make another person hard and hopeless," she said. "So how . . . how are you even possible?"

He closed his eyes. Aching.

"Still, Akos, this is a war." She brought her forehead to his. Her fingers were firm, fitted to his bones. "A war between you and the people who destroyed your life. Don't be ashamed of fighting it."

And then a different kind of ache. A pang of longing, deep in his gut.

He wanted her.

Wanted to run his fingers along her strict cheekbone. Wanted to taste the elegant birthmark on her throat, and to feel her breaths against his mouth, and to wind her hair around his fingers until they were trapped.

He turned his head, and pressed his lips to her cheek, hard enough that it wasn't quite a kiss. They shared a breath. Then he pulled back, stood up, turned away. Wiped his mouth. Wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

She stood right behind him, so he could feel her body's warmth at his back. She touched the space between his shoulders. Was it her currentgift that made his skin prickle at the contact, even through his shirt?

"There's something I have to do," she said. "I'll be back soon."

Just like that, she was gone.

CHAPTER 24: CYRA.

I WALKED THE MAINTENANCE tunnels, my face pulsing. The memory of his lips against my cheek played over and over in my mind. I tried to stomp it down like a stray ember. I couldn't kindle it and still do what needed to be done.

The path to Teka's narrow closet of a room was complicated, and led me deep into the belly of the ship.

She answered my light knock in seconds. She wore loose clothing, and her feet were bare. She had tied a length of cloth over her missing eye instead of covering it with an eyepatch. Over her shoulder I saw her lofted bed with the makeshift desk under it, now clear of all screws and tools and wires, ready for her to move back to Voa.

"What the hell?" she said, and she dragged me into the room. Her eye was wide with alarm. "You can't just come here without warning-are you crazy?"

"Tomorrow," I said. "Whatever you're going to do to my brother, you should do it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she repeated. "As in, the day after today."

"Last time I checked, that was the official definition of 'tomorrow,' yes," I said.

She sat on the rickety stool by her desk, and set her elbows on her knees. I saw a flash of skin as her shirt fell forward-she wasn't wearing a chest binder. It was strange to see her comfortable and in her own space. We didn't know each other well enough to see each other this way.

"Why?" she said.

"Everything is disorganized the day we land," I said. "The security system in the house will be vulnerable, everyone will be exhausted, it's the perfect time to slip in."

Teka frowned. "Do you have a plan?"

"Back gate, back door, hidden tunnels-those are all easy enough to get through, because I know the codes," I said. "It's only when we get to his personal rooms that the sensors require my blood. If you can get to the back gate at midnight, I can help with the rest."

"And you're sure you're ready for this?"

A picture of Zosita was taped to the wall above Teka's head, right over her pillow. Another picture was beside it, a boy who looked like her brother. My throat felt tight. In one way or another, my family was responsible for every loss she had suffered.

"What kind of a stupid question is that?" I said, scowling at her. "Of course I'm ready. But are you ready for your part of our agreement?"

"Kereseth? Yeah," she said. "You get us in, we'll get him out."

"I want it done simultaneously-I don't want to risk him getting hurt because of what I'm doing," I said. "He's hushflower-resistant, so it will require quite a bit to knock him out. And he's a skilled fighter, so don't underestimate him."

Teka nodded, slowly. And stared, chewing the inside of her cheek.

"What happened? You look all . . . frantic, or something," she said. "You guys have a fight?"

I didn't answer.

"I don't get it," she said. "You're obviously in love with him, why do you want him gone?"

I considered not answering that, either. The feeling of his rough chin scratching my cheek, and his mouth, warm against my skin, haunted me still. He had kissed me. Without prompting, without cunning. I should have been happy, hopeful. But it wasn't that easy, was it?

I had dozens of reasons to give her. Akos was in danger, now that Ryzek had realized he could use him as leverage over me. Eijeh was lost, and maybe Akos would be able to accept that once he was home, with his mother and sister. Akos and I would never be equals, as long as he was Ryzek's prisoner here, so I had to make sure he was freed. But the one closest to my heart was the reason that came tumbling out.

"Being here, it's . . . breaking him," I said. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable. "I can't watch anymore. I won't."

"Yeah." Her voice was soft. "Win or lose-you get us in, we'll get him out. Okay?"

"Okay," I said. "Thank you."