The air in the underground prison was cool, but Akos knew that wasn't why Isae was trembling as she said, "Your mother said Ori would be here."

"There has to be a mistake," Cisi said softly. "Something she didn't see-"

Akos was pretty sure there was no mistake, but he wasn't about to share that now. They had to find Ori. If she wasn't in the prison, she had to be closer to the amphitheater-maybe above them, in the arena, or on the platform where Ryzek had cut into his own sister.

"We're wasting time. We need to go upstairs and find her," he said, surprised by how forceful his own voice sounded. "Now."

Apparently his voice had broken through Isae's panic. She took a deep breath and turned toward the door, where the distant footsteps of a few ticks ago had resolved into the menacing form of Vas Kuzar.

"Surukta. Kereseth. Ah-Benesit," Vas said, looking at Isae with a little tilt to his mouth. "Not as pretty as your twin, I have to say. Is that scar from a Shotet blade, by any chance?"

"Benesit?" Teka said, staring at Isae. "As in . . ."

Isae nodded.

Cisi had backed up against the wall of one of the cells, her hands flat against the glass. Akos wondered if his sister felt like she was standing in their living room again, watching Vas Kuzar murder their dad. That was how he had felt the first few times he saw Vas after the kidnapping-like everything was unraveling inside him at once. He didn't feel that way anymore.

Vas was empty-eyed as always. It had been disappointing to figure out that Vas was so empty of wrath, numb inside as well as outside. It was easier to think of him as pure evil, but the truth was, he was just a pet doing his master's bidding.

The memory of Akos's dad's death surfaced: his broken skin, the rich color of his blood, like the currentstream above them; the bloody blade that Vas had wiped on a pant leg as he left the house. The man with the polished Shotet armor and golden-brown eyes who couldn't feel pain. Unless-unless.

Unless Akos touched him.

He didn't bother to reason with Vas. It was a waste of time. Akos just started toward him, his boots scraping the grit they had tracked onto the glass floor. Vas's eyes looked even colder, despite being such a warm shade of hazel, because of the lights coming from beneath him.

Akos had the heart of prey; he wanted to run, or at least keep space between them, but he made himself press against that space. Breathed open-mouthed, with flared nose; never breathing enough.

Vas lunged, and Akos let himself be prey, then; he sprang away. Not fast enough. Vas's knife scraped his armor. Akos winced at the sound, turning again to face him.

He would let Vas get a few close calls in, let him get cocky. Cocky meant sloppy, and sloppy meant Akos might live.

Vas's eyes were like stamped metal, his arms were like twisted rope. He lunged again, but instead of trying to stab Akos, he grabbed his arm with his free hand and slammed him, hard, against the cell wall. Akos's head snapped back, smacking into the glass. He saw bursts of color and the glow of the floor against the flat ceiling. Vas's hand was clamped around him, stern enough to bruise.

And close enough to grab. Akos seized him before he could try to stab again, pressing his knife arm back as hard as he could muster. Vas's eyes went wide, startled by his touch. In pain, maybe. Akos tried to slam his forehead into Vas's nose, but he just tossed Akos aside.

Akos fell. The grit they had tracked in clung to his arms. He watched Teka dragging Isae and Cisi away, one hand on each arm. He felt relief, even as blood or sweat tickled the back of his neck; he wasn't sure which. His head throbbed from the impact with the wall. Vas was strong, and he was not.

Vas licked his lips as he stalked toward Akos again. He kicked, hitting Akos's armored side. And again, this time driving the toe of his boot into Akos's jaw. He sprawled flat on his back, covering his face with his hands, and groaned. The pain made it hard to think, hard even to breathe.

Vas laughed. He bent over Akos, grabbed the front of his armor, and pulled him half off the ground. Flecks of his spit hit Akos's face as he spoke.

"In whatever life there is to come, give your father my greetings."

This, Akos realized, was his last chance. He put his hand on Vas's throat. Not even grabbing, just touching, the best he could do. Vas gave him that startled look he'd given before, that pained look. He was bent, leaving a strip of skin exposed beneath his armor, right over the waistband of his pants. And while Akos was touching him-forcing him to feel pain again-he drew the knife he kept in the side of his boot, and stabbed with his left hand. Up, under the armor. Into Vas's gut.

Vas's eyes were so wide Akos saw the whites around his bright irises. Then he screamed. He screamed, and tears came into his eyes. His blood was hot on Akos's hand. They were locked together, Akos's blade in his flesh, his hands on Akos's shoulders, their eyes meeting. Together they sank to the ground, and Vas let out a heavy sob.

It took Akos a long time to let go. He needed to make sure Vas was dead.

He thought of his dad's button in his mom's hand, its sheen worn away by his fingers, and pulled his knife free.

He'd dreamt of killing Vas Kuzar so many times. The need to do it had been a second heartbeat in his body. In his dreams, though, he stood over the body and raised his knife to the sky and let the blood run down his arm like it was a wisp of the currentstream itself. In his dreams, he felt triumph and victory and vengeance, and like he could finally let his dad go.

In his dreams, he didn't huddle near the cell wall, scrubbing at his palm with a handkerchief. Shaking so badly he dropped the cloth on the glowing floor.

Vas's body looked so much smaller now that he was dead. His eyes were still open halfway, and so was his mouth, so Akos could see Vas's crooked teeth. He swallowed down bile at the image, determined not to throw up.

Ori, he thought. So he stumbled toward the door, and started running.

CHAPTER 37: CYRA.

RYZEK TOOK HIS HAND away from his stomach. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, right by his hairline. His eyes, usually so piercing, were unfocused. But then his mouth drew down in a frown that was unexpectedly . . . vulnerable.

"It's you who made a mistake," he said, in a higher, softer voice than I had ever heard from him. It was a distinct voice, memorable: Eijeh's voice. How could both Ryzek and Eijeh be living in the same body, surfacing at different times? "By forcing his hand."

His hand?

The sound of the crowd around us had changed. No one was even looking at Ryzek anymore. All heads were turned toward the raised platform from which he had just descended, where Eijeh Kereseth now stood alone with a woman in front of him, a knife held at her throat.

I recognized her. Not just from the footage of the kidnapping that had played on screens throughout the city the day she was taken, but from the past day of watching Isae Benesit talk, laugh, eat. This was her double, Orieve Benesit, face unscarred.

"Ah yes, this is the blade I was waiting for," Ryzek said with a laugh, his natural voice returning. "Cyra, I'd like you to meet Orieve Benesit, chancellor of Thuvhe."

Her throat was purple with bruises. There was a deep cut in her forehead. But when our eyes locked across that substantial distance, she didn't look like someone who was afraid for her life. She looked like someone who knew what was coming and intended to meet it with a straight back and a steady look.

Did Ryzek know she wasn't really the chancellor? Or had she convinced him she was? Either way, it was too late. Too late.

"Ori," I said. In Thuvhesit, I added, "She tried to come for you."

I couldn't tell if she heard me, she was so still.

"Thuvhe is just a playground for the Shotet," Ryzek said. "It was easily penetrated, its chancellor effortlessly taken by my faithful servants. Soon, its chancellor will not be the only thing we take from it. This planet is ours to be claimed!"

He was rallying his supporters. Their roar was deafening. Their faces twisted with glee. The mania made the currentshadows wrap around my body, tight as ropes binding a prisoner, and I flinched.

"What do you think, Shotet?" Ryzek said, lifting his head to the crowd. "Should the chancellor die at the hand of one of her former subjects?"

Ori, still looking at me, didn't make a sound, though the amplifier drifted so close to her head it almost hit Eijeh. The one who carried my brother's horrors inside his head.

The chant began immediately. "Die!"

"Die!"

"Die!"

Ryzek spread his arms wide, like he was basking in the sound. He turned, slowly, beckoning more and more of it, until the thirst for Ori's death felt like a tangible thing, a weight in the air. Then he held up his hands to quiet them, grinning.

"I think it's Cyra who will decide when she dies," he said. He lowered his voice a little. "If I fall-if you don't supply me with an antidote of some kind-she will fall, too."

I said weakly, "There is no antidote."

I could save her. I could tell Ryzek the truth-the truth I had told no one, even Akos, as he begged me to preserve what little hope he had left for his brother-and delay her execution. I opened my mouth to see if the truth would come out, despite my paralysis.

If I told Ryzek the truth-if I saved Ori's life-we would all be trapped in this amphitheater, surrounded by a sea of Ryzek's supporters, with no victory to claim for the renegades.

My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. No, it was too late for Orieve Benesit. I couldn't do it. I couldn't save her without sacrificing us all. Including the true chancellor of Thuvhe.

Ryzek swayed, and I stepped forward, weapon outstretched, to meet him as he fell. I thrust the knife, and his weight dragged us both to the ground.

High above us, Eijeh Kereseth-curly haired, wide-eyed, and gaunt-drove the currentblade into Orieve Benesit's gut.

And twisted it.

CHAPTER 38: AKOS.

AS ORI COLLAPSED, AKOS heard a bloodcurdling scream. Ryzek fell on his side, his arms crossed in front of his body and his head limp against the dirt. Cyra got to her feet, knife in hand. She had done it. She had killed her brother, and the last hope for Eijeh's restoration.

Isae was shoving her way through the crowd as everything turned to chaos. She was clawing, her teeth gritted, fighting her way to the platform. Akos hoisted his body over the arena barrier and sprinted across the dirt, past Cyra and Ryzek, over the other barrier and into the crowd again. People elbowed and kicked and pressed, and his fingernails came away red with somebody else's blood, and he didn't care.

Up on the platform, Ori grabbed Eijeh's arms to hold herself up. Blood sputtered from her lips as she tried to breathe. Eijeh hunched over her, holding her elbows, and together they dropped to the ground. Ori's brow wrinkled, and Akos watched, not wanting to interrupt.

"Bye, Eij," she said, her voice caught by the hovering amplifier.

Akos bent low and barreled into the last of the crowd. Children screamed someplace far away. A woman moaned as someone trod on her-she couldn't get up, so people were just running over her.

When Isae got to Eijeh and Ori, she threw Akos's brother back with a roar. In half a tick she was on top of him, her hands around Eijeh's throat. And he didn't seem to be moving, even though she was choking him to death.

Akos didn't move right away, he just watched her do it. Eijeh had killed Ori. Maybe he deserved to die.

"Isae," Akos said with a croak. "Stop."

Ori was reaching for her sister, fingers straining at the empty space. It was only when Isae saw it that she let go of Eijeh and crouched next to her sister instead. Ori held Isae's hand tight to her chest, and their eyes met.

A small smile. Then gone.

Akos pushed his way onto the platform, where Isae was bent over Ori's body. Ori's dark clothes were wet with blood. Isae didn't cry, or scream, or shake. Behind her, Eijeh was-for some reason-lying still, eyes closed.

A shadow passed over them. The renegade ship, glowing orange, yellow, and red, coming to their rescue, piloted by Jyo and Sifa.

Teka was already crouched over the control panel on the right side of the platform. She was trying to pry the screen away from the rest of the mechanism, but her hand was trembling around the screwdriver, so she kept losing the screws. Finally Akos drew his knife and forced it between screen and mechanism, pressing them apart. Teka nodded her approval, and jammed her fingers inside to disable the force field.

There was a flicker of bright white as the force field winked out. The transport ship sank into the amphitheater, and hovered as low as it could go without crushing the seats. The floor hatch opened over them, and the steps came down.

"Isae!" Akos shouted. "We have to go!"

Isae gave him a look that was like poison. She put her hands under Ori's arms and tried to drag her toward the ship. Akos went to Ori's legs, to help, but Isae snapped, "Hands off her!" so he stepped back. By that time, Cisi had made it to the platform, and Isae didn't yell at her. Together they carried Ori's body up the steps to the ship.

Akos turned to Eijeh, who hadn't moved from where he was when Isae tackled him. When Akos shook his older brother's shoulder, he still didn't move, so Akos touched his fingers to Eijeh's throat to make sure he was still alive. And he was. Strong pulse. Strong breaths.

"Akos!" Cyra shouted from the arena floor. She was still next to Ryzek's body, knife in hand.

"Leave it!" he shouted back. Why not just leave his body to carrion birds and Noavek loyalists?

"No!" Cyra said, her eyes wide, urgent. "I can't!"

She held up the knife. He hadn't looked close before; all he had seen was Ryzek's body, limp, and Cyra standing over it with blade drawn. But when she gestured toward the weapon, he saw that the blade was clean. She hadn't stabbed Ryzek. She hadn't stabbed him, so why had he collapsed?

Akos remembered Suzao's face hitting his soup in the cafeteria, and the guard outside the amphitheater door, going limp, and it was obvious: Cyra had drugged Ryzek.

Even though he knew Cyra was more than Ryzek's Scourge, or even Ryzek's Executioner-even though he had seen the better parts of her, getting stronger in the worst environment possible, like the hushflower that bloomed in the Deadening time-somehow, he'd never considered this possibility: Cyra had spared Ryzek. For him.

CHAPTER 39: CYRA.

THE HATCH DOOR OF the renegade ship closed behind us. I checked Ryzek's pulse before untying the rope from his chest. It was weak, but steady, just as it was supposed to be. Given the timing of his fall, and the strength of Akos's sleep blends, it would be a while before he woke. I hadn't stabbed him, though I had taken great pains to make it look as if I had, in case anyone was watching closely on the sights.

Yma Zetsyvis had disappeared in a pale blue flourish in the chaotic aftermath of the challenge. I wished I had gotten the chance to thank her, but then, she hadn't poisoned Ryzek for me; she had believed it would kill him, as I had led her to believe it would. She probably would have hated my gratitude. And when she found out that I had lied to her, she would hate me more than before.

Isae and Cisi crouched on either side of Ori's body. Akos stood behind his sister. When she snaked her hand back to reach for him, he was already stretching toward her; they clasped fingers, Akos's gift freeing Cisi's tears.

"May the current, which flows through and around each and all of us, living and passed, guide Orieve Benesit to a place of peace," Cisi murmured, covering Isae's bloody hands with her own. "May we who live hear its comfort clearly, and strive to match our actions to the path it sets for us."

Isae's hair was stringy and wet with spit, sticking to her lips. Cisi brushed it away from her face, tucking it behind her ears. I felt the warmth and the weight of Cisi's currentgift, settling me into myself.

"May it be so," Isae finally said, apparently closing the prayer. I had never heard Thuvhesit prayers before, though I knew they spoke to the current itself, rather than its alleged master, like the smaller Shotet sects. Shotet prayers were lists of certainties rather than requests, and I liked the honesty of Thuvhesit tentativeness, the implicit acknowledgment that they didn't know if their prayers would be answered.