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  “More of a trickle than a rain,” Alizhan said, laughing.

  “More of a drought,” Ev muttered. Then she mentally pushed aside all the nonsense he’d said, and responded to the important part. “You know the palace?”

  “And you speak Nalitzvan as well as Laalvuri?” Alizhan said.

  “Naturally.”

  His words gave Ev pause. She hated his little reminder that he’d eavesdropped on her private conversation with Alizhan earlier. But it was more than that. What could he possibly mean by “naturally”? His Laalvuri was perfect. Nothing about him made sense. Islanders rarely left their home. Ev had never met one in Laalvur, but she knew there was a trader who sold medusa venom and products made from it. She’d assumed Nalitzva would be similar. What was someone from Hoi doing in prison here?

  “Also, the window will never work. Alizhan, can you tell me about the guards?”

  Alizhan shook her head. “They’re too far. There’s too many people.” And then she added, “How do you know my name?”

  “Ev and I had a chat,” he said. “If the guards come closer, could you read them?”

  “Probably.” Alizhan shrugged. Then she said, caught between curiosity and suspicion, “Ev doesn’t like to talk.”

  “She does,” he replied. Ev didn’t appreciate being spoken about as if she weren’t there, but the prisoner was already continuing. “We have to distract the guards somehow. Get them to open the door. There are almost always two of them, and we’ll only have a second. Ev can take one and you and I will take the other.”

  “Ev could take both if she had her stick,” Alizhan said. As always, she had far more confidence in Ev than Ev did.

  “Could she,” the prisoner said, and for the first time, he really smiled. It flashed across his face and was gone. Alizhan smiled in return, a quick mirror. Ev felt very far away. How had they already come to like each other?

  “That’s good to know,” the prisoner continued. “But as Ev does not have her stick, I won’t assign her the task of taking out two very large men by herself. Once we get out of here, I’ll direct you to Ilyr. You can probably even get your book back, whatever you want it for.”

  “Why are you helping us?” Ev asked.

  “I should think it obvious. I want to get out of prison.”

  “Why are you helping us with Ilyr,” Ev said flatly. The prisoner always slipped out of the way of questions. He hadn’t said his name yet, he’d barely explained what landed him in prison in the first place, and he hadn’t explained how he could possibly know his way around the palace. Alizhan’s instinct wasn’t enough for Ev to trust him.

  “Oh, that,” he said. “It’s a long story.”

  “We’re very busy, as you can see,” Alizhan said, gesturing at the cell.

  “I do like a captive audience.”

  Alizhan laughed. Ev stared at the prisoner until he began to talk.

  “The first thing you should know is that Ilyr is a fraud and a liar,” the prisoner began.

  “I’ve met him,” Alizhan said. “I liked him.”

  “How wonderful for you,” the prisoner said, his voice dripping with poison. “If I am going to tell this story, I must insist that you not interrupt me. It’s delicate.”

  “Because it’s the story of why you’re so sad,” Alizhan said.

  “What did I just say.”

  Alizhan shrugged, unrepentant.

  “But perhaps that isn’t the first thing you should know. It’s difficult to know where to start. Ilyr is indeed a prince of Nalitzva. He was born to wealth and power. He grew up knowing he would inherit the throne. He’s had every privilege you can imagine, and some you probably can’t. In the unfair way of these things, he’s also intelligent and beautiful and kind.”

  “I know,” Alizhan said. “I told you, we met. At a party in Laalvur. I served him a glass of wine and read his mind.”

  Ev hadn’t known silence could be haughty, but the prisoner was very expressive.

  “Perhaps you’d like to tell the story,” he said, after a suitably icy interval of time had passed.

  “No,” Alizhan said, unaffected.

  The prisoner huffed, then took a fortifying breath and picked up where he’d left off. “Ilyr’s education sparked his curiosity about the world, and when he was twenty, he embarked on a long voyage. He went to places as far Nightward as Estva and as far Dayward as Adappyr—and he traveled to Li, Kae, and Hoi.

  “The islands don’t allow foreigners to visit. But Ilyr had studied our languages and our ways, and he knew just what to say. It was a personal journey, not a royal visit or a diplomatic mission. He admired our arts—what little he knew of them, since no mainlanders have been to the islands in centuries, and our people rarely leave. He wanted to know more. He wanted to live among us.

  “In Nalitzva, they say when Ilyr went traveling, even the coldest star-watching monks of Estva were in awe of him. I’ve never been there, but I understand it. It’s hard not to love him. He’s tall and broad-shouldered. Eyes like gems. Hair like gold. He listens so carefully that you feel like the only person in the world.

  “So we granted him permission, of a sort. He would come alone, with no retinue of servants or guards. He would take nothing from the islands but himself and his writings. He would spend three triads on each island. Ilyr did exactly that in Li and Kae.

  “And then he came to Hoi, and he met my sister.

  “I’ve already told you how beautiful Ilyr is. My sister looks nothing like him, and yet she is his equal. Not just in beauty, although she’s very beautiful—slender, graceful, dark-eyed—but in wit and charm as well. She has a gift for languages, and while Ilyr had studied enough Hoi to have a simple conversation, he still needed an interpreter. My sister spent every minute of those three triads with him. I’ve never seen two people fall in love so fast.

  “She begged the elders to allow Ilyr to stay longer. I think they wouldn’t have granted it, had the two of them not made such a beautiful pair. The way they could talk for hours, caught between languages, their hands fluttering and landing like birds. The way they danced. You wouldn’t have thought a man as big and broad as Ilyr could move with such precision. It would have been a crime to break them apart. My people value beauty.”

  The prisoner said this as though no other people valued beauty. Ev thought of the first time she’d met Alizhan back in Laalvur, and Iriyat ha-Varensi’s grand entrance into Arishdenan market in her embroidered silks, and privately disagreed. Even the Nalitzvans valued beauty, although theirs was a stark, cold kind.

  “The elders said yes. Ilyr stayed for a year. He lived among us as he’d wanted to from the beginning—he spoke our language and ate our food. He even put aside his prudish insistence on Nalitzvan clothing. He loved my sister so much I thought my heart would burst from it. It was a happy year.

  “And then Ilyr was called home for his wedding.

  “He’d been betrothed to a Nalitzvan girl for years. His parents knew nothing of his life in Hoi. There was nothing for him to do but go home and wed this girl. He had to leave. He would not be coming back.

  “The whole island heard my sister shout at him. She screamed. She wept. Nalitzvans would tell you my sister is ‘dramatic,’ in a very disapproving tone, but they think expressing emotion is a weakness. It isn’t. It’s a strength. My sister was so heartbroken and angry that she nearly attacked Ilyr, but he caught her by the wrists and they kissed instead. They made love ferociously—oh, I see that Laalvuri don’t like to talk about that any more than Nalitzvans do. I’ve never understood why. It’s the best part of the story.”

  “She’s your sister,” Ev said, with quiet horror.

  “What did I say about interruptions?” he said.

  Alizhan and Ev shared an incredulous look.

  “Anyway, as they were lying in the bed that was still warm from their lovemaking,” the prisoner continued, and Ev was certain he invented that detail just to needle them. “Ilyr proposed to my sister that sh
e come home with him. She could live among his people as he had lived among hers. He’d still have to wed his betrothed, but he wouldn’t be separated from my sister. They could be together, and she could help him write his book about the Hoi. Perhaps they could build some kind of trust between their peoples.

  “My sister agreed. She could speak Nalitzvan, but their culture was a mystery to her, and she wanted to see the city. She didn’t know Nalitzvans believe it is a crime—no, a sin—to make love outside of marriage. Nalitzvans marry in pairs, one man and one woman, and it lasts until death. Ilyr didn’t tell her this, or many other things.

  “I went with them. It was a long journey, and Nalitzva was white and cold and strange when we arrived. But my sister loved it, because she loved Ilyr. Those first few months were the adventure of her life. She even loved his betrothed, a girl as blond and beautiful as he was. Her name was Aniyat. She didn’t know that Ilyr loved my sister—Aniyat was too innocent to have suspected him of such a thing—and so she and my sister became fast friends.

  “But after those first few months, the thrill began to fade. Keeping their love a secret took its toll on Ilyr and my sister, and Ilyr became distant. He only ever came to my sister when he wanted to use her gift for languages. They were working on a book together, about Hoi culture, and Ilyr was publishing essays about his travels. He was publishing translations of Hoi poetry, too, but they were my sister’s. Her name appeared nowhere in his publications. Ilyr had suddenly become ashamed of her—or perhaps he wanted to claim her talents for himself. He now had a reputation as a genius polyglot. Rumor has it that he can speak any language, or decipher any text, even if he has never encountered it before.” The prisoner huffed.

  Beside Ev, Alizhan shifted. So this was why the prisoner had called Ilyr a fraud. Had they come all this way for nothing?

  “Ilyr stayed away from my sister unless he wanted something from her. He kept her sequestered at the palace because he didn’t want anyone to discover his secrets—that he’d loved my sister, and that she was the source of his miraculous ability. My sister grew bored. There is only so much homesick exile poetry one can write. But Aniyat was always there, and Aniyat was sweet and kind and beautiful.

  “My sister falls in love quickly, as you may have guessed. She’s impulsive. Foolish, perhaps. But she was desperately lonely. At first there was no more to it than that. Aniyat was the product of a sheltered Nalitzvan upbringing, and my sister’s attentions were a revelation to her. But when Aniyat understood what was being offered, she did not say no.

  “There. You see? I can describe sex in the dull, oblique way you approve of. You do understand that they had sex, I hope. I know Laalvuri don’t approve of women lying with women—” the prisoner seemed to linger over these words, his eyes on Alizhan and Ev, searching for a reaction, “—or men lying with men, but it happens. It even happens here in Nalitzva, where they kill you for it.

  “In light of all that, my sister looks like a fool, I know. But knowing her as I do, I understand that there was a kind of love-addled logic to her actions. If Ilyr had loved her, and he now loved Aniyat, and my sister loved Aniyat as well, perhaps there was no problem at all. She was naive. She didn’t understand anything about this place or its customs. Most of all, she didn’t understand Ilyr. How could he could love her in Hoi and feel ashamed of her in Nalitzva?

  “You can guess the rest. Ilyr caught my sister and Aniyat, and instead of being delighted and politely asking to join like a civilized human being, he reacted with outrage and betrayal. My sister couldn’t have predicted that. She truly thought the three of them could work things out. It happens all the time at home.

  “My sister didn’t intend to hurt anyone, least of all two people she loved dearly. But Ilyr couldn’t see things the way she did. For him, what my sister had done was the worst kind of treachery. He felt deceived. He felt abandoned—even though my sister felt that he’d abandoned her. They fought. He hurled wild accusations at my sister—she was a jealous bitch who’d been plotting his ruin the whole time, she’d seduced Aniyat out of spite, she’d tell the world his secrets to humiliate him. My sister tried to explain that she’d been lonely, but Ilyr wouldn’t hear her.

  “Worst of all, my sister had misjudged Aniyat. Aniyat wasn’t sweet and innocent. She wanted to do exactly what Ilyr accused my sister of doing—she wanted to use the prince’s secrets against him. But she didn’t want to reveal them to the world. She wanted to control him. My sister tried to stop her, but Aniyat made sure Ilyr would never listen to my sister again. She preserved her own reputation in the most vile and conniving way possible. She told him she’d been my sister’s unwilling victim.

  “My sister was furious at this lie—sex is sacred to us, and rape is a sin. She would never, ever have forced Aniyat. To save Ilyr from Aniyat’s control, my sister wanted to tell the truth. It was the simplest solution. But Ilyr thought she was threatening to expose him as a fraud—no better than Aniyat. Ilyr could not afford to have any aspect of this story exposed. My sister had unknowingly become his dirty little secret. Nalitzvans would be scandalized by this story, as I can see that you are. Ilyr did everything in his power to hide the evidence. The strangest thing is that even after everything, my sister still loved him, and I think—I think Ilyr loved her, at least a little bit, right up until the end.

  “I don’t know why I believe that. It doesn’t change what happened,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t know if Ilyr and Aniyat have forgiven each other fully, but they’re still going to be married. I have, as you can see, been uninvited.”

  The prisoner spread his arms wide to encompass the cell.

  “You didn’t answer the question,” Ev said. She’d asked why he’d help them find Ilyr, and instead he’d told a story about how Ilyr couldn’t help them at all. “Do you want to help us find Ilyr so you can find your sister?”

  Alizhan hadn’t moved since the prisoner stopped speaking. Instead she fixed him with her eerie, unfocused stare.

  “I see I’ve thoroughly shocked you both,” the prisoner said lightly. It sounded to Ev like he was trying to slip out from under Alizhan’s gaze, as if he could distract her with a joke.

  “No,” Alizhan said, still staring. Ev had the impression that Alizhan was working on something, but it was hard to tell what.

  Ev put aside her thoughts about Alizhan and returned to the conversation at hand. It was an awful story, and a sad one, but she wasn’t shocked for the reasons the prisoner thought. Her father’s people, in distant, sunny Adappyr, also saw nothing wrong with two men lying together, or two women. The subject had come up twice in his frequent grumblings about Laalvuri society and its moral failings. Ev had always listened especially attentively when he brought it up.

  “Just because I don’t want a stranger in a prison cell to tell me a story in lurid detail,” Ev started, intending to defend herself.

  “What’s your sister’s name?” Alizhan interrupted.

  “Lan.”

  “Hm,” Alizhan said, and Ev didn’t have a chance to ask her what that meant, because the guards arrived.

  2

  Lyrebird shift, 2nd Triad of Simosha, 761

  I LOST MY MOTHER’S TRAIL for years. After she and my father tried to force me to have an abortion, and I attacked both of them, she fled. She must have thought—as I did—that I had killed my father.

  In our confrontation, I flung a cup of hot tea at her face. I thought she might have burns after the encounter, and so my spies were always watching Laalvur and the neighboring towns for white women with blond hair and facial burns. But I also thought I might have wounded her mind with my touch. I thought she, like my father, might not remember anything.

  Why else would she have fled her own home?

  Unless she feared me.

  It took me no time to come up with this possible answer, and a great deal of time to accept it. Was I really more powerful than the parents I had spent my life obeying? Had my mother run from me?

  I
had incapacitated my father, but the damage I did to my mother turned out to be much less serious. Neither her physical nor her mental wounds were lasting. When she surfaced at last—not in Laalvur, but across the sea in Nalitzva, six years after her disappearance—the skin of her face was unmarked. She did not appear to suffer from memory loss. Prideful creature that she was, my mother continued to go by her first name, Merat, and had returned to using her maiden name of Orzh, rather than Varenx. As a gifted Lacemaker, she had no trouble threading herself back into Nalitzvan high society and weaving around any questions that threatened to unravel her little knot of lies. To explain her sudden reappearance in Nalitzva, Merat told people that a long illness had kept her away for years. The only sign of any infirmity was a slight tremor in her hands—possibly a trace of my attack?—which she had trained herself to keep from view.

  My spies were very observant of such details.

  I employed several people in Nalitzva for purposes of information gathering. The only one who remains in contact with me at the moment is a wet sop of a man named Mihel Pelatzva, a minor noble whose only useful quality is how much he longs to please me.

  As careful as they were, my spies were unable to answer the questions about my mother that obsessed me. Where had she been in the six years since I had announced to Laalvur that she died tragically in the wave that hit the city in 745? Did she think I had forgotten her? Was she biding her time? Was she plotting to come back to Laalvur and take Varenx House from me?

  Was I powerful enough to kill her, if she tried?

  Perhaps you will think less of me, for giving voice to such thoughts in these pages, and that saddens me, but nevertheless I strive to be truthful with you. My mother was a murderer just as surely as if she had killed Arav with her own hands. He would never have been aboard that ship if she hadn’t altered his memory.