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  “You think he hit his head?” Ev said. She tried not to stare in Hyersk’s direction. Thiyo had called his smile insipid. Maybe that blandness was an outward sign of some internal emptiness. “In the house metaphor, that would be… moving out? Or having the whole house collapse?”

  “People with head injuries are common enough. This doesn’t feel like that. I don’t think it was an accident,” Alizhan said. “I think somebody robbed him. And they torched the place afterward.”

  “It’s awful, but I can’t say I feel sorry for him,” Ev said, and then the full importance of what Alizhan had just said dawned on her. She shivered. “Someone altered his memory. You don’t think it was Iriyat, do you?”

  “No. Iriyat hates the ocean. She hasn’t sailed anywhere since her parents died in the wave. She couldn’t come here. But it was someone like her.”

  “Revenge, maybe?”

  “Not just revenge, but somebody making sure that whatever Hyersk did, he couldn’t do it again.”

  “Wow,” Ev said. They danced in silence for a moment, and then she said, “So I think that’s all of Lan’s rejected suitors. Plus the two jealous women. We’re done.”

  “We didn’t figure it out, though.”

  “I think she should be grateful to be here and that we should move on.”

  Alizhan frowned, but all she said was, “Let’s pass by the prince, then.”

  Ilyr was dancing with his new bride. Everyone wanted to gawk at them, so it was difficult to get close. Ev and Alizhan had to weave through other pairs of dancers, and they attracted a few glares. Approaching the royal couple revealed no flaws in their beauty and symmetry. If anything, their smiles and finery were more dazzling. Ilyr didn’t look like a man who was worried about the sudden appearance of a confiscated Laalvuri book among his many possessions.

  Alizhan giggled just loud enough to remind Ev that despite the serious conversation they’d been having, she was still very tipsy. “All of Lan’s dreams are coming true.”

  Ev thought it was probably small consolation for Thiyo to remain in Ilyr’s thoughts, after being betrayed, imprisoned, and maimed. But Ev would also be the first to admit she didn’t understand Thiyo. She could hardly get a word out before Alizhan whispered, “He’s upset that Lan is here, but even more upset that she’s been gone for two weeks. He missed her. Ooh, he’s really mad at you, specifically. He doesn’t know who you are or where Th—Lan found you but he’s sure you’re using her and you’re going to break her heart.”

  “Ironic,” Ev said dryly.

  “He wants to know what she sees in you. Are you better at sex? Are you better-looking than him? Ugh. This is boring. Of course you are.”

  Ev ignored the first question. “You don’t know what either of us looks like.”

  “You’re cuter on the inside,” Alizhan insisted. “Why is Lan in love with this guy? It’s like you and Ajee. You and Lan should get along better, since both of you have terrible taste in men.”

  “Could we get back on topic?”

  “He doesn’t like the look of me, either. I guess he doesn’t remember meeting me at Iriyat’s party. Maybe he doesn’t recognize me because of the dress,” Alizhan said. “Anyway, he’s very suspicious. Where did Lan find all these foreigners? Where has she been? I guess he’s innocent, at least on that count. Guilty of lots of other stuff, though.” Alizhan’s face lit up with excitement. “Hey, he knows about the book! He’s worried it has something to do with us, and that maybe Lan is trying to humiliate him somehow. And he’s worried that people will keep bringing him mysterious texts to read and he won’t be able to do it. And if that secret gets revealed, all the rest will come crashing down.”

  “Is that why the guards threw us in jail?”

  “Ilyr had the city guard start a clandestine campaign to arrest book peddlers and destroy any obscene or foreign material they might be carrying,” Alizhan said. “Books are causing him a lot of trouble lately. He’s worried about his reputation as a scholar. Anyway, our book’s in his rooms. That’s that, at least.”

  Now all that remained was for Ev and Thiyo to cause a scene so Alizhan could slip out of the room. There would be shrieking and punching, no doubt. Ev wouldn’t be able to bring herself to hit a recent torture victim with a broken heart, no matter how much of a prick he was, so she couldn’t even look forward to a good round of sparring.

  “Ev,” Alizhan said abruptly, and Ev didn’t have time to remind her not to use their real names before Alizhan hissed, “Aniyat should know about Lan, right?”

  Thiyo had said they slept together, so presumably the princess knew Lan’s little secret. As soon as she had the thought, Ev had to close her eyes to avoid rolling them—it was too easy to hear Thiyo’s voice in her head saying you’re mistaken, it’s a big secret. Enormous, really. But that was the least of their concerns. “You’re saying Aniyat doesn’t know?”

  Alizhan shook her head. “She thinks Lan’s a woman and has almost no memories of her. She feels a kind of friendly indifference toward her.”

  If there was one thing Ev had learned at this party, it was that Lan could inspire just about any feeling except friendly indifference. “That’s bizarre.”

  “She’s noticed that Ilyr keeps looking over at Lan. She can’t figure out why, and it’s beginning to upset her.”

  “So there’s something she doesn’t know about Ilyr, then.” Ev felt sorry for the princess, even knowing what she’d done to Thiyo. “It must be strange for both of them, having this history between them and being unable to discuss it.”

  “Very strange,” Alizhan said slowly. Then she said, “When Iriyat altered Vatik’s memory, she was precise. Almost undetectable. The whole point was that no one would ever notice, not even him. I spent my whole life around him and I didn’t notice anything until I saw it happen.”

  “But the person who hurt Barold Hyersk left a mark.”

  “So that person isn’t as good at covering their tracks,” Alizhan said, finishing the thought. “Maybe they went a little too far with Aniyat.”

  “You described Hyersk as being robbed,” Ev said. “Do you think the magic works like that? It’s not just an erasure of memory, but a transfer of some kind?”

  Alizhan shrugged helplessly. “You know as much as I do. But nobody needs magic to get information out of a person.”

  “So somebody found out what Aniyat knew, somehow, and then removed all her memories relating to it.”

  “Neither Aniyat nor Barold remembers that person, if it even is the same person. So not only do we have no clue who it is, but I also won’t be able to feel their mind,” Alizhan said, frustrated.

  “Lan might know something,” Ev said. “You should get out of here.”

  The prospect of burglary—or the prospect of leaving the party—made Alizhan smile. They walked back to the table, where Alizhan sat down heavily, putting a hand to her forehead. “I think I drank too much.”

  “Like a hole in the ground,” muttered the same woman who’d spoken Laalvuri to Ev.

  Her husband, slightly more sympathetic, said, “Drink some water.”

  Ev gallantly offered Alizhan a glass of water, which she accepted. Then Alizhan sighed and said, “I need some air.”

  Ev helped her up, and they walked away from the table. As they were crossing the room, they skirted the edge of the dance floor and Thiyo burst out of the crowd of dancers, flushed with fury. He pointed one imperious finger at Ev—with his good hand, of course. “You!”

  Alizhan slipped away from Ev’s side. The crowd cleared for her, partly because they wanted to see what Lan would do next, and partly because Alizhan, with sweat at her temples and a hand over her mouth, was doing an extremely credible impression of a person on the verge of vomiting.

  Thiyo, on the other hand, was warming up. “I brought you here, I did, and you have done nothing but make eyes at other women, you ungrateful bastard!” Then there was a series of words too foreign, too rapid, or too rude—perhaps all three�
��for Ev to understand. She settled on scowling as an all-purpose response.

  Thiyo had managed to conjure tears from somewhere. One had already tracked a wet, black streak through his eye makeup, which was a nice touch. As with Alizhan’s nausea, Ev wondered how much of the display was acting, and how much was genuine feeling. Thiyo certainly had reason enough to weep in anger.

  Ev had to fill in a lot of blanks in Thiyo’s rant. His voice rose in volume and pitch as the tirade intensified.

  The facial expressions of the gathering crowd were a good indication of when things got especially shocking or explicit. Ev guessed it went something like this:

  “You said you loved me and you left me alone to rot, I know you’ve been sleeping with other women, you lying sack of shit, I hate you, I wish we’d never met, I wish you were dead, I wish we were both dead, I ought to cut your fucking dick off and stuff it down your throat—”

  “Woman,” Ev said in Nalitzvan. This form of address had been Thiyo’s idea. Adappyr was, in reality, a far more egalitarian society than Nalitzva. Women were free to work and own property and have a voice in politics. They certainly didn’t have to wear ridiculous corsets. But because Nalitzvans thought of themselves as superior, they naturally assumed that Adpri society possessed all the same flaws as their own, only in a more extreme fashion. So they expected all foreign men to be woman-hating brutes. Ev hadn’t wanted to confirm their prejudices, but Thiyo had convinced her it would be expedient to give the crowd exactly what they wanted. People see what they want to see, she told herself.

  And then she said, as nonchalantly as possible, “You don’t tell me what to do.”

  Thiyo shrieked, tossed the contents of his wine glass at Ev, then threw the glass down so it shattered against the stone floor. Blinking wine out of her eyes, Ev had one instant to be grateful Thiyo had aimed the glass away from her feet before he jumped her.

  As Ev held off a flurry of surprisingly effective punches and kicks, it occurred to her that they hadn’t exactly planned an end to this fight. Alizhan had to be safely out of sight by now.

  Then Thiyo, still sobbing and breathing raggedly, hissed, “Lose.”

  The instruction was in Adpri, meant only for her ears. Ev didn’t think it was in character for Lan to win this fight, but while she was trying to think of a way to convey that idea privately, Thiyo finally landed a real hit. He socked her in the stomach. Ev grunted. Then she let him propel her backwards into a table and slam her down. Plates and glasses crunched beneath her or plummeted to the floor and broke. Ev, unwilling to take a ceramic shard in the back for the sake of theater, shoved Thiyo upright.

  Then they were surrounded and people were pulling them apart. Thiyo continued kicking and screaming. Ev spit on the floor and glared at him. That last portion of the fight had been a little too real. Both of them were escorted from the room, the crowd clearing a path but jittering with excitement.

  They were marched down a hallway and deposited into a smaller room some distance from the great hall. It wasn’t a bedroom, but a salon of some kind, with two couches and several chairs arranged in a loose circle. The furniture was richly upholstered in light blue silk, which matched the rug and the wallpaper. Opposite the door they had entered were two wooden double doors, just barely open. Through the narrow gap, Ev could see an equally richly appointed room with a grand writing desk in polished dark wood. Probably the private quarters of someone royal.

  Exactly the sort of place someone might store their papers and their books.

  Was Alizhan in there? Had she left already? Ev tried not to stare in that direction.

  Someone behind Ev said, “Get out,” and the order was immediately obeyed. The person who’d been twisting Ev’s arms behind her back dropped her wrists and disappeared. The door shut and the room went silent. Ev turned toward Thiyo for guidance, and realized the person standing behind both of them was Ilyr.

  10

  Lyrebird shift, 14th Triad of Simosha, 761

  EVEN IN 745, IT WAS clear to me that I could not accomplish anything alone.

  In the lonely, grieving months of my pregnancy, I sought answers from priests of all kinds. None of the answers satisfied me, but the company of one priest of the Balance was a pleasant enough distraction, and I invited him back after our first meeting. I awaited him on a bench in a secluded part of my garden, dressed in a silvery blue tunic and matching trousers. He’d met me a month before, when my belly had been smaller but still noticeable. I’d gazed into his eyes and given his hand a heartfelt squeeze at the end of our visit to remove any thoughts pertaining to my condition. A servant escorted him out of the house in a daze.

  For our second meeting, I wanted to see his face when he saw me. There was no hiding my condition by that point, no matter how loose my clothes were. Would this priest be bold enough to remark on how much I’d changed since he last saw me? Would he stare?

  I heard him walking down the path before I saw him. The trailing hem of his grey robe rustled against the stones. He was twice my age, but still younger than the other priests I’d talked to—back then, twice my age was only thirty-six years old. Handsome in a reedy, intellectual fashion. A gaze that appraised the world but gave nothing away. A soothing, thoughtful voice. He should have appealed to me. He didn’t. My heart was as dry and empty as the shore before a wave. All I wanted was to talk to someone, and this man had been the only priest to listen to my babbling about waves and agree that the world would be better without them. The others had all told me it was God’s Balance and we could never hope to understand it.

  He entered the clearing and saw me seated on the bench. He smiled. Then his eyes went wide at the sight of my belly. He blinked in confusion, no doubt wondering why he’d failed to notice it at our last meeting. But he schooled his face into a more neutral expression and admired the garden.

  “My lady ha-Varensi,” he said. “Your garden is as lovely as you are.”

  I scoffed. “Do they teach you flattery when you become a priest, Your Reverence?”

  “I hope so, since if you’re laughing, that means I haven’t achieved mastery yet,” he said, coming to sit next to me. “And please call me Tsardeya. I’m not old enough to have earned that title yet.”

  Arav had once had a friend who’d gone by that same nickname, a form of the name Sardas. It seemed a good sign. “You might as well call me Iriyat,” I said. I pointed at my belly. “And since we’re on such familiar terms, why don’t you ask your questions?”

  “I only have one. How can I help you?”

  I had expected him to ask who the father was, or how I’d kept my condition hidden from him and so many others. I was unprepared to answer.

  “This is all in confidence, of course,” he continued. “Do you need a hasty marriage?”

  “I’d need a groom for that. Are you offering?”

  Tsardeya flushed. “No, um, unless—”

  “A joke,” I said gently. Perhaps you will not believe me, having read the rest of this journal, but I didn’t realize until then that he was attracted to me. I was young and not so attuned to these things. I’d thought his flattery was meaningless politeness, since I wasn’t feeling lovely so much as fat and tired and cranky. But I tried to tread carefully after that. I never intended to tease him or lead him on. “The baby’s father died in the wave and I have no wish to marry anyone else.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. Forgive me for bringing up what must be a painful subject. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

  “I did call you here for something,” I said, smiling. “As you’ve probably guessed, I’m not going out much lately. I’m bored. I want someone to talk to.”

  “And you chose… me?”

  “You listened to me. You took me seriously. You share my curiosity about the world—you recognized that I was growing blue baliyet and climbing arish when you were last here. And you didn’t seem the type to lecture.”

  “I’m not. And I’m honored, Iriyat.”


  We talked about my garden for his first few visits—and my intuition about Tsardeya not being the lecturing type was borne out. He had a sharp enough eye to know I was breeding my own plants. Instead of being upset that I was mucking with God’s Balance, he was impressed. The fourth or fifth time he came to see me, he noticed the tiny purple flowers I’d been perfecting. He bent down and pinched a stem between his fingers, then offered it to me. “I know it’s a sin to think we can improve upon the work of the Maker, but that color belongs in your hair.”

  “You’ve been at your flattery lessons again, I see.” I tucked the flower behind my ear. “You know we can improve far more than flower breeds.”

  Tsardeya searched my expression with his eyes, but he didn’t tell me not to speak of such things.

  “When we first met, I asked you about waves.” It was a risk, admitting my true goals to him. But I wanted so badly to share my vision. “You agreed the world would be better without them.”

  He didn’t voice any questions, but they were there in his eyes.

  “That’s what I want, Tsardeya. I want this child to grow up in a better world. A world where we can predict and control waves—and more.”

  “Predict, yes, that might be possible. Although no one’s discovered a way to do that yet, and people have tried. But control? That’s quite a leap.”

  “There are people who live on tiny islands in the middle of the ocean. They’ve been there as long as we’ve been chronicling history. Waves should have flattened their civilizations long ago. They shouldn’t exist. How can they live there—unless they know something we don’t?”