Chapter Nineteen

“Look there.” I bite my lip when I meet Nen’s glare. There’s no denying that he snuck into our room. The pinched-mouthed boy hunches at a table in silence. The skin of his forehead gleams smooth and shiny where his eyebrows should be. Kuran would be so proud of me. I remember the first time she used that orasyon on Halna.

Dayen howls so loudly that Virian elbows him hard in the side. He keeps grinning, though. “Hells, of course it was Nen with the snake. No wonder he’s had his head down all morning.” Dayen slaps his thighs, still shaking.

“I like your style.” Virian inclines her head. I make a flourished bow. It’s a petty victory, but it’s the first I’ve won since the Sundo began. It’s a feeling I could get used to.

Nen returns to staring down at his empty plate. He doesn’t answer the cajoles of his friends, and it looks like he would crawl into the floor if he could.

I wait for the day’s announcement, tapping my fingers against the table as plates are cleared away.

I steady my breathing to focus on getting through this test. None of the others went too well, but I survived. Now, though, my wrapped-up hand might put me at a disadvantage.

Arisa swishes into the great hall. Any jubilance in my mood evaporates. As always, she wears her sun comb, but today she’s swathed in oversize purple robes that make her look so much like a child playing at foreign king.

Behind her sways Teloh. He has that spring in his step again. He almost dances as he moves, but his eyes are devoid of lightness. Once, this expression might have made me think him fearsome, but I know him a fraction better now. It’s not joy but restlessness, like his skin is too tight and uncomfortable. He must not like what Arisa has planned.

I follow Teloh’s gaze across the room and do a quick count. Yesterday, there were more than a hundred candidates. Today, we are half the number, but no one speaks about it. He meets my eyes silently, and I turn my head.

I don’t need the distraction of him now, especially when I know he doesn’t want me to be here.

Reshar’s perpetual scowl is etched deeper than usual today. He slouches near enough that I can smell palm wine on his breath, though it’s still early. I doubt he’s slept, because he’s wearing the same blue tunic from last night. It’s still odd to see him so covered up.

Kalena stands perfectly still, as unreadable as a statue of Omu, betraying nothing but calm assurance and the pleasantness of a warm summer day. I have met many Reshars in my life. It’s white-robed Kalena who worries me.

And Arisa? The Astar is everything my mother warned me about; the worst of Tigang’s creations.

Arisa’s lips peel back when she sees me, and I straighten my shoulders, suddenly aware that I’m hunched over and my arms are crossed. She doesn’t hide her pleasure at the sight of my bandaged fingers. She’s all smiles today. I want her attention as much as a mouse wants a snake’s notice, but I can do nothing about it.

“Dearest candidates. You know that the Sundo is dangerous, yet you stay because you are brave and honorable,” she says. “The Seven will judge who is worthy to rule. Trust that the Sundo will reveal your true merits. You must respect your fellow candidates, because the ruler of Tigang must be both diplomatic and fair.”

Arisa is the furthest thing from diplomatic that I can imagine. Reshar scoffs, echoing my thoughts.

“Nen Massa, please step forward.”

Nen keeps his head bowed as he stands. I tear my eyes from him, ashamed, though I was not the one who gave him away.

“You played a poor prank on one of your fellow candidates. No harm was done, so you shall not be expelled, but you must be awarded an equally fitting penalty.” Arisa cocks her head to the left. “Reshar,” she purrs.

Of course Arisa is more concerned with punishing us than the candidates who have gone missing. Virian shakes with indignation, but I follow Reshar’s movements. I wonder if he’s behind the missing candidates and if this is all a plot to whittle the candidates down to only those he finds worthy. I wouldn’t put it past him. I am definitely not on that short list, and I need to be careful.

The Seeker strolls up to Nen and makes lazy circles around him. Reshar’s face remains plastered with boredom. He whispers suggestions until one makes Nen flinch. The Seeker snorts, leaves the room, and returns pushing a wooden box into the middle of the floor. Arisa’s expression brightens.

“Get in, child.” She grips his shoulder so tightly that he winces. The box does not even come to his knees, and I’m not sure he’ll fit inside. Reshar grunts his impatience when Nen does not move.

Nen’s expression reminds me of a time Kuran woke up to a toad on her face. I can still remember how loud she screamed. Nen, on the other hand, looks too petrified to open his mouth.

“Your punishment will be one hour in the box,” Arisa says, practically singing. Her tone is sticky sweet. A trap. She winks at me as though she is doing me a favor when I want nothing at all from her.

“Astar Arisa, I am sorry. Expel me if you will, but do not make me get in there.” Nen falls to his knees, but Arisa keeps her firm grip on his shoulder and drags him to his feet.

“You must be made an example of.”

Two Guardians appear at the nod of her head. They wrestle Nen into a ball and slam the lid shut. Arisa turns the lock herself.

No one moves or speaks. Dust motes trail around us, bathed in sunshine, like flakes of snow slowly falling through the air. The minutes pass, and only Nen’s screams break the silence. The box shifts across the floor as Nen struggles. His skull cracks against the lid of the box, but it is reinforced with iron bands.

Virian’s vacant expression tells me her mind has taken refuge elsewhere. Dayen’s guilt turns his head away, while the chosen one, Ingo, stares on impassively. He’s already a Raja in his golden chains and earrings, his judgment made.

I stand there shaking. The scene is all too familiar. Once, a washerwoman caught me taking a swim in a river and dragged me soaking wet into the middle of town. Villagers tossed garbage and cursed me as I passed. I know what it’s like to be humiliated in front of everyone and have my pride crushed into dust. I know that it doesn’t take feet and fists to break someone, because my mother didn’t always get to me first.

“Astar, please.” I push past two other girls. I cannot stand to witness his suffering, even if I despise him. “I was Nen’s target. It was just a childish prank that caused no harm. Let me not be the cause of his pain.”

“He was the cause of his own misery, don’t you think?” Arisa’s lips draw thin, but I cannot accept the twisted gift she’s presented me.

Reshar’s eyes finally perk a little in interest.

I drop to my knees and press my forehead to the marble in supplication.

Nen yells for air and pleads to be let out. He swears obedience upon his life and all his future lives. His voice is pitched high and desperate. His nails scraping desperately against wood make the sound of fabric tearing but wetter. I want to cover my ears and make it stop.

“Would you assume his punishment for him?” Arisa asks, barely concealing her temper.

“Yes.” I traveled stuffed in a cart with two other people for most of my life. What’s another wooden box?

Reshar unlocks the box before Arisa can protest, and Nen jackrabbits away wild-eyed. He recoils when someone tries to comfort him and vanishes from the great hall without a word of thanks. But I never expected anything from him.

I fold into the box and grimace. It smells of old puke and Nen’s sweat. There is blood in the fresh scratches carved by Nen’s nails and dried flakes in ruts carved by those punished before him.

I curl up on my side with my knees pressed to my chin, and I am grateful that I am small. One hour. It’s just one hour. The lid slams shut.

I glimpse a little light through a crack in the wood. There’s not enough to see by, but I suck at the air greedily and try to occupy myself with guessing at the sounds outside. Gradually, the sounds of the candidates fade away and are replaced by the rhythm of a broom sweeping across the floor and the staccato of dishes stacked in baskets. And then a familiar voice begins to sing.

The muscles in my jaw unclench. Tanu’s voice carries in the open hall. I didn’t see him at breakfast, but he promised my sister that he would look out for me, and he never breaks his promises.

I lean my head against the wood. He was always there for us. Once, when I was twelve, I vomited all over his shoes after eating leftovers that had gone rancid. Neither my mother nor my sister could afford the time away from our stall, so Tanu sat with me and read his books on the histories of Tigang aloud. He emptied out the buckets at my bedside and held my hair back whenever I hurled. He didn’t once complain. He always had so much patience.

Whenever he was apart from Kuran for too long, my sister would get wound up like a spring, and her temper would get shorter. She was always happier when he was around. But maybe we never bothered to ask Tanu what he wanted; we just assumed he wanted the same, because we couldn’t imagine anything more.

I know Tanu’s song by heart, and I imagine my sister singing along. It’s a song of our people crossing the ocean, following the stars to a new home. Tanu would sing it for me when I was little and taught it to Kuran in exchange for a kiss. I close my eyes and see striped sails unfurled in the wind, my sister standing beside me as we sail into the unknown with no assurance of another shore.

It’s too late to turn back. The realization hits me like a runaway cart, suddenly real. There will never be any more peaceful days walking dusty roads with my mother and my sister. But win or lose, live or drown, there is only forward.

…

The bones in my shoulders click uncomfortably as I unfurl myself. Tanu’s voice coaxed me through the dark until my hour was done, but he’s nowhere to be seen when I emerge.

The great hall stands empty. None of the usual staff are anywhere: the dusters, the sweepers, the floor polishers.

The test must have begun without me. I search the room for any clue to direct me but find none. Instead, I spot two figures lying on the floor, side by side like discarded dolls. One tall and gangly, one short and plump. I sprint across the room. My scarf nearly unwinds, and I tie it back up as I run.

“Virian!” I pull her into my arms. Her face is pale, and sweat trickles down her crooked nose. Her lips are cracked and faded to an inhuman shade of white.

Could this be the test? But Virian and Dayen would need to be taking the test, not dying. This looks too much like sabotage, like someone wants us gone.

She grips my tunic with shaking hands. “Poison,” she whispers. Beside her, Dayen kneads at his stomach as if there’s something moving inside. A pool of sour liquid soils the floor nearby, but he’s already hacking up clear spit, and it tells me that everything that could have come out has already come out. Oh no.

“I’ll find help,” I say and try the main doors, but they are bolted from the outside.

“Someone, please!” I scream and bang it with my fists, but the mahogany muffles any sound beyond. No one replies to my shouts, even though my voice grows hoarse from it. Whomever locked us in meant for us to stay in. They meant for us to die. My mind skips the whos and whys because I don’t have time for them.

I run to the pierced screen that hides the service entrance used by the fortress staff, but a metal gate blocks the opening, secured with a thick chain.

I kick at the gate, but the chain holds. I catch a flash of brown in the distance, and I scream until my throat is raw. I even scream for Teloh. I know someone’s listening, but no one would dare defy the Baylan’s orders. I jam a hair pin into the lock, but it does not release. The hinges on the gate look strong enough to keep in an elephant.

A girl in brown peeks around the corner. She wears her hair in a scarf like the kitchen staff, but she looks barely ten years old.

“Please,” I plead, and she scurries over, looking over her shoulder. Hells, I hope she won’t be punished for helping me.

She tugs at the gate ineffectually. “I don’t have a key.”

“Can we force it?” I pull while she pushes, but the gate remains lodged in place. If Teloh hadn’t dislocated my fingers, I might have been able to pick the lock. I curse him under my breath, and slam my wrists against the metal bars in frustration.

“Wait,” she squeaks and disappears down the hall. I have no choice but to sit and do nothing, even though time is running out.

Arisa or Reshar? Poison reeks of Reshar. The cruelty of it is too refined for Arisa. I’m sure she would prefer blunt objects and broken bones. If she wanted someone dead, she would send Teloh or put a knife in them herself, because she would want them to know it. Reshar, I conclude.

The initiate slides back down the hall toward me. No key jingles from her hand, and my desperation grows.

“I stole this from the infirmary.” She thrusts a paper into my hands. It’s covered in a complicated orasyon decorated with overlapping circles and triangles like some mathematical theorem. “It’s only for one person,” she says and runs away.

Omu above. I would scream if my throat weren’t already raw. I race back to my friends. How could I choose between them?

Dayen’s eyes flutter open and closed, but his lips move as his body convulses. He clutches his amulets with white knuckles and opens his eyes when I approach, and they are cloudy white like Virian’s lips. His tongue is black. This is no poison that I have heard of.

“I’m afraid,” he whispers.

“Me too,” I say.

I check Virian. She gasps for breath like a fish trapped on land but remains upright. Her hands are limp, and there is puke on her tunic, because no matter how fierce her expression, she couldn’t even turn her head away.

“I can’t save you both,” I say.

“Heal Dayen,” Virian says. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

Dayen turns and groans so that his head is curled over Virian’s and hers nestles in the crook of his neck. The floppy mess of his hair falls into his eyes. “I have no chance at winning; don’t waste the spell on me.”

“There must be a way,” I say. Dayen does not deserve to die this way, even if he has no chance at ruling Tigang. And Virian, oh, she is a flame, and if I had a choice, I would want her to.

My vision blurs, and I wonder if I ingested poison, too, but I taste the salt in my mouth and realize it’s only tears.

“Here.” Virian lifts a palm, and I see a coin in her hand. It’s a silver Rythian coin, stamped with a horse head on one side and the motto “Until the Ends of the Earth” upon the other.

I run my fingers over the marks. The horse for Dayen and the motto for Virian, I decide and toss the coin to the sky with a prayer. When it lands, the horse stares back at me.

There must be another way. I tear at my hair.

“Hurry,” Virian says. Dayen is hacking again, and each cough sounds like it could be the last.

“Kuran,” Virian whispers, and I only realize a moment later that she is speaking to me.

I close my eyes and press the crumpled orasyon to the closest body, but my fingers brush cold skin. When I open my eyes, Dayen is folded over and Virian has stopped breathing. I was too late.