CHAPTER FIFTEEN

JUST AS PRISON LIFE WAS RETURNING TO NORMAL, A new inmate joined us in the first level.

It was evening, only an hour or so before the noorestones went dark. Gerel was exercising, and I was mirroring everything she did whether she liked it or not. (I honestly couldn’t tell.) Already, my muscles ached. I’d been sent back to work this morning, made to scrub the same infirmary where I’d been treated. My lower back kept pinching and Gerel wasn’t speaking to me enough to make me risk asking if there was a stretch to fix it.

So I worked through the pain, holding back every whimper that threatened to emerge, because aside from still being in the Pit, it had been a relatively good day: the noorestones had illuminated in the morning, I’d been fed three times, and I’d sneaked several long drinks of water when Sarannai wasn’t looking. Or, I supposed, equally possible was that she’d been instructed to let me drink all the water I wanted, but I had trouble imagining she wouldn’t have at least slapped me for slacking off.

No one in the cleaning group had said anything about my absence. Not that they’d ever said anything to me anyway. Ever since the first day when Altan began talking to me at the dinner table, they all ignored me, like proximity to someone he was interested in could hurt them by extension.

Gerel stopped hopping from side to side and lifted both of her arms high in the air, seeming to reach and reach and strain to touch the ceiling. Like she could, if she just tried hard enough.

I copied her stance and stretched my fingers toward the top of my cell, holding the position until she began to bend forward at the hips, and lower her arms until her hands brushed the floor. I mimicked her, and while I hung there, blood rushing to my face for five, six, seven deep breaths, a knot of tension in my back released. I groaned with relief.

When Gerel drew herself upright, she wore a knowing smirk. I wanted to say something smart to her, but that would have involved having something smart to say, and I was too relieved that whatever had been pinched in my back was no longer a problem.

Then we heard it, both of us at the same time: the door at the bath end of the hall screeched open, and a warrior barked for someone to move forward.

My heart jumped. What if it was Altan, coming back for the rest of my secrets?

Gerel frantically scooted to the back of her cell, spine pressed against stone. Though I wanted to rush to the bars and peer out, I did the same. She was practically an expert at being a prisoner and I was a Drakontos mimikus. My heart pounded as I listened to the cadence of steps and the ragged breathing of the new person.

They came across the front of my cell so quickly I barely had time to study them. Three warriors, all strangers, created a triangle around the new prisoner.

She was tall—taller than Gerel even—and held her chin high as she strode past. Black braids—too many for me to count—hung to her waist, bound together with a copper band. She liked that color, apparently, because her clothes matched: she wore a loose, long-sleeved shirt, and trousers with so much fabric they might be mistaken for a skirt. Aside from her fingertips and face, every part of her skin was covered.

It was only when she glanced my way that I noticed the tattoos.

Copper-colored tattoos swirled around her left eye and down her cheek, bright against her shadow skin. Her eyes, too, were the same brilliant shade as her tattoos, and when her gaze passed over me, I had the unsettling sense that she saw more than most people.

I saw something, too, though. A face I recognized. I knew this girl. And she knew me.

Then she was gone, past my cell.

The door next to Gerel’s opened. The copper woman stepped inside. One of her guards explained the food and bathing schedule to her, and then the warriors left.

When the door shut behind them, a hum filled the cellblock. Down the hall, older prisoners murmured about the new. Snatches of conversation reached my end:

“She looks important.”

“Who is she?”

“The Dawn Lady. She’s the Lady of Eternal Dawn.”

I met Gerel’s eyes, but couldn’t think of a way to talk about the new prisoner without the new prisoner overhearing. Not the quiet code. Last night, I’d asked Aaru if he would teach Gerel his secret language. He’d said no; she was too far to learn it without the other prisoners overhearing.

Instead, I moved to the front left of my cell and peered through the metal grille toward the Dawn Lady.

She stood at her door, too, with her head high and copper eyes trained on me. Her skin was flawless: smooth and dark and unmarked, save the tattoo on her left side, which curled from her hair down her temple and cheek and chin. The copper swirls disappeared beneath her clothes.

Envy burned through me. She looked perfect, even in prison, and though I hadn’t seen my own face in a month, I knew I was a mess. My skin felt dry in some places, oily in others. All I had to do was look at my hands—cracked knuckles, ragged fingernails, callused fingers—to know that I had changed. After nineteen days in the Pit, I was no longer the beauty my mother had loved to brag about.

So it was possible Chenda didn’t recognize me—not without the dresses and cosmetics. I couldn’t be sure, though. We didn’t have much history.

I’d first seen her four years ago. She’d been sixteen. I’d been thirteen. Some of the Twilight Senate had come to present the newly selected Lady of Eternal Dawn to the Luminary Council and other important figures on Damina. She’d been making her way through all the islands’ capitals, and we were the first stop.

I’d been invited to stand with the Luminary Council, of course.

“If the Twilight Senate is going to show off their special teenage girl,” Ilina had joked, “of course the Luminary Council will, too. They have to be the best.”

Ilina had a higher opinion of me than was really warranted, but she was my best friend so I forgave her.

The presentation ceremony had been unbearably long. We’d spent three hours in the Theater of True Light; it was the only building in Crescent Prominence that could hold so many people. I’d had to stand beside the Luminary Council and various others they’d deemed worthy enough, while Ilina and her family (and most other people lucky enough to get an invitation) sat on the main floor and in balconies.

Chenda had been just as beautiful then as she stood at the center of the stage, brilliant noorestone light focused on her; she didn’t have the tattoos yet. There had been speeches, a short demonstration of shadow skill, and finally, generous gifts of jewelry and trinkets exchanged between both governments.

Elbena Krasteba, my minder from the Luminary Council, had chosen an elaborate hairpin for me to give to Chenda. It almost looked like the sun rising over the horizon. In turn, Chenda had given me a small copper dragon.

With the addition of a formal dinner, during which neither of us had time to speak with the other, that was the extent of our meeting.

And now, Chenda M’rizz, the Lady of Eternal Dawn, was here in the Pit.

Like me.

Curiosity burned, but I didn’t ask.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m Mira.” Like we didn’t know each other at all. Like I didn’t have a surname. Hopefully she would realize I was anonymous here, and play along.

Here we were: two girls with famous pasts, both of us wrongly imprisoned (I assumed). Neither of us were meant for this place. I wondered if she’d be offered a job, too, as an excuse to keep feeding her. I wondered if she was just as scared and confused as I had been, even if she was doing a better job hiding it. And I wondered if she felt this faint connection between us, formed four years ago when we hadn’t been given time to talk, and reignited now with both of us trapped in the most terrible part of the Fallen Isles.

I could warn her about Altan and the horrible methods the guards used to extract information. I could warn her about Sarannai, should she decide to take a cleaning job.

We could be best prison friends.

“Leave me alone.” She took a measured step backward and vanished from the doorway. “Don’t talk to me again.”

Oh, yes. Best prison friends for sure.

I MADE A few more attempts over the rest of the evening. Every time, Gerel gave me a look that said I was stupid for trying.

She was probably right.

“Maybe it was murder,” one man said. Kason. That was his name. Gerel had told me who was who the night before, but I’d had so many other things on my mind. “Maybe the Dawn Lady killed someone with her glorious light.”

Varissa snorted. “I heard it was her shadow. It withered away and they couldn’t keep her any longer.”

“And how,” Kumas asked, “would you hear that? You haven’t heard anything the rest of us haven’t.”

“Oh.” Varissa sighed loudly. “I thought that’s what my daughter said. But she’s still on Bopha, isn’t she?”

Kason groaned. “You’re not Bophan. You’re Daminan. And furthermore, you don’t have a daughter. At least, you didn’t when you got here and introduced yourself to us seven times.”

“Oh.” Varissa began to sob. “I’m not Bophan?”

“No.”

“I wanted the Dawn Lady to bless my daughter.”

“You don’t—”

The conversation on that end of the cellblock grew jumbled and even more confused. Someone shouted about the Dawn Lady’s shadow again. Hurrok insisted that she’d eaten someone else’s shadow. And finally, Chenda stepped toward the door of her cell and cleared her throat.

Everyone stopped speaking.

Even when they couldn’t see her, they felt the power of her presence.

“Yes.” Chenda lifted her voice. “I am Chenda M’rizz, the Lady of Eternal Dawn. And now I am caught in the great maw of the Pit, like the rest of you.”

One of the other prisoners whimpered. Hurrok, perhaps.

“I was not imprisoned for murder or a withering shadow or eating anyone else’s shadow. I’ll tell you the truth of the matter, but only once. So pay attention.”

Even Gerel leaned toward Chenda’s cell to listen.

“The Twilight Senate discussed a problem, which I found important and dear to my heart. There are many who believe Hartans should be deported, and have begun protesting their continued presence by setting them ablaze.”

Bophans were setting Hartans on fire? My stomach turned over and I wanted to be sick, but I couldn’t stop listening.

“It is a great insult to my people, dying like that, your shadow snuffed out.” She shook her head, braids sliding across her clothes. “After riots across Bopha, the Twilight Senate met to discuss a course of action. It was proposed that Hartans should return to Harta for their own safety and the well-being of Bopha. For a year now, Hartans have been accused of destroying the land.” She paused and frowned. “For centuries, wealthy Bophans have hired Hartans to come tend fields and farms. Even after the Mira Treaty, many Hartans chose to remain.”

Like Hristo’s father. My parents had hired him as a gardener when Hristo was just an infant, and he’d stayed with us after the treaty. He always said he liked working on the prominence, and he was so, so good at it.

“But recently, fields have gone fallow, and not even the most gifted Hartan can make them fertile again. Or, as many Bophans believe, they won’t make those fields fertile. All across Bopha, my people have accused Hartans of poisoning the land.”

That was outrageous. Hartans would never harm the land.

“During the discussion,” Chenda went on, “I stood for Hartans. Many have lived on the Isle of Shadow since childhood. They have nothing in Harta. No promise of work, no place to live. My opponents insisted that Hartans are loving people: they will gladly take in their fellow Daughter-born. But I said that we cannot count on that. For centuries, the Twilight Senate blocked Hartan independence, and as people who committed such a grievous wrong, we must do everything in our power to make it right.”

I nodded. Her words rang true.

“The Twilight Senate said the people of Bopha could not bear the burden of their ancestors’ guilt. They said Harta had been independent for seventeen years—most of my life—and I could not begin to understand how different the world is now.”

I’d often heard the same words from the Luminary Council.

“In the High Tower, in the center of the Shadowed City, we argued the matter for days. Meanwhile, protests and riots broke out all across the island. Suddenly, before the fifth day’s meeting, I was arrested and taken from my home. They said I had been feeding information to a Hartan rebellion on Bopha—through my Hartan lover.”

I gasped.

“They claimed he had started a riot that killed fourteen Bophans, including three members of the Twilight Senate. They claimed he had burned them alive, slaughtering their shadows. They claimed I had told him the time and location to do this. I knew this could not be true. Nevertheless, he was ripped from his home and beaten to death during the arrest. No proof could be found of my involvement, but my association and defense of the Hartan people was enough to earn a sentence to the Pit.”

My heart was pounding and my knuckles pale around the metal grille.

Chenda met my eyes, and for a moment, I thought I saw a spark of recognition. Like she knew me. Like she remembered me. But I had no distinctive markings, and I was so changed from the Hopebearer version of me. Maybe she didn’t know me.

She said, “I am here because I stood up for what was right.”

She was so brave. I wouldn’t have had the courage to stand up like that.

As the evening crawled toward lights-out, I sat in the center of my cell, trying to imagine myself saying the things she’d said, defending the people she’d defended, losing someone I loved like she had. I tried to imagine myself retaining my composure and strength after such heartbreak.

And mostly, I sank beneath the crush of understanding: we’d both defied our governments and tried to do what was right. The Luminary Council’s betrayal was one thing, but the Twilight Senate as well?

I’d been naïve to think my parents would be able to persuade the Luminary Council to free me, or that the Pit would take prisoners just temporarily. The Pit was for life.

No one was coming to get me.

I WAS ON my own.

If I didn’t want to stay in the Pit the rest of my life, this dark threat of Altan’s hanging over me, I needed to do something about it. I needed to escape before he could pry out more secrets.

But not right now. It was almost dark, and I didn’t want to be caught in it.

First, I found my silk square and fastened it over my hair. Second, I checked to make sure my pillow and blanket were under the bed, where they belonged.

“Are you all right?” Gerel sat on her bed already, arms looped around her knees. Showing off, clearly. The normal sleeping location held no terror for her, after all.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it? I can’t change anything.” The words came out colder than intended.

“You spent all last night crying and kept me awake. So yes, it matters. You need to learn to overcome your fear, that way the rest of us can get some sleep.”

My chest stung from her comment. I hadn’t spent all last night crying. Just . . . some of it. “Sorry to inconvenience you. Try sleeping during the day while I’m working.”

Before she could respond, I spun around like I had somewhere else to be. At that moment, the lights went out.

Panic stole my breath. The darkness disoriented, but I kept my numbers: I took the two steps to my bed, knelt, and scurried to the safety of that small space.

Down the hall, Hurrok opened his lungs and released his terror into the hall. The sound echoed, filling the cellblock like liquid. As much as I hated his screaming, it was a reminder: this was normal darkness, filled with other people. This was not alone darkness. Isolated darkness.

Still, I found myself counting, gathering my numbers until there was nothing else.

I made it to five hundred and eight before I registered the heat of Aaru’s hand on mine. He was tapping, telling a story.

::Wait,:: I said. ::Will you start over?::

The screaming man stopped at last, leaving behind an aching silence.

::Very well.:: From Aaru’s quiet code, I couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or not.

“Sorry.” Mother would have had a fit if she knew how often I ended up apologizing to an Idrisi boy; she’d have said it was beneath me. Unless, of course, I was being the Mira, and I needed to be gracious to everyone. But then I’d have been in trouble for not paying attention.

::Why?::

“I was rude. I wasn’t being attentive.”

::You were scared.:: He petted my fingers, as though brushing the fears away. It was such a simple motion, but it made my heart pound with a painful yearning. ::I would have stayed if I could have.::

“You saved me,” I whispered. “When you came back, you saved me.”

Before he could reply, I scooted toward the hole, forcing him to pull his arm back to his side. It was most comfortable for me if I let him be the one to reach through the hole, but after my days in the dark, pressing my arm through for his cup of water, I knew how uncomfortable that was.

So I moved closer to the hole and slipped my hand through in offering. A breath played across my upturned palm. His mouth was so close; if I stretched my fingers, I could touch his face.

I didn’t move.

He did.

It was just a rearrangement of limbs, adjusting his position, but for an instant, his face brushed across my fingertips. Mouth? Cheek? Nose? It was too brief to tell. But still, my heart raced.

Then, warm, rough skin slid the length of my fingers. Our hands curled together for a moment before he turned mine over and drew me in a fraction farther. His mouth grazed my knuckles before he released me.

My hand stayed there, suspended in the air. I wanted to act, to map his features with my fingertips, but what if this wasn’t an invitation? What if I ruined everything?

“Mira.” His voice came soft, and in little puffs across my knuckles. He’d kept his strange pronunciation: Meer-AH.

I moved. And I found his eyebrow, his temple, and a sharp line of his cheekbone. I traveled downward and met the curve of his top lip, and there I could feel the rapidness of his breathing.

Though I wanted to continue this exploration, I withdrew. I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or upset, excited or panicked, so I pulled my hand back to the neutral territory of the hole.

He didn’t say anything, aloud or otherwise, but when his hand pressed into the hole with mine, some of my worry melted away. Maybe he hadn’t minded.

“I’ve decided,” I whispered.

He waited.

“I don’t want the story.”

He drew back just a breath.

Oh. He thought I was rejecting him. This. Whatever this was. “I mean . . .” I cursed my lack of Daminan gifts. I didn’t have the right words. The right tone. “I want you to tell me about you, not just any story.”

Two, three, four heartbeats. And then: “Me?”

I echoed his words from before. “I want to know you.”

More heartbeats raced between us. Eight, nine, ten. “Really?”

I cupped his hand in both of mine. ::I want to know everything about you.:: My face heated. I hadn’t meant to be so obvious, so pathetically fascinated by this strange and silent boy.

But if he noticed, he chose not to embarrass me. ::What do you want to know?::

::Everything. Anything you’ll tell me.:: Oh, by the seven Fallen Gods. And all the Upper Gods, too. I couldn’t trust my mouth not to speak without my mind’s direction, and it seemed I couldn’t trust my hands, either.

Aaru chuckled, both aloud and by drumming his fingers in a quiet-code laugh. ::Narrow it down, curious fr—::

He didn’t finish the last word, and suddenly that was what I most wanted to know about. But he’d stopped his sentence for a reason, so I chose another question. ::Are you close with your family?:: It seemed like he must be, and I’d always wondered what that was like.

::They are everything to me. When we escape, I will return to them.::

And leave me. It shouldn’t have surprised me, or stung, because we’d known each other only eighteen days. He had to help the people he loved, and I had to rescue the dragons before the Algotti Empire got hold of them.

Still, the thought of losing him opened a deep loneliness inside of me. I’d been wrong earlier, when I’d thought I was on my own, because at this moment, I had Aaru. He’d wanted to escape all along, while I’d been content with mere survival while waiting to be rescued. I’d thought my release was imminent and there was no reason to act.

But I could not wait for change. I had to make change.

Aaru opened my hand, trailing his fingers from the hollow of my wrist to my palm. ::What are you thinking?::

::I’m going to help you see your family again.::

His breathing hitched, and the way his fingers grazed mine felt like a smile. ::How do we begin?::