NOW
Nhika hadn’t wanted to face Kochin’s entire family, but there were no more trains back to the Congmi manor at that hour and Vinsen insisted she stay the night. She no longer had the strength to argue.
For that long walk back to the Ven household, she practiced her entrance. Most of all, she was afraid to face Kochin’s mother. Vinsen had asked her to keep the ID tags a secret, but she worried one sad look from Auntie Ye would compel all of Nhika’s truths to spill out.
When they reached the house, Vinsen opened the door and gestured her in—and there, all but Kochin, was the Ven family.
There was a boy studying at the table and Kochin’s father rearranging flowers and Auntie Ye at the stove, preparing dinner. She turned and, at the sight of Nhika, froze.
“Nhika,” she said. Broth dripped from her wooden spoon. Then her expression melted into something deeply hopeful. “Nhika. If you’re here, does that mean Kochin…?”
Nhika glanced at Vinsen, looking for an out. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t even know what to say.
“Kochin’s not home,” Vinsen said, a hand at Nhika’s back as though to brace her. “Nhika’s going to stay the night. I’m taking her up to Kochin’s room.”
The youngest brother looked like he wanted to meet her, but Vinsen quickly swiveled her away from the family and took her upstairs, for which she was grateful. That relief left when Vinsen stopped her before Kochin’s bedroom.
It was him in many ways, yet not Kochin at all. It felt like the part of him he’d hidden in the houseboat, a shelf lined with Yarongese fairy tales and glass jars of dried-out clippings. But it was still boyish—the wooden sailboats he kept on top of his dresser, the garish blue of his bedsheets. It was Kochin before the refinement of Central; it was him before the masks. The blanket looked handsewn, rather than automaton-woven. Everything in this house had that unpolished, rough-hewn feel, like it had all been touched and loved and lived in. It made Nhika more comfortable than she ever had been in any of the Congmis’ houses.
“Sorry about all the dust,” Vinsen said. “No one really went in here after he left.”
“It’s fine.”
“And I’m sorry about the family in advance. I’ll tell them you’re not in the mood to talk.”
“And … you? Are you all right?”
A muscle moved in his jaw. He drew the ID tags from his pocket and stared at them like they might yield a new answer. “I’ve given it some thought, and I don’t think he’s dead.”
Her heart wrung. Nhika hadn’t realized, but she’d needed someone to say that. She hadn’t known Vinsen long, but he didn’t seem like the idealistic type, so if he believed Kochin was alive, maybe he was.
“I don’t think I believe it, either,” she confided.
“He was always too smart to die,” Vinsen added. “He was too smart for his own good. I’ve never seen him fail to achieve something he wanted, and he promised the family he’d come home, so … so I just need to pray that wasn’t a lie.”
Vinsen looked at her, a bit unsure and a bit optimistic—like he was asking her to hope with him. “I’ll bring him back,” she blurted before she could stop herself. “If he’s out there, I’ll find him.”
He gave her a charmed look, like he didn’t quite believe her. “Where did my brother find someone like you?” Before she could answer him, Vinsen reached for her hand, opened her fingers, and placed the necklace in her palm. “These belong to you, I think. That’s your bone ring, right?”
Nhika made an affirmative noise. As she’d worn it before, she clasped the necklace around her neck, feeling the cold bite of metal through her shirt. “Didn’t expect to see this again.” Yarongese bone rings passed on in death, but she had to believe this one had returned to her because she hadn’t died, and not because Kochin had.
“I suppose he never got a chance to thank you in person, so I’ll do it on his behalf. Thank you, Nhika, and good night.” With a sad smile, he placed a hand on her head and ruffled her hair like she was his kid sister. “You’re always welcome here, if you wish.”
Vinsen retreated from the hallway. In the quiet, Nhika clutched the ID tags in her palm, a single question on her mind.
What had happened on that island?
In the morning, she opened her door to find the younger of Kochin’s brothers standing outside, as though he’d been waiting for her to wake up. He was scrawny, with the curliest head of hair she’d ever seen and freckles to match her own.
At the sight of her, he straightened and cocked his head. “So, who are you?” he asked. “Vinsen’s friend?”
“Kochin’s, actually.”
“Kochin?” His eyes widened. “I’ve never met a friend of Kochin’s before. How did you meet?”
“We, ah, ran into each other on the streets,” she said. Not a lie. She would omit their verbal spars, her suspicions of murder, and the fact that she’d stabbed him.
“Did you work at the hospital, too?”
“Not exactly.”
“Are you rich?”
Nhika barked out a laugh. “Mother, no,” she said, then realized she must’ve looked that way—coming from the Congmi household, wearing unblemished silk.
“Are you a heartsooth, too?”
Nhika’s chest warmed at how easily that word passed between his lips, like it was nothing sacred nor taboo. It just was. “Yeah. I suppose that’s how we met.”
Bentri gave her a melancholy look. “Is he okay?”
That almost brought tears to her eyes, but Nhika fought them down—because she’d promised Vinsen she wouldn’t tell them. Because Kochin wasn’t dead. So, all she said was, “I’ll do my best to make sure he is.”
After that, Bentri was called downstairs to help with breakfast and Nhika prepared herself to leave. There was a sense of listlessness—she wasn’t sure what to do now. She wasn’t sure what her heartsoothing could do anymore after having healed Trin and failed Kochin. All this power, her gift and her connections, and Nhika could do nothing.
There was someone at the door downstairs. She could hear them knocking, and a moment later, Vinsen opened it. As Nhika descended the stairs, she realized she recognized the voice: “Is she here? I need to talk to her, please.”
When she turned the corner, she found herself staring at Mimi, who looked so out of place in Chengton that Nhika had to blink to make sure she was real.
“Nhika,” Mimi said, shoulders falling with relief. There were tears in her eyes, and Nhika assumed the worst until she said, “Trin’s awake. He came home from the hospital this morning.”
The autocarriage couldn’t go any faster—even with Mimi as its driver. Nhika didn’t care how many corners they drifted around, nor how many times their wheels left the road. She just cared to see Trin again.
Only a small part of it was for the answers. The other part was to see him, to have that little bit of normalcy restored to an upturned world, because Nhika didn’t recognize a Congmi manor where he wasn’t the shadow to her every footstep.
At last, they reached the familiar gravel driveway of the Congmi villa. Nhika could hardly contain herself as Mimi parked the autocarriage and unlocked the door to the house.
The first thing Nhika noticed when they stepped inside was laughter. It came from somewhere distant, loud enough to snake through the halls. She recognized it as Andao’s.
When she looked over, Mimi was beaming, and despite all that was happening—Kochin’s ID tags against her chest, the war that raged on the other side of the water—everything seemed right again.
They followed the laughter. Andao’s voice was joined by another: deep, masculine, hoarse. Dep Trin. It took them to a parlor, and when Mimi opened the door, there everyone was: Andao, Trin, Hendon. The Congmi family whole once again.
Trin sat on a settee, his leg extended while Andao was fitting a handmade brace. It was such an intimate act—Andao lacing straps through their buckles with utmost care while teasing the state of Trin’s buzz cut, Trin squeezing Andao’s arm every time a strap was too tight—that Nhika almost felt as though she were intruding.
Until Trin looked up. Saw her and Mimi. And smiled.
“It’s been a while, Ms. Suon,” he said, and something about the steady, deep assurance of his voice made her chest crack open.
“You have no idea, Dep Trin,” she returned.
Laboriously, he tried to stand. The joints of his brace whirred to his aid, and Andao draped Trin’s arm over his shoulder to help him up. In five automaton-aided steps, Trin was standing before her. In one more, he’d gathered Nhika into a close, crushing embrace.
“I was told you healed me,” he said, putting some of his weight onto her.
Nhika shrugged. “We can give the surgeons credit. Mother knows they have egos to maintain.”
Trin pulled away, looking her up and down. “So, you’re still you.” His expression was full of awe. “I can’t believe he actually did it.”
Her heart stuttered. “You mean Kochin?”
At that, Trin took a step back, leather stretching in the brace. When she saw his eyes again, they were rueful, and her smile dropped.
“I’m sorry, Nhika. I have something to confess,” Trin said. Nhika sucked in a breath, realizing she wasn’t ready to hear anything Trin had to say. “I need to tell you what happened to Kochin.”