CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
There’s a new ship in the dock when we return. It’s an unremarkable class of starship and would probably have gone completely unnoticed if it hadn’t been for the excited servants clustered nearby.
I quickly discern the subject of their conversation: the ship belongs to a soothsayer. She arrived unexpectedly and wanted to speak to the king, and he agreed to pay her ten thousand silvers for the advice she gave him.
“Saw it with my own eyes!” says the servant at the center of the cluster. “He ordered the silvers sent to her account.”
“But what did she tell him? It must have been very useful!”
“No one knows. They spoke in private.”
My eyes widen. Ten thousand silvers for advice? I push the kiss to the back of my mind and give Max an incredulous look, one he returns.
“I don’t like it,” I say.
“I don’t either.”
“Well, she’s still here. Why don’t we go speak with her? If she’s a true soothsayer, she can prove it.”
“By all means,” he says drily, “Go ahead and poke the beast.”
“Poke it?” I hoot. “Who said anything about poking it? I’m going to skewer it.”
Max doesn’t reply, but when I look back at him there’s a crooked, rueful smile on his face.
The soothsayer is alone in a visitor parlor upstairs, finishing a cup of spiced tea before her departure. The room has a magnificent view of one of the arched bridges that connects two of the palace towers. The soothsayer, however, has her back to the scene, unmoved by the view. The glow from the artificial fireplace flickers over her face. She’s quite nondescript at first, with almost colorless gold hair and fast, slender hands, but then her eyes flash up to mine and I see mischief there.
She looks away and shuffles cards on the table in front of her. “You almost missed me,” she says. “Which of you wants answers?”
“I do,” I say.
She doesn’t look up at Max but points in his direction. “And him?”
“He’s not thrilled that his father gave you ten thousand silvers, so he’s here to make sure you’re not a fraud.”
Her mouth twitches. “I think that’s reasonable.” She gestures to the seat on the other side of the little tea table. Shadows skitter across the wall. “What would you like to know?”
I sit. “Everything.”
She gives me an amused look. When our eyes meet, an odd sensation creeps over me. I can’t quite work out what it is. She shifts the cards some more. I try to read them myself, taking in pictures of horsemen and skeletons and broken hearts, but none of it makes any sense to me. I search the soothsayer’s face. Her eyes don’t feel right. She doesn’t fit.
“You are Esmae Rey,” she says. I’m understandably unimpressed, but what she says next throws me completely off balance. “You are a curse made out of flesh and blood. And cursed yourself.”
No one outside the family knows my mother was cursed and almost nobody knows I’ve been cursed.
“You are the wielder of the Black Bow,” she goes on. “The winner of warships, the one whose heart will always be cleaved in two. You want your brother to win back his throne and his home, but you know what defeat will mean for the ones here who you have come to love. You will always be torn.”
“I—”
But she hasn’t finished. “You have a fierce, roaring lion heart. It believes in hope and love today, but will it always? Will it in seven weeks’ time?”
“Why?” I demand. “What will happen in seven weeks?”
“Esmae,” she says, emphasizing the syllables, “which means beloved, but may as well also mean betrayed.” She finally looks up at Max, a sharp direct stare like a knife, and his eyes go wide. She continued to look at him as she says, to me, “If you remember only one thing when I go, Esmae Rey, remember this: you are beloved by gods you don’t trust and will be betrayed by mortals you do.”
My spine prickles with cold. I look closely at her and suddenly I feel like I’ve seen her eyes somewhere before . . .
The chair falls over as I scramble to my feet. She doesn’t flinch.
Amba once told me that a god’s true celestial form is indescribable and a mortal couldn’t look upon it without losing their sanity. As a result, gods have become accustomed to taking human or animal forms instead, and they usually have a favorite form that mortals tend to recognize. Amba’s is the stern, beautiful woman I saw when I first met her. It’s only when a god wants to deliberately hide themselves that they will assume a different avatar, that of a cow or an old woman or a child or a beefy bushy-browed man, all of which I’ve seen Amba embody. Only her ancient, fathomless, god-dark eyes always gave her away.
Eyes strikingly like the ones in front of me.
“Are you one of the gods who love me?” I ask sarcastically.
She smiles.
I cut a look at Max. A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he doesn’t look surprised. He must have worked it out at the same time I did.
When I turn back, the soothsayer has vanished and in her place is a grinning boy god.
“Kirrin,” says Max, more exasperated than angry, “Of course it’s you. How appropriate for the god of tricks.”
“Tricks and bargains,” the god corrects him. “Never forget the and bargains. You may need one of those someday.”
“I certainly wouldn’t strike one with you,” says Max.
“Not you, Max,” Kirrin replies as his eyes flash in my direction. “That part was meant for Esmae.”
Kirrin looks no older than I am. He’s lithe, quick, with a tousled mess of blue hair and pale blue skin. His eyes are full of mischief.
I scowl at him. “Was any part of what you said to me true?”
“Every word I said to you was true. I never lie.”
“I hardly think you were telling the truth when you entered the palace and introduced yourself as a soothsayer.”
“I didn’t do that,” says Kirrin, offended. “The form I chose may have been described to Elvar and he may have come to his own conclusions about my identity, but my exact words, I believe, were ‘I come to give you valuable advice, King Elvar, and ask only ten thousand silvers in return.’ All of which,” he says with glee, “is entirely truthful.”
“Why did you bother?” I ask. “Does a god even need money?” Kirrin’s grin widens. “It’s not for you, is it? It’s for Alexi. To help him gather and equip his army.”
Kirrin doesn’t look sorry. “I’m very attached to Alexi.”
I can’t help but admire the audacity of handing funds to Alexi supplied by the very person fighting against him.
“Don’t make me remind you to leave my father alone,” Max says severely.
“I never agreed to do that, Max,” says the god, but his tone is fond. “I promised you I would leave him alone while you watched over him, but you were not watching over him today.”
Max looks fed up, like he more or less expected to be confronted with tricks and loopholes. It’s obvious he knows Kirrin well. At first, I assume this is because Max, like Alexi, got to know the god when they were children. Then, as I watch them and think of how easily Kirrin took on the guise of the soothsayer, I realize it goes far beyond that.
“It was you,” I say.
Kirrin raises an eyebrow. “What was?”
“The woman on the balcony. The one talking to Max when I was on the training field with Sybilla. That was you.”
“Indeed it was.”
And the old man the other day? The one who was so interested in my blueflower jewel? Kirrin rules the Empty Moon. It would be a travesty if I didn’t know a blueflower when I saw one, the old man had said. Of course he recognized it. Blueflowers come from his seas.
“They were all you. All those people. That’s why no one’s ever seen them before. And why we never see them again. You come here to meet Max and you take on a different form every time.”
“I like you,” Kirrin says. “Few mortals speak so boldly to gods they’ve never met before.” He seems more amused than offended. “I suppose your relationship with Amba has made you quite comfortable with our glorious presence?”
I don’t reply. A god comes to Kali to meet Max at least a few times a week. Why? Kirrin is supposedly determined to help Alexi, so why does he spend so much time in discussion with the other side? What do he and Max talk about?
I take them in, the silent prince and the smiling, mysterious god. “I don’t understand.”
“No, but you will when I’m finished.”
“Kirrin,” Max protests.
The god ignores him. “I assume you know of the fire that nearly killed your mother and brothers?”
“Yes,” I say warily.
“Do you know why it didn’t kill them?”
I repeat what Max told me: “They managed to get out in time.”
Kirrin snorts. “That’s only half the picture. It wasn’t the kind of fire that starts with an overturned candle and allows you time to flee if you smell the smoke in time. It was an explosion. Your family escaped because they fled before it even started. I told them the house was about to burn. The house, you see, had been specifically built so that it would burn easily when the time came.”
I recoil. “So it wasn’t an accident! Elvar tried to kill them?”
“No,” Max quickly interjects. “My father didn’t give the order.”
“But someone did.”
There’s no reply.
“Your uncle? Lord Selwyn?”
“Give the girl a prize,” says Kirrin. “Of course Elvar and Guinne aren’t blameless. I suspect they know what Selwyn is up to but won’t acknowledge it. Elvar, you see, is more terrified of losing his throne to Alexi than he is of losing Alexi.”
It’s no wonder my mother resorted to poison. How else to put an end to these attempts to kill her children?
Max looks upset, but I have no room for sympathy for him. Does he want my brothers dead, too? Is that where his jealousy has led him? Why else hasn’t he tried to stop this? How can he allow his uncle to remain on the war council and in such a position of power?
“I can’t get rid of him,” Max says, as if I spoke aloud. “My uncle was the one who convinced my father to lay claim to the throne he wanted so badly. My father now has that throne. He pays attention to my uncle’s advice, trusts him. Selwyn wants what Mother and Father want. He wants Father on the throne.”
“Not for Elvar’s own sake! He just wants to be able to control the king.”
“Yes. And he hates you and Alexi because if either of you were to rule Kali, you wouldn’t let him control you. With my father dethroned, Selwyn would lose all he has.”
“But you have power of your own. If you can’t persuade the king and queen to send your uncle far from here, why don’t you at least tell the war council what he’s done? Grandmother and Rickard would happily see him imprisoned.”
“If I do that, Selwyn will know he can’t trust me. Right now, he thinks I’m on his side. I’ve never given him reason to think otherwise.” Max looks more exhausted than angry. “As long as he trusts me, he shares his plans with me.”
“And that means you’re prepared for whatever he does,” I say slowly. Like Skylark. He knew just how to persuade his uncle and the war council that an invasion would be a mistake. Would he have been able to cut off that plot so quickly if he hadn’t known it was coming beforehand?
“The consequences of revealing his hand could be worse than that,” Kirrin pipes up. “Selwyn has Elvar’s ear. Who knows how deeply the rot has set in? If Max gives himself away, Elvar may take Selwyn’s side, and Selwyn may be able to convince the king that his own son can’t be trusted. They’d find a way to take what power Max holds at present. It would be the end of Kali as you know it.”
I rock back on my heels, furious and frustrated. There’s a frightened king on the throne and a sly, cruel man whispering in his ear. A man who almost killed my mother and brothers. And we can’t even punish him for it.
“You haven’t asked me the most important question of all,” Kirrin says, grinning.
I tread cautiously. “And which one is that?”
“How did I find out about the flammable house? About the assassin who was supposed to stab Alexi when he was alone and unarmed at a temple? About the raksha demon that tried to drown Bear last year?”
Max glares at the trickster god. My fists clench at my sides and my nails press half moons into my palms. Have my brothers been hunted the entire time they’ve been exiled? I can wrap my head around my uncle and brother at war, but this is different. This is murder, as cold and sharp as winter.
“I assume you found out because you’re a god,” I say to Kirrin, but I know better. I know how little the gods sometimes see.
“I knew,” Kirrin says, and Max looks away as if he’s been defeated at last, “because Max told me.”
The floor tilts, but there hasn’t been a rock assault. I turn to Max. “Is that true?”
“Yes.” He says the word so quietly, I barely hear it at all.
“You saved them all those times? You’ve been keeping my family safe for years?”
“Safe,” says Max with some bitterness. “Alive, yes. Safe? No, I haven’t been able to keep them safe.”
“But why would you even try?”
“Because I can’t stand the idea of them dead.” He laughs, the sound sadder than anything I’ve heard in a long time. “We grew up together. They were my family.”
“Wait. You’re not jealous of them? You love them?”
“Of course I’m jealous of them, but that hasn’t kept me from loving them.”
“But,” I protest, incredulous, “but that’s not how you behave. You act like you don’t care about them at all.”
“And what would happen if I acted like I did? Would my father trust me with any control if he knew how much I want to keep his enemies alive? I can’t protect them if I have no power.”
My mind spins. It’s obvious, of course, as soon as he explains it. Give a little bit of the truth to make them believe the lie. How many times have I used that lesson? It shouldn’t surprise me that he has, too. He’s used the jealousy to hide the love.
There’s still one thing I have to know. “Why did you exile them if you knew they’d be hunted? How could you love them and still take their home away from them?”
“I hoped you’d ask him that,” says Kirrin triumphantly. “Tell her, Max. Tell her why you came up with the idea to send them away.”
He grits his teeth. “Leave it alone.”
“I shall not.” Kirrin pivots on his heel to look at me. “He sent them away because if they’d stayed, they would have been executed.”
I shake my head. “No, Elvar wouldn’t have—”
“Elvar is afraid, and Selwyn has trickled poison into his impressionable ear for a long, long time.”
“But Rickard never said—”
“It never got beyond their immediate family. Selwyn suggested it to Elvar and Guinne. He claimed it was the only way to ensure the coup would be successful, the only way the boys would never be a threat to Elvar’s claim to the throne. Selwyn, of course, didn’t expect his own nephew to get in the way. Max refused to support the plot. He convinced his father that Alexi and Bear would be no trouble if they were exiled. He rather cleverly pointed out that it would win Elvar goodwill with the rest of the star system that he would undoubtedly lose if he executed his brother’s children. Elvar didn’t really want to kill the boys, you know. And thus”—Kirrin spreads his hands wide—“Alexi, Bear, and Kyra were sent away from their home, and the boy who saved them was reviled for it.”
My eyes fill with tears. “I hated you for what you did. I refused to trust you because of it. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“Why does the truth matter?” Max asks. “It doesn’t make me any better than I was ten minutes ago. I won’t betray my father or mother, no matter what they’ve done or would have done if I hadn’t stopped them. If there’s war, I’ll fight it for them until the end. I’ll fight for them even if they allow my uncle to convince them that they have to destroy everyone else to keep themselves safe. So why, Esmae, does the truth matter? What difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference to me.” It makes all the difference.
He swallows, but doesn’t reply, instead turning to face the god. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”
“You know why,” says Kirrin. He claps his hands. “Now, as much as I’d like to chat all day, I’d better go give Alexi a certain someone’s ten thousand silvers.”
“Kirrin,” I say, before he can go.
He pauses. He already knows what I’m about to ask him.
What did he say when he was still playing the part of the soothsayer? You have a fierce, roaring lion heart. It believes in hope and love today, but will it always? Will it in seven weeks’ time?
“The seven weeks you mentioned—”
For a brief moment, the mischief is gone from his eyes. “You already know the answer, Esmae.”
And it’s true, of course. I know.
The duel will be in seven weeks. The broken arrow. My blood on the grass.
I want to not be afraid, but I am. I’m afraid even as I refuse to believe it could happen. Even as I swear again and again that it will not come to pass.
“I’m sorry,” says the god.
Puzzled, Max asks, “What exactly is supposed to be happening in seven weeks’ time?”
Kirrin gives him a guilty look, then darts out of the room. It’s odd that he’s never told Max about the future he and Amba have seen. They seem to share so much else, so why not this?
Max stares at me. “You’re going to ask me what he meant,” I say. “And I’ll tell you, but not today. I can’t talk about it today.”
He nods but says nothing more.