BREAKING NEWS, THE SCREEN says. Lazmet Noavek confirmed dead in Shotet assault on Hessa, major city of Thuvhe.
I look the nurse steadily in the eye. I want to tell her that I don’t care if my intestines are spilling out on the floor, she will get me a wheelchair, and she will clear me to fly with Isae Benesit to Thuvhe. But of course I can’t say that. Other people’s currentgifts falter when their bodies weaken, but not mine, apparently.
Instead, I search for what might persuade her. The usual Othyrian things—fine fabrics—don’t seem like the right choice. She’s too hard-nosed for that. She’s not someone who has let herself long for things. She would take comfort in something she can access—like a hot bath, or a comfortable chair. Water is easy for me, so I send it toward her, not the rolling waves that would work on Isae, but the still warmth of someone soaking. Buoyant and motionless.
I don’t bother with subtlety. I fill the room with it. My cheeks heat and my stomach aches from the stitches that still hold my guts in.
“I’m from Hessa,” I say, and it feels muffled, even though I can hear myself clearly. One of the oddities of my gift. “I need to go. Clear me.”
She’s nodding, blinking dully at me.
I haven’t spoken to Isae since Ast’s arrest. She came to assure me that it was done, that he was gone. Since he wasn’t a citizen of the Assembly, he was shipped off to his home moon to await trial, and they would deal with him in whatever manner they chose. But he wouldn’t be allowed to set foot on an Assembly planet again.
One day, that might mean fewer planets. There are rumors of secession over Othyr’s proposed oracle oversight law. It is too soon to know about the other nation-planets, but Thuvhe has thrown itself in with Othyr, so our path through that issue, at least, is clear.
We aren’t sure what happened in Shotet yet. News is slow to come out of there. What we do know is the anticurrent weapon didn’t work. Something ink-dark met it in the air, right in the middle of Voa, protecting the city from its blast. No one can explain it, but I’m taking it as a sign of better things to come.
The nurse wheels me to the hospital landing pad in a small, portable bed that can be secured to the wall of an Othyrian ship. Every jostle of the bed makes shooting pains go through my abdomen, but I am just happy to be going home, so I try not to let the pain show. The first child of the family Noavek will succumb to the blade. Well, maybe I had succumbed, but I hadn’t died. That was something.
As the nurse activates the wall magnet that will hold my bed steady during takeoff, Isae steps down from the nav deck, where she was speaking with the captain. She’s dressed in comfortable clothes: a sweater with sleeves long enough to cover her hands, tight black pants, and her old boots with their red laces. She looks uncharacteristically nervous.
She offers me a handheld screen with a keyboard. “Just in case you want to say something you can’t say aloud,” she says.
I hold it in my lap. I’m angry with her—for not listening to me instead of Ast, for not believing me—but this reminds me why I care about her. She thinks about what I need. She wants me to be able to speak my mind.
“I’m surprised you didn’t object to me coming,” I say to her as unkindly as my currentgift will allow.
“I’m trying to trust your judgment from now on,” she says, looking down at her fingers, twisted together. “You want to go to Hessa, so you’ll go to Hessa. You wanted me to show mercy, so I’ll try to do that, too, from now on.”
I nod.
“I’m sorry, Cee,” she almost whispers.
I feel a pang of guilt. I didn’t tell her that I tried to reach out to Shotet when she decided to unleash the anticurrent weapon on the Shotet. And I haven’t told her how I’ve been using my currentgift to soften her and persuade her since all this started. And I don’t plan to confess. I would lose everything I’ve gained, that way. But I don’t feel good about the deception.
The least I can do now is forgive her. I turn over one hand, and hold it out to her, inviting her closer. She rests her palm on mine.
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you, too,” I say, and it’s one of the easiest things I’ve ever said. Sometimes I might lie to her, but this, at least, is true.
She bends to kiss me, and I touch her cheek, holding her in place for a few long moments before she pulls away. She smells like sendes leaf and soap. Like home.
I will never be heralded as the one who made Chancellor Benesit turn away from further aggressive action and invite the Shotet to peace talks in the wake of the attempted attack on Voa. It might have been one of the more destructive wars in Assembly history, if I hadn’t been there. No one will call me skilled in diplomacy, or poised, or a remarkable adviser.
But that’s as it should be. When all goes according to plan, I fade into the background. But I will be there, standing behind a chancellor as she maneuvers through this uneasy peace. I will be the one she looks to for guidance, for comfort when her grief and anger surge within her again and again. I will be the arm that guides the hand. No one will know.
Except me. I’ll know.