THE PROBLEM WITH OGRA, I decided, was that it was dark.
Well, that was obvious.
But it was a different kind of dark than other places, where you could turn on a lamp and see everything in a room. Here, no matter what lights you attached to your clothes or fixed to a wall, the darkness crept in, devouring.
So though everyone in the storm shelter—the most trusted and capable among the exiles, Jorek had told me—wore something that glowed, and though lanterns hung from long chains, like vines, from the ceiling, I still felt like I was surrounded by shadows.
It was thanks to Jorek that I was invited to this meeting at all. Though I had acted as something of a leader when called upon to do so, I had not earned a place among them, not really. But I knew more about the family Noavek than all the people in this room put together, so here I stood, at Jorek’s shoulder, too stung by what Akos and I had said to each other to pay much attention to the exiles’ bickering.
I had told him I loved him. Loved him. What had I been thinking?
Jorek elbowed me. He had embraced the bright adornments of Ogran clothing with enthusiasm, the lines of his jacket traced in bright fabric panels two fingers wide. The afterimage of the green bars lingered for a few moments after I looked away from him, and across the room, at Sifa and Eijeh Kereseth.
They were oracles, after all. A group of fate-faithful Shotet couldn’t help but hunger for whatever scraps of vague wisdom they could offer, if any.
“Sorry,” I said, and cleared my throat. “What did you say?”
Aza raised an eyebrow at me. Whatever I had missed had been important, it seemed.
“I asked you if you could offer us any guidance as to whether your father will come after us here, on Ogra, or not,” she said.
“Oh.” It was my supposed expertise on my father that had won me my place here, and now was the time to put it to use. I shook my head. “He knows better than to fight a war with two fronts, particularly when the targets are so far apart. I’m sure he doesn’t view you as worthy of his attention, so he’ll focus on Thuvhe.”
I winced, half out of pain and half at my own clumsy phrasing. Slow down on making enemies, Akos’s whisper from earlier reminded me, his lips brushing my ear. Such a short while ago, but everything was different now.
“Lovely,” Aza said, sharp. “Thank you for that insight, Miss Noavek.”
“We need to kill him.” The words launched from my mouth without warning, sounding desperate and small. Everyone looked at me, and I was thankful to the currentshadows staining my skin and the relentless Ogran darkness for disguising my blush.
“We do,” I added, as an afterthought. “He’s a greater danger to Shotet than the chancellor of Thuvhe ever will be.”
“Forgive me for saying so,” a wry voice spoke from somewhere near Aza, coming from a man with a shadowed face and a somewhat pointed beard. “But are you really telling us that we should focus our attention on just one man instead of the declaration of war that has just come our way?”
“Just one man?” I said, anger rising fast and hot within me. “Does the chancellor of Thuvhe go after a person’s family for multiple generations to punish them for disloyalty? Does the chancellor of Thuvhe collect eyeballs in jars? No. Thuvhe can wait. Lazmet needs to be handled now.”
“How dare you,” the bearded man said, stepping toward me fast, “even speak of the horrors committed by your father in such a cavalier fashion? How dare you even stand here—”
I moved forward to meet him in the space between us, now clear of people. I was ready, ready to fight, ready to scream. I had seen my father come back from the dead and I didn’t know what to do with all that I felt about it except punch this man right in his perfectly shaped facial fuzz.
“This is unproductive,” spoke a cool, clear voice from my right. It belonged, of course, to our resident oracle. Sifa came to stand between me and my would-be opponent, her hands tucked into her sleeves.
“Behave like an adult, please,” she said to the man. And to me: “You, too, Miss Noavek.”
My instinct was to snap back at her—I hated to be patronized—but I knew that would only make me look more impetuous, so I denied myself the impulse.
“Can you guide us, Oracle?” Aza said to Sifa.
“I am not yet sure,” Sifa said. “Things are changing quickly.”
“Maybe you could just tell us whether we should focus our energy on Lazmet Noavek or on Thuvhe,” Aza pressed.
Sifa glanced at me.
“Thuvhe is the greater threat to you,” she said.
“And we should just trust you?” I said. “Without knowing what your aim is?”
“You will speak to the oracle with respect,” Aza scolded.
“The oracle’s job is to work for the best future for our planet,” I said. “But whose best future is that, exactly? Thuvhe’s, or Shotet’s? And if it’s Shotet’s, then is it the best path for the Shotet exiles, or the Noavek loyalists?”
“Are you suggesting I have given preferential treatment to Thuvhe thus far?” Sifa scowled at me. “Trust me, Miss Noavek, I could have buried the fates of your family, and told the other oracles to deny them as well, if I had thought it would result in the best future for our planet. But I didn’t. Instead, I allowed your family to use their new ‘fate-favored’ status to justify seizing control of Shotet government. My lack of intervention is why your family ever came into power in the first place, because it was what needed to be done, so do not think to accuse me of favoritism!”
Well. She had a point.
“If you all ignore my father now,” I said, “you will regret it. You will.”
“Is that a threat, Miss Noavek?” the bearded man demanded.
“No!” Nothing was coming out right. “It’s an inevitability. You asked me here to tell you about my family—well, I just did. Thuvhe may destroy Shotet lives, but Lazmet will destroy Shotet’s soul.”
I could almost feel them rolling their eyes at me. Perhaps I ought to have chosen less dramatic words, but I had meant them. It was difficult to explain to a person who feared for his life that death was not the worst he could encounter. Lazmet Noavek was.