Chapter 51

  Akkama waited on top of Skywater Citadel in the bright cloudlight of day. She tapped her foot restlessly on the shimmering elderstone. She looked up at the rings—three of them now: orange, blue, green—and the moons. Procyon, the Crescent Moon, was visible in the sky above, with the Puddle Moon on one side and the Mirror Moon on the other. Of them, Zayana’s moon was shaped least like an actual moon. Its silvery surface curved in a graceful arc, and Akkama clearly saw the nine strings bridging the gap. Zayana only needed one more, but to get it, she had to defeat her guardian, which was a giant spider or something. Akkama decided that she would help. No matter how this meeting went—and she didn’t like thinking about it—she would at least make the offer. She’d never offered before, because…

  She hissed and began pacing from one end of the platform to the other, from her own red origami door to Jeronimy’s of black mirrors. She glanced periodically at Zayana’s door of woven amethyst.

  Lord First came up to check on her, to ask if she required any assistance, but she shouted at him to go away. Private meeting. He only stared at her with that eerie faceless mask before he turned and limped back down below.

  Akkama rehearsed lines and discarded them in a downward spiral of increasing anxiety. She wanted to draw her sword and swing it at something. Except Derxis had been right. She couldn’t draw Nemesis anymore without thinking about Emmius. And now she’d killed Derxis too…

  Shit.

  His words from long ago kept echoing in her mind as though he was hiding behind one of the ten doors and whispering it at her. Why did you never use the stone to see what she thought of you?

  The sound of a door opening. A chiming, ringing sound. Zayana’s door.

  Akkama turned on her heel. An unfamiliar flutter of nerves arose in her chest. Zayana stepped through her door from a bright place beyond. The door clicked shut behind her.

  The harp/bow was slung across her back, and her hair glittered with violet crystals like dewdrops, and gems of arda glinted as they revolved like moons in the air around her, but Akkama’s eyes were drawn to the blindfold. The six crystals embedded in Zayana’s forehead above the band of purple silk gleamed as though staring at Akkama.

  Zayana spoke first. “Is it about this?” she asked. She held up her medallion.

  Akkama shifted her weight awkwardly, unsure what Zayana meant. “What?” she said at last.

  “This.” Zayana jabbed a finger at her medallion. “Emmius. His light is out. Is that your fault, Akkama?”

  Oh. Right. Akkama reached into her pocket to touch her own medallion…but it was not there. Where had she put it?

  The realization struck her all at once. Derxis had succeeded in taking her medallion. In a way. Except he was dead now. Right? But she looked closer at the circle of lights in Zayana’s hand, and she saw the orange one, there between the grey and the purple, same as always. He was alive, somehow. He had tricked her. He had been right.

  And for once, this didn’t really make Akkama angry. In fact, she almost laughed. He was the trickster, after all. And he had been right about basically everything. Why did you never use the stone to see what she thought of you?

  Akkama reached into her bag and closed her hand around the rough, thorny mind spike. The powers of a color priest, hers once more. She gripped it tight, inhaled its power.

  “That’s enough,” said Zayana. Her voice was hard. All of Akkama’s power vanished as suddenly as a light switched off. The orange glare of the mind spike, as well as her own latent energy, disappeared as though they had never been. Zayana was aglow with purple light. It radiated from her arda in stringy blooms, linking up with the glittering crystals around her. The yellow one crackled with electricity; white summoned an impossible gust of air; the blue collected water from the air into a field of frozen shards, razor-sharp. Together they made a deadly wall, a barrier between Zayana and Akkama. Zayana was afraid of Akkama; she was protecting herself.

  “What are you doing with a mind stone, Akkama?” Zayana sounded more tired than anything else. “And where is Derxis? It is his, correct?”

  “I…I wasn’t going to do anything…bad.” Akkama realized, as she spoke, how weak this protest sounded. It was hollow even in her own ears. What had she ever done that would make Zayana believe those words? Akkama had killed—no, murdered—Thaevrit, Emmius, Derxis. She had done worse than murder to Anthea.

  Akkama bit her lip hard enough to bleed, trying to keep it together. She had to know. All at once, it mattered more than anything: what did Zayana think of her? What was she, Akkama, to the ex-princess of Meszria? What was the truth?

  Akkama squeezed the mind spike until her hand shook. Then, with a hiss of frustration, she drew it from the bag and tossed it to Zayana.

  The spike drifted through a space of calm in the raging storm of mixed energy around Zayana to a halt in the air before her. It raised up to her eye level, rotated a few times. “Derxis,” she confirmed. Then, somehow noticeable even without eyes, she turned her attention back to Akkama. Waiting for an explanation.

  “Use it,” said Akkama, bracing herself.

  “Excuse me?” said Zayana. The storm around her began to subside, the arda energy ebbing away. Still, Akkama’s own powers of fire were completely suppressed.

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  “Use it. On me.” Akkama took a deep breath. “Look at me, Zayana. Everything.”

  Zayana stood perfectly still for a long time. Her defensive wall of energy faded. The orange spike glittered as it spun slowly in the air in front of her. Then she reached out and took hold of it. The mind stone exploded with light, so bright and violent that Akkama thought for one moment of mixed horror and relief that Zayana had simply destroyed it. But no, the princess of crystal was using the mind spike to its full potential, making it shine far brighter than Akkama ever could. Akkama realized, in the second before it all ceased to matter, that a mind spike in Zayana’s hands was a tool of frightening power.

  And then Akkama experienced the singular, inimitable sensation of absolute nakedness, vulnerability taken to the very limit. Her every thought, her every hope, every dream, every motive, even those she did not know herself, were all exposed under the gaze of an invasive otherness .

  In later attempts to describe the discomfort of this sensation, she could only say that it was very orange.

  Akkama had no understanding of how long it lasted. Maybe it had been minutes or hours; maybe it had only taken a single moment. But at the end of it she lay upon the rainbow-infused elderstone, tickled by a cool breeze, at the summit of Skywater Citadel. Zayana sat cross-legged next to her. Akkama realized with some shock that Zayana held her left hand, clasped tightly in her lap. And Zayana was singing; she chimed her song softly through her arda.

  “Your turn,” said Zayana, her voice neutral and quiet. She produced the mind spike and pressed it into Akkama’s hand.

  Akkama hesitated, but only for a moment. This, after all, was what she had wanted. The truth.

  Akkama gripped the orange spike, the crystallization of Derxis’s powers, and with it she reached into the blank space of the mind, where Zayana was a soft purple light. Gently, carefully, like unfolding a flower bud petal by petal, Akkama peeled away the outer thoughts, which buzzed and flickered and changed. She looked without eyes, gazing intently but careful not to touch, at what lay beneath. What did Zayana think about Akkama?

  She saw. And she remembered another thing Derxis had said, what seemed like so long ago, in his Judgment upon her: that the next mind stone she held would burn her.

  And there it was, burning. Zayana’s pity, burning because of Akkama’s pride. Zayana’s compassion, burning because it was unwarranted. Zayana’s forgiveness, burning because it was undeserved, and because it was offered regardless of its acceptance. Zayana’s disappointment, profound and sincere, in Akkama. About Prax. About Emmius.

  Akkama saw herself through Zayana’s eyes: courageous and foolish, passionate and selfish and dangerous and beautiful. Like a raging fire. Akkama saw memories of herself and Zayana long ago, sharing songs and stories and dreams beneath the stars. A desire wove through the memories like a shining silken thread, a desire for a restoration of what they had. Best friends, said the immaterial label upon a memory of the two of them, singing together beneath the stars. Best friends—a longing. And more recently, much more recently, a hope.

  Something nudged Akkama, an external force suggesting a path to her in the unreal mindspace. It pointed a way. It showed something new. It opened up a memory.

  Akkama saw and understood Derxis telling Zayana that they must escape this Narrative, now irresolvable. Akkama had only one way out: death. And Akkama saw the plan that Zayana had formulated.

  Then it was all over. Akkama wondered if she could have stayed to explore the reaches of Zayana’s mind. What other secrets did it hold? What, for example, were her feelings concerning Jacob Hollow? Anthea? But something pushed her gently back into her own self.

  She regained awareness in a manner not quite like awakening from sleep.

  She saw the sky, a deep blue crossed by wispy strands of luminous cloud, the coin-shaped Thin Moon directly overhead.

  Zayana’s head came into view. The blindfold stared, framed by curtains of sparkling hair. The sight of the blindfold made a painful knot form in Akkama’s throat.

  Akkama dropped the mind spike and lunged upward to catch Zayana in a fierce embrace. Zayana returned the hug almost at once.

  “I’m sorry,” Akkama whispered, blinking back tears. “I…” But she couldn’t speak anymore.

  Zayana’s body was cool and soft. She replied in a tremulous voice, “I forgive you, Akkama.” Akkama heard the unspoken words: the others might not, and they would hold Akkama responsible for her actions. But all of that seemed unimportant at the moment. For now, Zayana was enough.

  Lord Friend applauds heartily, and proudly does he gaze upon the scene of reconciliation before him, and indeed even a tear of emotion wells forth at his eye. Ah! He proclaims that it does one such as he good, who has seen much bitterness and despair, for his heart to be warmed by such a display of resolution. His yet-capacious heart swells to consider that fires and furies shall fade at the dawn of

  “Hey!” Akkama wiped at her face and glared at Lord Friend. “Can you give us a damn minute?”

  Of course, replies the Gracious One. It is well understood that one such as he would not be so crass as to foist himself upon a delicate scenario such as this. Not he—for verily, even unto the distant shores of

  “Lord Friend,” said Zayana. “Please leave us be. Now.”

  Lord Friend retreats down the stairwell, making it known as he goes that he is quite available for discussion, should either of the parties currently present wish to speak with him, whose words are a balm for the downhearted.

  “Anyone else?” said Akkama. She stared around the deserted pinnacle as though expecting another Lord to emerge from behind one of the ten doors ringed around them.

  Zayana giggled.

  Akkama’s comm band vibrated. Acarnus, high priority.

  “I’ve got it too,” said Zayana. She gave a quick command to her comm band, which spoke the message in Acarnus’s voice.

  “The time is now. A large fleet from the Dark World is rapidly approaching Ardia. We must meet atop Skywater Citadel as soon as possible. Bond to your angel, if you have not already done so.”

  “Guess we’re early,” said Akkama.

  Zayana stood and brushed her dress out of habit more than necessity. “We have something to do first. You saw?”

  Akkama stood up beside her. She nodded. Then, realizing that Zayana could not see it, said “I’m ready.”

  Zayana turned to her door. “To the Coral Moon, then. We’ll go via Wave Moon. I don’t think Rosma locks Fiora’s door.”