Nightvine

1 Glorifying and Truthful

EV AND ALIZHAN HAD BEEN in Nalitzva half a shift before things went wrong.

They’d set out to find Prince Ilyr with volume eleven of A Natural History of the World in hand. They’d left Ifeleh and her crew in the harbor with a promise to report back before the ship’s scheduled departure. Things might have gone smoothly if they’d taken Djal or Mala or even Gad, anyone from Vines who knew the city, but the crew had work to do. Perhaps if Alizhan could speak a word of Nalitzvan, or if Ev’s schoolroom grasp of the language had been more sophisticated, they could have explained things better. But instead, after the uncomfortable experience of having their papers scrutinized at the docks, Ev and Alizhan had struck out on their own, heading directly for the palace gates.

The harbor reminded Ev of home—the salt air, the colorful square sails and painted ships, the people in all shapes and sizes chattering in every language—but the rest of Nalitzva was alien. Wide straight streets cut through the imposing white stone buildings in a grid, and at every square intersection, larger-than-life human statues loomed over the citizens. They raised swords and scepters and their staring white eyes followed her. Everyone in the streets felt their presence, otherwise why would they all be so quick and quiet in their walking? The grand square leading to the palace gates was nearly silent, populated by statues instead of people.

And guards. Statues and armed guards.

Ev wasn’t sure if it was a sin against God’s Balance to carve images of people out of stone, as Laalvuri priests of the Balance said. She wasn’t inclined to trust priests after the discoveries of the past month, but the statues still made her uneasy. Ev preferred to let God’s Balance alone in the hopes that it would do the same for her—a plan that wasn’t working out at this moment, as Ev got five sentences into her request and two guards seized Alizhan by the arms. She cried out in pain.

“Let her go!” Ev shouted, but two more guards grabbed her by the arms. She struggled. She could elbow them in the stomach and break free. But Alizhan was still captive, and Ev didn’t want to be separated from her. They couldn’t win this fight—even if they managed to take down four armed men, there were more guards in the square and the palace, and they’d get caught eventually.

One of the guards grabbed A Natural History of the World from Alizhan and rifled through it, pausing when he saw a stamp on the flyleaf that identified the book as part of Iriyat ha-Varensi’s library. He conferred with the other guard, who still held Alizhan.

“What did I say?” Ev whispered to Alizhan. She’d only tried to express that they’d heard of the prince’s talents with language, that they’d brought him a book no one could read, and that they’d be very grateful for his help if he could decipher it for them. She’d been as polite as possible, given how little of their language she spoke. Maybe she’d pronounced something wrong.

Alizhan grimaced as the guards bound her hands behind her back. Their hands were gloved, but Alizhan was wary of any contact. “It doesn’t matter, Ev,” she said. “They’re on high alert, suspicious of everything. The mention of a book set them off. They won’t let us anywhere near the prince now.”

Alizhan hadn’t understood a word of the conversation. But she knew what the guards were feeling.

“They can’t arrest us,” Ev said. “We haven’t done anything.”

The guards ignored this as they’d ignored everything else Ev had said. They were marched out of the wide, clean streets into a shaded alley and through a wooden door that clanked shut behind them. The building they’d entered had low ceilings and poor lighting, and Ev saw almost nothing before the guards began to strip her.

“Smoke and—” Ev swore, and she rounded on her captors. She got a punch in before she heard Alizhan yelp, and when she turned to make sure Alizhan wasn’t dead, her guards pinned her arms behind her back and forced her to her knees.

“It’s okay, Ev,” Alizhan was saying, her breathing labored. “Not now. Later.”

They were hurting her. Alizhan had learned to cope with crowds since Mala had given her some rudimentary training aboard Vines, but enduring the grim manhandling of a strip search by two strangers was too much for her. The guards confiscated the book. Alizhan held herself together long enough to pull on the new clothes she was given. Then she passed out.

Ev barely managed to catch Alizhan, slumped into unconsciousness, before both of them were pushed into the cell. The heavy door slammed shut behind them. Ev sat down, carefully adjusting Alizhan’s slight weight until Alizhan’s head was cradled in her lap and none of their skin was touching.

Ev shivered. When she’d first stepped into the cell, her bare feet had curled involuntarily at the touch of the cold stone beneath them. It was so much colder here than in Laalvur. The loose, rough-spun fabric of her prison clothes offered no warmth. There was a single, barred window high in one cell wall, open to the outside air. The rest of the cell was unremarkable—there was straw scattered on the floor, and a bucket in one corner. It was only on her second look that Ev noticed there was a pile of straw in the darkest part of the room, and that pile of straw contained a human being.

Ev opted not to speak to the other person. Prison wasn’t a good place to make friends.

She wanted to touch Alizhan. To feel her pulse. To check for bruises. It was an instinct, nothing more. Ev wanted to reassure herself. But Alizhan still couldn’t bring herself to touch Ev’s skin even when she was awake and in control of herself, so touching her while she was unconscious and vulnerable was out of the question. Alizhan wouldn’t like being in Ev’s lap when she woke up, but Ev couldn’t bring herself to dump Alizhan’s prone body on the floor.

Instead of touching Alizhan, Ev whispered her name. “Wake up, Alizhan.”

The other prisoner didn’t stir. Ev was speaking Laalvuri, so he probably couldn’t understand her. She kept her hands at her sides, not touching Alizhan, and continued speaking softly.

“They took the book, but it’s okay,” Ev said. “We’ll get it back from Ilyr. After we break out of prison. I guess we’ll have to steal some normal clothes before we get near the prince. We’ll figure it out. Or you will, once you wake up. I know you will. You’ll be okay.”

It was easier to say it than to believe it. Ev had never felt so far from home. “You’ll wake up just fine. We’ll get out of here, and we’ll get your book back, and we’ll go home and we’ll fix things. And then we can go back to the farm, where it’s warm and the light is just right, and we’ll see my parents and Kasrik and Eliyan and Zilal and Tez and the cats and you can stay—”

Alizhan’s eyelids fluttered.

A moment later, she vaulted out of Ev’s lap and landed clumsily a short distance away. Trembling and wild-eyed, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms furiously.

“I know,” Ev said, but it did nothing to calm Alizhan. She was still hugging herself, either trying to warm herself or trying to rid herself of the feeling of other hands on her skin. “Breathe.”

Alizhan took a ragged deep breath. And then another. Another. Even through her sack-like prison tunic, Ev could see her chest rise and fall.

“Too many people,” Alizhan said. She was still working to get her breathing under control.

Their cell was quiet, but Ev could hear the din of prisoners shouting, sobbing, and striking the walls of the other cells. That wasn’t the reason Ev wanted out—being in prison was enough of a reason for her—but she had no intention of quibbling with Alizhan. “If I lift you up, maybe we could get to that window. Do you think we could work those bars free?”

The window was too high for Ev to reach all by herself. It was also so small that it was hard to imagine even Alizhan squeezing through it, and the metal bars were solidly embedded in the wall, but Ev didn’t have a better idea.

“It’s rude to plan an escape and not invite me,” the other prisoner said, startling Ev.

He spoke Laalvuri. Smoke.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Ev snapped.

She’d thought he was asleep or unconscious, and even if he’d been awake, he hadn’t seemed interested in either of them. But he must have been listening. He lifted his head from his prone position, then sat up. With one hand, he brushed off some of the straw and dirt clinging to his clothes. He somehow managed to make the action look graceful, even regal.

“What’s rude is you being so unbearably dull,” he informed Ev.

Ev started to stand, but Alizhan said, “Wait.”

“Ooh, the little one’s in charge,” said the prisoner. “I was picturing it all wrong.”

What had he been picturing? How could he make Ev so angry and uncomfortable with just his tone of voice? Ev wouldn’t have hit him. She might have loomed over him in a silent, threatening way, though. She missed her stick fiercely.

“Don’t worry, Ev,” Alizhan said. She wasn’t even looking at Ev. Her eyes were still locked on the prisoner. It was fiery unsettling sometimes, having a conversation with Alizhan. She pulled things out of the silence with eerie accuracy. “He smells good.”

Alizhan crawled across the cell and sat down cross-legged in front of the prisoner.

He laughed, a single flat sound with no humor in it, and directed his gaze at Ev. “There is something tragically wrong with your friend’s nose.”

Ev might have laughed and explained it to him if he’d been a little nicer. As it was, she was mystified by what Alizhan saw—or smelled—in him.

“He’s sad. And hurt,” Alizhan continued, addressing Ev as if the man in front of her couldn’t hear her. “He’s trying to hide it.”

So he was hissing at Ev to distract her, like a wounded tomcat hiding in a dark corner of the barn? She would’ve had patience for the cat. Unfortunately for her cellmate, Ev’s sympathies didn’t extend to sharp-tongued strangers.

“He is not,” the prisoner said. “He is in perfect health and would make a useful accomplice for any escapes you might be planning. In fact, out of an astonishing generosity of spirit, he will mastermind said escape plans for you, since your previous attempts have been so lackluster.”

It was dim in the prison, but he didn’t look or sound Nalitzvan. Despite speaking flawless Laalvuri, he didn’t look like anyone Ev had ever met in Laalvur. His skin was a golden shade of tan, lighter in color than Ev’s or Alizhan’s, but not the milky shade of most Nalitzvans, either. He was wearing the same loose beige tunic and trousers as all the other prisoners, so his clothes gave no clue as to where he was from. He sat with his legs crossed. And since Alizhan had mentioned it, Ev noticed he was cradling his right hand in his lap. His black curls were matted with dust. A sparse scattering of stubble dotted his cheeks.

“You’re an islander,” Alizhan said. Ev wouldn’t have blurted it out so casually, even if she had put it together. “How did you end up here?”

“An excellent question. Also rather rude.”

Alizhan wasn’t deterred. Good manners were not among her skills. She stopped trembling and focused all her attention on the prisoner. “If you’re an islander in prison in Nalitzva, then how and why do you speak Laalvuri?”

“There isn’t a good Laalvuri word for it,” he said, which wasn’t the answer Ev expected, although it was hard to say what she’d expected. Was he some kind of international criminal? Or was he like them, unjustly imprisoned?

“You know, we’re not all the same. I don’t go around calling you mainlanders. I know you’re Laalvuri.”

“Well, which island are you from, then?” Alizhan said, as if she were being very patient. “Tell me and I’ll call you that instead.”

“I’m from Hoi,” the prisoner said. There was a note of amusement in his voice, which was usually a good sign in people’s dealings with Alizhan, but Ev didn’t want to think well of him just yet. “And I’d very much like to get the watery hell out of Nalitzva and go back there, but first I want to know what you think I smell like.”

“It’s not always a smell,” Alizhan said, unfazed by the Hoi’s priorities. She waved a hand in the air, drawing a series of vague circles, in a gesture Ev guessed was supposed to be helpful and explanatory. “Sometimes it’s a feeling. Or a color. A sound. An image. Words, maybe, if someone’s really loud. Anyway, I can’t tell much about you, which might be because you’re in so much pain, or—”

Ev wanted to hear the end of that sentence, but the prisoner interrupted. “Well, prison is terribly hard on my complexion, you understand. I shudder to appear before you in this state, but I suppose it is a lesson in what life is like for those who haven’t been graced with dazzling good looks.”

Ev didn’t have time for this. For him. She supposed under all the filth and bruises he might have been handsome, but she couldn’t imagine a less important subject. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried not to tap her fingers with impatience.

“So I haven’t been able to attend to my toilette as usual. And the beds in this place! Let’s not even mention the food. Or lack thereof. A little ennui is to be expected. Anyway, clearly you’re a mind-reader. I’d say ‘why didn’t you just say so,’ but I suppose the answer is obvious, given where we find ourselves.”

Alizhan nodded.

In a different tone, rougher around the edges, the prisoner said, “You’re lucky these barbarians just threw you in prison instead of killing you on the spot.”

“Lucky,” Ev repeated. He knew about magic, this man. He wasn’t suspicious or even surprised. He thought magic-hating Nalitzvans were barbarians. Maybe he could help them after all, even if he was glib and snide. Was he really in pain, like Alizhan said? Ev squinted at his hand.

“Yes, lucky,” he said seriously. “In the same way I’m lucky that it was only one hand, and the wrong one, at that.” With his left hand, he gestured at the hand in his lap. Now that Ev was invited to examine it more closely, she could see it was swollen. Bruises darkened his skin. Some of his fingers were bent at unnatural angles. “We’re all marvelously lucky, aren’t we?”

“They broke your hand,” Ev said, outraged. She felt guilty for all her uncharitable thoughts toward him. She didn’t like him, but he didn’t deserve to be maimed. And what could he possibly have done to incur such an inhumane punishment? What would the guards do to Alizhan and Ev if they couldn’t escape? A frisson of fear ran down her spine.

“Beauty and brains,” the prisoner drawled.

He was really testing the limits of her sympathy, this stranger.

“Why?” Alizhan said. “What did you do?”

“What did you do?” he shot back. Alizhan probably couldn’t tell that he was glaring at her when he said it, since she rarely looked at anyone’s face, but Ev could.

“Nothing,” Alizhan said, unmoved by his tone.

There was a long silence, and finally the prisoner relented.

“Well, I wrote something,” he said. “The guards are possessed of strong literary opinions and they took it upon themselves to end my career.”

“What did you write? Was it libel? Did you criticize the royal family?” Ev said.

“Neither. It was both glorifying and truthful.” A joyless smile. “But really, why talk about how we ended up here—a dull, trivial subject—when instead, we could talk about how to get out?”

“It’s not right,” Ev said. “We didn’t do anything wrong. We don’t deserve to be here, and whatever you wrote, you didn’t deserve that. It’s not like you killed someone.”

“Yes, yes,” he said. “I’m so glad to know your sense of justice is offended. Now, about that escape plan. I hear you need to get to llyr. To get to him, you need someone who can speak Nalitzvan and someone who knows the palace. Coincidentally, this shift Mother Mah Yee and all your gods have rained blessings down upon you,” here he paused, and with his good hand, the prisoner made a graceful, sweeping gesture, indicating himself, “granting you the good fortune of meeting me. Get me out and I will get you in.”

“More of a trickle than a rain,” Alizhan said, laughing.

“More of a drought,” Ev muttered. Then she mentally pushed aside all the nonsense he’d said, and responded to the important part. “You know the palace?”

“And you speak Nalitzvan as well as Laalvuri?” Alizhan said.

“Naturally.”

His words gave Ev pause. She hated his little reminder that he’d eavesdropped on her private conversation with Alizhan earlier. But it was more than that. What could he possibly mean by “naturally”? His Laalvuri was perfect. Nothing about him made sense. Islanders rarely left their home. Ev had never met one in Laalvur, but she knew there was a trader who sold medusa venom and products made from it. She’d assumed Nalitzva would be similar. What was someone from Hoi doing in prison here?

“Also, the window will never work. Alizhan, can you tell me about the guards?”

Alizhan shook her head. “They’re too far. There’s too many people.” And then she added, “How do you know my name?”

“Ev and I had a chat,” he said. “If the guards come closer, could you read them?”

“Probably.” Alizhan shrugged. Then she said, caught between curiosity and suspicion, “Ev doesn’t like to talk.”

“She does,” he replied. Ev didn’t appreciate being spoken about as if she weren’t there, but the prisoner was already continuing. “We have to distract the guards somehow. Get them to open the door. There are almost always two of them, and we’ll only have a second. Ev can take one and you and I will take the other.”

“Ev could take both if she had her stick,” Alizhan said. As always, she had far more confidence in Ev than Ev did.

“Could she,” the prisoner said, and for the first time, he really smiled. It flashed across his face and was gone. Alizhan smiled in return, a quick mirror. Ev felt very far away. How had they already come to like each other?

“That’s good to know,” the prisoner continued. “But as Ev does not have her stick, I won’t assign her the task of taking out two very large men by herself. Once we get out of here, I’ll direct you to Ilyr. You can probably even get your book back, whatever you want it for.”

“Why are you helping us?” Ev asked.

“I should think it obvious. I want to get out of prison.”

“Why are you helping us with Ilyr,” Ev said flatly. The prisoner always slipped out of the way of questions. He hadn’t said his name yet, he’d barely explained what landed him in prison in the first place, and he hadn’t explained how he could possibly know his way around the palace. Alizhan’s instinct wasn’t enough for Ev to trust him.

“Oh, that,” he said. “It’s a long story.”

“We’re very busy, as you can see,” Alizhan said, gesturing at the cell.

“I do like a captive audience.”

Alizhan laughed. Ev stared at the prisoner until he began to talk.

* * *

“The first thing you should know is that Ilyr is a fraud and a liar,” the prisoner began.

“I’ve met him,” Alizhan said. “I liked him.”

“How wonderful for you,” the prisoner said, his voice dripping with poison. “If I am going to tell this story, I must insist that you not interrupt me. It’s delicate.”

“Because it’s the story of why you’re so sad,” Alizhan said.

“What did I just say.”

Alizhan shrugged, unrepentant.

“But perhaps that isn’t the first thing you should know. It’s difficult to know where to start. Ilyr is indeed a prince of Nalitzva. He was born to wealth and power. He grew up knowing he would inherit the throne. He’s had every privilege you can imagine, and some you probably can’t. In the unfair way of these things, he’s also intelligent and beautiful and kind.”

“I know,” Alizhan said. “I told you, we met. At a party in Laalvur. I served him a glass of wine and read his mind.”

Ev hadn’t known silence could be haughty, but the prisoner was very expressive.

“Perhaps you’d like to tell the story,” he said, after a suitably icy interval of time had passed.

“No,” Alizhan said, unaffected.

The prisoner huffed, then took a fortifying breath and picked up where he’d left off. “Ilyr’s education sparked his curiosity about the world, and when he was twenty, he embarked on a long voyage. He went to places as far Nightward as Estva and as far Dayward as Adappyr—and he traveled to Li, Kae, and Hoi.

“The islands don’t allow foreigners to visit. But Ilyr had studied our languages and our ways, and he knew just what to say. It was a personal journey, not a royal visit or a diplomatic mission. He admired our arts—what little he knew of them, since no mainlanders have been to the islands in centuries, and our people rarely leave. He wanted to know more. He wanted to live among us.

“In Nalitzva, they say when Ilyr went traveling, even the coldest star-watching monks of Estva were in awe of him. I’ve never been there, but I understand it. It’s hard not to love him. He’s tall and broad-shouldered. Eyes like gems. Hair like gold. He listens so carefully that you feel like the only person in the world.

“So we granted him permission, of a sort. He would come alone, with no retinue of servants or guards. He would take nothing from the islands but himself and his writings. He would spend three triads on each island. Ilyr did exactly that in Li and Kae.

“And then he came to Hoi, and he met my sister.

“I’ve already told you how beautiful Ilyr is. My sister looks nothing like him, and yet she is his equal. Not just in beauty, although she’s very beautiful—slender, graceful, dark-eyed—but in wit and charm as well. She has a gift for languages, and while Ilyr had studied enough Hoi to have a simple conversation, he still needed an interpreter. My sister spent every minute of those three triads with him. I’ve never seen two people fall in love so fast.

“She begged the elders to allow Ilyr to stay longer. I think they wouldn’t have granted it, had the two of them not made such a beautiful pair. The way they could talk for hours, caught between languages, their hands fluttering and landing like birds. The way they danced. You wouldn’t have thought a man as big and broad as Ilyr could move with such precision. It would have been a crime to break them apart. My people value beauty.”

The prisoner said this as though no other people valued beauty. Ev thought of the first time she’d met Alizhan back in Laalvur, and Iriyat ha-Varensi’s grand entrance into Arishdenan market in her embroidered silks, and privately disagreed. Even the Nalitzvans valued beauty, although theirs was a stark, cold kind.

“The elders said yes. Ilyr stayed for a year. He lived among us as he’d wanted to from the beginning—he spoke our language and ate our food. He even put aside his prudish insistence on Nalitzvan clothing. He loved my sister so much I thought my heart would burst from it. It was a happy year.

“And then Ilyr was called home for his wedding.

“He’d been betrothed to a Nalitzvan girl for years. His parents knew nothing of his life in Hoi. There was nothing for him to do but go home and wed this girl. He had to leave. He would not be coming back.

“The whole island heard my sister shout at him. She screamed. She wept. Nalitzvans would tell you my sister is ‘dramatic,’ in a very disapproving tone, but they think expressing emotion is a weakness. It isn’t. It’s a strength. My sister was so heartbroken and angry that she nearly attacked Ilyr, but he caught her by the wrists and they kissed instead. They made love ferociously—oh, I see that Laalvuri don’t like to talk about that any more than Nalitzvans do. I’ve never understood why. It’s the best part of the story.”

“She’s your sister,” Ev said, with quiet horror.

“What did I say about interruptions?” he said.

Alizhan and Ev shared an incredulous look.

“Anyway, as they were lying in the bed that was still warm from their lovemaking,” the prisoner continued, and Ev was certain he invented that detail just to needle them. “Ilyr proposed to my sister that she come home with him. She could live among his people as he had lived among hers. He’d still have to wed his betrothed, but he wouldn’t be separated from my sister. They could be together, and she could help him write his book about the Hoi. Perhaps they could build some kind of trust between their peoples.

“My sister agreed. She could speak Nalitzvan, but their culture was a mystery to her, and she wanted to see the city. She didn’t know Nalitzvans believe it is a crime—no, a sin—to make love outside of marriage. Nalitzvans marry in pairs, one man and one woman, and it lasts until death. Ilyr didn’t tell her this, or many other things.

“I went with them. It was a long journey, and Nalitzva was white and cold and strange when we arrived. But my sister loved it, because she loved Ilyr. Those first few months were the adventure of her life. She even loved his betrothed, a girl as blond and beautiful as he was. Her name was Aniyat. She didn’t know that Ilyr loved my sister—Aniyat was too innocent to have suspected him of such a thing—and so she and my sister became fast friends.

“But after those first few months, the thrill began to fade. Keeping their love a secret took its toll on Ilyr and my sister, and Ilyr became distant. He only ever came to my sister when he wanted to use her gift for languages. They were working on a book together, about Hoi culture, and Ilyr was publishing essays about his travels. He was publishing translations of Hoi poetry, too, but they were my sister’s. Her name appeared nowhere in his publications. Ilyr had suddenly become ashamed of her—or perhaps he wanted to claim her talents for himself. He now had a reputation as a genius polyglot. Rumor has it that he can speak any language, or decipher any text, even if he has never encountered it before.” The prisoner huffed.

Beside Ev, Alizhan shifted. So this was why the prisoner had called Ilyr a fraud. Had they come all this way for nothing?

“Ilyr stayed away from my sister unless he wanted something from her. He kept her sequestered at the palace because he didn’t want anyone to discover his secrets—that he’d loved my sister, and that she was the source of his miraculous ability. My sister grew bored. There is only so much homesick exile poetry one can write. But Aniyat was always there, and Aniyat was sweet and kind and beautiful.

“My sister falls in love quickly, as you may have guessed. She’s impulsive. Foolish, perhaps. But she was desperately lonely. At first there was no more to it than that. Aniyat was the product of a sheltered Nalitzvan upbringing, and my sister’s attentions were a revelation to her. But when Aniyat understood what was being offered, she did not say no.

“There. You see? I can describe sex in the dull, oblique way you approve of. You do understand that they had sex, I hope. I know Laalvuri don’t approve of women lying with women—” the prisoner seemed to linger over these words, his eyes on Alizhan and Ev, searching for a reaction, “—or men lying with men, but it happens. It even happens here in Nalitzva, where they kill you for it.

“In light of all that, my sister looks like a fool, I know. But knowing her as I do, I understand that there was a kind of love-addled logic to her actions. If Ilyr had loved her, and he now loved Aniyat, and my sister loved Aniyat as well, perhaps there was no problem at all. She was naive. She didn’t understand anything about this place or its customs. Most of all, she didn’t understand Ilyr. How could he could love her in Hoi and feel ashamed of her in Nalitzva?

“You can guess the rest. Ilyr caught my sister and Aniyat, and instead of being delighted and politely asking to join like a civilized human being, he reacted with outrage and betrayal. My sister couldn’t have predicted that. She truly thought the three of them could work things out. It happens all the time at home.

“My sister didn’t intend to hurt anyone, least of all two people she loved dearly. But Ilyr couldn’t see things the way she did. For him, what my sister had done was the worst kind of treachery. He felt deceived. He felt abandoned—even though my sister felt that he’d abandoned her. They fought. He hurled wild accusations at my sister—she was a jealous bitch who’d been plotting his ruin the whole time, she’d seduced Aniyat out of spite, she’d tell the world his secrets to humiliate him. My sister tried to explain that she’d been lonely, but Ilyr wouldn’t hear her.

“Worst of all, my sister had misjudged Aniyat. Aniyat wasn’t sweet and innocent. She wanted to do exactly what Ilyr accused my sister of doing—she wanted to use the prince’s secrets against him. But she didn’t want to reveal them to the world. She wanted to control him. My sister tried to stop her, but Aniyat made sure Ilyr would never listen to my sister again. She preserved her own reputation in the most vile and conniving way possible. She told him she’d been my sister’s unwilling victim.

“My sister was furious at this lie—sex is sacred to us, and rape is a sin. She would never, ever have forced Aniyat. To save Ilyr from Aniyat’s control, my sister wanted to tell the truth. It was the simplest solution. But Ilyr thought she was threatening to expose him as a fraud—no better than Aniyat. Ilyr could not afford to have any aspect of this story exposed. My sister had unknowingly become his dirty little secret. Nalitzvans would be scandalized by this story, as I can see that you are. Ilyr did everything in his power to hide the evidence. The strangest thing is that even after everything, my sister still loved him, and I think—I think Ilyr loved her, at least a little bit, right up until the end.

“I don’t know why I believe that. It doesn’t change what happened,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t know if Ilyr and Aniyat have forgiven each other fully, but they’re still going to be married. I have, as you can see, been uninvited.”

The prisoner spread his arms wide to encompass the cell.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Ev said. She’d asked why he’d help them find Ilyr, and instead he’d told a story about how Ilyr couldn’t help them at all. “Do you want to help us find Ilyr so you can find your sister?”

Alizhan hadn’t moved since the prisoner stopped speaking. Instead she fixed him with her eerie, unfocused stare.

“I see I’ve thoroughly shocked you both,” the prisoner said lightly. It sounded to Ev like he was trying to slip out from under Alizhan’s gaze, as if he could distract her with a joke.

“No,” Alizhan said, still staring. Ev had the impression that Alizhan was working on something, but it was hard to tell what.

Ev put aside her thoughts about Alizhan and returned to the conversation at hand. It was an awful story, and a sad one, but she wasn’t shocked for the reasons the prisoner thought. Her father’s people, in distant, sunny Adappyr, also saw nothing wrong with two men lying together, or two women. The subject had come up twice in his frequent grumblings about Laalvuri society and its moral failings. Ev had always listened especially attentively when he brought it up.

“Just because I don’t want a stranger in a prison cell to tell me a story in lurid detail,” Ev started, intending to defend herself.

“What’s your sister’s name?” Alizhan interrupted.

“Lan.”

“Hm,” Alizhan said, and Ev didn’t have a chance to ask her what that meant, because the guards arrived.

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