Black as diamond, p.32
Black as Diamond, page 32
It wasn’t like anything she knew of khetry or Suvaun.
Biting the inside of her mouth, Rishé thought back to the pamphlet sitting on her desk in Ausre. If this was what it truly seemed, the writers of Amanuensis hadn’t been far off—they just didn’t have the Great Memories to supplement their speculations. Then again, no one else would either. Her lips thinned at the recollection of black snow as the Nest melted. Pale stone stained by night stuck in her head. Centuries—millennia—of history, gone in minutes.
She shook away the sight of the collapsed tower and pulled off her necklace, setting it in the center of the mirrors. Not just a theory anymore, she mused. What about practical application? How, and for what, were the incantations used?
These and many other questions ran through her mind.
At a yell, Rishé jerked and glanced down ship. The crew of the Danaye hauled cargo from the main deck into the bowels of the ship. Stolen cargo, as this was a pirate’s vessel. One in an alleged fleet commanded by the so-called pirate king. Or so Yurikhun Taraqaya had said, introducing herself with a mocking salute when they’d handed her the cat’s-eye. Only in the north, though—since apparently Tiyam uut Dazraad had laid claim to the title in the south.
Rishé had no idea who either of them were, and she couldn’t care less.
She heard retching, followed by a hacking cough. On her other side, Asaru was vomiting.
“You look foul. How’re you doing?” To be perfectly honest, he looked worse than that. Covered in the curse from head to toe, he was a walking obelisk of unforgiving black mineral. Jewels clinked when he walked, accompanied by the faint echo of metal.
“Bad,” he replied with a stare as flat as his voice. He choked on another surge of vomit, which he promptly emptied over the railing. He hacked and spat with a pained gasp. Throwing her arms up, Rishé stretched out her spine as Asaru wiped his mouth and slumped against the rail with a grunt. “Thank you for asking.”
“No problem.”
Wind wailed where there would have been silence.
In her periphery, Rishé watched him shiver under the banded snakeskin mantle he had shared with Wren. Thin scaled fabric clung to his thighs as he spread them out, then pulled them up under his chin. Talons scraped against wood. The furry end of his tail crusted with the diamond dew of the sea. Casting a critical eye over his curled form, she surmised they were similar in size. Setting her books aside, she sauntered over before removing her suman and laying it atop his shoulders.
Asaru watched her like a wary, feral wolvencat. Ears pricked forward, tail stiffening at his side. It didn’t loosen until she stepped away, granting him a wide ring of space. Satisfied, Rishé wore something like a smile when he donned the hood.
“Thank you.” His voice was almost lost in the gale.
Her sleeves reached her wrists, and she tugged them down to her palms, doing her best to hide her own shiver. The veilari tunic fell in verdant petals to her ankles, and she was thankful for her trousers, for her boots, and for her gloves.
“You shouldn’t be up here,” she said, looking at the clouds. Below them, she imagined the Broken Spine. That treacherous thrust of rock that marked a fearsome path between Anticarta and Trinacrios. She’d heard it was lit at night by the unbroken ceylonite beam of the Lighthouse of the Evolutionary, which was located on the western coast of Aedyton. Rishé glanced to Asaru again, a little ball of brown wool with her suman, wondering if he’d ever seen its alleged ceylonite glow.
“I’m cursed,” he deadpanned, dropping his forehead onto his knees, “not sick.”
“You’re cursed and sick.” She narrowed her eyes with all the heat she could muster.
They stared, then blinked at each other. After a moment Asaru folded like a fate card and gathered himself unsteadily to his feet. Her hands hovered at his back, but he waved her off and grasped the rail. Through his teeth, he exhaled, long and drawn out, like the whistling of riverside reeds.
“Go rest.” She waved him in the direction of the great cabin where the captain had sequestered him. Away from the crew, due to fear of Black Diamond. But only eresh keyel appeared to suffer from the curse. Some dead, others dying. Slowly. Painfully, it seemed.
Cruelly. Rishé sighed, watching him shut the cabin’s door. From what she had read in Oprekhet’s ancient primer, the cruelty was the point.
Still, she had trouble making peace with the fact that Oprekhet was alive. As in not dead. As in probably never dead at all. Or maybe she was, and she’d been resurrected as some sort of revenant. Neither dead nor fully alive. But revenants were fiction. Or so she would have said half a year earlier. The last two moons had taught her such things shouldn’t be discarded so quickly—there had to be some truth in stories that remained unchanged throughout the ages.
The Nest, for instance.
Which no longer existed.
A raindrop fell onto her cheek in tearful imitation.
With a mournful huff, Rishé gathered her books against her body to keep them dry. Her necklace warmed, feeling fleetingly like a pair of arms. The embrace of her mother, both imaginary and remembered.
As she fled below, several crooked forms appeared on the horizon. Half hidden by the weeping fog, they marked the beginning of the Broken Spine. Water frothed as waves prepared to drive the ship onto those craggy rocks. The wise crone that was the sea whipped up a frenzy, a test only the most foolhardy of mariners dared.
The gray sky split open, a storm spilled free, and Rishé shut the door above her, hoping this test was one they would pass.
The Nectarian Sea roared and surged around the Danaye. Wood moaned with each dangerous shift. Thunder clapped and lightning flashed, ringing as Rishé picked her way between rows of hammocks. The swaying canvas slings were hung from the thick beams of the ceiling by sturdy rope; some were occupied, most were not.
She glanced around the cabin, lit by swinging lamps burning seaross fat.
In a hammock by one of the windows she found Palenisa curled up, a black ball beneath her cape with her eyes clenched shut, muttering soundless prayers.
Another boom rang out; it sounded close. In her head, Rishé envisioned burning fish, cooked to perfection by the storm’s strike. But the laugh halted in her chest when Palenisa began shaking like a sick bird. The ship lurched, and she paled, pressing her face to the cradle of her arms. Once in a while, the tremors that racked her body were interrupted by a jarring flinch.
“If you’ve come to lecture me again, just fucking don’t,” she groaned, scratchy voice wobbling.
Rishé hid a wince.
“May I sit?” she asked, hooking a finger beneath her chin in question as she spoke. The ship rocked, forcing her to press one hand to the wall for balance.
Lifting her head, Palenisa squinted as though staring into the dazzling glare of the sun. A heavy moment later she rolled her shoulder in a half shrug. Even covered in a sheen of sweat, there was something deeply appealing about her.
Radiant, Rishé told herself as she clambered into the hammock, tucking her books at her side. The silence was a porous thing. Spilling in, pouring out, swelling with the thundering of water against the sides of the straining ship like one great heaving beast. Waves sprayed through the window and fell over them in a fine misting of salt. She hugged her arms around herself. Her pendant provided a bit of warmth, but not nearly enough to stave off the chill.
“I am sorry, by the way,” Rishé said quietly. Though she still stood by the fact that misery was poor company to wallow in—this should have been said sooner. Was this how Wren felt all the time, why his every second word was an apology?
Palenisa looked grimly amused. “I don’t think you were entirely wrong.”
Perking up, Rishé leaned forward, intrigued.
“Not about my faith—fuck you for that, by the way.”
Snorting, Rishé shook her head wordlessly. She didn’t fully agree, but she wasn’t going to say that now.
“Just, maybe . . .” Palenisa trailed off, looking aside. Her mouth formed something of a pout, lower lip jutting out. “Maybe you weren’t wrong to question my desires for the coterie. Recently, there are some things . . . some things that made me question them myself.”
“I’m—”
“If the next word out of your mouth is ‘sorry,’ I’m going to start calling you Wren.” A smidgen of emotion bled back into Palenisa’s face.
Incredulous giggles bubbled from both their throats. As they laughed, breathless, the storm seemed to fade away. The momentary distraction shattered when the ship rolled. There was a sudden far-flung crack, a startled groan, and Palenisa’s hand darted out.
Rishé stilled, her eyes blown wide at the ebony grip tightening around her wrist.
“Don’t go.”
So quiet was the plea, Rishé almost didn’t hear it. With precious gentleness, she pried away the grip and set Palenisa’s hand on the hammock at their sides. On a whim, she brushed rough knuckles with the backs of her fingers, which earned her a shaky sigh. And as much as she wanted to entangle their hands, she forced herself to draw away. Too much—not yet.
“I won’t.”
Biting her lip, she waited until the other woman calmed. Pale wisps escaped beneath the black shadow of a hood, curling along the sides of a haunted face. On the back of the hand balled against the hammock was a cross bound by a circle. An earth suvaugram.
Rishé glanced out the window and watched sallow water sweep in to splash a thin layer across the damp floors.
Huh.
“You’re scared of the open sea,” she said, waving her hand up and down to represent the sign for waves.
“I am not scared of the open sea.” Palenisa glowered, a tense blue gaze above the rise of her knees. “I just dislike it.”
Rishé opened her mouth, rebuttal on her tongue. It was clear that Palenisa was scared; Rishé would have been a fool not to notice the obvious tells. But the ship creaked, wood splintering with a squeal, and Palenisa hunched in on herself. And Rishé knew the rebuttal wasn’t worth it.
No arguments, not right now.
Her mouth snapped shut, and she thought for a second. White curls caught her attention again.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
Rolling her eyes, Rishé twirled a finger after double-checking that she was speaking Akiki. “Turn—”
“Spirits, I heard you the first time,” Palenisa hissed. “Why?”
Cheekily, Rishé reached out and tugged a springy curl. A hitch of breath fanned the inside of her wrist, sending her toes curling. She gulped, something heavy sinking to her core as she doffed Palenisa’s hood. The look she received was unrecognizable. The flush, though, was unmistakable. It made the other woman look fevered. And beautiful.
“Trust me.”
Palenisa searched her face and, when it seemed she found what she was looking for, sighed. Then, to Rishé’s mild surprise, she complied. It sparked something curious in Rishé’s brain to know that she was trusted.
Turning, Palenisa loosed her hair from its tie. Ivory flared out like bleached petals straining for the sun. She looked delightfully small all bundled up, and it made Rishé want to cup Palenisa in her hands like a duck. And though Palenisa crossed her arms like a petulant child, she’d still relented anyway.
As she combed through the white curls, Rishé hummed. She passed strands of hair between deft hands, forming unrefined braids. There was an intimacy to this kind of act. Among the Norvatti, parents braided the hair of their children. As did friends—perhaps even ones that hadn’t seen each other in nearly a decade. As did lovers.
Rishé saw the tips of pointed ears flush and knew she wasn’t alone in this warmth swirling and shuddering in her chest. At the silent realization, her own cheeks darkened.
Oh. Well then.
The hammock swayed lazily with the movement of the ship. And she formed more unrefined braids. And the rain pattered, drumming soft and sonorous above.
Palenisa
Shearing wind bit Palenisa’s face as the island slowly rocked into view through the fog.
Treveyna was a bone-white spit of weathered rock that cut up from the sea in the midst of the Broken Spine, all sharp lines and crooked angles. She squinted as their skiffs sailed toward the silvery shore, each forward surge accompanied by the dip of oars in and through the water.
The island was too small to safely moor the ship, so they’d lowered two boats into the water to land. In one, she sat with Yurikhun and first mate Rayet, whom Palenisa pettily disliked—totally unrelated to the fact that Rayet had implied a past situational relationship with Rishé. It was, of course, because they were pirates, and they wore the title prouder than they should have in her opinion. The pair grinned at each other as if the cold was a mere inconvenience.
Grumbling, Palenisa tugged lower the hood of the coat she’d been given. It was a faded heather and was heavy with a lining of dark seaross fur. Embroidered along the collar and hem were flowers she didn’t know the names of, the thread fraying with age.
A shiver crawled down her spine. She tipped her head back. Cold.
As the weather ate at her, she grew a greater appreciation for the humid heat of the south. Sometimes Ilon blazed, dragged sweat from places she didn’t even know she could sweat, dried her eyes to painful points of sand. But it was home.
Pinching her thumb and index fingers together, Palenisa conjured a ball of sunlight. Gold glowed along the bottom of her face. Her numb fingers flexed in her lap as warmth dispersed into her extremities. Thank you, spirits.
In the other skiff, Asaru and Rishé huddled close together as the navigator and another crew member rowed in large, heaving pushes.
“Looks like there’s someone here,” Rayet said, far too lightly for her liking. She shifted aside, what little she could in the small boat, hugging her arms around herself. In her periphery, the redhead grinned, saber teeth chipped as if she’d lost one too many fights.
Palenisa looked for the signs of life the first mate’s keen eyes spotted. It was hard to make out with everything swathed in varying shades of gray and more gray, but she discerned smoke wafting over the eastern side of the island from what looked to be a lighthouse. Every so often its beacon would wink, though it was far too weak to cut farther than a few yards into the fog.
“Could be those researchers from the tablet,” Rishé called. “Maybe they’ve unearthed the diamondglass for us.”
Beside her, Asaru hunched beneath his coat, the engulfing fabric making him look less substantial. He was there, but barely. Black covered him to his cupped chin, arm resting on a restlessly bouncing knee. “If we could be so lucky,” he muttered, almost too low to hear over the constant dip and splash of oars. He frowned at the island with intensity, as though staring would bring it close sooner.
As if sensing her stare, Rishé looked over. A strange swarm of butterflies fluttered up Palenisa’s throat. Absently, she caught the lone two braids framing the sides of her face. The rest had fallen out while they slept, but she felt the way they’d been plaited deftly, though haphazardly. She didn’t feel as cold when she recalled waking up with Rishé splayed across the hammock at her back. The way her hair clung to the sides of her drool-crusted face, which contorted in a frown every so often, lips smacking and nose wrinkling. The way her arm lay slung around her, and the chest rising and falling under her head.
Purple flooded Palenisa’s face, leaving her warmer than the sunlight had. Her heart clenched as small hands danced behind her lids. They transformed into a larger, calloused pair, suvaugram marked—and the smile curdled on her lips. She glanced away as the image of Ada surfaced, aged to a haze by time. Guilt tasted sour as she breathed in. It felt like a betrayal to even indulge the possibility of moving on. She’d been driven by devotion to being the Sister of Faith for so long, it was hard to consider a life where the memory of Ada wasn’t the most important thing in it. Who was she without the Crocodile Coterie?
The crunch of wood on sand threw Palenisa back to the present.
As their skiffs slid ashore, fog fled like a wary creature, slicing thin pieces of visibility through the drear. Instead of sand, the beach was made of granular stones, tiny as pupils. The island’s coast was a feathery ring that skirted the border like hoarfrost.
The air felt thick on her tongue as Palenisa stepped unsteadily from the skiff, into the surf. In place of sandals, she wore fur-lined boots that climbed up to her calves; and in place of her wrapped skirt were a pair of trousers, though her chain rings still rattled as she moved.
Their footfalls hissed. Sibilant stones crunched as they dragged the boats farther aground with them. Their careless mash of footsteps left messy pits on the untouched land. If not for the lighthouse, Palenisa would be hard pressed to think anyone had ever set foot there.
Ears flicking, she darted to the other boat, balancing Asaru as he stumbled.
“Hey, hey,” she mumbled. “Are you sure you can handle this?”
Pebbles shifted beneath him, and he shivered, pulling away until their only points of contact were his hands on her forearms. Wisps of sweat-soaked hair stuck to his temples as Asaru looked up at her from beneath the shadow of his hood.
“I have no choice.” His breath fogged the air. He straightened, failing to hide a slight wince. His tail brushed his boots, stiff from either cold or pain. For a moment Palenisa wondered where he was hurting, before realizing he hurt everywhere. Head to heart to heel.
Cold nipped her nose as she looked out at the rugged island ahead. There was a light dusting of snow and an air of utter loneliness. This place felt like the shattered shard of something greater. A vertebra in a broken spine.
