I stare at my mother, unblinking. As much as I want to deny it, my heart aches for her . . . for the girl she’d been before Ka-Priest Ren Eké. I never truly knew the depth of what he’d done to her. My father’s story, and what Rudjek added, was the tale made pretty by smoothing over the details. Even the most horrible act isn’t so bad if you skipped the devastating parts. And here they are, laid out before me. I don’t know what’s worse: hearing of the Ka-Priest’s crimes, or hearing my mother’s matter-of-fact tone as she recounts them.
“There was never much of a person’s mind left once he’d finished playing in their heads . . . but some had withstood his worst. I hired two of them to take care of him when he grew . . . ill. It was quite remarkable they kept him alive as long as they did.” Arti pauses, a shadow of a smile crossing her face. “I’m sure Nezi or Ty would love to share the details. They were with him in the end.”
The fork slips from between my trembling fingers and crashes against my plate. I can’t breathe, my mind racing to Nezi’s limp and the scars on her hands, and Ty who never speaks. That bastard Ka-Priest did that to them. Arti helped them get revenge, but in the end, she’s no better than him. He passed his depravity on to her like a disease spreads through tight quarters. I can’t reconcile the two sides of my mother—the side that sheltered two women who suffered so much, and the side that snatches children in the night.
The next morning, I’m still dazed as Terra rifles through my clothes. She’s prattling on about something, but I don’t listen. All I can think about is my mother and father eating their meals last night as if nothing has changed. When Arti finished, she swept out of the salon with Oshhe trailing behind her like an obedient pet. Whatever the reason for my ability to resist her magic, I’m left with more control over myself than my father. My best chance to break the binding lies in his shop, among his hundreds of scrolls on tribal magic. There has to be some ritual or a powerful charm that can break my mother’s curse, for no magic is infallible. I wait for Arti to leave for the Temple and Oshhe to set off to conduct business as usual, his patrons none the wiser.
Nezi is arguing with someone outside the gate of our villa. I’m halfway across the garden when Rudjek pokes his head around her, his forehead etched into a frown. When he spots me, his shoulders relax.
“Do I want to know what you’re doing?” I groan, even if I’m glad to see him.
“Looking for you, of course.” Rudjek squeezes the ribs of the gate. His dark gaze rakes over me, and whatever he finds bleeds the color from his face. “She wouldn’t let me in.”
Nezi straightens from her spot leaning against the porter’s station and opens the gate. I stare at her scarred hands. They’re covered in angry welts from scratching. When I was little, I never doubted her story about burning herself while plucking magic from the sky. Now, my throat bobs as a stone settles in my belly. If the Ka-Priest never touched the women, then did Nezi do that to herself?
After seeing my family struggle with pain my entire life, I’m filled with rage against the man who hurt them. If I were Ty, Nezi, or Arti, would I have done the same?
I push the thought away. “Why didn’t you tell me Rudjek was here?” I ask her.
Rubbing the back of her hand, Nezi looks down her nose at him. “Your mother wouldn’t approve of him coming here. The Omaris are nothing but trouble.”
I grab Rudjek by the arm and drag him away from the villa as he opens his mouth to tell Nezi his mind. “Don’t bother.”
“Did she just insult me?” Rudjek glances over his shoulder at her. “I feel insulted.”
“We need to go back to my father’s shop,” I say, releasing his arm.
My father’s scrolls must have an answer. I remember the feel of their grainy texture against my fingers. Charms, rituals, and curses from the simple to the complex, from benign to ominous. I’ve rambled through them all out of curiosity at some point or another, but now they’re my last and only hope. I take one step and my mother’s magic blossoms in my chest. My legs come to a halt; my whole body seizes up. “Oh no,” Rudjek protests. “Whatever you’re thinking . . .”
“It’s not your business,” I cut him off before he can finish. I try to take another step, but the curse only tightens its hold. “Twenty-gods!” I blurt out in frustration.
The magic won’t let me act against my mother, but there must be a way around it. She’s manipulated my father’s mind and likely intended the same for me, but a part of her curse had failed. All those years ago at Imebyé, Grandmother said my mind’s ability to resist magic is my greatest gift. What good is it if I can’t speak or act on any thoughts against Arti? The curse knows my intentions.
“You don’t have to be so pissy about it,” Rudjek grumbles.
“Don’t be such a nag,” I hiss at him.
Every time my thoughts flit too close to the truth, the magic surges underneath my skin. What would happen if I didn’t focus on the reason for going to my father’s shop? What if I can pretend my intentions lie elsewhere? Will the magic see through my deceit? There’s only one way to find out. “I’m going to my father’s shop to help him clean,” I announce, more to myself than Rudjek. I let memories of me straightening the shelves and washing vials sweep through my mind. Today is no different from any other day. My father needs my help tidying up, nothing more. Rudjek stares at me, frowning, as if I’ve lost my mind. I take one step forward, my leg moving with ease again. A shiver of relief runs across my shoulders. It actually worked. I don’t let my thoughts linger on this small concession so I don’t get my hopes up. When I’m able to take another step, I say, “Are you coming or not?”
“I resent being called a nag.” Rudjek looks me over again. This time his eyes linger long enough to make me uncomfortable. He takes hold of my arm, his fingers gliding down to my wrist. His touch is like sunshine kissing my skin. “It took something from you, Arrah. I can tell. The ritual, I mean. You must feel it.”
There’s no point in arguing or denying that my skin has lost some color. Even the fit of my clothes is a bit looser, though I was forced to eat my fill last night. If anything, I’m hungrier than usual, but eating didn’t satisfy the feeling of emptiness inside me. “Yes, I know,” I say before he can press the matter. “How many more have gone missing?”
Rudjek holds on to my wrist until I pull away. “Another girl.”
When we’re a few paces away from the villa, Kira and Majka fall into step with us, one ahead and one behind. I failed the children because I was too naive to see my mother for what she is. I failed Kofi—sweet, loquacious Kofi who always has a smile for everyone. A pang of guilt wrenches through my belly. Countless more children will go missing if I fail today. I can’t let that happen.
Arti said that she had to take the children because they were innocent, but I’m no closer to finding out her reason. Whoever her accomplice is, she’s turned against her family to protect him and carry out their plans.
Rudjek and I avoid the East Market altogether. There’s too much yelling, cursing, and fighting on the streets. So many Familiars flit around that the air tastes bitter. We walk the rest of the way to my father’s shop in silence. Rudjek doesn’t have to tell me that the shotani haven’t found any leads on the child snatcher. Now I know they never will. Arti and her seers trained the shotani. Their loyalty is to her.