“I know. The whole city knows. But still, I thought he was better than a war, than. . . .I was wrong. I’m sorry, Lana. I missed your mother so much I think I almost lost our child.”
“No,” she said. They were both crying. “Papa, I’m right here.”
16
N
AHOA SLEPT IN PANO’S BED WHILE PANO SLEPT on the floor outside. Malie stayed in the room with her. Nahoa had attempted to argue about this arrangement, but they’d both refused to even entertain the other possibility. Malie because she suspected something had happened between the two of them, and Pano because he loved her. She knew this because he had told her so, very late in the night after the battle.
“You should know,” he had said, “that I’ll do everything in my power to keep you and Ahi safe.” And she had asked why and he had said, “I think I’ve loved you since we first met.”
And that was it. They hadn’t so much as kissed. He refused to speak of it again. But still Nahoa felt her face flush when she saw him looking at her, and her denials were not very forceful when Malie asked her what Pano had done. After the burnings Ahi fell asleep right away, but it took Nahoa longer. She couldn’t close her eyes without seeing Sabolu’s blood on the straw, hearing the horse’s panicked snorts as it nudged her shoulder. It was worse, in its own way, than seeing what Kohaku had done to Nahe in the cellar. Nahe had been in unspeakable agony; she had given him poison so he could die. And yet Nahe had been a grown man who had aided an innocent girl’s death in as callous and cruel a manner as possible. What Kohaku had done was unspeakable. It was why she had left, pregnant and alone save for Malie. But at least Nahe had truly wronged him. At least she could understand the impulse that had driven Kohaku to those horrors. He had been, she realized, still recognizably a man she loved.
But the intervening months had truly made him as mad as they all said. Mad enough to rip out the throat of an eleven-year-old girl when all she had done was unwittingly carry out the orders of another. Mad enough to stab her corpse and leave his bloody footprints in the snow. She didn’t know Kohaku at all anymore. She didn’t want to. Sacrificing his hand to that fire hadn’t just made Nui’ahi erupt. It had destroyed his soul. A part of her so small she couldn’t even voice the thought aloud wished that he would listen to Senona Ahi and Kai. She wished that he would sacrifice himself so this city could live again, without the threat of the smoking sentinel, without the threat of his endless, senseless violence. But how could she wish the father of her child dead?
She started to cry. She thought it was soft enough, but Malie woke and held her until she quieted.
“Whatever Pano has said,” Malie whispered, “you know you must do nothing. There is no way to tell what your husband will do if he thinks you love another.”
“But I do.”
“I know. I know. But no one else can guess.”
The next morning, Lana woke them before the sun was quite up. They needed to speak without that Okikan general breathing down their necks about “amenable governments” and “equitable trade agreements.” You’d think they’d already deposed the Mo’i, the way he went on.
“Makaho sent her reply,” she said. Nahoa noted the absent way she wrapped her wings around herself to stave off the early-morning chill and thought they must be very convenient. “They agree to meet with us on the grounds of the Kulanui in six days.”
“The Kulanui is neutral territory?” Nahoa asked. “It’s right next to the temple!”
“She’s right,” Pano said. “If they try to sabotage us, it’s a good location.”
Lana shrugged. “We can try to negotiate, if you can think of some place better.”
Malie, who had been playing with Ahi quietly on the other side of the room, looked up. “Why not on the water? You can go out in a boat with all of your guards on the shore. Not much they can do then.”
Nahoa grinned at her. Honestly, it was reassuring, how smart Malie could be. Lana was nodding slowly. “That’s good,” she said. “They can’t object to it.”
“In the meantime,” Pano said, “it would be good to consolidate our position. We have the old harbor and Nahoa, but I think Arai could just as easily turn on us as help us.”
Lana looked away. “That’s what Eliki said.”
Nahoa wished that it weren’t so clear how much these two missed Eliki. Nahoa hadn’t wanted her killed, but it galled her to know how much even Pano still loved the woman who had tried to kill her daughter. If Eliki hadn’t already been sent away, Nahoa would have slapped her.
If you’re so damn smart
, she would say,
how come you thought it was a good idea to murder a baby? How come you think you’re any better than my mad husband?
But Eliki remained a living ghost, and Pano and Lana were discussing ways to remove Arai’s Okikan army.
“Why not just ask him to leave?” Lana said.
“Are you serious?” Pano said.
Lana shrugged. “Well, if he doesn’t agree, it’s no harm done. Maybe we can offer him something as an inducement?”
“Because we are so clearly in possession of the sort of material wealth that would change the mind of a rich Okikan merchant?”
“Well, no,” Lana allowed. “Not at the moment. But we’ll have all of Essel, damaged as it is, once we’ve won. He claims this is all about trade, so let’s make sure that it is. He leaves, he gets special tariffs, open markets, reduced docking fees. . .”
Pano paused mid-pace and looked at her very carefully. “That might work. But what’s to stop him from staying with his army and forcing us to do whatever he wants?”
At this Nahoa had to interrupt. “But do you really think he wants a war? I mean a real one, between the islands, like before the spirit bindings? I think probably the Okikans are still scared of it getting that far.”
Lana nodded. “She’s right. He might be willing to fight if it comes to that, but no one makes a kala if the spirits break free. If we can subtly threaten a full-on war while offering him such a generous alternative. . .”
“And if he calls your bluff?” Malie said.
Pano frowned at her. “They’re your people, Malie. What do you think? Will the rich Okikans be willing to fight a war a thousand years late for the jewel of Essel?”
Malie kept her voice calm, but Nahoa suspected it was only for Ahi’s sake. “The question, gardener, is whether you are.”
Pano opened his mouth to speak, but Lana put her hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s worth the risk,” she said. “The longer the army stays here, the harder it will be to make them leave. I’ll go speak to Arai.”
“You’re sure?”
Lana nodded, and Nahoa wondered if she could really feel as confident as she looked. Their position still seemed so precarious to her. But what did she know? As Kohaku was so fond of saying, she was only a sailor.
Lana left. Pano forgot himself enough that he didn’t even flinch when Nahoa held his hand. Malie just rocked Ahi against her chest and clucked her tongue, a sound more fond than scolding.
Before Lana spoke to Arai, she sent a messenger to the Rushes. As she suspected, the local leaders there were happy enough to agree to give their formal support to the victorious rebels. As Pano would say, success attracted friends. She suspected that the alwayssympathetic eighth and fifth districts might fall into line soon. Armed with this increased territory, she entered the house where Arai and Yechtak had been quartered. Yechtak beamed at the sight of her, but Arai barely glanced up from the sheaf of papers he had been studying when she entered.
“And have you Esselans considered my terms?” he said.
At least he didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “We have a counteroffer.”
Now he looked at her, surprise emphasizing the gaunt lines of his face. “Do you? You recall how I saved your side from certain defeat not two days ago?”
“A favor for which we are suitably grateful.”
“You’d best be more than that.”
Lana wondered when she had ceased to be afraid of men and women like Arai, adults who wore their authority like a barbed headdress and cloaked any self-doubt in anger. Arai had come here at the head of an army and seemed prepared for bloodshed, but she was inclined to agree with Nahoa: he couldn’t possibly be so complacent about the prospect of full-scale war as he pretended. And if she had declared herself the head of the rebel army, it was high time she acted like it. At least she knew that Yechtak would be on her side.
“We will offer you very favorable trading terms. Reduced tariffs, docking privileges, monopolies on certain goods.”
Arai leaned back in his chair. “A good start.” Lana allowed herself to smile. She could be as cool as he, if she chose.
She
was the black angel, after all. “A good
end
. In return for this, you and your forces leave within the week.”
This startled Yechtak, who until this point had watched their exchange with baffled intensity. “But, Iolana,” he said, “we are
your
army.”
“I think Arai might have given you the wrong impression, Yechtak.”
Arai cracked his knuckles. He seemed agitated. “They will obey me, as you said. You really wish to threaten us like this? With all—”
“There’s no threat,” Lana said, far more calmly than she felt. “Only an offer of mutual benefit. You don’t really wish to fight this war. You don’t want what it will unleash. No one wins if the great spirits break free, remember that.”
“So you can fight your own civil war here in Essel and the spirits stay quiescent, but Okika gets involved and you threaten
us
?”
“Not quiescent,” Lana said. “I didn’t want this war to start at all, and now that it has we must end it quickly. The fire spirit is already slipping its bonds. I don’t know how much more it will take before it breaks away entirely. Essel might have Nui’ahi, but Okika has its share of volcanoes, does it not? Do you really want to see a world without the great bindings, Arai? If you think very carefully, I think you’ll see how this arrangement is the best for us all.”
Arai stood up so abruptly that his papers fell to the floor. “You bloody Esselans.” His voice was nearly a whine. He stalked to the door as though he would storm out, but at the last minute, he turned on her.
“Fine,” he said. “You win. But
very
favorable trade agreements, black angel. Else I might be tempted to test the bindings further.”
Lana’s father hadn’t settled in rebel territory. She didn’t blame him—their apartment in the fourth district was far more comfortable. But two days after the burnings, Lana visited him. The meal they shared was the most companionable she could recall since they had reunited. It seemed that Kapa truly had decided not to judge her.
“I haven’t forgotten about Mama, you know,” she said, when they had polished off the last of the pan bread. “I’m not…I don’t know what to do. There’s so much more I’m responsible for now, but I haven’t forgotten about her.”
“Lana, I…”
“I know you think it sometimes. It’s okay. But she’s my mother, and I swear I’ll get her back. Whatever Akua is doing, whatever she wants with Mama…I think one way or another, we’ll know soon.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Lana shrugged, and resisted the urge to look out the window and see if the death still hovered there. It had been mostly absent since Sabolu’s death. “The spirits, they feel restless.” The death had been so watchful lately, so silent. Especially whenever she asked about Akua. “A geas like the one she’s making, something this complicated, it breaks if she takes too long. And she’s been working it for
years
, Papa. I just think we won’t have much longer to wait, one way or another.” Lana took a swallow of water to attempt to quell the rush of dread in her stomach. But how was she supposed to uncover Akua’s plan now, when all her other efforts had failed so spectacularly?
Her father started to speak, then shook his head and stood. “Do you want to play, Lana?” he asked. He held his lute, the old one that he had made so many years ago on their home island.
Lana smiled. “I shouldn’t use my flute. It’s…”
“I know. Do you want to try this? I just finished it. No geas involved, I promise.” He handed her an acacia wood recorder, carved with delicate impressions of feathers and still redolent of the kukui resin finish. Her father had made a new instrument?
“It’s yours,” he said diffidently. “If you want it.”
Lana could have cried. Instead, she put the recorder to her lips. They played together for hours, until the sun went down. The death stayed at the window, watching them both with such impassivity it felt like rapt adoration. She wondered how the music could hold it when she played with nothing more powerful than a recorder made of fresh-cut wood.
When she left late that night, it stayed by her shoulder, so close she imagined she could feel its insubstantial robes brushing her forehead.
Finally, she turned. “What is it?” she snapped. “Is this how you try to take me now?”
The death seemed to freeze. Through its translucent mask, she could see the main harbor, still glowing with laggard funeral pyres. Or perhaps that was merely the reflection of its memories.