The Fates Divide (Carve the Mark #2) - Veronica Roth Page 0,78
the path he was walking instead of what was around him. He passed by a line of people so long he couldn’t see what they were waiting for until two blocks later, when he saw a run-down office with the Shotet character for “medicine” above it. A health clinic. Down an adjacent alley, two kids fought over a bottle of something Akos didn’t recognize.
A lot of people had been hurt in the attack, and basic supplies like antiseptic or silverskin were limited. Loved ones were always waiting at health clinics, lately, in the hope they might inch closer to what they needed. Still others bought black market “cures” that either didn’t do anything or made things worse. Ara and her family had, fortunately, been untouched by the blast.
Akos spotted the wall of graffiti he used as a landmark. The colors were bright, most of the symbols still unintelligible to him, though he recognized the one for Noavek, standing out in the center. He tapped on the wooden door just past it, looking left and right to make sure he was alone. He could still hear the scuffling of the kids in the alley behind him.
Ara’s brother’s house was packed with junk, like a lot of Shotet houses were, all the furniture pieced together from other things. The drawer handles in the kitchen were made of floater parts, and the knobs on the oven were claw grips from the toy robots Shotet children battled with.
Sitting at the low table on the other side of the room were Ara Kuzar, a bright blue shawl around her shoulders, and Jorek. He had let a full beard grow in on his face, patchy in places, and he wore armor with the seal of Noavek under his shoulder. He looked worn, but he still gave Akos a smile when he walked in.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kuzar—no flour,” Akos said to Ara. “No news from Ogra, either. I think the Noavek propaganda machine is going strong.”
“This affectation of calling me ‘Mrs. Kuzar’ was cute at first,” Ara said wryly. “But it’s getting downright alarming. Sit. You need to eat something.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, sitting across from Jorek. He pulled the scarf down around his neck, and ran a hand over his shorn hair, still surprised at how short it was. It was prickly in the back. “How’s the manor?”
“Boring,” Jorek said. “I saw the side of Lazmet’s head today. Most of the upper-level guards are stationed near Ryzek’s secure rooms—you know, the ones Cyra’s blood couldn’t get us into. But he walked through the back door today.”
Akos logged that information away, along with everything else he’d heard about Lazmet since getting to Voa, which wasn’t much. He was a myth in people’s minds more than a man, so what they knew sounded like legends and folk tales instead of facts.
“At least I don’t have to fight in Thuvhe or anything,” Jorek said. “Not that I would. That attack was . . .” He shook his head. “Sorry. Don’t mean to bring it up.”
Akos tucked a hand into his pocket and took out a strip of dried hushflower petal. He was chewing them more than he should these days. He would run out soon. But the tension in his jaw and shoulders was giving him headaches, and he needed to be able to think, if he wanted to face what was next.
He was here, in Voa, to kill Lazmet Noavek. And it wouldn’t be easy.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” Akos said.
“I was wondering when you’d get to the point,” Jorek said.
Ara set a plate down in front of Akos. There wasn’t much on it—a roll, probably a little stale by now, some dried meat, some pickled saltfruit. She brushed the crumbs off her fingers and sat down next to her son.
“What Jorek means is, we like having you here, but we know you don’t do things without a good reason,” Ara said, flicking the side of her son’s nose to chastise him. “And crossing the galaxy is no small thing.”
Jorek rubbed his nose.
“Not everyone can wait things out on Ogra. Some of us have to get our hands dirty,” Akos said.
“But those who can stay safe, should,” Ara said.
Akos shook his head. “I had to get my hands dirty, too. Call it . . . fate.”
“I call it a choice,” Jorek said. “And a dumb one.”
“Like leaving your girlfriend—and your mother and brother—without a word of explanation,” Ara said, and she clicked her tongue.