We leave the water's edge behind, heading towards bonfires and the sound of laughing voices. The party is sprawling. People sit around tables sunken into the sand, eating and talking, while three men take turns turning a huge boar on a spit. Sparks from the fires leap and dance in the air, and faint trails of ash and smoke rise into the black sky, almost like they're searching for something. Beyond the beach, there's a small glade. When I squint, I can make out women dancing. Someone races by us, laughing, before disappearing into the dense woods with a pursuer hot on their trail.

And it's all so very lovely, and so very foreign, because the only parties held outside in Shikkah were stilted, highly orchestrated affairs beneath canopied tents. This looks... organic. Like the dark water of the lake called people to surround it on a lonely, starlit night. Like the fires lit themselves to provide warmth and light, while the night insects sang lullabies to the children resting heavy in their parent's arms.

"This is new," Irei murmurs softly, so only I can hear. "Before, Kemvir's crowd would've been in one corner, Anissi's in another, with everyone else caught somewhere awkwardly between. That is, until Kemvir's strongest supporters stopped coming altogether to make a statement. The first few years after the Compromise were fraught, and there's still tension and mistrust and, shards curse me, politics, but this clan is finally acting like a clan again. Like people who actually want to be associated with each other, imagine that."

But I don't have to imagine it because it's right in front of me. So is the fact that not one person has said hello to Irei or greeted me as we walk across the beach. No one has so much as lifted a hand to wave. It's like we're invisible.

"Are they snubbing us?" I ask quietly. "Is it because we're late?"

Irei laughs. "No, we just have to pay our respects to the Matriarch first. No one will acknowledge us until we greet her and she gives us her blessing to be on kionaxi land."

We near a cluster of people and Irei stops. When they notice us, they widen the circle and he strides into it purposefully, pulling me along beside him. He stops in front of two women and offers a small bow, first to the one who's about my mother's age, then to the girl of no more than eleven standing tall beside her.

The elder woman has auburn curls hanging in a nebulous cloud around her heart-shaped face, softening the decidedly sharp curve of her nose, the hard arch of her brows. Her mouth, though, is full and smiling, her eyes a soft, warm brown above plump cheeks spattered with constellations of freckles. Her long-sleeved white dress flows over her abundant curves before ending at her ankles, revealing tanned skin and bare feet. Her eyes are wry and vibrant.

The girl beside her is more typically Kamai in appearance, with dark almond eyes, thick black hair, and dusky skin. Her expression is cool and solemn, her dark eyes possessing a depth unusual in one so young. She, too, is dressed all in white, but a red and gold sash is tied at her waist, and ribbons of the same colors twine through her dark hair. They dance around her small face as the wind blows, the effect strikingly ethereal. I could easily believe her some ancient island spirit, some deity of salt and clay who one day took human form and walked out of the sea to greet man by the sandy shore.

"I seek your indulgence and your blessing, Matriarch Iriis of clan kionaxi."

"Who asks this of me?" she asks smoothly, her voice thick and rich as honey. The words are clearly prescribed, ceremonial and precise in a way that reminds me achingly of Shikkah, of my own family and our myriad rituals and customs and superstitions.

"Irei'kionaxi Nara, son of Markiri Xibha, grandson of Tenriis Sura. Mother of stag, stem, and stone, keeper of the old ways, heart's blood of the island, will you welcome me?"

"Do you swear to uphold and submit to clan law, above and beyond the laws of Kama?"

"I do."

"Then we welcome and bless you, Irei'kionaxi, for you are our own," the solemn girl says in a surprisingly strong voice. "May the Dead God live on within you, and may your children inherit your light."

"My thanks and blessings, Matriarchessa," Irei intones solemnly. The corner of his lip lifts in a smile. "Your light grows brighter by the year, Yinmari Taashi," he tells her. "I already know that you will lead us with both gravity and grace."

Her deep olive skin flushes rose and her eyes dart away, both embarrassed and pleased. For a brief moment she actually looks her age, but that stoic calm returns almost as soon as it's lost.

"Our Matriarchessa is a credit to us all," Matriarch Iriis agrees, and Yinmari stands a little taller. She reminds me so much of myself for a moment it aches. Standing strong beside my mother, hiding my fear and doubt away behind the implacable mask of the heir apparent. The solemn conviction with which I performed the various ceremonies and motions of government in preparation for the day I would sit on the throne as the head of my family, the head of Shikkah.

Responsibility is a heavy mantle, a thousand years of history heavier still, and I have the sudden urge to pull this girl aside and ask her if this is her choosing. If she's happy being their Matriarchessa. Does she want to lead this clan that has until recently been divided, much as my own family was divided over the issue of the vasayaste? I want to ask her if her birthright feels like an ill-fitting costume.

I want to tell her that she can choose to walk away.

But, I remind myself, this isn't the son of Somitu Amarin, the icy, unconquerable dizsa of Shikkah. This is the daughter of Kemvir Taashi, a woman who made a name for herself publicly questioning both authority and tradition. Who broke her clan's rules to marry without the Matriarch's approval or presence, and then did it again, this time to the younger sister of her greatest rival. She put herself and her own happiness first, to the detriment of clan's unity, and I can't imagine she'd teach her daughter anything different. Or that she'd let her be forced into a role that didn't fit her for the sake of tradition or appearances.

"And who have you brought with you?" Matriarch Iriis asks, eyeing me curiously. "He's Shikkan, clearly, but those are Kamai eyes if I've ever seen them. Xantaxi eyes, yes?" she studies me for a moment before adding, "or perhaps kivakaxi."

My xantaxi, or perhaps kivakaxi, eyes widen. I'm halfway through a bow, determined to be a respectful guest, so thankfully she can't see how much composure I lose.

"Can you really tell such a thing from my eyes alone?" I ask, trying to sound calmer than I feel. "You really think I'm descended from either the xantaxi or kionaxi clans?"

Her brows draw together. "You mean you don't know?"

I blush furiously. How stupid of me to carelessly betray my own ignorance. I just admitted to her I have no idea what clan I'm from, and she looks curious as to why.

"I- I didn't know my mother," I reply softly, hoping my Kamai eyes look sad enough that she doesn't press the issue further. This is still small talk time, after all, though I'm not sure the Kamai have any proper notion of talking without meaning. They say anything and everything, and they say it directly, too. It's both refreshing and terrifying to someone raised on Shikkan platitudes.

I realize, with a slight shock, that the sorrow in my eyes isn't a lie. Neither is my hushed admission; I really don't know my mother. I knew and trusted Somitu Amarin, the proud, stoic matriarch of Shikkah. She trusted me, telling me her plans because they were my plans, too. She acted like there was a king inside of me, and I trusted that if I followed her closely enough, she'd bring him out into the light.

It was foolish of me, perhaps. As foolish as looking deep into her eyes as she swore she'd return for me in three months' time and believing her. As foolish as thinking she'd ever consider me her equal, ever let me into her world enough to shape it instead of merely being shaped by it into a useful, willing tool. I grimace. Yes, so useful she abandoned me on a foreign shore the first chance she got. Just left me here right in the middle of her uncomfortable history with Irei and Taís without a word of explanation beyond I'll come back for you.

No, I think, you'll come back for your heir. The continuation of your power. Your legacy. But none of that is me. I have been wilting under the weight of that damned title year after year, waiting for you to notice, yet fighting so hard to bear up and smile so you never would, because I didn't know who you'd choose when push came to shove. Who I really was or who you desperately needed me to be. And I didn't want to find out, not ever, not when the truth could have crushed me.

Trusting her was so natural, so simple, that for a very long time, I didn't question it. Call it foolishness or naivity or something in-between, but her lies slid down my throat like ambrosia, rich and honey-sweet, and I built my world around them. Around her, unyielding and certain, not yet knowing that making her my axis made me her fool. She was the storyteller, and I was just the story.

Eventually, I realized the story didn't add up. Once upon a time a third born daughter whose own mother wasn't even noble went abroad, returned with a foreign bastard, and was crowned queen? And that bastard son was chosen to inherit over a legitimate daughter two months his senior despite a thousand years of precedent?

I asked her, of course, and she told me quite simply that the great aunts and uncles feared Kyoro's de facto regency. Her only sister was weak, inept, and in bed with the vasayaste out of sheer spite. Of course they wouldn't name her daughter heir, knowing she'd make the girl into another game piece to play against us. Later, she said it was because O'otani was volatile. I was stability while she was the storm, so of course I was the izsai. And I believed her, because it was easier. The truth was tangled up somewhere, waiting for me, and I was scared to death of it. Scared of what I might learn.

Somitu was my protector, my champion, my home. She was the one who stood tall when the uncles and aunts scoffed at my low birth. She as the one who viciously punished those who whispered plans to unseat me. If she was a lie, what did that make me?

I pressed her once, hard, and she finally let the façade drop away. Stopped pretending there was some above-board explanation for it all. She sighed, looking up at me from ancient eyes, and said simply, softly 'you want to know the truth of how we came to be, my son? Well, have it, then: I used the sins of my past to buy our future. Now if you love me, you won't ask again, because I swear I would rather cut my own tongue from my mouth than say anything more about it.'

So I stayed silent, because I believed her. My mother didn't make idle threats or empty promises. I've never known someone so strong and yet so broken. So determined yet so brittle. And now, I wished I had pressed her until she broke. Demanded the truth whether it damned us or saved us, whether it hurt or burned or soothed or did nothing at all. I deserved that much, I think. We both did.

"Well, if you do want to know, most of the clans keep meticulous records," Matriarch Iriis tells me, interrupting my reverie. "I'd be happy to make a few inquiries on your behalf, or perhaps the ambassador could. Just know that you don't need a clan to be Kamai. The island is in your eyes and in your blood, and if I'm seeing clearly, also in your heart," she says with a pointed glance at Irei. "We place such value on history, and it does matter, but what you have here is a future, and that matters so much more."

"That's very generous of you, Matriarch," I reply demurely, giving a small bow. "I appreciate your hospitality and your consideration."

She snorts. "More like you're too polite to tell me to leave well enough alone. That's the trouble with being Matriarch; people humor you out of respect instead of looking you straight in the eyes and telling you to mind your own damn business like you deserve."

"They tell me to mind my own damn business plenty," the solemn-eyed Yinmari mutters. "If I so much as look at them too long, they scream that I'm trying to pry their deepest secrets from their heads. As if I have any interest in their ridiculous thoughts!"

"They only make a big deal about it because Virkyu Inneswar does, and you know he only does it to get your attention. He's sweet on you, Yinny."

"If he was sweet on or off of me, he would be kind to me!" Yinmari lectures her mentor, exasperated. It's clearly not the first time they've had this conversation. "He hates me and I hate him and his silly friends and their stupid games! If he liked me, he wouldn't chase after me and pull my ribbons from my hair, and whisper in my ear that I look like a gaku chick when I'm dressed in ceremonial white. He wouldn't call me a witch and accuse me of cursing him every time he so much as gets a spider bite! If I had the ability to make something bite him, believe me, I'd choose something bigger than a stupid spider!"

I kneel down in front of her, stage whispering like I'm telling her a secret. "Men are idiots, and boys grow up into men, so you can only imagine how hopeless they are. When they don't know how to handle a strong emotion, they act out. It sounds like you've unwittingly bewitched the poor fool and he's just vying for your attention, even if he courts your ire along with it."

"As if I'd ever bewitch someone unwittingly," she scoffs, shaking her head like it's the most absurd thing she's ever heard. "It takes days of careful preparation and ritual. Taro'u zoxía demands sweat and blood and most of all, intent."

"...And we do not practice black magic, do we, Yinmari Taashi?" the Matriarch asks, brows arched.

"No," she answers quickly, then amends it to "well, not often. And I'm always very, very careful."

"You burned one of Ivaashi Threnn's eyebrows off!" the Matriarch tuts. "Is that what you call careful?"

"Well, I could have burned both of them off, couldn't I?" Yinmari replies, exasperated, and I can tell the Matriarch is fighting hard not to smile. "Besides, she dared me to do it in front of everyone, so what was I supposed to do? It was a matter of honor!"

"Well, by all means, then!" The Matriarch agrees, rolling her eyes. "If it was a matter of honor, then it's fine! Stars above me, child, but how many times have I told you that there's-"

"-No such thing as careful when it comes to black magic," Yinmari joins in, clearly having heard this before time and again. "I know, I know, just stick to the glimmering and leave them to their foolishness. But she insulted me and it was a blatant challenge and I just- I forgot to remember not to play with the dark."

"The dark will play with you, child, and it won't forget a thing," the Matriarch cautions, suddenly serious. "You best remember that. And if you focus on the glimmering-"

"-then insults will roll off of me like rain, and pain will fade quicker than lightning."

"Good," Matriarch Iriis says with a curt nod. "You're as dogmatic as your father and as proud as your mother. And with Nimah's glimmering to boot! Mark me, Yinmari'kionaxi, either you'll burn this clan to the ground or we'll all profit from your light for generations to come."

"It's not really prophecy, you know," she tells me. "Foreigners either think it's a backwater superstition or expect us to know the fate of their great-grandchildren. But that's just foolishness."

"What is the glimmering, then?" I ask. "I've never heard of it before tonight."

"Old clan magic," Irei says, but Yinmari shoots him a dark look, hushing him. I'm beyond amused. The solemn, dark-eyed girl who greeted and blessed us earlier is nowhere to be seen, and in her place is an irreverent little spitfire.

"The dead god lived on in shattered fragments," she explains. "Some people think the fragments are just a symbol, you know, but they're as real as you or I, even if you can't touch them. They want to connect with each other, seeking to reclaim what was lost, and so when any two living things get close to one another their divinities mix and mingle in distinct ways. Some call it an energy field, some an aura. Mostly though, we just call it the glimmering. And some of us can see it, and glean insight from its undulations. Not prophecy, and not quite witchcraft, either. Just... insight from observation."

"Do you see me glimmering, then?" I ask, fascinated. "Is my divinity interacting with yours, or the Matriarch's, or Irei's?"

She nods. "But it's hard to tell exactly how. I'm not good enough at visualizing it yet. I still have to touch people and feel it before I can make sense of what I'm seeing. It's like using physical landmarks to decode a mental map."

I hold out my hand. "Will you, then? Touch me and tell me what you find?"

She nods, but she doesn't take my hand, instead lifting her small brown hand and pressing it softly against my cheek. Both the Matriarch and Irei look slightly uneasy. I forget to notice that pretty quickly, though, because beneath the matriarchessa's hand I feel a strange, solemn weight pressing in on me. Not quite invasive, but not quite comfortable. I resist the urge to pull away, and she seems to sense this, leaning in closer until her breath ghosts my cheek. Then her hand is sliding down my neck and pulling aside the collar of my tunic, her tiny fingers coming to rest meaningfully on my bloodbinding scar. A faint white line just above my clavicle. It's been healed for twenty-two years, but as she touches it, it suddenly feels as if it's bleeding anew.

"When you don't have many scars, the ones that you do have stand out," she tells me softly. That solemn, raven-eyed girl with the woman's eyes is back, all playfulness abandoning her face for a hard, glittering certainty that both attracts and repels me. Taro'u zoxía indeed.

"You bleed someone else's blood," she continues, palm pressing against my flushed skin. "Someone very far away. And she bleeds for you, too, even though you fear she's forgotten."

"Yinmari..." the Matriarch cautions, maybe seeing a little too much credulity on my face. "Perhaps we should-"

"She's your blood. She's in your bones down to your very marrow. She's your shattering, as holy as she is profane. And she never, ever meant for you to get hurt like this. I swear she didn't."

Goddess, the look in the child's eyes when she says that is so fervent, so pleading, so intense I gasp and wrench away, folding in on myself slightly, as if I can protect my secrets from her bird-of-prey gaze. Because that didn't feel like backwater superstition. That felt... real. And final, almost.

"I swear," she repeats. "There is darkness in all of this. Hope, too, and much confusion. If we're lucky, the hope wins out, but I'd help it along all I could if I were you. Even if you don't have many scars, those you do have are dreadfully deep. And remember, not all of what you bleed is your blood, your pain. So give it back to who it belongs to, and be lighter for it, yes?"

"How did you..." I stammer. "I mean, you- knew. How could you know any of that?"
She just smiles back at me, dark eyes shining with an emotion halfway between fervent devotion and awe. "Gliis lada tara'n zoxím, we say. God is the oldest magic there is. It's easier because you're half-Kamai, too," she adds. "The island is in you. It sings your truth."

"Mark me, Yinmari'kionaxi," I say, repeating the Matriarch's words with more than a little reverence. "You'll either burn this clan to the ground or we'll all profit from your light."

"What're we burning to the ground? And can I help?" A laughing voice asks as a woman comes to stand next to us. Her every movement is equally full of energy and eloquence, and she grins as she pulls Yinmari back against her, resting a firm hand on the girl's shoulder. Her hair is a swirl of dark curls tangled from dancing, her high forehead glistening with dewy sweat, her dark eyes shining so brilliantly they compete with the bonfires behind us. Her dress is long and flowing, a swath of coppery silk that ends just above her ankles.

"This whole damn island if we aren't careful," Matriarch Iriis grouses. "Your girl's got a stronger touch than Nimah ever did, and she's not half so careful."

"Oh, you and careful, Iriis. Really. What do you think she's going to do, open up a portal to an alternate world? Summon demons?"

"She summoned you, didn't she?" Iriis remarks dryly, and the woman sticks out her tongue like a petulant child. Somehow, it's charming instead of precious.

"If I didn't break this clan irreparably, she won't," the woman I'm now certain is Kemvir Taashi announces. "At the worst she'll just bend it a little, which I think we'll all agree is for the best, no?"

"I'm sure Raashia and Anissi would say no, cousin, and mean it."

Kemvir snorts loudly. "Raashia and Nissi would say the sky is bright green and they both have cocks between their legs if they thought it would spite me and you know it, Riis."

"I also know Anissi hates that nickname almost as much as she hates you."

"I'll have to try harder, then," Kemvir laughs blithely. "Now, introduce me to our guest, will you, Rei'ka? Is it true he's an Ayadaxa all the way from Shikkah?"

"Oh, for the love of all that is dead and holy!" I exclaim sharply, throwing my hands up in the air. Then I just rest my forehead in one, sighing in defeat. "You know what? I'm done fighting it. Fine. Yes, I'm an Ayadaxa. An exotic import all the way from Shikkah. Mersi Belkau found me, taught me to suck cock with a sultry smile, and sent me off to the dear Ambassador's bed all wrapped in a shiny red bow. Now he's licked me, so he has to keep me."

Irei looks at me like I've grown a second, no, a third head, and then breaks down laughing. "Shards, Shira, there are children about!"

"I-oh," I stammer lamely, remembering my audience. The Matriarch of the entire Kionaxi clan, her troublemaker niece, everyone within earshot, and a twelve-year-old girl with ancient wisdom hiding in her eyes. "Blame it on the damn taro'u zoxía, I suppose."

"You did promise to punch the next person who called you a whore, if I remember correctly, so I'd say you've shown admirable restraint," Irei jokes.

"Is it how I'm dressed? My hair?" I press. "Do I have works best on his back tattooed on my forehead? Why does everyone think I am paid to be with you, Irei Nara? Do they find you that singularly unattractive, or me that singularly debauched? Or perhaps both?"

Kemvir laughs. "Oh, I like him. And I swear I was only repeating what I heard from Keth Inneswar. Something about a deceitful courtesan cheating at cards."

"Cheating at-" I break off, too incensed to finish my thought. Deep breaths, Shira. Count. Calm down. This isn't like you. You don't cause scenes or make fusses. That's always her. Remember what Yinmari said. You're bleeding blood that isn't yours.

Except maybe it is. Because this island is in me, a steady bass drumbeat. The open wildness of the night and the firelight casting golden shadows across the sand beneath my bare feet makes me feel full of pulsing life. And anger, such bright, hot anger it scorches me.

"Irei Nara, would you mind very much if I made a bit of a scene?" I ask politely. "As Yinmari said, it's a matter of honor. That man needs to be burned a little more than he has been thus far, and I'd really like to be the one to light the match."

"Be careful with the sparks, then, love," he cautions.

I just grin back, spectacularly unhinged and loving every second of it. "But there's no such thing as being careful with black magic, is there, Ambassador?"

He throws back his head and laughs, teeth shining sharply in the starlight. "Then be as reckless as you please, little impei," he tells me, referencing a trickster spirit in Kamai folklore known for misleading travelers with its otherworldly beauty. "Just let me watch."

"That'll cost you extra, then," I reply tartly, spinning on my heels and walking away.

I find Keth Inneswar sitting in front of a bonfire, laughing and stuffing his face with succulent roast boar. Men bracket him on either side, laughing with him. Before my anger ebbs enough to let me question the questionable decisions I'm making, before hesitation chases the brash heat from my blood, I have something to prove.

So I march up to him with my head held high, silvery hair streaming behind me like a flag flying over a battlefield. My eyes are flashing, letting him know I don't intend to be a casualty. Am I drawing attention? Yes. But I don't dare stop until I'm standing in front of him, toe to toe, a little too close to be friendly. He looks amused, like I'm nothing but a kitten flexing its dew claws, and my blood runs hotter still. I step forward again, pushing into his space, making it mine.

For once in my damn life, I'm not about to bite my tongue or turn the other cheek. My mother would be appalled. I smile, gratified, and there must be something sharp in it because Keth actually flinches back from me a little. Then he leans forward, covering his retreat, and now more people are staring. Let them. Half of them probably think I'm Irei's whore anyways, so good first impressions are already off the table. I'm going to turn it instead, then. Fuck, I'm going to flip it and let the cutlery go flying. Let them all whisper that Irei's foreign whore is a little unhinged.

"Yes?" Keth asks, eyeing me with sincere distaste that I gleefully return. "What do you want?"

"I want you to start telling the truth, friend," I reply with an arched brow, calm as can be. "I don't know if it's gall or stupidity that lets you lie so blatantly the night before the purity of your blood is tested, and beyond a fleeting appreciation for the irony of the situation, I don't really care. I do care that you're telling people I'm a whore and a cheat, though. I'll have you know I've never cheated at cards in my damn life."

"You hustled me."

"It's not my fault if you arrogantly assume every foreigner is a novice," I retort, "nor is it my fault if you fail to keep track of the number of chalices in play. Seven, Keth, not five. Simply put, it was a test of strategy and intelligence, and you came up sorely wanting. Now you're whining like a spoiled child; you even stole my damned cake!"

He glares at me from beneath furrowed brows. "You think you can talk to me like that because you're on the ambassador's arm?" he seethes. "Do you think sharing his bed makes you special?"

"No," I retort tartly, then add "though I do think the things I do to him in that bed make me a little special. But you're right, words are cheap. So, let's talk with our hands, hmm? Double or nothing. You can even choose the game."

"I'm a little busy for pissing contests right now," he returns blithely, but there's a telltale hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Yinmari Taashi was right; a public challenge is a matter of honor, and I've been damned blatant. "Now let me finish my meal in peace."

"The night is young, and if I'm nothing but an empty-headed courtesan who has to cheat to win, it won't be a long game," I reason. "So either play me and put me in my place, Keth Inneswar, or admit to everyone that you're deflecting because you aren't sure you can win."

"Any game at all?"

I nod. "Pick your poison. Though if it's a game I'm not familiar with, I get to observe three rounds before we play for real."

Smug pleasure flickers across Keth's face, clearly believing he's found an edge. He's going to choose a game I've never heard of instead of risking losing publicly at Xalzan. My confidence is mere hubris, he figures, or the drink in my hand is making me bold and reckless. And if I were truly Shira Katzuna, that might all be true. But Amshira Amarin was raised to be a king. He knows how to navigate intricate politics and plot war campaigns. He's Somitu's son, after all.

"Marrowbones, then," Keth announces proudly. "The quintessential Kionaxi game."

I nod my assent. We get up and head to an empty table where several card games are already underway. The players move down, quickly making room, eyeing us with obvious interest all the while. The foreign stranger with Kamai eyes and the disgraced Matriarch's son do make an odd pair, I suppose.

"I'm not sure if it's gall or stupidity that makes you think you can win a game you haven't even played, especially one known for its complexity," Keth says as he sits down, the plate of roast boar still in his hand. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."

"I'm not sure if choking on your bravado or swallowing your pride will steal your breath, and I don't care, so long as it leaves you blessedly silent," I retort as he pulls a deck of cards from his pocket and begins to shuffle elaborately.

"What are you, a magician?" I mock, eyebrows raised. "Just deal the damn cards."

"He's not magic," Yinmari Taashi scoffs from somewhere behind me. "If he was, I'd know."

I grin across the table. "When I win, Keth, are you going to accuse me of practicing taro'u zoxía? Will you swear you only lost because I bewitched the cards?"

"Don't worry," Yinmari says, sitting down next to me, her white dress tangling messily around her gangly legs. "I'll keep watch. I'll be able to tell if anyone tries to interfere, magically or non-magically." Her eyes are sincere, dark and deep, but her mouth quirks into a positively gleeful smile. It's her mother's smile, I think. One that chases after trouble and feasts on drama. One that's scented a fresh kill on the wind and is growing hungrier by the second.

The first round Keth plays is against Yinmari's father, Aryuul Sula. I hyperfocus on the cards, letting everything else fall away until only strategy and intention remain. The crowd that's gathered to watch us play disappears into a haze of smoke. The heat and light of the bonfires at my back fades like a memory. Even Yinmari's excited chatter melts into the night air as I watch the cards changing hands like they hold the secret to eternity.

Or at least the secret to being respected by the Kionaxi clan and shutting Keth Inneswar the hell up. I know I'm an outsider here despite my Kamai eyes, and I know that the curiosity I saw on their faces earlier in the night has already begun to sour. They see a pretty foreign boy hanging on a rich, powerful man's arm, and then they hear Keth call me a lying whore and their every suspicion is confirmed. And after twenty-two years of being scrutinized and judged and underestimated, after being looked over instead of looked at, after hearing and that is to be their king whispered behind mocking hands, it rakes at me.

I'm in Kama to escape certain death at Sholu's hands, but I've also made it my mission to reinvent myself. Or just stop inventing myself at all and instead embrace my authenticity, propriety be damned. And honestly, fuck propriety. Fuck being complicit in the narrative that my pretty face hides an empty head or that my softness is synonymous with weakness. I have survived more than most of these people will ever know. I have crossed an ocean. I have fallen in love, and fallen into sin, and loved every fucking moment of it. How dare some blowhard try to diminish me. I won't be disrespected without fighting back ever again. A courtesan being paid to grace an ambassador's arm is a mere novelty. Me? I aim to be a fucking threat.

You bleed blood that is not your own.

And maybe I do. Maybe this is her spirit haunting me from within, gifting me with her rage and confidence and brazen words. Maybe the fire in my eyes was kindled in her own and passed on through some strange alchemy of love and time and blood that a twelve-year-old girl seems to understand better than I do. She's your blood. She's in your bones down to your very marrow.

Strange that Yinmari said she is your shattering. I always thought she was my strength. That I'd crumple like wet paper without her at my side, protecting me and loving me with all the fierceness in her wild heart. But maybe my heart was never as civilized as I thought. Maybe this fierceness always lurked somewhere inside of me, locked away tight, and it took the shattering of losing her to set it free. To make me realize that, yes, I have innate strength that isn't derived from O'otani.

As holy as she is profane, the little seer said. But all of O'otani's profanity was in service to what she deemed holy, as strange as that sounds. She fought for Shikkah, for our family, for me. She'd do anything and give everything for those she loved. Raw emotion ruled her, and I thought that unwise. Wild, even. But now, I'm beginning to understand.

Because when I look across the table at Keth Inneswar, I want his blood dripping down my hands instead of the succulent juices of the roast boar. Keth used Markiri's sins and the disgraceful circumstances of Irei's birth as weapons to cut him down because he felt threatened and ignored. And those words had just enough truth to them to find their mark, making pain rise in my lover's laughing eyes. The sharp sting of memory and the slow burn of shame reminded him that he was almost rejected by his clan. That according to the old ways, he was born godless and soulless. And that makes me want to snarl, to fight, to win.

Irei Nara took me in and protected me at great personal risk. He even protected me from myself, and from the desire he thought he had no right to feel for me. He's been there for me through the worst days of my life and he's given me some of the best to balance them, and now I want to fight for him. I want to humiliate the man who tried to humiliate him, and I want to let everyone know that I am fucking done being soft and quiet and ignored. Amshira Amarin is dead, and Shira Katzuna isn't taking their bullshit with a smile. He's got Kamai ore in his bones and venom in his veins and fire in his eyes. And drink in his mind, too, making everything fuzzier and more urgent.

I take a few deep breaths, centering myself, and lose myself in the game play once more. No one explains a thing or slows down as the second round begins, but I don't need them to. Marrowbones is intricate and unlike any other Kamai card game I know, which is undoubtedly why Keth picked it, but it's not indecipherable. In fact, it reminds me of jeshmeni, a game a Yi'ili abadajon taught me when he visited the palace many years ago. By the end of the second round, which Keth also wins, I'm well on my way to unraveling the twists and turns of the complex game.

I've always had a mind for puzzles and strategy to rival even my mother, who plots as much as she breathes, if not more. And by the end of the third round, I know down to my own marrow that I can beat him. It won't be an easy win, but I refuse to make a fool of myself or Irei by losing to this prick. I have a decent grasp of the game's mechanics, maps of potential moves and their repercussions unfolding in my mind like battle plans, but most of all, I have something to prove.

Keth is confident. I let him gloat a bit, fucking up my first few hands just because I want to lull him into a false sense of security. Look at the pretty, silly, drunken boy, his eyes say. Look at how he thinks to run with the wolves. See now how they rend him limb from limb before his lover's helpless eyes.

But I am a wolf, too, and as the third round begins, I let myself howl. I play decently, winning by a small margin, and when Keth looks up at me, worry has entered his expression for the first time since the game began. I give him a mocking look, saying and now what?

And then the game truly begins. And it's hard, I'll admit that. He's not as shit at this one as he is at Xalzan, or he has a lot to prove, because he plays like a fiend and I lose as much as I win. At first. But I've set a trap, a clever little blind alley I'm leading him down, praying he doesn't notice there's no exit in sight. Just a little closer... a little more... a few more cards...

And then I pull the noose tight and watch him swing, struggling against his bindings for breath, all bluster and incredulity. And then he sees he's lost, and he grows desperate, throwing his reason away and making increasingly high-risk decisions with little payoff. But it's too late. It was an ambush, and I was the predator this time.

"Drinks are on you tonight, friend," I drawl, reaching forward and gleefully taking the stack of coins from his hand. "Now this game is dead and gone, and I am all the good and evil that remains. Will you let that be enough, or do I have to best you again before all of these watching eyes?"

"You've played before," Keth accuses, eyes narrowing. "You couldn't have figured it out so quickly."

If he expects me to be angry at his accusation, he's sorely misjudged my mood. I throw my head back and laugh, uninhibited and reinvigorated and perhaps even a little unhinged. Wild in the moonlight, every inch the impei Irei jokingly called me.

"Why not? I had you figured out in only a handful of minutes. Granted, you're far less complex than Marrowbones, but the same principles apply," I smirk. "And if I'd played before, Keth, I'd have beaten you by the fifth hand instead of the ninth."

"Perhaps next you'd like to accuse me of bewitching the cards? Or perhaps you'll blame your loss on the drink? Or the low light and late hour?" I shake my head, smiling like I've told a joke all the world is in on but him. "If you're an honorable man, you'll accept your defeat with some degree of grace. I don't give a damn about your honor, though, only mine and Irei's. So if you're a smart man, you'll keep our names out of your lying mouth and leave us well enough alone. Otherwise, I can promise you that taro'u zoxía will be the least of your worries."

"Black magic is nothing more than that which we do not understand," a throaty voice pronounces. I turn slightly and find Kemvir Taashi standing by my shoulder, both of her arms wrapped around her sitting daughter even as the girl tries valiantly to struggle out of the embrace. "And I think the shattered god will be made whole again before someone like Keth Inneswar can understand someone like you, Shira Katzuna.

I break my intense eye contact with Keth Inneswar and look around for the first time at the sea of faces surrounding the card table. We've drawn quite a crowd, and I notice with deep satisfaction that the eyes trained on me are not suspicious or dismissive or leering, but shocked and amused and perhaps even spellbound. Like the moon, the cards, and I have wrought some strange magic, even if it's only the magic of shutting Keth Inneswar the hell up.

And maybe it is a kind of magic for a well-bred Shikkan boy to act so blatantly antagonistic. I was raised to smile and turn the other cheek, not to issue public challenges, and certainly not to make threats. My mother laced her words with poison, but they sounded sweet nevertheless. She laughed with her enemies and fed them pleasantries as she quietly made plans to eat them alive. I like this better, I decide. It's more honest. If I now wear my heart on my sleeve, why not my anger as well? I have to hide my true identity, yes, but not my true thoughts and feelings.

She would be proud of me, I think. And I know it shouldn't matter. And maybe it's sick that I still care what she thinks of me, but I do. Because I love her. And I'm starting to accept that I always will, no matter how many lies and betrayals come between us. I lost my entire family in a night. I lost my mother when she decided she needed her heir safely locked away instead of making decisions at her side. When she promised to return for me and instead sailed east. I still don't know if she's ever coming back.

I thought I lost O'otani the night Tipari Kaldaxi spoke of her nuptials. But in my mind and in my heart, there's still a scrappy girl with glass-green eyes and scraped knees and a mocking, lilting smile that drives my conservative aunts half-mad. A wisp of a thing who snuck into a renowned knight's room and stole his sword after he refused to train her, wearing it with her to breakfast the next morning along with a serene smile. The mad, restless, reckless, laughing demon who chased me across the dunes with a disgusting lizard in her hands, threatening to put it in my hair while I screamed obscenities right back at her. Out of my mother's earshot, of course. The soulmate who sat behind me on the roof and lazily braided my hair as we watched the desert sun rise and felt something inside of us rising with it, stirring awake and aware as the shadowed purple sand turned to a soft gold.

Beneath that same desert sun, there may very well be a silver-tongued, cold-blooded snake perched regally on a throne that was stolen and then stolen back again. A monster, a traitor, a moment of madness we can't ever take back. A queen anointed by rage and her own family's lifeblood stolen so cruelly from their weeping veins.

But whoever or whatever she is now, whatever she has made herself or been made into by Sholu Verlaina, she was once mine. And that's something not even a river of Amarin blood can wash away. My protector, my bloodbound, my friend. Somewhere inside of me, a shadow of that girl remains, preserved forever by the dual alchemy of affection and memory. Not even she can take that away from me. And if it hurts, I don't mind, because I know it would hurt more to pretend that all I feel for her is hate.

The world we knew is dead and gone. She helped kill it, and I might never truly know why. Now we are all the good and evil that remains, and I swear to the silver moon above me that I will let that be enough. I'll let myself be enough.

At least, I'll try. And maybe it won't be as hard as I think, with Irei at my side and the island pulsing around me like a familiar heartbeat. Because, I think as Keth Inneswar glares daggers at me, what is dead and gone only defines us if we let it. And I'd much rather build my future on what remained when the ashes scattered: Kama, Irei, and me.

(Yes, this is the calm before the storm.)