Текст книги "Intermix Nation "
Автор книги: M. Attardo
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
Chapter Three
Nazirah looks out the dirty bus window. The early morning light streaks and highlights her face in patches. Her long brown hair is hidden under a crimson headscarf, which is traditional for native women in the Red West. She tries to appear relaxed, like she’s made this journey dozens of times. If anyone were to glance at Nazirah for more than an instant, however, they would realize she’s no Deathlander. But as people shuffle onto the bus and find seats, they don’t pay her any notice.
Red Westerners are dark skinned, their brown faces warmed by the hot desert sun. They have a melodic lilt to their accents, so every sentence sounds like a song. The women wear henna on their hands, jangling bells on their feet. They move with a natural, fluid rhythm.
Everything about the Red West is intoxicating. Nazirah has only seen images of this part of the country before. She probably would have learned more about it in Territory History, had she ever bothered to go.
Nazirah remembers one evening when she was a little girl. Kasimir traded all day in the illegal marketplace and brought home a Red Westerner to join them for dinner. The peddler delighted Nazirah and Nikolaus with fascinating tales of his homeland. He showed the Nation children the Red West tattoo on his forearm, a gleaming red sun. Kasimir had his own, a white tree from Osen, as did Riva, a black fish from Eridies. All territory-born citizens receive a tattoo on their forearms when they turn thirteen, so that the Medis can easily identify the races, and more readily instigate propaganda. Intermix tattoos are forbidden.
The peddler explained why the Red West is commonly referred as the Deathlands. He said it was because a shaman long ago cursed the territory, so that any man with ill intentions who crossed its border would instantly perish. Years later, Nazirah learned the real reason is because the desert is so arid that no life can easily survive. But the man’s story stayed with her long after he had gone, and she always associated the Red West with magic, mystery, and strangeness.
Before the peddler departed, he gave Nazirah a small memento: broken mosaic tiles in a jar. Nazirah thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and immediately placed it on her dresser. She would take the tiles out every so often, carefully sifting them through her fingers, imagining she could smell exotic spices wafting her way. She begged Kasimir to take her to the Red West, but her parents forbade it.
And here she is, years later, traveling on her own through the Deathlands. White clay houses stand perpendicular to the hilly ground in a jagged line, a crooked smile on the face of the horizon. Minarets and intensely blue doors and shutters add to the territory’s flavor. The aromas of spices and other smells, and the loud sounds in the outdoor market overwhelmed Nazirah early that morning, as soon as she stepped off the train and onto the platform in Rubiyat.
The red dust the territory is so infamous for – that permanently settled in the area centuries ago from some biological organic attack on the Old Country’s soil, which is the cause of the constant aridness and the incredibly difficult lives of the natives – is everywhere. Women hit rugs outside with wooden sticks, beating away the crimson grit. Nazirah feels it in her eyes, in the pores of her skin, in the lines of her hands. She nearly choked on the dusty blanket as she walked around, looking for the rundown charter bus Nikolaus hastily described to her before she departed Eridies.
Life in the Deathlands is an unending battle. It is no coincidence that the Deathlanders are known throughout Renatus for their brutality and violence. Water and food are scarce. The natives are dependent upon the Medis for resources, which are never enough to adequately feed everybody. Nazirah, raised by the ocean, cannot fathom a life so devoid of water.
The rickety bus jolts to life. It groans, kicking up dust in its wake, hobbling towards the prison an hour’s ride away. Nazirah clutches the amnesty pendant, recalling the chain of events that led to her arrival here.
This morning, before the crack of dawn, Nazirah journeyed by train to the largest Red West city, Rubiyat. With doctored identification that Niko had somehow procured, and a bribed conductor, Nazirah had boarded the train easily.
She found her seat in a tiny compartment near the back, mercifully empty. For the entirety of the five-hour ride, although she wanted to just lie down and recover lost sleep, Nazirah was glued to the window, watching the familiar oceanic views of her home morph into something arresting and new.
Nazirah is momentarily roused from her thoughts. An extremely large woman in a royal purple wrap dress, with dozens of gold bangles jangling on each arm, sits down next to her. The woman unapologetically takes up half of Nazirah’s seat, squashing Nazirah into the window. She snaps her fingers, shouting in Deathlandic at her three small children, currently running down the center aisle of the bus, to sit across from Nazirah. Once the children are safely settled, Nazirah’s thoughts drift to where she hasn’t let them go since last night.
Since Niko told her she needed to come here.
Since he said the name that changed everything.
#
“What did you say?”
Her voice was not even a whisper, yet sharp as a blade. Nikolaus stayed silent, allowing her to process it. They both knew she heard.
“Adamek Morgen.”
Nazirah said it slowly, the name heavy on her tongue … foreign … blasphemous. Nikolaus looked at Nazirah like she was a cornered rattlesnake, ready to strike. The floor began to spin, dropping away. The air left the room. Nazirah’s throat constricted, a thousand emotions overwhelming her.
Betrayed by her brother.
“No.”
Still, Nikolaus remained silent.
“No!”
Nazirah shoved Nikolaus, her all-consuming rage vivid upon her face. She screamed incoherently, grabbing the front of his shirt. He was a full two heads taller than she, but she didn’t care. She wanted to claw his eyes out.
“You would offer amnesty,” she growled, “to the man who killed our parents?”
And there it was.
Once Nazirah said it out loud, it became real. Adamek Morgen, murderer of Riva and Kasimir Nation, would walk free, without so much as a slap on the wrist. At the hands of their own son. And Nazirah, in the bitterest twist of irony, would never have her vengeance.
Nazirah’s legs buckled, collapsed underneath her as she fell to the floor. Nikolaus wrapped his arms under hers, steadying her, protecting her. But Nazirah could not look at him, she was so disgusted. She sat on the floor, staring blankly. Nikolaus slowly bent on one knee before her. He grabbed her shoulders, but she turned her face away. Nikolaus tilted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.
“Irri,” he said, “I don’t expect you to understand this. Yes, he killed Riva and Kasimir. But the rebels have offered amnesty to many murderers before him. He turned himself in a few days ago, and is prepared to offer us his substantial riches and all of his knowledge and connections. You know who his father is. You know what this means for us.”
“Don’t touch me, Nikolaus! I am so ashamed of you!”
“Nazirah, the rules are the rules,” Nikolaus said. “I am bound as Commander to offer him the same terms that we would offer any other person who requests amnesty. I’m not exactly thrilled either, but it’s what’s fair.”
“Fair?” Nazirah yelled. “What’s fair would be to cut his heart out, Nikolaus, and then feed it to him! Not to give him a goddamn reprieve! How could you trust him? His father is the fucking Chancellor of the entire country! He probably sent him to spy on us! Why else would he ever join us?”
“Nazirah,” Nikolaus said, “you know I can’t tell you the conditions of the agreement. I’m under oath. But the time of our rebellion has finally come. We’ve worked towards this for years – decades – and Adamek Morgen is the missing link we need to set everything in motion. You and I, we must think beyond ourselves, and do what is right for the greater good.” Nikolaus touched her arm, but Nazirah shrugged his hand away. Frustrated, Nikolaus rose quickly, stepping over her legs towards the exit. “I’ll expect you outside in front at 5:00am sharp,” he said from the door. “Don’t be late. And try to get some sleep.”
And he left Nazirah, curled on the floor, to pick up the pieces.
#
The old bus turns sharply onto the prison grounds, jolting Nazirah back to the present. Nazirah notices the large woman staring suspiciously and shifts uncomfortably in her half-seat. Nazirah tries to conceal her face more with the headscarf, praying the woman won’t recognize her.
Niko wasn’t entirely correct in his assumption that Nazirah would go unnoticed. Sure, she is small, but everyone in the country knows her. The camera crews and reporters that showed up at their parents’ funeral saw to that. Nazirah’s face, wide eyed and grieving, was plastered on every newspaper and television in the country for weeks. She was portrayed as the young, orphaned intermix, daughter of dangerous anarchists … the living consequence of territories interacting.
All the while, Chancellor Gabirel Morgen preached from his Median pulpit. He spread vicious lies and propaganda about Riva and Kasimir, calling them rebel parasites that had to be dealt with to ensure the continuing peace of Renatus. He needed a scapegoat to pin the rebellion on. And her parents, interracially married with intermix children, scum of the earth and leeching the country’s resources for their own welfare, were perfect targets. It was a warning to everyone in the country.
Don’t challenge the authority of Mediah, or this could be you.
The Chancellor’s only son, Adamek, part-time playboy, part-time soldier, was touted as a war hero. Already infamous, training to eventually take his father’s place in government, Adamek was no stranger to slaughtering citizens in the name of justice. And now, he bravely took matters into his own hands, putting an end to the Nation threat once and for all.
How or why Adamek Morgen, Medi, son of the Chancellor, renowned sociopath, had turned himself over to the rebellion … Nazirah has no idea. As far as the rest of the country knows, he is still in Mediah, killing and whoring and doing whatever it is he normally does. Even though Nazirah’s brain tells her Nikolaus is an idiot, her heart cannot believe he’s dumb enough to trust Adamek without substantial proof. But Nazirah doesn’t know what that proof could be, and she frankly doesn’t care. All she knows is that Adamek will walk. And she is helping him do it.
The large woman nonchalantly reaches her heavy, hennaed hand out and gives Nazirah’s own a reassuring squeeze. Shocked, Nazirah glances at her, but her expression is unreadable. The woman addresses one of her children, the eldest daughter. The girl stares curiously at Nazirah and slowly offers her one golden bangle. Nazirah looks between the two of them, hesitating for a moment before accepting the token.
“Thank you.”
Nazirah slips the bangle on her wrist, hoping they understand. The girl looks at her happily and returns to playing with her brothers. The gift is exactly something Riva would have made a younger Nazirah do, and the moment is bittersweet.
They are waved through several guarded gates, electrified and barbed. The bus finally passes the last checkpoint, braking in front of the prison entrance.
Stepping outside, Nazirah feels nauseous, even though she hasn’t eaten in almost a day. Lunch with Cato is a distant memory. Nazirah didn’t see him last night, like she planned to. She just sobbed in Niko’s office alone for a long time, eventually dragging herself to bed two hours before she had to wake up again.
Nazirah stares at the looming fortress, stomach in knots. She searches for the woman who sat next to her, but she’s already gone. Nazirah gathers her courage and follows a group of visitors through the gates of hell.
Nazirah looks around, trying to figure out what happens next. Nikolaus told her to seek out Solomon, the chief of security who also happens to be a rebel spy. But Nazirah has no idea how to find him.
Luckily, she doesn’t have to wonder for long. A tall, muscled man, with closely cropped hair and several earrings in each ear, walks stiffly up to her. He scans her face. Nazirah is unsure if she should speak and reveal herself, so she remains quiet. The man inclines his head slightly and walks away. Nazirah considers the potential ramifications for only a moment, before chasing after him.
He walks through a heavy iron door, not bothering to hold it for her. By the time Nazirah manages to wrest it open, he is already turning a corner down the hallway. Nazirah sprints after him, trying to keep up, because she would rather be with this complete stranger than get lost in the prison alone. She catches up, panting, as he begins climbing a staircase. Nazirah notes gratefully that his strides have slowed.
“Excuse me, Solomon…”
He gives Nazirah a sharp look as they exit the staircase, cutting her off. Apparently, Solomon is not a big talker. They walk through another corridor and he finally stands in front of a single door. Here goes everything, Nazirah thinks, as she enters the room.
The person standing before her is definitely not Adamek Morgen. For starters, he’s a full head shorter than Nazirah. He has light brown skin, sparkling eyes, a huge smile, and a miniature red fez on his head.
He is also literally hopping with excitement.
“Oh, Miss Nation!” The small man clasps his hands around one of hers, shaking it enthusiastically. “What an unexpected delight to see you here this afternoon! I was expecting your surly brother to walk through my door, and instead I get this lotus flower!”
“Uh … thank you,” Nazirah replies. “Not to be rude, sir, but who are you?”
The man does not look insulted in the least. He extends his small frame forward into a bow so deep his nose nearly brushes the floor. “Solomon Salaahi, at your service,” he tells her with a flourish.
“You’re Solomon?”
“Expecting someone taller?” Solomon smiles knowingly, as Nazirah’s face flushes in embarrassment. “Please follow me,” he says, leading her through another door.
The next room is circular, with security monitors of every prison cell lining the walls. In the center of the room, there is a large circuit panel, with hundreds of gadgets and buttons. The blinking neon lights make Nazirah dizzy. Solomon waves his hands emphatically as he walks, clearly proud of his life’s work.
“This is my office and home away from home,” he says richly, “otherwise known as the control room.” Solomon hops onto a small chair, cranking a lever in the side. Slowly, he rises up to meet Nazirah’s height. Beads of sweat form on his brow from the exertion.
“It’s very … interesting,” Nazirah says, looking around.
“Thank you kindly,” Solomon says. He is momentarily distracted as his sleeve catches in the armrest. “As you can … obviously tell … this is an extremely sensitive matter requiring immediate action. We thank you for coming here on such short notice, even though the journey is long and tiresome. I trust you have found the Deathlands charming though, yes? Are they not something?”
‘Charming’ isn’t exactly the word Nazirah would use. Her face is still itching from all the dust. “It’s definitely something,” she mutters. And then, honestly, “It’s captivating.”
“Wonderful!” Solomon claps his hands together. “I will let you get to it, then. Have no fear, Miss Nation. My trusty servant Olag here will escort you to Mr. Morgen’s interrogation room.” Solomon indicates the surly man who brought Nazirah here, now standing quietly to one side of the room. “His tongue was cut out as a child, so he does not speak, but he is fiercely loyal. He will be in the room with you the entire time. And I,” he taps a video monitor emphatically, “will be watching to make sure you have no … difficulties.” He clears his throat.
“Got it,” Nazirah says queasily. “Thank you, Solomon, but I would rather see him alone.”
Solomon is clearly intrigued and says something to Olag in Deathlandic. Olag nods and opens the door beside him, this time holding it for Nazirah. “You are much more like your brother than you let on,” Solomon says. “Olag will take you to see Mr. Morgen now, and will wait for you outside of the room. The rest is up to you. Good luck.”
Nazirah thanks him and walks through the open door, trying to breathe. She follows Olag for a minute or two, her mind distant. He stops in front of an unremarkable door. “Here?” she asks and he nods.
Nazirah is not ready, not ready, not ready.
She must be ready.
She stares at the door, willing her body to move. Olag stands patiently by her side, giving her all the time she needs. Nazirah closes her eyes, takes a shaky breath. In a strange moment of clarity, she unwinds the headscarf, letting her hair fall freely down her back in its natural waves. She hands the long ribbon of fabric to Olag, who looks at her questioningly.
“I want him to recognize me.”
Chapter Four
The first thing Nazirah notices as she shuts the door behind her is the room, which is small and windowless. The walls and floor are matte gray stone, cracked and grooved from years of abuse. There’s a draft coming from somewhere. Nazirah feels goose bumps forming on her arms, even though she’s in the middle of the desert. She sees the blinking security camera in one corner of the ceiling and knows that Solomon is watching. It doesn’t reassure her.
At the center of the room is a wooden table with two adjacent folding chairs … one of which is currently occupied. The sitting man has his back turned to her. He is wearing a traditional black prison jumpsuit and his hands are resting on the table. Nazirah can see from the door that he is handcuffed at the wrists. His posture is straight, but restrained. He must have heard her come in. Yet he remains still, staring straight ahead.
Nazirah doesn’t know what she has been expecting. Maybe for him to be dirty, covered in his own filth, bloody, chained to a wall, or sobbing in a corner. Certainly not this calm and collected person before her. Her heart races as she walks around the table. Palms sweating, Nazirah takes her seat, finally facing him.
Remember to breathe.
Nazirah cannot look him in the eyes. Her attention focuses immediately on his hands, as she wrings her own in her lap. His are large and calloused, with bruised knuckles. Small black scratch marks cover the backs of them. Nazirah knows from the newspapers that these tattoos tally his number of kills. He wears them like badges of honor, she thinks, revolted. She feels sick, reminded that two of those miniature lines are Riva and Kasimir.
Nazirah forces her gaze upwards to his arms, which for the most part are covered by the jumpsuit. The silence is deafening as Nazirah’s eyes skirt over the muscles outlining his upper torso, honed from years of killing and torturing. She focuses on the pulse in his neck, the pulse that beats life into him. Nazirah wishes she could wrap her hands around his throat until she feels that pulse slow, and then stop completely. Wishes it so badly that she has to sit on her hands, afraid she might attack him and ruin everything.
Her gaze travels further up. Past the neck, past the slight stubble that shadows a defined jaw, past the split lip – which Nazirah notes with satisfaction; it seems Adamek Morgen has not had the most pleasant stay in prison – past the purple bruise on his cheek which mars otherwise smooth, ivory skin. Medi skin. And still further up, past the aristocratic nose, the dark arched eyebrows and black hair.
Finally, finally, she looks him in the eyes.
They are blindingly green.
If he is surprised to see her, he doesn’t show it. He stares at her expressionlessly. Nazirah realizes in embarrassment that he has probably been watching her all along, waiting for her to finish assessing him. Waiting for her to be ready.
She is startled by how young he looks. Shouldn’t murderers be gruesome and scarred and … older? She searches for the guilt and torment that should have aged his face. She finds none of it. All she sees is a boy her age, maybe a few years older.
Not just any boy.
Every emotion flickers across Nazirah’s face. Fear, embarrassment, hate, guilt, loathing … she feels it all and it all shows. But Adamek’s face is a mask, undecipherable, impenetrable. She has never seen someone so controlled in her life. Nazirah, who has never been particularly good at hiding particularly anything, feels completely uncomfortable. She breaks eye contact with him, breathing through her nose. She needs to get out of here, fast. All of her feelings are rapidly being overtaken by one consuming emotion … rage.
What is Niko talking about? This is not the face of a reformed man! This is a monster, who obviously feels no remorse at all. And she hopes he sees it written all over her face. Adamek may fool Nikolaus, but he is not fooling her.
Nazirah pulls the amnesty pendant and a folded piece of paper, stamped with the rebellion’s wax seal, from her pocket. She admired the pendant on the train ride to Rubiyat. It is simple, just a gold ring on a chain, with Nikolaus and Adamek’s names inscribed into it. Nazirah knows Adamek will have to wear it for the rest of his life. It saddens her that something so beautiful will forever be a part of someone so ugly.
Nazirah feels his stare, but she will not look up again. She is not sure she can handle it, and feels ashamed that her one chance to confront him is slipping through her trembling fingers. Right now, all she wants to do is leave. She wants to run – like usual, Nazirah is letting everyone she loves down. She hates him for it, but she hates herself more.
Nazirah sets the chain down on the table, within Adamek’s reach. Give him the chain, read the short contract, get him to sign on the line. Niko had made her repeat the steps several times over before the train left the station in Krush. Nazirah recites the short list in her head, finding that the set directions calm her nerves. She deftly breaks the seal, opens the contract, and begins to speak.
“Adamek Morgen,” she reads, “son of Gabirel and Victoria Morgen, you have entered into a binding amnesty agreement on this day, at your own behest, willingly and honorably.” Nazirah resists the urge to snort. Sarcasm is unfortunately not on Niko’s checklist. “The terms of this contract have been previously negotiated and agreed upon and I, Nikolaus Nation, son of” – Nazirah’s voice cracks – “Kasimir and Riva Martel Nation, pledge to you that I will honor our conditions from this day, until my last day, should you agree. In trust, let there be truth.”
Nazirah finishes reading the short paragraph, which is followed by the date and Nikolaus’s signature in red ink. There is a blank line under Nikolaus’s name, indicating where Adamek should sign. Nazirah sets the contract down on the table, realizing that she doesn’t have a pen for him to use. Flustered, she searches her pockets. She feels his eyes trained on her the whole time, almost amused. Nazirah is about to go ask Olag to bring her one from the control room when Adamek speaks for the first time, halting her thoughts in their tracks.
“That’s not how this works.”
Nazirah looks at him in surprise and confusion. His tone is clipped, but there is something else there as well. Curiosity. And as Adamek stares at her, Nazirah comes to the unnerving realization that he is curious about her. Like she is some puzzle he can’t quite solve. Nazirah watches as Adamek grabs the chain and finds the small point in the ring that Nazirah had thought was only for design.
Without hesitating, he stabs himself in the back of the hand with it. Nazirah’s jaw drops open and she doesn’t even try to hide her shock. Adamek dips the point into the blood that is now flowing from his small wound. With some difficulty, because he is still handcuffed, he writes his name on the contract. Nikolaus had not signed in red ink after all.
Nazirah thinks she might pass out. Niko should have warned her that this was going to happen! He should have prepared her! Just get him to sign his name, he said. That’s it, he said. Nazirah is going to give Niko a well-deserved kick in the groin the next time she sees him.
Adamek finishes signing the contract and slides it to her, the blood on his hand already coagulating. He pulls the chain over his head and tucks it under his jumpsuit.
Amnesty agreement sealed. Nazirah can leave and return to headquarters. But she cannot move from her seat, cannot stop staring at the bloody signatures. And even though she tries to stop them, her thoughts return to that night. Finding her parents dead on the floor. Screaming until she was hoarse. Rocking her lifeless mother in her arms.
He killed them in cold blood. Bargained for his freedom in warm blood. And Nazirah wants to spill his life’s blood.
She wants to spill every last sticky drop.
Adamek tenses. He must know exactly what she is thinking. Knows the visions that plague her thoughts every day and haunt her dreams every night. He caused them, after all.
Nazirah takes a deep breath, reaching for the contract so she can leave. When he speaks again, his words drip poison and purpose.
“You look like her.”
What the fuck did he just say?
Nazirah’s head snaps up. Blinded by rage, she lunges across the table, positive that Solomon is hopping off his chair and screaming like a banshee down the corridor. Adamek makes no move to stop her.
Nazirah’s fingers are barely an inch away from his throat before she pauses. She holds them there, outstretched. They itch to close to gap, are dying to make the spark fade from his eyes. But he said that deliberately to get a rise out of her. And she refuses to be a pawn in his twisted game.
Nazirah pulls her hand away, slamming the table with her fist, imagining it’s his face. She grabs the contract, shoves it into her pocket. She walks quickly towards the door then stops and turns around to face him. Adamek inclines his head, listening closely.
“Enjoy your freedom, Morgen,” she spits. “I hope you choke on it.”
#
“What a fucking piece of shit.”
Cato is livid. He is sitting at his desk, face red, fuming. The unfinished essay he was writing lies forgotten beside him. Cato cracks his knuckles menacingly, a habit that Nazirah hates. Nazirah lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling. She only returned to headquarters an hour ago. Her head pounds from stress and lack of sleep. Cato’s angry outbursts every couple of seconds aren’t helping matters.
Nazirah sighs in annoyance and exhaustion, looking out Cato’s window. His room is exactly like hers on the inside – but at least his view faces the grounds, not a brick wall. Nazirah went straight to Cato’s room after seeking out Nikolaus in his office. When Nazirah initially showed up at Cato’s door, he was irritated, since he thought she was ignoring him. But once she told him the full story, Cato became outraged. Nazirah is relieved that he isn’t upset with her anymore, but she would almost prefer him annoyed. She can’t deal with his ranting right now.
“We’ve established that my brother sucks,” Nazirah says, exasperated. “Can we move on?”
Unlike Nazirah, Cato took some of the comforts of home with him. Several pictures of his former life in Rafu are displayed throughout his room. Nazirah glances at a photo of Cato smiling with his two siblings, before picking another one up from his nightstand. It is one of Nazirah’s favorites, taken when she was fifteen. Cato, who came from a long line of fishermen, saved up his money that summer to buy an old canoe on the black market. He spent weeks rebuilding it, sanding it down and caulking it. Nazirah teased him about it for weeks, telling him it would never float. One day, without warning, he picked her up, dropped her into the canoe, and paddled out to sea.
They spent the rest of the day fishing. Or, really, Nazirah watched Cato fish. She alternated between lying in the sun and jumping off the boat to swim in the water. Cato entertained her all day, telling Nazirah unbelievable stories he learned in school. Hundreds of years ago, he said, everything around them had been landlocked. Then the polar icecaps melted, swallowing and shrinking the coastline of the Old Country.
Looking out at the sea that day, Nazirah couldn’t believe it was ever anything else than what it was now. It was a time in her life when she didn’t fully grasp the concept of change. A time in her life when she thought everything would always remain the same, constant and steady.
Now she isn’t so sure.
Cato reeled in a huge fish that day, almost thirty pounds. He let Nazirah hold it in the photo, pretend she was the one who caught it. The sea waves in the background, as the two of them smile widely for the camera. Nazirah’s long hair is braided and wet from the water. Her skin is glowing, bronzed from the summer sun. She struggles to grip the slippery, floundering fish with her thin arms. Cato is giving the camera a thumbs-up. He looks goofy, but that is exactly what makes Nazirah love the photo.
Despite his protests, Nazirah convinced Cato to release the fish back into the wild. She vividly remembers watching it swim away, breathing life back through its gills, regaining its speed. She felt like that fish, once. Like death was only a shadow of a whisper in her mind. Like there was nothing before her but life and the sea and endless freedom.
“I can’t believe Nikolaus would associate with that scum!” Cato continues ranting. Nazirah sets the photo back down with a sigh. Cato stares at her expectantly. He is not letting her off the hook as easily as he did the fish.
She yawns. “Why don’t you go ask him, then?”
“I don’t get you, Irri.” Cato walks over to the bed. “How are you not more upset about this? Don’t you want to know why Adamek Morgen suddenly gained a conscience and wants to help us, renouncing his entire race and family in the process? And why your brother embraced him with open arms? Doesn’t it all seem a little strange to you?”
