At this, Taisal looked directly at Aryl for the first time. There was nothing to read in her face; nothing to Aryl’s inner sense, nothing within the other. Her mother had locked herself behind an Adept’s formidable barriers, even from her daughter.
Aryl didn’t try to reach her, thinking she understood. Taisal, with her Talent to recall spilled sweetberries to her tray, her use of the Dark to reach her daughter, was one of the dangers to Yena. As an Adept, her disgrace would be absolute—worse, Taisal wouldn’t survive without shelter in the canopy.
Could any of them?
“Go,” Sian told them, “for the good of the Clan.”
Yena flinched aside as the Lost entered the crowd, their steps graceless yet intent. One, Leri, stepped up on the Council dais. She reached into her bag and brought out a token, the same as used on Passage. She gave it to Cetto sud Teerac, who sank into his chair to stare down at what was cupped in his hands. She gave another to Morla Kessa’at, who let out a horrified cry.
Aryl wasn’t surprised when something cold and hard was pressed into her slack fingers. She didn’t bother to see which Lost had put it there. She gripped it and waited.
Enris tossed his in the air, where it spun end over end until caught with a casual snap of his wrist. Which made no sense, she protested to herself. The Tuana was what Yena needed most: new blood. Or was that a danger, too?
Strange, how silent the chamber. Like the hush at truenight, before the clatter of the swarm; it lacked only the trills of a wysp.
Morla’s was the only outward reaction. Yena after Yena accepted a token, expressions stricken, those of their families numb. Aryl knew how they felt. To survive last night only to be wiped away at the verge of safety, by those who should care for you?
The betrayal was too deep to comprehend.
Finished, the Lost returned to their cluster by the dais. They’d given, by Aryl’s rough count, over twenty tokens. Twenty sentences of exile and death.
Not one to an Adept. Not even Taisal di Sarc.
Why?
She could betray her mother. She could say what she’d seen Taisal do. They might doubt her word and motives, but the suggestion, here and now, with emotion ready to win over reason? It might be enough to exile Taisal, too.
Aryl kept silent. There was nothing to gain. She couldn’t guess why her mother agreed to this; she couldn’t guess why the other Adepts would allow her to stay. But, as a result, someone she loved would be safe.
The hush continued. No one seemed to know what to do next. Even Haxel seemed dazed by what glittered in her hand.
Aryl met Cetto’s eyes, read his helpless anger and despair. He’d believed they could leave Yena. He’d hoped for their future somewhere else. Not, she knew, like this.
She found herself breathing deeply, the way she would before a climb—or before an argument. Then, before she realized what she would do, she jumped on the dais to offer her hand to Bern’s grandfather. “Come,” she told him, including Morla with a somber look.
Aryl then turned to face Yena. That this put Council and the Adepts at her back didn’t bother her at all.
“We’re wasting daylight,” she said, making the words loud and sure.
The echoes followed them out.
Chapter 29
“THEY COULD HAVE FED US first,” Enris commented mildly as they assembled before the doors to the bridge.
Haxel heard as she walked by. “And waste food on the dead?” she tossed over her shoulder.
“That bad?” he asked Aryl.
She tapped the token on his chest. “You should go back,” she urged again. “Argue you were on Passage, that none of this is your fault. It isn’t, you know. You came to help us. It’s—”
“Unfair? Unjust?” For some reason, Enris chuckled. “At least this—” his fingers brushed the token, “—will come in handy.”
Those nearby looked from Enris to Aryl, then away. She understood their reaction. The Tuana was smart, brave, and strong. It wasn’t enough—not in the canopy. They needed proper equipment and supplies to have a chance. All but the two Councillors, Cetto and Morla, had been in the village during the attack. The exiles had nothing but what some had carried to the Cloisters, most of that personal belongings grabbed last night during the panic.
Haxel made a good show of assessing resources—in her element as First Scout—yet no one but Enris believed it was anything more than show.
Aryl gave her attention to who, rather than what, they had. She raised her chin, a greeting to Ael. Unlikely the Adepts would have exiled him, in her opinion, if he hadn’t been Joined to Myris. A partner left behind would be Lost; not just a burden, but a living reminder of guilt.
That both of the Chosen pairs received tokens didn’t surprise her. Other decisions did. Taisal wasn’t the only one with exceptional Power to remain safe. Joyn and his parents were to stay, while her cousin Seru, with about as much useful Power as a flitter, sat with other exiles by the door. She cradled her brother in her arms and thus far had ignored everything but the task of shielding his desires from others. Alejo, for his part, slept the oblivious, preoccupied sleep of all babies, eyes squeezed tight and mouth working.
There, Aryl thought sadly, was a problem.
Sixteen Chosen all told, though four were too old for strenuous climbing and one, Juo Vendan, awkward with her first pregnancy. Five unChosen, counting herself but not Seru; were they the ones Sian had picked as most able to learn a new Talent? Twenty-three in all, several superb climbers. She didn’t understand how Yena could spare them.
Nor, she added bitterly, how they could be let fall, like scraps into the Lay.
“Aryl? We should leave.” Myris said quietly. “They’re turning the doors.”
“I’ll—” She’d sensed the arrival she’d expected. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Other than two Adepts to open and close the way to the bridge, only exiles gathered here, sheltered by the overhang of the great doors. They’d left the chamber like unChosen taking Passage—quickly, as if already gone. A kindness, to give them a chance at composure. Most Yena couldn’t shield intense emotion; lingering with their grief-stricken families would have been cruel to both.
Exiles plus one. Aryl waited as Rimis Uruus appeared in the arch, then ran across the platform to join her. Raindrops streaked her fine-boned face, disguising tears. She hadn’t come alone; a small figure watched from inside the Cloisters, hands pressed against the transparent material of a window. What did Joyn think of the story now? Aryl wondered.
“Thank you, Aryl.” Rimis kept her voice low. “How did you convince her?”
“She didn’t have to,” Seru answered for herself as she came beside them. “I’m not always a fool, Aunt.”
“I’ll do my best for him. You know I will.”
I know.
Seru opened the blanket to uncover Alejo’s sleeping face. She pressed two fingers to her lips, then to his small forehead. If there was a sending, it was nothing shared beyond the two of them.
The baby gave a piteous cry as Rimis took him from his sister’s arms and hurried away. Seru turned, her shoulders hunched, and headed for the open doors and the bridge.
Unfair. Unjust. Enris had the right of it.
The taste of change she’d felt since the M’hir was finally gone. It had, Aryl realized with a pang, been a warning against her own kind and this moment.
She walked toward the bridge. Most were on it; Enris and Ael waited for her, relaxed against one door. “You like climbing, I take it?” Ael was saying to the Tuana. His keen eyes wouldn’t miss how exhausted the other was, nor the bruises and returning limp.
“Climbing’s fine,” Enris replied with his easy smile. “Looking down’s another thing altogether.”