“Fuck, D. I figured you sent the kid.”
“Why in the eight hells would I do that?” Dyraien said. “He’s my lead architect.”
Tahki’s palms started to sweat. They were talking about him.
“No idea.” Zinc burped. “It’s not like you—what’s that word you like to use—di-vulge your plans to me.”
“You’re a piece of goat shit, Zinc,” Dyraien said.
Zinc straightened his back. “Now hold on. Just you hold on a minute. I held up my end of the bargain.”
“You confused a pretty foreign boy for a seventy-year-old alcoholic judge. And what’s worse, you involved Rye.”
“Wasn’t my fault Rye showed up. You told me you’d scalp me bloody if I ever touched him,” Zinc said. “What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to do your job,” Dyraien said.
Hona sighed. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell Rye the truth?”
Dyraien shook his head. “He wouldn’t understand. Not until the castle is complete. Besides, there are other distractions now, things I fear might make Rye difficult to control.”
“You mean the kid?” Hona said.
“Of course the kid.” Dyraien ran a hand through his hair. “We can work around this. We can still achieve what we set out to do, so long as Tahki completes the castle and you two get me the parcel.”
“We will,” Hona said. “It should arrive tomorrow night. We’ll bring it in back so Rye doesn’t see.”
Tahki felt a lump in his throat, maybe from the wine, from the confusion, from the way it seemed every time he learned something about this castle and these people, new complications arose. He heard the front door push open and moved away from the dining room out into the hall. He saw Rye heading to his workroom.
Tahki approached, sweaty and light-headed. “Rye?”
Rye turned. “What’s wrong?” The concern in his voice sounded warm and genuine. Tahki wondered if he should tell him about Zinc first but then thought better of it. He didn’t need any added complications. Whatever was going on between Dyraien and Zinc, Rye knew nothing about it.
“I need to talk to you.”
Rye opened the door, and they stepped inside the room that smelled of pine and cedar. Wood dust lay on the floor. A few lightning roots flickered. Tahki reached out and touched the bottom of the boat.
“Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?” Rye said.
Rain tapped against the window. A few drops, then a few more. The downpour thumped against the obsidian roof, ringing like a sad song.
Tahki’s eyes felt swollen. “I think it’s just the wine.”
In the dim light, he saw Rye’s face tighten. Hona had said their mother was a drunk, and he’d never seen Rye touch alcohol. Wine probably brought back bad memories.
“Gods, Rye, I had no idea,” Tahki said.
He thought about Rye’s childhood, about how alone he must have felt. Tahki had lost his mother, but his father worked hard to compensate for the loss. He never realized just how hard his father had tried to fill the void their mother’s death created. He worked full-time but still managed to play with and teach his children. He didn’t shove them into the arms of some servant and forget about them. And Sornjia had been there too. As much as Tahki resented his twin, he couldn’t count the number of times he’d gone to Sornjia for help, or confided in him, or asked his brother to cover for him.
“Tahki, what’s going on?”
Tahki met his gray eyes. “I can’t imagine what you went through.”
“What I went through?”
“When you—” Tahki hesitated. No secrets. That’s what he promised himself. “Hona told me about your childhood.”
A pained look crossed Rye’s face, and he turned away.
“I think she just wanted me to know more about you,” Tahki said.
“She had no right.” Rye’s voice was barely a whisper. When he faced Tahki, his eyes were wide, his breath rapid. “You should have asked me if you wanted to know about my life. Instead, you went to her. You heard it from her.”
Tahki frowned. He had asked Rye about his life, but Rye always changed the subject. “I didn’t ask her to tell me. She just did.”
“And you listened.” Rye balled his fists, his voice growing louder. “You could have walked away, but you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Tahki said, taken aback. “We were eating dinner. I thought it would be rude to leave.” Maybe he’d misread Rye all along. Rye clearly didn’t want him to know about his past.
“Stop lying,” Rye said, his voice booming off the walls. “All you care about is yourself. You think everyone needs to tell you everything because you deserve to know.”
Tahki shook his head. He was no stranger to tantrum throwing and knew firsthand what it was to overreact to a situation, but he didn’t understand why Rye reacted so hysterically.
“I’m sorry,” Tahki said again. The conversation escalated too quickly. He needed to end it. “You’re right. I should have asked her to stop. It was an honest mistake. Can we just forget I said anything?”
“Forget? Are you just going to forget that I’m some sad sob story? That I was neglected and abused? That my mother was an embarrassment, that my only sister abandoned me?”
Tahki shifted uneasily. “If you want to talk about it—”
“I don’t,” Rye snapped. “Not with you. Not anymore.” He put his hand over his mouth a moment, shaking lightly. “When I first met you, I thought you were just some pretentious kid. But then I saw your work, your passion, your imagination, and I thought maybe you were someone I could talk to, could relate to.”
Tahki nodded. “I am. You can.”
Rye laughed, a dark noise. “I know Dyraien isn’t always the best company, but at least he never pitied me or went behind my back.” His words came fast, and Tahki’s head twirled.
When he spoke again, Tahki’s voice sounded winded and desperate. “I’m not pitying you, and I didn’t go behind your back. I didn’t want secrets between us, so I came to tell you something. Something about me. Something important.”
Rye
