The room felt hot and stuffy and exposed. Tahki couldn’t remember the last time his curtains had been open. He squinted, watching as they moved out his rosewood drafting table, collected his schematics and designs, and shoved them into a box to be disposed of. How many hours of work had they tossed away? Five hundred? Two thousand? Ten thousand? He’d poured hours of his life into those designs.
They took his compass and all his books, even the ones that didn’t have anything to do with architecture. When one of the servants picked up his favorite pencil, he leaped off his bed and snatched it from her hands.
“No,” Tahki said. “Not this one.” It had been his mother’s pencil, crafted from black coral with a refillable graphite chamber. His mother had designed it herself.
The servant shot a hesitant look to Gotem. Gotem nodded, and the servant left Tahki alone.
Gotem sighed and walked over to Tahki’s bed with his hands behind his back. His long yellow and red robes dragged across the floor, his bald head reflecting sunlight from the window.
“So, this is your revenge?” Tahki said. “I destroy your things so you destroy mine, and we’re even?”
Gotem sat on the bed and straightened his robes. “That’s not how I want things to be between us. Your father and I thought it best for your own safety that you give this up, before you hurt yourself or your brother.”
“You need to mind your own damn business. You’re not part of our family,” Tahki said. Gotem was the abbot monk. His father sought his advice on every sort of matter after Tahki’s mother had died. Personal. Political. Parental. Like sitting on your ass all day gave you the right to dictate how people should live.
“I know how badly you wanted to enter the fair,” Gotem said. “Even though you’re angry at me, you must believe me when I say Vatolokít is no place for you. It’s no place for anyone from Dhaulen’aii. The people there are wicked and foul. They will hurt you.”
Tahki scowled. “You don’t know anything about them.”
The World Fair of Innovation and Invention had been held annually in the northern country of Vatolokít for the last seventy years. Every country around the world was invited to share and discover new technology. Even Tahki’s mother had attended one year when she was younger. Anyone who wanted to make a name for themselves entered their designs in competitions at the fair. It was where all the greatest architects and inventors of this century got their start. But ten years ago, borders between Dhaulen’aii and Vatolokít had been closed. Every Dhaulenian living in Vatolokít had been forced to move out. His father had said it was due to political and religious disagreements. But the reasons didn’t matter. All Tahki knew was that if the borders had been open, he wouldn’t have needed his father’s permission to enter the fair.
Tahki was eighteen. He would have gone to the fair in a heartbeat, but he’d needed his father’s diplomatic influence to gain him special access. Without his father’s help, he’d be arrested if he tried to cross, possibly killed. Which meant this really was the end for him. Even if he moved out, winning at the fair was the only way he’d ever make a name for himself. And if he couldn’t make a name for himself, if he couldn’t be recognized by the world as great, he was nothing.
Gotem patted him on the back. Tahki pulled away.
“I know everything seems dire at your age,” Gotem said. “But trust me, this is for your own good.”
Tahki didn’t reply, and Gotem took his leave. The servants completed the raid, then left as well. His empty room looked like every other part of the palace now. There was nothing of him left in it. It could be anybody’s room.
He felt his mattress bounce. Sornjia scooted up beside him.
“The good thing about an empty room,” Sornjia said, “is that it can always be refilled with something new. Something better.”
Tahki held the coral pencil close to his chest. “There is nothing better to fill the room with. They took everything I care about.”
Sornjia flopped back on the bed. “You shouldn’t be angry with Gotem.”
“Traitor. How could you defend him?”
“I’m not. But Gotem knows things. Normal people see the world in a fog, and Gotem is the wind that sucks in all the fog so people can see where they’re going.”
He didn’t expect Sornjia to understand. Sornjia never had anything taken away. Everyone loved him. The servants, the monks, the merchants, and children. Even the animals liked him. Stray dogs would lick his hand. They only ever growled at Tahki. That had been another reason he so desperately wanted to travel. Here, Tahki wasn’t Tahki. He was “one of the twins.” He was “Sornj-Tahki.” He had no outer identity, so he had to work extra hard to make an inner one. Not like his brother ever minded if they got mistaken for each other. Sometimes Sornjia would even pretend to be Tahki. If Tahki was rude to a merchant, Sornjia would go back and apologize. Sornjia was like a housemaid, following Tahki around, cleaning up his mistakes. He’d even tried to stop Tahki from fixing the temple.
“Leave me alone, Sornjia.”
Sornjia sighed and sat up. “I have something for you.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”
Sornjia pushed him off the bed and dug his hands under the mattress.
“What are you doing?” Tahki said. He watched his brother pull out a handful of oversized papers.
“I hid them before the servants took everything. I only saved a dozen or so, but I think they’re some of your best work,” Sornjia said.
Tahki took the papers. He
