“She would choose him over me?” His voice sounded small, heartbroken.
Okoa understood all too well. It was his unspoken fear, that one day Benundah would choose the Odo Sedoh over him. There was no comfort for the irrational feeling of betrayal except to say, “He is her god, too.”
His words juddered through Chaiya like an earthquake.
“Do you believe?”
It was a simple question, and until that moment, Okoa had not had an answer. But now he did. “Yes.”
“That he can free Carrion Crow?”
He nodded.
Chaiya heaved, his body shaking. It was grief, but it was more than just the sorrow of Kutssah’s rejection. The fight had drained from him, and he motioned Okoa to let him up. Okoa stood, wary, putting his body between the two men. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Serapio’s chest move. He was stunned, but alive.
Chaiya fell to his knees before him. “There is something you must know.”
Okoa’s stomach dropped. All his instincts shouted at him that whatever Chaiya meant to confess, he did not want to know it. Tears streamed down his cousin’s face, the way they had when he had come to the war college and first brought news of his mother’s death.
Panic spiked his adrenaline. “No, Chaiya. I don’t need to know. Whatever it is, I forgive you.”
“It is about your mother, Yatliza.”
Okoa pressed his back against the wall. He had stumbled away from his cousin without even realizing it. He held his hand out, fingers splayed, as if he could hold off his words.
“You have to understand, it was different from how it is now.” Chaiya bowed his head. “There had been two assassination attempts on the Sun Priest’s life, and the Sky Made were already blaming Carrion Crow. The Odohaa had been quiet since your father’s death, but they had been getting louder, more emboldened in their talk of prophecy and vengeance, and Yatliza was allowing it.”
There was a buzzing in Okoa’s ears, as if a million bees lived inside his head.
“We could not survive another Night of Knives.”
“You killed her.” It was the barest whisper, a breath of horror.
Chaiya shook his head. “I did not touch her. But when the Priest of Knives climbed the cliffside and stole into her room, I stood on the other side of the door and did not stop xir.”
Okoa sank to the ground. He wrapped his arms around his head and pressed his forehead to his knees. There had to be a mistake, some strange misunderstanding. This could not be real.
“Can you forgive me, Okoa? I thought I was doing the right thing, fulfilling my duty to Carrion Crow. How could I know, how could any of us know, that the Crow God Reborn would come and change our world?”
A voice like a thousand black wings spoke. “You should have had faith.”
Okoa looked up. Serapio loomed behind Chaiya, who was still on his knees. He lifted a hand, Chaiya’s obsidian knife in his grip.
“No!” Okoa screamed.
Chaiya’s smile was small and resigned as his eyes fluttered shut, and Serapio drew the black blade across his neck. Blood poured from his throat, and he slumped to the aviary floor.
A clatter on the stairs, and suddenly the room was filled with Shields.
“Ituya, no!” Okoa shouted, but the man had seen Chaiya’s body fall and was already charging toward Serapio, knife raised. It was a reckless attack, doomed from its inception.
The Odo Sedoh turned to the side, catching Ituya by the arm and neck as he slashed wildly. He forced the guard to the ground, crushing his wrist until Okoa heard the bones break. Before Okoa could move, the Odo Sedoh had grabbed Ituya by the head and twisted, snapping his neck. The effect was instantaneous, and Ituya fell dead beside Chaiya.
Another dozen Shields had spread out across the room, and Serapio turned to face them. He cut across his forearm, letting the blood rise and his veins blacken, and shadow dripped from his fingers.
He would kill them all, Okoa realized in horror, and he could only stand by and witness it. My way is death, he had said, and Okoa had not understood. He understood now.
He struggled to his feet. He saw Serapio tilt his head at the sound, as if taking note of his position.
“Hold!” he shouted to his Shield. “I am your captain, and I command you to hold!” And to Serapio, “Please. I am not your enemy. The Shield is not your enemy.”
Serapio’s voice was a soft whisper, no longer that sepulchral horror. “I don’t believe you, Okoa Carrion Crow. I think perhaps you lured me here hoping to kill me all along.”