Just a little something to get my feet wet in this new universe. I wanted to spend a bit more time with Akos and Cyra, and get to know them better. (Because boy, I would love to spend a heck of a lot more time with them in the future.)

Would love to know what you think. xx

Yours, To Keep

Akos

By all accounts, the days before the sojourn ended could almost be described as peaceful. They were the days after Vas had dragged him in front of Ryzek, and used as extortion for Cyra's cooperation in the renegade interrogation. The days after she cracked and gave in, unable to watch him suffer. The days after she kissed him.

Ryzek left them alone. It was as though he knew they needed time for the knowledge to sink in. As though time alone could strengthen this new weakness, before he struck again.

In a manner of speaking, it worked. They settled into a strange sort of domestic routine. One that involved Cyra inundating him with her extensive knowledge of Pitha and its culture. That involved them sitting side by side on the edge of her bed, watching the day's news. That involved her almost breaking his arm during training. He got her back during the late night brewing sessions, though.

But there was something a little off about her. Cyra seemed a bit mellower, more distracted. It wasn't enough to be a pattern, and hardly worth mentioning – but with all the time they spent together in the cramped confines of the sojourn ship, Akos had noticed. He'd first noticed it the morning she forgot to use her hairspray. Their morning routine was so familiar – him eating breakfast at the kitchen counter, her getting ready in the bathroom – that he'd felt the absence of the sound her spray bottle made before he even realized what it was.

Cyra, her dark hair thick and springy, had eaten through half her breakfast before she caught him looking. "What is it?" She'd asked, eyebrows raised.

He'd seen her hair in its natural state, of course. He remembered skidding into her room in the middle of the night, her screams echoing in his ears, to find her twisted in her bedsheets, hair matted and wet with sweat, thrashing in pain.

But he was seeing it now, the way it curled around her face, framing her austere expression in a cascade of question marks. In answer, Akos reached across the counter, tugging gently on a loose curl of hair. "New style," he commented neutrally.

Cyra's eyes widened as she felt his fingers slide through her hair, the shadows swirling across her cheeks. Recovering quickly, she glared at him.

"It suits you," Akos added softly, his lips twitching. His hand settled easily against her shoulder and he watched the shadows recede.

She said nothing, choosing instead to polish off her breakfast as he moved to clear the dishes. But he noticed by the time the guard knocked on the door to escort her to the observation desk, her hair was sleek and tamed once more.

She caught his glance, and grinned sheepishly.

Akos didn't hear the sound of the hairspray the next day, either, but he was fairly sure it wasn't because she had forgotten. Cyra never needed to be reminded twice.

Besides being a bit more distracted, Akos noticed she was quieter, a little less likely to sharpen her tongue on him, her snappish retorts coming more like an afterthought.

He wondered what was on her mind. He was reluctant to ask, realizing he both craved and dreaded her answer. Akos told himself he didn't want to disturb the peace, and then wondered if he was becoming too comfortable, or not comfortable enough.

Cyra also disappeared for long periods of time. She would come back, not with the relaxed posture of a good training session, nor with the coiled tension of a trapped animal after a meeting with Ryzek – if anything, she moved with the cool efficiency of conducting a business transaction.

Akos watched her, quietly and thoughtfully, and left her alone. He knew that if and when she wanted to tell him, she would.

He turned his attention to Jorek and Suzao instead. His actions escalated swiftly, just as Cyra predicted. In a matter of days, he'd poisoned Jorek's father, heard the challenge against him, and then killed Suzao Kuzar in the arena.

Then, he broke, disgusted by the pieces he saw around him. Prisoner, trapped in a way he couldn't control. Coward, betraying the person he had been in order to save – what, exactly? Killer.

And she was there, at his side, giving him her full attention. She told him, again and again, that she saw something more than all those pieces. That he was stronger than that. Better than that.

Akos wanted to believe her. Wanted to think that he could believe her. After all, she was Cyra Noavek, perpetual pain generator, trained killer, Ryzek's scourge, Akos' destined downfall –

"This is a war. Don't be ashamed of fighting it."

– and yet, she was so much more.

Cyra Noavek was someone he admired. Someone he cared for. Someone – holy crap – he wanted.

The next day, he saw the familiar glint of a plain dagger on his pillow. Akos stopped in the doorway, staring at it.

That he could use the protection a knife afforded was obvious.

That Cyra was giving him back the knife he had used to betray her spoke volumes.

It wasn't that she had forgiven him. It wasn't that she trusted him. Cyra Noavek knew better than to speak in those terms.

I think you might be lying to yourself about who I am.

She knew him now. Knew what motivated him. And still she handed it over.

The night Akos had drugged and betrayed her, he had convinced himself he could care less about what happened to any of the Noaveks. But he did care. He cared about her. And when he realized this, Akos found himself wishing Cyra wasn't a Noavek.

But maybe what he really wished was that he wasn't born the fated third Kereseth. Then he wouldn't be torn in two, struggling to save his brother, destined to betray his country, unable to freely choose the woman who'd given him any semblance of meaning and hope after his kidnapping.

Akos drew closer to the bed, reluctant to pick up the dagger. Wondering if it would ultimately bring them together or throw them apart.

Don't be an idiot, Akos imagined Cyra saying. Keep it.

Her voice sounded nonchalant, the way it did when she handed him the vial of rainwater on Pitha. Take it.

You are the only person he could possibly hold over me now. She hadn't sounded nonchalant then, but they had pretended she did.

Akos picked up the dagger, tucking it away. It was just a dagger. But he knew what it meant. Cyra was giving him everything she had.

Cyra

Akos seemed almost… relaxed, the night we returned to Voa, as we stood side by side along the counter, brewing my nightly painkiller.

Or perhaps I was just tenser than usual. He made a joke. I schooled my features into a glare, and tried to relax my muscles.

Akos laughed, the sound echoing around the small room as he peered at the chopping board in front of me, watching me slice sendes stalks. His arm lingered across my shoulders, warm and heavy, and I wondered how something could feel so reassuring and intoxicating at the same time.

I fought to memorize that feeling, while a part of me foolishly wished for more.

And then I felt his fingers against my spine, against my shoulder blade – an involuntary pressure, a caress. I held still to keep from trembling. I knew then I could never forget this sensation, even if I wanted to.

If anyone had accused me of obsessively guarding my memories (not that anyone bothered), they wouldn't be wrong. I was raised a Noavek and had Ryzek for a brother. Pain, fear, and dark secrets made up most of my past. But they were mine, and to lose them was to lose myself. I lived in daily terror of Ryzek taking even a single memory.

Over the last few years, I really shouldn't have bothered. With the increasingly incapacitating pain of my currentgift, there hadn't been much worth remembering.

When my brother handed Akos Kereseth off to me, he was supposed to be a prisoner, a servant, a tool for my use. Although that first night had felt very much the opposite, with me groveling at his feet, and him with the power to withhold pain at will. That night, I had to let him know that wasn't the case.

But over the weeks, Akos was the one who proved he wasn't going to be what Ryzek had advertised. We had all underestimated what he was made of, me most of all. Perhaps, as a Noavek, I didn't have the capacity to understand what he was made of.

Little by little, he had given me new glimpses, new definitions. He gave me new memories.

Memories of waking from nightmares screaming in agony, to find that relief was immediate because he was there. He had held my hand, speaking softly into my ear, and that had almost been comfort enough.

The feeling of running hand-in-hand through the city streets during the Storm, laughing even though we could hardly breathe.

The way he cradled me against him, when I had just killed a woman with my bare hands moments before.

The nights we prepared meals side by side in the crowded confines of our room on the ship, thinking how easy it could be to fall into this routine for the rest of our days. When I joked about it, Akos had smiled, looked away, and blushed.

I grinned inwardly. There had also been that moment a few days ago, during one of our last sparring sessions on the ship. I had him pinned to the ground, and was on the verge of dissecting his mistake, when I caught the challenge in his eye. He thrust upward, and I moved a moment too late. Our hips met in a way neither of us had anticipated. We froze. I was close enough to see his pupils darken. My breath shook.

Akos laughed, a nervous sound. Quickly, I moved off him, but the feeling of wanting, of needing, persisted. In another world, we would have been free to discover what happened next. But in this one, Ryzek would make sure we suffered for it – and I couldn't let that happen to Akos. I would get him out of here.

But at least these memories were now irrevocably mine. To keep.

When the elixir was ready, Akos walked me to the door, and I stood in the doorway and looked at him. He handed me the brew, giving me a small smile.

I tried to smile back, even though all I could think was that this was the last time I would see him. Despite myself, the thought filled me with terror.

A look of concern crossed his face. I could control my body, but I couldn't hide the currentshadows now racing frantically along my skin, exposing my panic. The pressure increased behind my eyes. He reached for me, and I let him tug me towards him.

"Cyra, what's wrong?" His breath against my temple was all hushflower and spice.

I let my head drop against his shoulder, felt him fold me into him. That was his way – comfort first, and understand later.

"Nothing," I mumbled into his shirt, "long day." I didn't want to tarnish this last memory with a lie. I took a breath, and gently pushed away from him.

Akos looked unconvinced, but I knew he wouldn't push me. He nodded, and I stepped out and closed his door, locking him in.

Back in my room, I poured the elixir down the sink, and prepared to meet the renegades. For Akos, I could do this. No, I suddenly thought. Because of Akos, I could do this.

Because of him, I knew what it was to believe in something other than hatred. Other than fear. I knew how it felt to be strong and vulnerable at the same time. To want to protect instead of just to defend. I knew what it was like to be whole. Because that was who Akos was, and he reminded me time and time again I could be that way, too.

And because of him, I knew now how it felt to do things from love.

Because of Akos, I could be more than I was.

Even if I died tonight, surely that counted as something of a victory, which too, was now mine to keep.