The Right to Die | ✓ Amby Winner 2023

21. A Gift for the Prav'sudja

When M'yu woke, the house was dark except for a small fire in the sitting room hearth. The flames danced over the glass-top coffee table and set shadows wavering along the paneled walls. M'yu pushed against the couch cushions to sit, and a breath hissed out from his teeth. His ribs ached dully, then sharper as he moved. He ran a hand under his shirt, fingers greeted by clean, thick cloth wrapped around his midsection. He bit his split lip. Someone must have done it while he slept.

A blanket clung to one of his shoulders, and he pulled it into his lap, fingers massaging the fabric. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a licking like that and woken up warm, bandaged, and safe. There was always a draft to mind, never enough supplies to tend, and a hiding spot that wouldn't be hidden for much longer.

M'yu's people were still living like that. He pushed off the blanket. The air chilled his lap, but he stood up. He'd gone soft, and they couldn't afford that.

He went to get Ruslan's linkcard.

The walk up the stairs was long, but M'yu just grit his teeth. He'd taken worse beatings before. And some Cap twerp wasn't going to stop him from doing what was right. Tonight, no one was going to stop him.

He pulled the card out from its hiding place between two bricks in the chimney. Someone had brought his coat and shoes back to his room, and he double-checked his lockpicks were still there. His knife went into the pocket as well, and once he'd laced up his shoes, he was ready to go.

At the doorway, he took one glance back. There was the desk he'd pulled all-nighters at for the last month; there was the bed Ashya had read her fairytale from; there was the hearth the maids always kept warm. The wood of the door tugged at M'yu's fingers as his hand ran down it. Every morning for a month, three sharp raps and that gruff, Cap-clear voice: Are you ready, boy? M'yu bit his lip and then bit harder. He didn't want it to have been an illusion. He didn't want it to have been just an act.

But he'd always known better than to trust anything gold.

He thumbed his necklace, pulled his beanie down over his ears, and pushed out of the room. "Up with the innocent."

Aevryn's hover was around back. M'yu pulled out his own card—a replacement Aevryn gave him after M'yu's was stolen. He'd never pressed M'yu too hard about the string of mystery card thefts at school. M'yu had thought it was because his own card got taken too. Now he supposed he just hadn't asked a question he didn't want an answer to.

M'yu swiped it at the door. It opened, but he glanced back over his shoulder at the sleeping house. Sucking on the spot in his mouth where the sore used to be, he dove back into the house for one last thing.

The kitchen was quiet and dark, and M'yu searched by the dim light of his linkcard for the cake boxes Evriss had used to display and transport M'yu's gift for his table. They were tucked against the cold-box, and he pulled one out and popped it into shape, then dug through some of the cabinets for ribbon and tied up the empty box with a nice bow. After pushing a piece of paper with a stub of note under it, he tucked the box under his arm and slipped back out to the hover.

When the map lit up on the console, M'yu drug his finger across the path that would take him to the Prav'sudja.

The vehicle hummed and started off. Tingling pinpricks ran up and down M'yu's chest as his brain played through what if's. Maybe it wasn't Aevryn's hover that got Aevryn through the Prav'sudja gates; maybe it was his linkcard. And the Tsaright wouldn't be expecting anyone this time of night. Was the face of the Prav'sudja always open, or only for events? Even if it was open, what stopped the Tsaright from putting guards there? It had only been servants before, but—