But I’d shoved more bread and meat in his cool box. And he’d eaten it. I continued to visit at least once a week. For Kas. Because she would have done the same for me.
And gods, she would have been horrified by the state of this house.
The once vibrant garden is now overgrown with weeds, the paint on the wooden siding is faded and flaked, and the blue shutters Kas loved are now hanging askew.
This house was once Leon’s pride and joy, bought with his winnings from his year in the Sands.
Straightening my shoulders, I walk inside. The cottage smells stuffy, as if Leon hasn’t opened a window in months. His fire is burning low, a pile of kindling strewn messily on the hearth.
Leon steps into the room; his gray eyes are blurred with sleep, and a pillow crease slices across one cheek. He’s still a large bear of a man, with a wide, stubborn jaw and high forehead. Both his dark hair andunshaven beard are shot through with silver in places, the sight making my stomach twist.
“I won’t be able to visit anymore,” I say.
Silence stretches between us as he stares at me. Finally, he turns away.
“Fine. I don’t need you here.”
I stare at the back of his neck. His skin used to turn a light umber each summer as he trained us outside, but now, he’s paler than I’ve ever seen him. It’s as if his grief has diminished him somehow. As if it’s sucked the marrow from his bones.
“I’ll be competing in the Sundering.”
The silence grows teeth that gnaw at me. Slowly, Leon turns back. His eyes are no longer blurred. No, now they’re cold gray steel.
Twenty years ago, the emperor made the Sands compulsory for sigilmarked.
Winners of the Sands are strongly urged to join the ranks of the Praesidium Guard. Although others must still undergo rigorous qualification, victors are immediately granted the chance to compete in the Sundering. But for me—and Kas—competing in the Sundering was never the goal. All we wanted was to survive the Sands and finally start living the rest of our lives.
My hands begin to shake, and I shove them in my pockets.
“You would disrespect her memory that way?” Leon demands.
Gods, he always knows just where to strike. My throat is so tight, I can barely speak, and I force myself to take a slow, deep breath. “I have to.”
“You have no business getting into that arena.”
“I know. I still have to do it.”
“After every intake, fewer than half of those who compete will still be breathing. Of those survivors, another third will die while training as novices for the Guard.”
I’m well aware of the statistics. And still, my heart falls into my stomach.
“I know this too. It doesn’t change a thing.”
“Get out of my house.”
“Fine. Carrick will look in on you.”
“Out!” Leon roars, and a gust of wind slams his front door wide open. His silver sigil glows, his face reddens, and the tiniest spark of satisfaction lights within me. At least when he’s furious, he looks like he’s alive again.
I stalk toward the door. He shadows my footsteps, unable to leave it alone. “What are you thinking?”
Turning, I stare into his lifeless eyes. And I tell him about Bran. I tell him Bran wants me to make it through the Sundering. Idon’ttell him about the other part of my deal with Bran. The part that involves cold-blooded murder. If I’m caught, at least Leon will be able to swear he had nothing to do with it.
Leon leans against the doorframe, steadying himself. “Why would a vampire show up and blackmail you into the Sundering?”
I don’t reply and he narrows his eyes. “It’s a death sentence.”
“Either I go, or my brother dies.”
