Less than a day after I’d won the Sands, our uncle was gone. And so was our future. A healer for Evren. A small but comfortable house on the coast in Nesonias. Fresh seafood every day. Vegetables from the small garden I’d learn how to tend. An education. Not just for my brothers … but for me too.
“There’s no point looking back.”
“I’m not looking back. I’m looking forward.” His chin juts out. “One day, I’m going to find him, and I’m going to kill him.”
“You won’t be able to,” I tell him, mock seriously. “Because I’ll find him first.”
Gerith smiles, but it’s shaky. “How could he do it? I just … I don’t understand.”
Of course he doesn’t understand.Idon’t understand.
“Ger—”
“You risked your life to win that money. We had everything we needed.”
“I don’t like to talk about that time,” I say.
His eyes are solemn. “Because of her. And because of him.”
Grief rips into me like a talon, stealing my breath. He’s not talking about our uncle now.
Occasionally, I think I’m doing fine, that I’m moving on with my life, and then I hear her name. Or I’m reminded ofhim.
“Yes.”
Gerith studies my face. “One day, when I’m big, I’ll fight in the Sands. We’ll get enough money to cure Ev. And we’ll all leave.”
My smile freezes on my face.
I’ll die before I let my brothers step foot in any arena. Every move Imake is with the goal of getting both of them far from Senthara, where the emperor’s delights are no more than a distant memory. But I know better than to say such a thing. As the twins have grown, so has their male pride.
“Time to get up.”
He nods, and I leave him to dress. Pulling off my boots, I keep my sword strapped to my back, still … perturbed by my vampire visitor.
Perturbedis a good word. It implies I’m feeling slightly unsettled. A little uneasy. Not dry-mouthed, slick-palmed, and dizzy with fear.
The lung tonics from Nesonias are keeping my brother alive. What else is Bran willing to do to make me fall in line?
I push the thought away. I’m used to being on the defensive. I do it every day while guarding the kinds of people who make enemies simply by breathing. I don’t enjoy being reactive, but I know better than to wring my hands, worrying.
If I travel to Mataras this morning, I’ll be back within a couple of days. The apothecary there will have the tonics we need. I’m sure of it. I hate the thought of leaving Gerith and Evren, but I doubt the vampire cleaned out the apothecaries in nearby towns.
Padding into our tiny kitchen, I open the cool box. The crystal inside is dull, and the aether keeping our meager food chilled is a faint hum. After I replenish Evren’s lung tonics and pay the emperor’s ever-increasing taxes, I’ll have just enough to fill the aether crystals. Gerith desperately needs a new pair of boots, but they’ll have to wait.
My chest pangs. He’d never complain, but I know his feet became soaked last time it rained. I heard Evren and Gerith murmuring about it when they thought I wasn’t listening.
The milk ran out two days ago, so I make the porridge with water, seasoning it with a pinch of salt in place of sugar or honey.
The twins are grumbling at each other in one of their rooms, their voices muffled by the door. Neither of them enjoys mornings. By the time they slouch into their chairs at the table—Evren pale and drawn, Gerith wincing at the sight of the thin porridge—faint sunlight streams through the window. The first light of dawn makes Gerith’s blond hair glow, while Evren’s hair is so dark it seems to swallow the light. Born just minutes apart, they couldn’t be more different—in both appearance and personality.
When Gerith turns his head, pale ribbons of sunlight brush hisgold sigil in a flicker of brightness that fades when he shifts out of the sun. My lungs squeeze, and I force the fear away. My power may not have woken, but that doesn’t mean my brothers will face the same devastation. They won’t be like me.
Sigilmarked are born with latent powers, our potential revealed by the color of our sigils, and how much they grow over time. All sigilmarked children gain a handful of minor abilities like basic shielding, conjuring a spark with a flick of their fingers, purifying small amounts of water, or quickening the growth of plants. Between the ages of eleven and fifteen, their true power emerges—sometimes two if they’re exceptionally gifted or blessed. A rare few receive power granted by the gods they worship.
“Arvelle?”
Forcing a smile, I drag my gaze away from Gerith’s sigil. “I need to go to Mataras today. Remember—”
