“Quite right.” He purses his lips. “There’s an old wives’ tale that is shared among agronomists, that if twins are born, one must always die young.”
He’s testing me. Waiting for a reaction. Poking and prodding until I crumple to pieces.You know nothing about Scarlett or her death.
“There’s a rumor that Demechnef wants you,” I say, using his subtle tool of invasiveness. Niles whispered it in my ear before I left his room. He said it was mere gossip, but who knows, right?
His expression gives nothing away. He says, “Is that so?”
“It is. And that’s why you ran, to avoid their one, unannounced, annual visit.”
The corners of his mouth unmask a curious smirk.
“And there’s a rumor you set the fire with your sister inside because you were jealous of her. You wanted to steal her life.” And he’s back in the game.
The strong muscles keeping the composure in my face fall like a handful of honey slipping through my fingers. I miss what her thin hand felt like in mine, even as the flames warmed the room, and sweat made my grasp slippery—and even though her hand was lifeless. She was still my sad, frail sister.
I miss you, Scarlett.
“Unfortunately for that theory, I never envied a single thing about her life.” My shoulders slump forward, and my head bows like a dying tree soaked by too much rain.
“But she envied yours.”
My eyes snap up, and my neck straightens.
“How could youpossiblyknow that?” I study his confident expression, investigate his eyes for the truth.“Can you read minds?” I ask, slightly mortified at the thought of him snooping around in my head.
He stares at me. Blinks. Blinks a little slower.“Really,” he says with every hint of sarcasm there is.“Thatis the best theory you came up with.” I slouch, almost wanting to laugh in my own face.“You’re disappointing. I thought you were supposed to be miraculously gifted at this.”
At this, I perk up. The challenge of a locked door waits in front of me. It calls my name. I move closer. Our knees are touching. He peers down and tenses up, always furrowing his brow at my touch.
“It happened when you were a child… Didn’t it?” I ask with calm caution.
He remains reserved, as still as a priest in confession.
“A trauma, or a loss that brought this personality into existence,” I add.
I pause again, as if the silence will give him the opportunity to nod.
“He must have needed someone strong like you. Brave. Intelligent. And you saved him, didn’t you? The child—the man—that hosts this body. I can only imagine the horror he must have seen.”
His lips separate as he prepares his words. But this time, I don’t need affirmation. I only have one more thing to say.
“The asylum doesn’t have a record of family for you. That must mean he lost his family. They died—and you helped himsurvive it.”
He looks at me, eyes digging into mine, whispering so many secrets, and barely surviving everything he knows. And in those dark eyes, there’s a light of interest, like a candle behind a sheet of fog. He leans closer and whispers.“You’re playing a dangerous game, Skylenna.”
The way he says my name. My whole name.“Please, let me in,” I whisper back.
Dessin grins, finally, like waiting for a show of fireworks.
“You first.”
21. Beacon
It is on this daythat Dessin and I share an unspoken truth.
We don’t have to say it—but we can see it in each other’s eyes. That narrow peephole into the universe of the soul lost in darkness and trauma.
I could never speak a word of the day Scarlett died. I’ll likely take it to my grave, tucked deep in my pocket, forever a mystery to the rest of the world. She was too precious to me, and her death is a burden only I will live with.
