His chin jerked over to the youngpyroki. I swallowed hard, understanding his meaning.
“No one saw,” I said, setting my jaw.
Kiron’s lips pressed, but he backed away from the fence. “I’ll see you tonight.”
I watched him go with a frown and a furrowed brow. My pointed ears twitched in worry. Kiron never did anything without reason. I just feared what that reason might be.
The newbornpyroki’s bleating cry pierced through my tumultuous thoughts, and I turned. I pushed Kiron from my mind. I had a duty here, one I took seriously, one that would become my future.
Even my brother couldn’t sway me from it.
Chapter 2
AMAIA
“There had better beleisoflour in that sack,” my mother grumbled when I stepped through the front door with the remnants of my dirtied clothes in a satchel. I was winded, having climbed up the three sets of stairs to our home, the muscles in my legs threatening to give. Hours later, with the sun slowly melting into the horizon line, I still hadn’t recovered.
The older I got, I realized, the more depleting the heartstone magic felt. I didn’t want to dwell too much on what that meant, so I pushed it from my mind. Besides, if my mother suspected I had used it again, especially with an audience, she’d have my head.
“Not quite.” I beamed, shouldering the crooked door closed before going over to her, stooping to drop a kiss across her cheek. “You’ll forgive me though. The youngpyrokihas a line of gold scales and is quite a talker. You’d love him.”
“Good omen,” said my mother’s friend, Avis, who was sitting at the low table, helping to fix a stitch on a leather sleeve. She nodded even as she squinted down at her mending. “Kakkari has blessed the little one. Now you cannot be upset with the washing, Mae.”
“I’lldo the washing tomorrow,” I said, falling down onto the floor next to them, my eyes flickering around the cozy space of our little home. The long hours attending to the newborn had softened my ire at Kiron. Besides, he’d said the choice was mine to make, and I’d already informed him what it would be. “Don’t worry,Lomma.” Mother.
“If you wait until the morning, that sack will stink up the entire building,” mylommatsked. Despite her scolding tone, there was a light in her eyes. She was in a good mood, happy at the prospect of having dinner with her son. “Did Kiron find you? He said he would look for you.”
“Lysi, he did,” I replied, picking at a stray thread on my clean pants. I always kept a fresh set handy on birthing days. Avis slapped my hand away, and I bit back a smile when she pointed her needle at me in warning.
My mother, Mae, was a well-known seamstress in the Market District, often having a pile of orders dropped at our door most mornings, which I’d have to climb over on my way to thepyrokienclosures. Usually Avis, our neighbor—who was truthfully more like a sister to my mother, would be over in the evenings to help her finish the batch in exchange for a meal.
“Good,” my mother said, smiling. At fifty, she was beautiful, with smooth, dark skin and bright green eyes. Her silky black-and-silver hair was done up in a neat braid that hung over her shoulder. “He should be here soon. Your father should be cooling down the forges by now. Go wash up and get that sack dumped in some water.”
With a barely concealed groan, I climbed to my feet, casting my gaze to the simmering pot in the hearth. “What’s for supper? It smells good.”
“I’m surprised you can smell anything past that stench,” my mother grumbled. Avis cackled and took another sip from her goblet of wine. “Wrissanstew.”
Kiron’s favorite.
These evening sewing sessions were more of a social circle. Sometimes some of my mother’s other friends would join them and they’d be up until the quiet hours of morning gabbing and gossiping. I’d fallen asleep to the muffled sounds of laughter and voices more times than I could count. The sounds of people filling a home were always comforting to me, and I’d learned to be a deep sleeper, as had my father, who was the complete opposite of my outgoing and social mother.
It took me longer than usual to get my dirtied clothes soaking and to wash up—especially since I gave my hair an extra good scrubbing. I would sleep well tonight, I thought as I rubbed a clean cloth through my damp hair. I would feel like normal in the morning. Or at least I hoped I would.
When I emerged from the washroom, I saw Kiron had already arrived. Even out of his polished guard uniform, he looked like an older, more severe version of the brother I’d grown up with. He was smiling and chatting with Avis as my mother stirred the stew in the hearth. The table was already set, but my father likely hadn’t returned home.
Kiron’s eyes connected with mine when I stepped into the family room. Our childhood home was nothing like theDothikkar’s palace, the halls of which Kiron now regularly roamed, and I wondered if he found it strange to be back in the cramped space, where we shared so many memories with our family. It had to be jarring for him. As jarring as it was for me to see him here again.
My brother stood from the low table and approached me.
“Now I can claim that hug,” he told me, his voice warm. But as his arms enveloped me and I turned my cheek against his chest to rest there, a part of me was wary. “Can we talk before supper?”
The inquiry was quiet, slightly hushed. I felt it rumble against my own chest.
I pulled back to meet his eyes. I cast a glance at ourlomma, who was still hovering over the pot of stew, neatly shapedleisoloaves baking on the hot stone next to it.
I inclined my head, and Kiron announced, “We’ll be right back,Lomma.”
She spun and frowned, hands on her hips. “Where are you going?”
