Orthriel’s eyebrows lift and the set of their mouth hardens as they register the portrait behind me.
‘I can see you weren’t expecting me,’ they say coolly, nodding towards the painting. ‘You know better than this, Leilani.’
I stare at my slippers, praying Orthriel won’t read my thoughts. But there’s a gentle pressure inside my head, like cool fingers rifling the pages of a book.
When my mind is my own again, I look up, hoping my Guardian understands why I was drawn to the portrait. Orthriel is Sistertouched too, though cielsylphs don’t bear the same burden as the Branded. When the Dawn Sister crafted the Guardian races from the Aethers, one apiece, and gifted them the ability to channel its singular powers that they might assist her in caring for Arcelia, she enabled them to perform some magic, but they’ve no capacity for Shadow; they’re not dangerous as we are – as I am.
The cielsylphs are tolerated – grudgingly, it’s true – but they’re not hated.
Orthriel’s bowed lips are drawn even tighter, but a shadow of something like pity flickers in their eyes. ‘Your views on the binding haven’t changed, then?’
I shake my head.
Orthriel opens their mouth, as if to speak, but closes it again.
A prickling sensation rises at the base of my neck. ‘What is it? You’re keeping something from me.’
The corners of their mouth twitch, but it’s a weak, sad smile and their eyes remain shadowed. ‘Your gifts grow stronger. Tell me, can you conjure visions at will yet?’
I flinch. My abilities are seldom openly discussed.
‘The intrusions are more frequent. And it’s images sometimes, not just whispers. But my second-sight still reveals what it chooses, not what I ask to see.’
Orthriel nods but their brow pleats, like they’re weighing something in their mind.
‘Guardianships are usually assigned randomly,’ they say at last. ‘You know this, yet you’ve never once asked why I requested this appointment.’
The prickling sensation creeps down my arms.
‘I have something to give you, to mark your coming-of-age.’ Orthriel’s voice is little more than a hoarse whisper now.
With a deep sigh, they close their eyes, muttering words in a sibilant language I recognise as Airsong, the tongue of the cielsylphs. A sealed envelope materialises in mid-air. I stare at the first gift Orthriel has ever bestowed on me.
The prickling spreads to my fingers.
The envelope bears my name in looping amethyst calligraphy. I reach for it, trace the elegant lettering with my index finger, and turn it over to inspect the seal.
A nine-pointed star, encased within a circlet of heartflowers. The Stellarion seal.
‘What is it?’ I whisper.
‘When the bonds of Guardianship were re-established, in tribute for all Noelani did to restore the realms, I swore an oath to protect your family’s interests.’ Orthriel shifts from one foot to the other, but their eyes never leave mine. ‘I still maintain that marrying Astrophel and forging an alliance with another member of the coterieisin your best interests, Leilani, and the best interests of the realm.’
I wince. ‘How can you say that? The curse of the Branded must die with me.’ I bite back a sob. ‘And Astrophel of all people. You know how it is between us. How it’s always been…’
Orthriel sighs again. ‘Yes, I know. And I can’t bear to see you so unhappy. Nor can I condone your father’s methods of persuasion.’
I look away, tracing a thumb across my wrist where I can still feel the ghost of the manacles. The phantom scent of rosemary fills the air.
Cielsylphs are supposed to be creatures of reason, less controlled by their emotions than mortals, but the bond between me and Orthriel runs deep. Deeper than it should.
‘I swore a second oath, many sunrings ago,’ Orthriel continues.
‘What are you talking about, Orthriel? You’re scaring me. Swore an oath to whom?’
‘To her.’ Orthriel nods towards the portrait. ‘To Noelani.’
I suck in a breath. Orthriel is immortal like the rest of their kind, yet it’s easy to forget they were once Noelani’s Guardian too. As a rule, they refuse to talk of her. The ache of her loss, too great, I’ve always assumed. The sting of her final betrayal, too sharp.
