Chapter One
We all live in a cage.
Some are gilded. Some are iron. And others, like ours, are made of nothing but silence and the weight of what we're forbidden to remember. My brother's obsession with this concept borders on madness—like everything else he finds remotely interesting.
It's one of the many things we have in common. Along with the womb we shared, our caramel skin, dark curls, and the incessant curiosity that has gotten us both into trouble more times than I care to count. But even my obsessions have limits. Or perhaps, as Jordi likes to remind me, my limits are set by the cage I'm kept in.
As if I've summoned him with the thought, I feel his presence. That familiar hum of restless energy, sharp and frantic, pressing against the edges of my awareness. One of the gifts the gods blessed me with is the ability to sense others nearby, and Jordi's is always the easiest to find.
My eyes flick from the cages lining my workspace to the door, then to the injured raven on the table. I grab it just as the door slams open. It lets out a guttural croak as Jordi rushes inside clutching fistfuls of maps.
I open my mouth to reprimand him for not knocking and for bringing those damned maps here again, but the words die on my tongue. My brother, who presses his clothes each morning and keeps his hair cropped, looks unrecognizable. Disheveled. Unshaven. With shadows carved beneath those bloodshot hazel eyes I’ve always been jealous of.
The dull ache that has made a home in my chest these last two years deepens into something sharper.Gods. If I could turn back time, I would go to our first day at Veritas University, when we were eager students who didn't yet understand the weight of what we'd been given. When we were simply grateful not to be laborers, hauling stones to expand the Council’s already massive amphitheater.
I would find a way to avoid whatever drove this wall of secrets and resentment. It's a futile dream, but I still wish for it each time I see him. But the gods didn't grant me the gift to turn back time. They blessed me with curses instead.
“This must be one of your emergencies,” I say flatly.
Rather than answering, he stomps across the worn stone floor and unrolls his maps across my worktable, scattering vials and dried herbs and the careful order I'd spent the morning maintaining. The raven hops sideways to avoid being buried, letting out an indignant croak.
“I know you said you don't want to get involved?—”
“Understatement of the century.”
He pins me with a look. The same one he's been giving me since we were children, when he'd unearth some new mystery in the library's restricted texts and drag me along whether I wanted to go or not. Neither of us says anything as I check the wrap on the raven’s wing, running my fingers along the bandage. When I release it, it hops across the maps, leaving tiny smudges of dried blood on the parchment.
Jordi eyes it warily. “What happened to it?”
“Silent guards attacked it. The parrots, not the people.”
“Ironic.”
My lips twist in disgust. The Council may have banished mention of the gods from Lunaris, but they do love to take pages from their books. Black ravens like this one are said to report our deeds to the goddess Mortiana. The Council's gray parrots, with their small green amulets glinting at their throats, do the same for their masters.
As far as we’re concerned, only one of the birds is worthy of fear, and it isn't the one on my table. At least the Veritas Treaty keeps them out of our town. The Sages made certain of it.
Jordi exhales, the sound too loud in the silence of my workspace. I look up and finally meet his eyes.
“Do you agree that the Shroud has been volatile lately?”
My jaw clenches. I know from experience that each question I answer will only pull me deeper into his labyrinth. He builds them so carefully with breadcrumbs for questions and revelations that lead further from the exits. And I’m always the idiot who follows. I guess it’s the curse of being a sibling.
“Everyone knows the Shroud's been volatile,” I say after a moment. “But that doesn't change our agreement. No maps and no theories until?—”
“Afterthe Moon Festival,” he says before I have a chance to finish my sentence. “When you finally get your coveted title and tell me why one of the most skilled alchemists in Veritas has been stuck in a never-ending apprenticeship.”
I scowl. “I'm not 'the most skilled' at anything.”
“It's sad that Mother has made you believe that.”
I glare at the maps and bite my tongue hard enough to taste copper. It’s the only thing keeping me from speaking about Sara Veneficia. She's not our mother. Not by blood, anyway. She’s known as Sara the All-Knowing, or the High Sage, to most of Veritas, but the orphans she raised call her Mother. She’s thereason the town of Veritas exists, and why I’ve been pushing my brother away for the last two years.
“I should burn these maps,” I mutter.
“I'm surprised you haven't."
My eyes snap to his. “Don't tempt me.”
