I spin my dagger and consider spilling blood, but I’d be engaging the spy just to escape from this feeling. And I don’t kill for sport.
No. I have to go back to Sora and get this over with. I gave my word, and cowardice isn’t my way.
Buthow? How do I take away the one thing she’s living for?
No matter what I say, she is going to fall apart. Even the sharpest blade has its breaking point. Only the Flaming Sword of the Dragon Lord never shatters.
I reach the dress house and lean against the side of the building. The pain in my chest is severe. Those same, invisible hands have me again, crushing my windpipe.
What would I want if it were me? Would it be better to know immediately or have a sister a little longer? And what words could be strung together to soften a death blow?
No one had to tell me I lost my family. I saw it myself—their mutilated bodies on the ground. I did, however, hear about my father. Ailor, who later adopted me, told me the entire rebel force had been slaughtered. No captives, no prisoners. But the Festival of Blood was such a mass tragedy, the scale so overwhelming, that the death of my birth father barely made an impact. Few sounds can be heard over an avalanche. Everyone I knew and loved was gone, and there’s a limit to how much sorrow you can feel at once.
It won’t be the same for Sora.
So I’ll just say it—simple as that. Sometimes when there are no words, any will do.
I imagine she’ll find some peace in the fact that her sister can’t suffer anymore. Pleasure house indentures typically die by a patron’s hand, their own, or, most commonly, laoli. The drug helps them get through their nights, and it’s all too easy to overdose. Though I’m not certain how Daysum died, in the end, I’m not sure it matters.
Without another thought, I stand straight. I open the door to the dress house and stroll in. Sora is still on the platform, the workers fussing over her beauty, particularly her eyes. Khitanese royalty wears purple the same way the Baejkins wear dark red. The shop girls keep calling her eyes imperial.
I take a breath, ready to tell her. But as I open my mouth, Sora picks her head up. She smiles at me, warm and unassuming.
And I choke.
I can’t do it. It’s not cowardice—or maybe it is. But she will never be the same once she knows. She won’t smile like that, maybe ever again. I can’t take that from her right now. If it were Ailor instead of Daysum, I wouldn’t want to know until my mission was complete.
It’s better to wait. I swear to myself that I will tell her when we leave Khitan. When she will have time to mourn and not be in both danger and grief together.
“It’s been ages,” she says with a smile.
“Far too long.” I smile back.
She laughs. One of the workers lifts the fur-lined hood on her new coat to show me, thinking we are husband and wife.
“Like it?” Sora asks, modeling the jacket.
“It’s delightful.”
I take a seat as if nothing is wrong, casually brushing snow off my pant leg. My eyes sting, but I smile. I’m suddenly glad I have twenty years of experience pretending to be something I’m not.
Chapter Forty-Four
Aeri
The Northern Pass, Khitan
I’ve had time to mull it over, and I really don’t think last night could’ve gone worse. I flinched when Royo touched the amulet, just out of shock, and everything fell apart. But it wasn’t like I could explain it to him. I couldn’t say “um hey, I’m not sure if my magical, time-controlling gem will know it’s you touching it and not me, and I’m not sure what will happen if it does.”
So I recoiled, and he got weird, and now it’s a grand mess.
What makes things even better is that it’s time to camp again.
I purse my lips.
We haven’t talked much today. Royo has tried hard to pretend things are normal, but they aren’t, which makes everything even more awkward.
We were supposed to have stopped a while ago, but we can’t find a clearing like we did yesterday. The snow is deep, and he doesn’t want to go into the woods because of predators. After seeing the body of the zaybear, I don’t disagree.
