"Paragon Killian fell in battle at Galasvar," Reese said, shifting a step in front of Lady Rohan. "This is his heir."
Ishida laughed. "You jest, surely."
I could not read faces well, but even I saw the hope draining from the men's eyes.
When Reese answered with a severe glare and silence, the scarred commander swallowed. "If Paragon Ishii has passed, then?—”
"Then," Yuudai finished. “We must pass Siotha on with all haste. Any Shatterblades in your company must report to the captain's estate, where?—”
Quinn stepped forward, interrupting. "Doing so would only waste everyone's time. Siotha has already chosen its new master.”
I breathed in sharply. What was he doing?
Yuudai whirled to face him, face ticking with annoyance. "All the better." He forced composure into his voice. Father wouldn't dare affront a Solheart lord. "Who is it?"
Quinn nodded at Ferris. "Your daughter."
Father glared at Ferris. The prince stepped away from me.
Lord Ishida gasped. "Diar! What are you doing out here?"
I looked between the men and found no words. They never came to me in Father's presence.
Yuudai turned back to Quinn with barely concealed rage. "With all due respect?—”
"Paragon Tiernan here knows one when he sees one.” Quinn gestured to his old friend. "You can settle this matter quickly."
Reese returned to my side. His movements and expression didn't betray a hint of anger. "Paragon weapons answer their master's call. Summon Siotha. If she is yours, she will come."
I'd seen Ishii do as much, years ago—a flick of the wrist, an unconscious movement. Siotha would appear in a flurry of ice so quick you wondered if the Paragon had held it the whole time.
The notion still seemed ridiculous, a farce on Quinn's part, but . . .
My hand had ached to hold Siotha. To see it again.
Extending my arm, I pictured the bow of ice. A single question swirled around it, wailing.
Why would it pick me?
It had always picked Shatterblades. Those devoted to our country. Those who would lay down their lives to save it.
Me? I wanted to lay my brother's soul to rest, but after that . . .
After that . . .
My fingers twitched. There was no after that. I lived for one purpose, and I did not expect to survive it.
Frigid air tore through the square. A snap of pale blue flashed before us, and my fingers curled around the bend of a bow, cool and comforting.
Siotha rested in my grip, its bowstring nearly invisible in the night.
"Saint's breath," Ferris cursed.
Father said something. I didn't hear it.
All I could see was my brother and the brilliant grin he'd be wearing. To see his little sister holding the Paragon's bow, the one he'd pined after as a child.
There would be such jealousy in his eyes, a childish whine in his voice that broke the soldier's demeanor.
