“Jacostah and Nahn are friends,” Basil said distractedly. “Is her presence that unusual?”
“Friends,” I scoffed. “After what she did to our family? Nahn gives her a substantial deal on her monthly tonic, even thoughsheof all people can afford it, and all she provides in return is frivolous gossip.”
“Well, what did they want?”
“Um… a tonic,” I said quickly. I refrained from sharing the news with Basil. To speak it aloud meant it was real, and a part of me feared my brother would support the match. I valued his opinion more than anyone else’s. “Different from her usual prescription.”
“Maybe her condition has worsened. Or perhaps Jere is ill.”
Unlike Chosens, divinely selected by the Astrals for life, barons and baronesses were elected by the people and could be removed from their positions by their Chosen royal at any point. If King Zephyr knew of the baroness’s incurable lung disease my grandmother helped keep at bay, he very well could strip Jacostah’s title.
“Normally I wouldn’t wish anyone ill, but for Jere? I’d gladly make an exception.”
“Perhaps her disease is hereditary. Two birds, one stone.”
I snorted. “And you say I’m the one with a reckless mouth.”
His hazel eyes glinted knowingly. “I just know when and how to keep mine shut.”
Despite being twins, the only thing we had in common was a birthmark on our backs. Where my hair was thick and curly like Nahn’s, his was fine and wavy. His eyes were hazel—also like Nahn’s—and sharper than my brown ones. More astute.
I jerked my chin at his cards. “What answers do you seek?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back against the side of his bed. “Pieces of my dream last night that I can’t remember.”
Ever since we were children, Basil dreamt of things that would always somehow come to pass. A person we’d run into, a petty crime down the road, or even baronesses’ election results. Anyone could use tarot cards, so long as they were blessed by an acolyte, but Basil claimed the cards spoke to him. As if they were sentient.
Over time we learned that Basil wasn’t the only common person gifted with Sight. Gifted individuals didn’t need a talisman to see things, and to possessanyspecial talent without the use of some sort of stone—talismanic or not—was considered dangerous.
Hence, we kept our family’s strange affinity to hear songs in the wind a secret.
Gifted people like Basil were mandated to make themselves known and subsequently were forced to attend a Seers' Academy, a sacred institution dedicated to strengthening divination abilities. Ultimately, attendees became acolytes, serving only the Astrals. All Academies were heavily protected and maintained a slim acceptance rate, weeding out those who falsely claimed to possess such abilities.
I studied my brother’s fixated gaze. “Would it be so bad if you became an acolyte? You wouldn’t have to take over the apothecary. Gemini seers are always female, so you’d never risk becoming Chosen?—”
“They want to keep gifted people locked in a tower at those elitist Academies. Never mind that even forced admission costs everything we’re worth. I would be a servant to them. To the Astrals,” he said bitterly. “That’s all our society is built on in the end. Control.”
“I was only asking since you love?—”
“It’s not about what I love doing. If I were to make my gifts known, it would be for the betterment of the realm. But right now, having eyes on us, when we already have a family gift not yet understood, would be dangerous. You know that.”
“I do. I just want you to be happy. You’re so serious sometimes.”
“And you’re not serious enough.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “If it weren’t for me, you’d never leave this shop.”
“I go on business trips all the time.”
I often found myself envious of his adventures. But he was the enthusiastic, charismatic voice of reason between the two of us whom Nahn trusted to negotiate and broker more clientele for our shop.
“I meant, when was the last time you did something for yourself, Baze? Not for me, not for Pahn, and not for Nahn.” I waited expectantly as he licked his lips in contemplation. Frustration bubbled in his eyes. He glanced back down as I said, “You put everyone else first, carrying the moral weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“I have to,” he said somewhat cryptically. Then he surveyed me. “Why do you look like a wet dog?”
“I was trying to save the garden from total ruin.”
“Or you were too distracted by the music again?”
