CHAPTER TWO
There’s no worse feeling than watching someone you love die. The helplessness slices you into pieces. And grief sets those pieces on fire. Until you’re nothing but ash.
My brother’s coughs rip through the early morning silence. Wheezy, pain-filled, exhausted coughs.
I push the door shut behind me and reach for the salve, the tonic, the crystals. Stumbling into the wall, I curse and reorient myself, aiming for his door—left open while he sleeps for exactly this purpose.
Evren’s already sitting up in bed when I reach him, his thin body shuddering as he fights for each breath.
“I’m here.”
Pushing his shirt open, I spread the salve on his chest and neck, give him a crystal to hold, hand him the last of the lung tonic, and begin chanting.
He reaches for the tonic, his eyes miserable.
“We can’t … afford … this,” he gasps out.
“Shhh. Drink it, Ev.”
Evren swallows. I keep chanting, urging the crystal to glow just a little more. To eke out just a little healing power.
I rub his back, and his coughing begins to ease, each breath deeper than the last.
“That was a bad one.”
“I’m sorry.”
I ignore that. “Do you think you can rest a little now?”
He nods, eyes already drooping. When he nestles into his pillow, I’m lightheaded with relief. These attacks are coming closer than they ever have before. And we can’t afford not to have more lung tonic on hand.
An image of Bran’s face fills my mind, making my head pound with barely suppressed wrath.
Poking my head into the next bedroom, I find owlish brown eyes staring back at me. “He’s fine,” I tell Gerith.
His mouth twists. At fourteen, he’s already reached the age where he will no longer let me see him cry, but his eyes are still swollen some mornings.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him.
Gerith shakes his head. But he moves his leg aside. Hiding a smile, I enter his room and sit on the side of his bed.
Long, thin fingers brush his woolen blanket. “Do you ever wonder what our lives would be like if Uncle hadn’t taken your winnings?”
Every fucking day.
I can’t look at the table in our kitchen without seeing the note my uncle left. The words I’m sorry just as hollow as the empty space in my closet where I’d carefully hidden the money we needed for a better life.
Less than a day after I’d won the Sands, our uncle was gone. And so was our future. A healer for Evren. A small but comfortable house on the coast in Nesonias. Fresh seafood every day. Vegetables from the small garden I’d learn how to tend. An education. Not just for my brothers … but for me too.
“There’s no point looking back.”
“I’m not looking back. I’m looking forward.” His chin juts out. “One day, I’m going to find him, and I’m going to kill him.”
“You won’t be able to,” I tell him, mock seriously. “Because I’ll find him first.”
Gerith smiles, but it’s shaky. “How could he do it? I just … I don’t understand.”
Of course he doesn’t understand. I don’t understand.
“Ger—”
“You risked your life to win that money. We had everything we needed.”
“I don’t like to talk about that time,” I say.
His eyes are solemn. “Because of her. And because of him.”
Grief rips into me like a talon, stealing my breath. He’s not talking about our uncle now.
Occasionally, I think I’m doing fine, that I’m moving on with my life, and then I hear her name. Or I’m reminded of him.
“Yes.”
Gerith studies my face. “One day, when I’m big, I’ll fight in the Sands. We’ll get enough money to cure Ev. And we’ll all leave.”
My smile freezes on my face.
I’ll die before I let my brothers step foot in any arena. Every move I make is with the goal of getting both of them far from Senthara, where the emperor’s delights are no more than a distant memory. But I know better than to say such a thing. As the twins have grown, so has their male pride.
“Time to get up.”
He nods, and I leave him to dress. Pulling off my boots, I keep my sword strapped to my back, still … perturbed by my vampire visitor.
Perturbed is a good word. It implies I’m feeling slightly unsettled. A little uneasy. Not dry-mouthed, slick-palmed, and dizzy with fear.
The lung tonics from Nesonias are keeping my brother alive. What else is Bran willing to do to make me fall in line?
I push the thought away. I’m used to being on the defensive. I do it every day while guarding the kinds of people who make enemies simply by breathing. I don’t enjoy being reactive, but I know better than to wring my hands, worrying.
If I travel to Mataras this morning, I’ll be back within a couple of days. The apothecary there will have the tonics we need. I’m sure of it. I hate the thought of leaving Gerith and Evren, but I doubt the vampire cleaned out the apothecaries in nearby towns.
Padding into our tiny kitchen, I open the cool box.
The crystal inside is dull, and the aether keeping our meager food chilled is a faint hum.
After I replenish Evren’s lung tonics and pay the emperor’s ever-increasing taxes, I’ll have just enough to fill the aether crystals.
Gerith desperately needs a new pair of boots, but they’ll have to wait.
My chest pangs. He’d never complain, but I know his feet became soaked last time it rained. I heard Evren and Gerith murmuring about it when they thought I wasn’t listening.
The milk ran out two days ago, so I make the porridge with water, seasoning it with a pinch of salt in place of sugar or honey.
The twins are grumbling at each other in one of their rooms, their voices muffled by the door.
Neither of them enjoys mornings. By the time they slouch into their chairs at the table—Evren pale and drawn, Gerith wincing at the sight of the thin porridge—faint sunlight streams through the window.
The first light of dawn makes Gerith’s blond hair glow, while Evren’s hair is so dark it seems to swallow the light.
Born just minutes apart, they couldn’t be more different—in both appearance and personality.
When Gerith turns his head, pale ribbons of sunlight brush his gold sigil in a flicker of brightness that fades when he shifts out of the sun.
My lungs squeeze, and I force the fear away.
My power may not have woken, but that doesn’t mean my brothers will face the same devastation. They won’t be like me.
Sigilmarked are born with latent powers, our potential revealed by the color of our sigils, and how much they grow over time.
All sigilmarked children gain a handful of minor abilities like basic shielding, conjuring a spark with a flick of their fingers, purifying small amounts of water, or quickening the growth of plants.
Between the ages of eleven and fifteen, their true power emerges—sometimes two if they’re exceptionally gifted or blessed.
A rare few receive power granted by the gods they worship.
“Arvelle?”
Forcing a smile, I drag my gaze away from Gerith’s sigil. “I need to go to Mataras today. Remember—”
“We know.” He rolls his eyes with a grin. “Come straight home, don’t talk to anyone.”
A knock sounds on the door. Gerith gets to his feet, but he knows better, and I slide past him. Visitors this early are rarely a good thing. My right hand reaches for the handle, my left drifting close to the hilt of my knife as I open the door.
A small, thin girl stares up at me. Blond curls tangle around her gamine face, and I catch a glimpse of a bronze sigil beneath the strands covering her forehead. Her sigil has extended slightly, which means she’s likely older than she looks.
Fifteen, maybe sixteen.
I open my mouth to tell her she has the wrong house, but her gaze sweeps past me, blue eyes sparking with light.
“My name is Sarai,” she announces. “I’m here for breakfast.”
My eyebrow shoots up. “Oh, you are, are you?”
Her mouth turns down. “He didn’t ask?”
I heave a sigh, sending a narrow-eyed stare over my shoulder. It’s impossible to tell which “he” she’s talking about, since both my brothers are thin-lipped, gazes on the ground.
“Come in,” I tell her.
She sails past me before I can change my mind, sitting next to Gerith, whom she gives a dark look.
He meets my eyes. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Never mind. It’s nice to meet you, Sarai. I’m Arvelle.”
She beams at me, all embarrassment forgotten, until the rumble of her stomach cuts through the silence.
Her cheeks heat, and all of us pretend we’ve lost our hearing. I hand her my bowl. “You’ve chosen a good morning to visit, Sarai. I’m not hungry.”
Sarai’s food disappears within moments. I don’t ask her where her parents are, or when the last time she ate was. But her thin arms wrap around my stomach when I remove the empty bowls.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
Within minutes, they’re ready to leave. Both my brothers share a tutor with sixteen other children. While the tutor has no training, he completed a few years of study himself, and one of our neighbors suggested pooling a few coins each month for his time.
This might be their only chance at any education at all.
In just a few weeks, their hours with the tutor will be replaced with hours training for the Sands.
Unless I can find a way to get us away from this empire, they’ll be walking into the emperor’s arena in just a few years themselves.
Only after they survive the Sands will they be able to begin learning a trade.
My mouth turns dry. Evren is so weakened by his condition, he can barely lift a sword.
Pushing the thought away, I open the door. “Thanks, Velle.” Gerith grins at me. “I’m sorry I forgot to ask about Sarai.”
“It’s fine. Go learn something.”
Evren follows the others. He hasn’t said a word, but his cough has lessened, and I know he’ll ignore any suggestions to stay home and rest, so I press a kiss to his forehead. “Be good.”