The girl stayed there all night, like a sentinel, listening to the sound of him weeping. Her father found her just after midnight, curled up outside the storeroom door, asleep.
Carefully, he unlocked it. The boy sat on the storeroom floor, his arms gripped tight around his knees. He stared up at the man before him, the salt of his tears encrusted on his cheeks.
The girl’s father lifted a finger to his lips and beckoned him out.
Silently, beneath the cover of night, he took the boy to the stables. They saddled a horse, mounted up, rode out. The moon rose high and full above them, lighting their path through the blight-ridden fields of Song.
Because no one should suffer for the crimes of their fathers.
Fifteen
Roa woke the next morning to find Lirabel gone and her sister’s silver hawk eyes watching her from the pillows. Roa turned onto her side, cradling her cheek on her crooked arm, and stared back.
Essie. She sent the name toward her sister’s mind, like she usually did, like she’d always done. But the thought was met with silence. And the hum was weaker than ever.
The Relinquishing was only five days away now, and if Roa didn’t lose her sister before then, she would certainly lose her on the longest night. Essie’s soul had lingered for eight years now. Eight years was too long. She couldn’t keep resisting her death call.
Roa stared at her sister.
The Skyweaver’s knife was their only chance. She needed to find it tonight, in the home of her enemy. A home she’d never been to.
“Essie,” she said aloud this time. The white hawk lifted her head, her gaze piercing Roa.
What if I can’t do it?Her eyes prickled with tears and her vision blurred.What if I fail?
Suddenly, the weight on the pillows shifted. Soft feathers brushed Roa’s forehead, then the tip of her nose. A solid, familiar warmth curled itself up against her chest, close to her heart.
Roa palmed the tears from her eyes and found Essie pressed against her, perfectly still, listening to the sound of her sister’s heartbeat. Roa’s arm came gently around her.
“I won’t fail,” she whispered into her feathers. “That’s a promise.”
When Roa opened the door to step out into the hall, Safire’s grinning face greeted her.
“Finally. I was beginning to think you’d sleep all day.”
The commandant didn’t wear the king’s crest—a dragon entwined around a sword—but a seven-petaled flower that mimicked the shape of a flame. A namsara flower.
Safire’s gold tunic was fitted to her tall, strong form; while her face was measured and calm, her eyes raged like bright blue flames.
“Saf?” Roa frowned, looking beyond her to the three soldats—all young women—standing behind her. “What is this?”
“I’m officially on guard duty,” said Safire. She stepped into the room, forcing Roa back, and immediately started looking around. The three soldats filed in after her, two of them taking up positions inside the door. The last one, Roa noticed, was a scrublander with bright onyx eyes. Her curls haloed herhead and she lifted a fisted hand over her heart in a scrublander salute, just for Roa.
“My name is Celeste.” The girl let her fist uncurl and fall back to her side. Looking to the other two soldats, she said, “This is Saba and Tati.”
Though neither Saba nor Tati was a scrublander, they both followed Celeste’s lead and gave Roa the same fisted salute.
Stunned, Roa returned the gesture.
“Guard duty?” she murmured, turning to Safire.
The commandant crouched down near the bed, scanning the floor.
“What are you doing?” Roa demanded.
“A member of the queen’s personal guard was found dead in an alley this morning.” Safire rose, her gaze fixing on the queen. “His throat was cut open. From the look of the wound, it was a small blade that did it.”
Roa pulled her sleeve down to cover her wrist—still flecked with Sirin’s blood.
