RevealingTyrothbarring the way like a pewter-armored statue.
There’s a cruel glint in his mismatched eyes, his hair loose, arms crossed and shrouded in the pelt of some white beast with its lifeless head hanging over his left arm.
My heart drops.
His mouth moves.
The ground shakes.
A spear of obsidian strikes up diagonally from the ground. So fast I don’t fully register it until it pierces my shoulder. Shreds skin, muscle, and sinew.
Shatters bone.
I feel it burst through my back as I jolt to a stop and scream—a loud, bloodcurdling howl. Pain thrashes in pulsing heaves, like something just tore my arm clean off.
I drop my chin, lungs aching for breath I can only sip for risk of breaking myself further, watching blood ooze down the black shard and puddle at its base.
My brother’s heavy footsteps thump closer, one thought belting through my mind …
I can’t fail.
Can’t fail.
Can’t fail.
I still my trembling lips, forcing my lungs to fill with breath I drudge into words. Beg for Bulder to spear up and do to Tyroth what he just did to me.“Gurdeth aath ahn—”
“Gurdeth aath uh nah!”Tyroth bellows before I finish, wrestling my command into submission. Something that almost rips my tongue from my throat, crumbling the shaft of stone that had begun to spear toward his chest.
I gag and splutter, tasting blood, lungs burning.
He steps through the remnants of my failed attempt to murder him,over a shattered chain of silver containment runes—suggesting Tyroth’s been keeping Bharon trapped against his will.
“Leaving without saying hello?” he drones, long hair billowing in the hot, humid wind.
My very essence crunches in.
Just like with Pah, I always feel small in Tyroth’s presence. The runt of the litter who didn’t have the decency to die with Mah when I took her from the world.
“Why wou … would I— w-waste … my br— breath?” I ask instead of telling him how much just looking at him hurts. His face that rarely smiles, condemning eyes that blame me after every blink.
That’s what mirrors are for.
He clicks his tongue. “Funny how you always see yourself as the victim, Veya, when you’re the one who tookeverythingfrom us.” Stepping close enough that I can see the flecks of green in his left eye, he rips off the bind and frowns down his nose at me, studying my face like he’s picking apart a painting. “I hate how much you look like her.”
I wish I had the breath to tell him to get fucked. At least he knew her. Saw her. Smelled her. I didn’t have her at all, and Pah burned all her portraits.
Instead, I edge my hand into the folds of my cloak, gripping the blade strapped to my left thigh.
“I think he did, too.” His frown deepens. “Probably the reason he didn’t put you out of your misery when you begged for it.”
I ignore his riddled words and whip back my good arm, about to slash my blade through his throat when my hand freezes midair.
It takes a moment for me to register what Tyroth grunted out, and the thin spear of obsidian now impaling my raised hand.
The blade clatters to the ground before the violent flare of pain strikes, warm blood glugging down my arm and drip, drip, dripping from the point of my elbow.
Tyroth clicks his tongue again. “Tell me, sister. What are you doing in my kingdom?”
