I’m kneeling on the ground in Pah’s office. His young miskunn crouches on his desk, a shackle around her frail neck. Remorse glints in the creature’s big silver eyes as Pah slams my bangle down, making Hulo flinch.
But it’s me he’s looking at. Me he’s speaking to.
“Tyroth’s pairing was refused, so this is the only way. It’s going to happen one way or another, but the miskunn foretold the world’s end if the Neváns die by any hand other than your own.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s telling the truth. For his words to sink in.
For the tremble to start.
“No,” I say, soft beneath Pah’s oppressive aura. My tongue hardens in synchrony with my stiffening spine. “No, you fucking monster. I’d rather die!”
I shove up and turn to stalk from the room, grabbed and held down by a brother I loathe; one who hates me as much as I hate him.
I bash, kick, scream. See a Runi ushered in, heart thrashing as I recognize Mior’s short white hair, wide eyes, kind face. Kind just like her pah’s. But—
Pained.
Which can mean only one thing.
I whimper. Shake my head. Try to shuffle back, only for Tyroth’s grip to tighten so much I feel the budding promise of bruises around my upper arms and shoulders.
My childhood friend kneels before me. Her brown skin is such a contrast to the white robe bunched around her petite form, a golden Mindweft button pride of place at the base of her throat.
Despite the empathy in Mior’s eyes, I’m too aware of the strain on her face. Of the way she’s trembling as much as me.
I jerk against Tyroth’s firm grip. Catch a boot to the ribs I barely feel, my next words ground past a choked whimper. “Please—don’t do this, Mior. Please—”
“I have no choice.” A tear slips down her cheek, mirroring my own. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” A soft smile, then, “I would never hurt you.”
My face crumbles, all the fight leaving my body as Mior settles her hands on my cheeks. Her chin wobbles, and in her beautiful eyes, I see her heart break.
“Forgive me, Veya …”
I tip into those pools of blue ringed with gold, bits of me shedding free, like feathers torn out by the wind.
Compassion flutters past—gone. Empathy goes next … Sadness … Morality. I tumble until I’m a skeleton of stoic compliance, only a thread of thought to stitch me through.
Mior leaves, tears on her cheeks I can’t comprehend. Pah kneels in her place and grips my face, looking at me through stern eyes that used to hurt.
“Now, daughter. What must you do?”
My response is immediate. “I must go to Arithia and poison the Neván family.”
“Except?” Tyroth growls, staring at me with burning intensity.
I blink. Think.
“Elluin Raeve Neván. Elluin is to live.”
I hear myself whimper as I …
I—
—journey across the plains, into the dark. Through a secret entrance in the wall that surrounds Arithia.
Garbed in the skin of another, I move through the dark palace like a waif, smearing the blood of a zatha beetle on the toothscrubs of Ahdrik Neván.
Of Eudora Neván.
