“Look at me, Kaan.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes so I can see Pahpi clearer, the sun blazing at his back making him look like an angry shadow.
His dark hair is tucked beneath his bronze crown, sitting just above the deep lines crushed between his hard eyes. My gaze drifts to the three beads dangling from his ear …
Red.
Brown.
Clear.
My chin wobbles as I look at the orange mug in his fist, shaped with my own hands. And with no help from Bulder.
Pahpi is always telling me to shape this, shape that, shape, shape, shape! But the things I give him are never good enough because my words come out in bits. But I’m good with my hands. I thought maybe if I made him something perfect, he’d be happy.
All I wanted was a smile …
“Why are you crying?”
Because my heart hurts.
Because I worked for daes and daes on that mug for Pahpi, only for him to look at it like he’s looking at me now. Like he’s disappointed.
I wipe more tears from my eyes. “I d-d-don’t know …”
“Is it because I’ve hurt your feelings?”
I glance at the mug in his hand, cutting back to Pahpi’s big brown boots. Easier to look at than his angry face.
“Your heart is too soft, Kaan. Just like your mah’s. Just like this mug.”
He squeezes his fist.
CRACK.
Shards of pottery crumble across the ground like the shattered bits of my heart.
I swallow my sob, but it burns going down. Like I just swallowed the sun.
“I know you think I’m hard on you—your grandpah was hard on me, too—but you forget you’re the son of a king, born with shortfalls that could tarnish the Vaegor legacy.”
The words come out like a dragon’s growl, big and hurting.
Pahpi crouches, his red riding leathers tight across his wide shoulders as he points at the shards. “The time you spent shaping that gift should’ve been spent on your stutter. Spent shaping yourself into someoneworthyof the crown that’s been worn by a Vaegor ever since the phase our ancestor first mounted a Sabersythe.”
I study the crown on his head. All those sharp points poking toward the sky.
How do I tell him I don’t want to be worthy of it? That I just want to be worthy of a hug, or a smile.
Ofhim.
His face softens. But then he looks at the two beads Mahmi’s been braiding through my hair since I first heard Ignos and Bulder … though not Clode or Rayne like Pahpi hoped.
His upper lip peels back. “Show me something I can be proud of, or you’re better off as a servant.”
He shoves me.
Though I’m expecting it, it doesn’t stop my belly from dropping so fast I almost spew, falling backward into the dark.
