I let out a soft laugh and shake my head at his perpetual good nature. Then I nod in agreement. Everything’s a contradiction in me. I agree and don’t. I’m optimistic and hopeless. I’m crumbling and yet have never in my life felt clearer in what I need to do.
There is only one path forward for me. Only one path to ensure my own and my sister’s safety. One path to a future that gives us both a home we can count on for good.
The World.
“Yeah, maybe we will be.” My words are fragile but sincerely meant. “Let’s go.”
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, our footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Gregor’s breathing is steady despite carrying Arina, but I can see the strain in the set of his shoulders.
“Want me to take her for a bit?” I offer.
He shakes his head. “I’ve got her. She’s lighter than my pack was on most jobs.”
The comparison makes my stomach twist. Of course she is; she’s skin and bones. Ravin stripped away everything from her.
“Gregor,” I say after another stretch of silence, “why are you doing this? Choosing to join the Worldkeepers is more than saying you’ll help because we’re as good as blood.”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. When he does speak, his voice is rougher than usual. “You ever wonder what your life would’ve been like if things had been different? If the crown hadn’t destroyed everything you loved?”
“Only every day.”
“I had a sister once.” The words come out flat, matter-of-fact, but I can hear the pain beneath them. I barely stop my head from jerking his way, my jaw falling open in shock that he would bring it up—he’s never talked about it before. Though I do glance his way. Gregor stares forward, into the darkness. I know the look of a man seeing the past rather than the present.
“I…I know,” I admit.
“Bristara?”
“Yeah.” The previous club matron told us all a little bit about one another. Enough that we all knew which lines we shouldn’t cross. The topics that, if mentioned, could send someone into the depths of sorrow.
He nods. I can see a touch of conflict on his face. Even well intended, Bristara had shared his most personal story. But it was for a good reason, and she did it equally for everyone. By the time I finally told the club about Mother, they all already knew.
But when I did, they heardmytelling ofmystory. Bristara only ever shared the rough outlines, never the full color. The heart of our truths was always ours to share.
“She was younger than me. Sweetest person you’d ever meet. Always laughing, always getting into mischief. Kind of like someone else we know.” He looks down at Arina with fondness that has more meaning than I ever realized.
“I’m afraid I can’t relate to ‘sweetest person’ and ‘mischief’ in a sibling. You know damn well Arina at her best is a fiery rebellion wrapped in chaos with a dash of sass.”
He chuckles, and I crack a smile as well, still focused on my sister. That’s how she was. Now…Who knows how she will be when she wakes.I promptly banish the thought. She will be my sister, and that is all that matters.
“Malie was curious, especially after I started showing an inclination toward the arcane,” he continues. “I found some illegal inking tools and played with them. It was all so harmless. Not that it matters.”
“It never does,” I murmur, already seeing where this is headed.
“I didn’t even know she took the pen, paper, and powders. I don’t think she even realized what they were. The enforcers found her out with them, drawing. ‘Illegal tarot,’ they called it. As if a nine-year-old girl who didn’t even have the slightest whisper of power could be some kind of danger to the ‘greatest kingdom in the world.’ ” His tone sours, expression hardening. “They took her. Dad went off to find her—to fight for her liberation. Never saw them again.”
“And your mother?”
“They told her that if she spent another stretch at the Descent, they’d free my sister. She agreed. How could she not? Mom never returned.”
“I…I didn’t realize your mom died there, too,” I whisper.
“Well, she wasn’t murdered. It was just an ordinary accident,” he says, as if that makes it better.
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. Gregor’s shoulders have always been slumped, as if he were carrying an invisible weight, but now his posture takes on new meaning. “Point is, I’ve got nothing, Clara. I don’t have a Ren to go off and start a life with. I don’t have the peace Jura managed to find no matter where she stood. All I have is—”
“Rage,” I finish for him. We share a look of pure understanding.
