My eyes looked where he willed; my limbs would not move. I could but watch.
A familiar city sprawled below me—bricks painted faint pastel colors, clustered on a hill of lush green grass. Mountains sprawled in the distance, covered with thick forests.
Aenir's capital city: Casaloch.
A woman and child huddled under a wagon at the back of a dim alley. Chocolate brown curls cascaded over her back and hung around her eyes. And while I did not recognize her, I knew the child she clutched well.
Liam, a tiny thing with pale green eyes, no more than seven years old. He clung to the woman, trembling.
"Don't breathe," she whispered. "Keep quiet. They'll pass." Clamping a hand over his mouth, she peered from beneath the wagon.
I saw her face. She looked just like Liam—they had the same soft features and high cheekbones.
This was his mother: a full-blooded Earthborn with rich brown skin and onyx eyes.
Thundering steps carried down the street—two Aenir soldiers in forest green tabards ran by, followed by a Solheart dressed in white. A black-feathered hat hung over his eyes as he peered down the alley, hand moving toward the rapier at his belt.
I wanted to reach out, but I could not move. And the scene burst into flame, carrying me away from my brother.
The embers fell away, revealing a dingy brothel filled with scantily clad women. The men had hair in shades of brown and red, with tanned skin. Fireborn.
A woman with a severe face sat behind a counter, flipping through a ledger. She looked up as a middle-aged man dropped his coin purse before her.
He brushed back his stringy brown hair. "I'm looking for your youngest."
The woman eyed him, then turned her head. "Bláth!" She yelled.
From the back of the room, a young girl rushed forward. Her blonde curls hung to her mid-back, lying over a thin white gown.
I knew this woman, her face, her golden eyes. But she was much younger—no more than fourteen, judging from her pudgy cheeks.
"Is she to your liking?" The madam asked.
"She'll do." The man fished out a handful of coins and dropped them on the counter.
Leaning forward, the madam swept up the coins, counted, and nodded. Taking Bláth by the arm, the man led her toward one of the back rooms.
Bláth's face twisted with disgust for the faintest moment before she smiled broadly at her customer.
My stomach twisted, but I couldn't look away. Couldn't speak. The door slammed, hiding them away.
Flame erupted around me, destroying the scene of the brothel. From its embers, slums began to form.
Slums I did not recognize. Rickety wooden buildings mingled with old brick hovels. Dirt paths paved between dead yards and broken wagons. Two boys sat on the steps of a tiny cottage, its window broken and barred with wooden planks. They wore only rags, tattered shirts, and dirty pants.
One had flaming red locks, the other platinum blond. When the red-headed boy raised his head, revealing his brilliant golden eyes, I realized who they were.
Reese and Quinn, a lifetime ago. Children.
"We're dead," Quinn said, matter-of-factly. He sounded nothing like the man I'd met. His voice was higher-pitched, twanged with a strange accent.
"I'm not letting them kill you for what I did," Reese hissed.
"He was one of them nobles." Quinn shifted to face Reese. "They'll kill everyone who ever looked at you—just to send a message."
"I know." Reese's youthful voice quavered with fear. "But it didn't even matter! Nora, she . . . "
Quinn looked down. "Nora's tough. She'll be okay." His yellow eyes narrowed. "It's you I'm worried about."
