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“Shush. It could’ve worked.”
“Your ma walked into the Storm to capture the last piece of the Great King’s soul. We waited and waited. But she never came out.”
Im’s eyes are dry, but sorrow radiates out from her. The grizzled man dabs at his eyes.
My throat is dry. Is this true? Pa said Ma was forced into the Storm, that it was punishment, a death sentence. Or did he? He never liked to speak of her—all that I know of Ma comes from childhood memories, of stolen scraps sewn into a patchwork story.
Ma dreamt of being Regia. That’s a bigger dream than any I’ve ever held. A dream worth the price of walking into the Storm... Is there something like that for me?
She reads my expression. “Don’t paint some pretty picture in your head. Their failure—fine,ourfailure—doomed us all. This Regia is weaker than the last one. The Storm’s only gotten stronger.”
“And you’ve given up?” I ask.
“We’ve gotten smart. A full belly’s nothing to scoff at.” Her eyes drop to my empty plate.
Fair enough. I push the plate away.
They can knit till the end of time if they want to, but I have to save Pa. They’ve told me they don’t know where Pa is. That only Dalca does. He’s still the key to everything. And to get to Dalca, I need to get into the third ring. “How do I get a job in the Ven?”
A snort. “Might as well ask th-the Great King—”
“Bekind. Remember what it’s like to be young.”
“Iamyoung!”
Green Eyes leans in. “What are you thinking?”
I trace a water ring on the table, ignoring the bickering. “I’ve got to get into the third.”
The woman at the end taps her book against the table, and everyone quiets. “Your father paid for our help to hide you both. There’s room in a safe house for you. You’ll be hidden and fed for a month, at least.”
A month. “And after that, what then?”
“Live. Alcanar kept you a secret. He kept you safe.”
The grizzled man clacks his needles. “He could’ve brought you around once in all these years—Don’t shush me! It’s true!”
Pitying eyes find me. “I’m sure Alcanar had his reasons, dear.”
Pa kept me safe, so safe I never knew this was part of his life.
“Safe’s not enough for me anymore. If you can’t help me, I’ll find another way.” The stool scrapes against the floor as I get to my feet. “Thanks for the food.”
Stroking his stubble, the man laughs. “You sound like him. She sounds like him, doesn’t she?”
“Who, Pa?”
“No.” Another exchange of looks.
The green-eyed woman shrugs. “It’s her life to throw away.”
“Tell me,” I say, crossing my arms.
She answers. “There’s a fellow who’s trying to, ah, stir things up. Showing up with ikons and just teaching them to people; shows up with more, sometimes. Brought us a net of ikons, asked us if we could follow the design and make more.”
An ikonshield? “Only the Wardana—”
“Yep.” She taps her nose. “A Wardana.”
