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My fingers find his and give them a comforting squeeze. “It’s alright.” I smile weakly, and the dimples return to his cheeks.
But the enigma of the girl troubles my thoughts.
“Wehna?”
I return my attention to Arvo.
“She gave me this.”
He holds out a hand wrapped up in leather cords, and a many-rayed pendant dangles beneath it.
21. Belwyn
BELWYN
MY SHOULDERS ACHE under a heavy sack of books. I struggle to keep up with Shemai and Korvin. I really should be making them carry their own work to the house of the maevotér, the withered old man in charge of their education. But I don’t have the heart to wish another trial on them as long as they live—even if it’s as small as being made to carry their own schoolbooks. I heft the bag up higher and quicken my pace.
The boys snicker with each other as they work out various insults in the Atsunic tongue. Even as a subtle ache throbs my heart, a smile tips the corner of my mouth. I remember Rhun and myself at their ages—nine and twelve—doing everything in our power to thwart the lessons of our unflagging private tutor. Rhun had dubbed him “Old Man Splutters” for the way he was either always working up his incurable phlegm or spluttering over our terrible pranks, for which I always got in trouble. I still chafe when I think of it.
Unbidden, Amyrah’s words pop up to the surface of my turbulent thoughts.If you could, you’d take the fall for him again.
I grab my chest, fruitlessly attempting to rub away a pain that only exists in my mind. Something in me is always surprised Rhun is no longer here. It’s like the root suckers that spring up long after the tree is taken out. They appear at such random intervals, ages after the giant has been cut down. You can make yourself forget it happened for a while by snipping them off, but they will keep coming—an untimely reminder that something big is missing in your life. And the pain will start afresh.
I’m thankful every time my feet take me away from the place I last saw my brother.
Our house lies in the wealthiest sector of Utsanek—the Oputae, as it is known by the valefolk—at the northeast corner of the city. The yards there are vast and opulent, the streets wide and well-maintained. Over the last couple days, workmen have been busy lining the main roads to the heart of the city with bone fragments from the last sola—the one I killed—every couple hundred feet. I feel sick when I draw near to them, trying not to look up when I pass. But it’s obvious the presence of more light than the Vale has seen in thirteen years does not affect the valefolk in the same way.
I’m somewhere between glad for them and disgusted at this whole corrupt system.
As we approach the tutor’s house on the edge of the Oputae, an illogical feeling of having done something wrong creeps into my gut. It wasn’t long ago that he caught me breeding wood frogs in his water cistern—Rhun’s idea. A breathy laugh bubbles from my lungs.
I draw even with my brothers and drop the bag down at their feet.
“Well, aren’t you going to go in?” I ask.
Korvin’s hand falls from the doorknob, and he turns to me with a puzzled look. “It’s locked.”
Shemai’s eyes widen, and his jaw drops. “No way! We don’t have school today?”
I pound on the door and peer through the windows. No light emanates from behind the dusty curtains, and no one comes to answer. “I guess not.”
My youngest brother gives a little hoot and dances on the spot, but Korvin’s countenance falls. “So ... what are we supposed to do all day?”
Good question. I glance at him, and he chews on his bottom lip. There is a dark smudge across his cheek, and his light hair is greasy and matted in places. Shemai tugs at his shirt. His nails are black, and he hasn’t bothered to clean up a bloody scrape on his elbow. A twinge of guilt plagues me. My brothers bear serious indications of neglect.
“What do you both want to do?” I cross my arms and lean against the house to appear more flexible than I feel.
“Go swimming,” Shemai says without a moment’s hesitation.
I roll my eyes. Only a nine-year-old would think taking a dip in a loch that lost its ice only a few weeks ago is a good idea.
Korvin takes longer to ponder it. “I don’t want to go home,” he says, and his troubled eyes flick up to my face.
Something cracks inside me, because I know what he’s thinking. I feel it every time I step inside our house. It’s been difficult enough for me to process, but I wonder how these two are dealing with our mother’s paralyzing depressions, our father’s withering disdain. I want to do something for these boys, something that will take their minds off this nightmare they’ve been living.
But what?
My eyes drift over to Old Man Splutters’ house and land on the stone cistern along its side. A wicked grin appears on my face.
