Page 119 of Ash and Feather

Answer me, or get out of my sight.

I sighed. I’d hoped to avoid this complicated conversation—but if it was the only way to get him to understand where I was coming from, then perhaps I didn’t have a choice.

“If you can be silent and listen for once in your life,” I said, settling down in the chair on the other side of his desk, “then I’ll explain some things.”

He continued to glare for several beats before finally giving in with a slight nod.

I spent the better part of the next half hour explaining as much as I could bring myself to share about Karys, the world she came from, and the way we had collided, for better or worse.

To my surprise, Fallon didn’t interrupt, except to take a moment partway through to dismiss the guards so we could continue our discussion in private. It felt like a small victory to be left alone with him. Although plenty of guards continued to linger outside, my brother didn’t seem to think I was animmediatethreat to his life, at least.

When I had finished speaking, however, he merely leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest while grooves of skepticism furrowed his brow. “And you think I should accept your stories—and counsel—without question, I assume?”

“Do you have other allies in a better position to give you information about all of these things?”

“Allies,” he repeated with a snort. “Why should I believe you’re truly an ally? The divine are known to play tricks. How do I know if everything you’ve said is true?”

“I’m more than just a divine being. You and I are—”

“You left,” he interrupted, rising to his feet. “Ascended. Whatever you and Iwereis no longer what weare. There is no returning to it, either. You became a god. Powerful, worshipped, invincible. I became a king. Worshipped and powerful to some, maybe, but also targeted and alone in a way you could never comprehend. I’ve a reason to be guarded against outsiders, haven’t I? Divine or otherwise. Andyou…” He trailed off with a hiss-like sound, one that reminded me of water trying to extinguish a fire.

He walked to the window. The curtains were open, revealing a dark stretch of land—the side of the palace that faced away from Altis. “How many years has it been since we’ve spoken?”

Too many.

“And you come backnow,actingas if nothing has changed.”

I rose to my feet as well, following him across the room.

“I know there are many kings who like to think of themselves as gods,” he said without turning around, “but I’m not one of them. I’m afraid we have little in common these days, my divine, invincible little brother.”

It was difficult to keep the frustration from my tone. “I am not invincible.”

I watched the reflection of his face in the window. His expression was unreadable and unchanging, even as I drew closer and the space heated with my growing impatience.

“And I have a weakness,” I said. “Weren’t you listening to me earlier?”

He glanced over his shoulder. For a fraction of a second, he regarded me with something more than contempt—with something more like the exasperated but concerned looks he’d occasionally thrown my way when we were children.

He looked back out the window and said, “You mean the elven woman you spoke of.”

“Yes.”

His back remained to me, not inviting further conversation.

Months ago, I wouldn’t have pressed this conversation. I would have accepted the silence between us—welcomed it, even. It was easier. More comfortable to just let it be.

But I’d changed.

I had something more important than my own comfort, now. Something that drew forth words I never thought I would say to my brother: “I need your help.”

Fallon huffed out a laugh as he closed the curtains and went back to his desk, shaking his head. “Well,thisis not how I imagined our reunion would ultimately go.”

“I have to find her,” I pressed. “And your prison hold is currently full of beings who might help me do that.”

He busied himself again with his letter, ignoring me as he read whatever he’d written for what must have been the tenth time. His gaze was cold. Calculating. Unyielding. It reminded me of the nights I would follow him into the city and watch from the shadows as he tossed dice or counted cards—the icy calm demeanor of a gambler.

One who didn’t seem likely to take a chance on me.

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