Page 122 of Ash and Feather

Her fierceness faltered for an instant, and I blurted out more words before I could lose my nerve: “The gods are not blameless, no. But he’s more of a villain in this story than they ever were.”

My voice shook, as did my hands, but it didn’t matter. I’d gotten the words out. And speaking them made me feel more powerful than I had when gripping a blade of pure fire.

I didn’t regret them or doubt them, even as the silence between us became unbearably tense, like a bowstring drawn as far back as it could go while I braced for the arrow to pierce my heart.

“We have a lot of things to work out,” Savna finally said. “I am trying to make sense of so many of them, and you and me, we…”

“We always made sense,” I reminded her, breathlessly. “Even whennothingelse did, there was still you and me. Why is that so different now? Why can’t you just believe what I’m telling you?”

She hugged her arms around herself and slowly circled the room, taking in the sight of my old things, clearly losing herself in memory instead of answering me.

“Savna.Please.”

Her gaze flickered back to me. “I was surprised to find this place so intact,” she said, changing the subject.

“…There was little worth stealing here,” I said. “And the humans started avoiding this place more than ever after the rumors about your disappearance and the divine creatures and curses surrounding it began to spread.”

“Right. But I thought you would have taken more of your belongings with you when you moved out.”

I’d considered it.

In the end, it proved easier to leave most of it behind. Almost all that Ihadtaken were things that belonged to—or reminded me of—her.

Everything else had been left to rot and gather dust, a decaying monument to all we’d once been.

I’d dusted a few things off since my arrival, and Savna continued to absently swipe at cobwebs and shake the staleness from throw pillows and other decor as she circled the space now.

But no matter how much we cleaned, I knew we would never again uncover the place where we’d once lived.

I still watched her as I had when we were younger. Wanting to follow her lead, to take my next cue from the big sister I worshipped. I’d been so eager to exist in her wake for most of my life that it was what I defaulted to even after everything that had happened.

But I didn’t actually move to follow her this time.

And soon I realizedwhyI couldn’t move: Because I’d grown. I’d changed. I’d stepped outside of her and this house and all it represented, and now, I burned too brightly to be confined to my sister’s shadow.

I finally lifted the drink she’d brought to my lips; I wanted to focus on the taste of it one last time, and not on the bitter uncertainty lingering between me and her. The milk was sweet but burning, much like the memories it invoked.

“This makes me miss Mother,” I whispered, the words cracking as they escaped my swollen and aching throat. The drink had been her own mother’s original recipe, and sipping it alongside her was one of the few pleasant memories I had of the two of us.

Savna nodded in agreement. Her eyes glassed over as they settled on the window, her mind clearly overtaken by some thought she didn’t want to share with me.

“What is it?” I pressed.

Hesitantly, she said, “I found her, you know. Several years ago.”

I froze mid-sip.

My sister hesitated a moment longer, bright eyes watching me closely. Silently searching my expression, wondering if Itruly wanted the knowledge she had been carrying for all these years.

My heart had endured so much pain at this point that it almost felt wrong not to invite more. What did it matter, when it was already so used to aching?

I asked, “Where?”

“Olithia.”

“That far south? Why were you there?”

She shrugged. “I was doing my best to keep the gods and all the other troubles trailing me as far away from you as possible.”

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