Page 131 of Ash and Feather

“Because I think we all need to clear up some things between us.”

“There is nothing toclear up. He’s a monster. He’s poisoned your mind. He tried to do the same to me, and when I didn’t swallow that poison without complaining,he tried to kill me.”

She ripped the napkin in two, letting the pieces of it flutter to the floor. Her eyes locked on those pieces and stayed there, her expression pained as I continued.

“I haven’t told you the half of what he’s done because I…I…couldn’t bring myself to speak of it. Just believe me when I tell you the war he’s trying to wage iswrong, and it will end in disaster for every side involved—humans, elves, and gods, alike.”

“The alternative is disaster reserved solely for elven-kind—do you honestly think that’s better?”

“That isn’t the only alternative.”

“What else is there?”

“Compromise. Peace.”

She scoffed, shifting her weight from side to side, stretching and rearranging her limbs as if the dinner table suddenly felt too small for the conversation we were having.

Yet we were stillhavingit, I realized.

She wasn’t leaving for once, and, despite her discomfort, she looked prepared to actually listen to me.

Astonishment rendered me momentarily speechless.

“He lost everything because of the humans, and the gods that enable and protect those humans,” she said, slowly, beforeI could find my voice. “And you and I have lost more than our share of things as well, we deserve a chance to—”

“I am tired of being defined by loss. And I don’t want to hear any more excuses for him or anyone else.”

She took a deep breath. Frustration lined her tired face, but she fell silent again, watching me closely, as if still genuinely trying to understand where I was coming from for the first time.

A sudden burst of hope—and courage—seized me. I still didn’t know the exact words I needed to say, but I stood and went to her side, pulling the collar of my shirt down so she could see the scar left by Andrel’s knife.

Her lips parted with a soft gasp.

I often wondered why the Moraki—with all the magic and power at their disposal—had insisted on leaving this ugly marking of my mortal life even after granting me divinity. Both this scar and the ones on my face. Why had they not made me as flawlessly beautiful as almost all the other goddesses?

Now I believed I understood the reason.

Because I needed to show my scars to others. To speak of them. To not hide from them.

My sister didn’t flinch as she stared at the one near my heart. Tentatively, her hands moved as they had when we’d first reunited, her fingertips tracing my ruined skin before drawing back into a fist.

One minute passed.

Then another.

I realized I was holding my breath, my entire body tensed as if anticipating a punch from her clenched hand, even though my sister had never physically struck me.

She never moved.

The weight of all the unspoken things between us threatened to buckle my knees. I backed up a few steps and sank into the chair closest to her.

Quietly, she said, “I just wanted us to be on the same side again.”

“I wanted that, too.” I inhaled deeply, trying to take in more of the courage that had enveloped me a moment ago. “But things are different, now. And if you are on my side, then you have to keep listening when I speak my truth. Even when it’s not what you want to hear. Even if it’s not the same as your truth anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed at first—the reflexive, defensive anger I’d mirrored so well for so long—but it burned up quickly, this time, leaving behind nothing but a deep, aching sadness in her gaze as she said, “You’re still my little sister.”

I couldn’t speak over the thickness in my throat, so I merely nodded. There was no changing where I’d come from. No changing what I was, or where I’d been.

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