Page 121 of Ash and Feather

Savna appeared in the doorway of my room a moment later, clutching a steaming cup in her hands.

“A peace offering,” she said, lifting it toward me.

I stared at the steaming cup. I recognized its scent and instantly knew what it was—a drink we’d indulged in on special occasions and on the difficult days we’d shared growing up.

“Cinnamon milk.” I made myself hold still as she approached and offered it to me. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had this.”

“I thought it might’ve been.”

I accepted it but didn’t drink right away, as my throat had developed a habit of swelling up every time my sister drew near.

She suddenly seemed eager to look everywhere but my face. As I inhaled the creamy, spicy scent wafting up from the mug, her eyes fell to the floor near my bed.

I sucked in a breath as I spotted my mistake: One of the charts I’d been working on was still sticking out.

“What were you drawing?” she asked.

“I wasn’t,” I croaked out. “It’s just…it’s nothing.”

She gave me a curious look before walking over to pick up the stray paper. “I find that hard to believe. Even when we were kids, you were always drawingsomething.”

I thought about stopping her, maybe stomping over and ripping the page from her hands.

I couldn’t get my feet to move.

“I remember all your lists,” she said, distractedly, smoothing out the paper and studying it closer. “Your diagrams, your charts, your maps. You had a gift for remembering details.” She was quiet for several minutes, eyes still on my work, before eventually saying, “You’ve gotten even better.”

I swallowed. Or tried to. The swelling in my throat was becoming painful.

She sighed. Her voice trembled a bit as she asked, “So tell me…is there a map forus?”

The question caught me off guard.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Not one I’ve managed to draw, anyway.” I clutched the mug more tightly. It might have burned my palms if not for the command I now had over fire; as it was, I found the blistering heat comforting.

With a sigh, Savna placed the paper on my nightstand. Her eyes lingered on it for a moment longer, and then she said, “Those are the runes I set along the edges of our yard, aren’t they?”

There was no use in denying it. “Yes.”

“You want to know how they work?” There was a painful hint of hope in her tone. “I could teach you to create them if you wanted me to.”

Her last sentence slid like needles under my skin. “I don’t want to create more of those wards.”

She visibly braced herself, as if I’d drawn back a sword and prepared to stab her with it.

“I want to break them,” I continued, quietly. “I want to leave this place.”

She stared at me for a long moment before hastily dropping her gaze back to the runes I’d sketched. “Andrel warned me you would try everything you could to get back to the gods. I’d hoped he was wrong—hoped that you’d want to stay as long as I was here, and maybe we could…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“What else did he warn you about?” I demanded, temper flaring at the mere mention of his name. “I would love to know the extent of the lies he’s told about me.”

She gave me an exasperated look. For a moment I thought she might throw up her hands in defeat and storm away, but she stood her ground, her exasperation turning to the calm fierceness I’d always admired in her as she said, “I don’t know what’s happened between the two of you. All I know is he’s helped me hide all these years. Helped me stay safe, and helped me build an army worthy of the cause I’d envisioned—a cause our ancestors would have been thrilled about.”

“An army he wanted me to serve without question.”

“Of course. And I did, too, because—”

“But has he told you what he tried to do once Iopposedhim and that army?”

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