Page 143 of Ash and Feather

I held my tongue. I knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue the matter just then. Not after the day we’d had. I didn’t need to voice my concerns, anyway; she could read me easily enough.

“I am not a fool, Dravyn,” she said, standing, but not pulling away completely. “I know what she’s done. But she ultimately protected me and helped me escape this time. And in the days before that, we actually spoke. On several occasions. And she seemed—at times—like the sister I knew and loved. I know you haven’t spoken to your brother in years, but if you had a chance to go back, to talk like you used to...”

My brother’s latest words to me slid through my thoughts, stinging just as badly as they had while I stood before him.

You are not welcome here any longer.

Without looking at Karys, I said, “I recently spoke with him, actually. Not as prolonged a conversation or visit as you had to endure with your sister, but it was…enough.”

I could feel the weight of her shocked stare. I kept my eyes on the ground, on one of the scorch marks she’d left while setting fires earlier.

“He was their true target that night in Mindoth,” I said. “They were trying to kill him—and they very nearly managed it. I dug him out of the rubble myself.”

“Is he…okay?”

“He’ll live.”

She hesitated a moment before settling back on the wall beside me, tucking her hands beneath her, forcing herself to be still in spite of the storm of questions I could sense roaring through her head.

“I went to his palace to ask for help finding you,” I said. “That’s how I encountered Cillian. He was being held in the dungeon, and I convinced Fallon to let me speak with him. I haven’t been back to Altis since, though, and I don’t intend to change that.”

Her gaze flew toward mine. “What? Why not? You’ve finally started talking again, isn’t that—”

“It’s simpler to leave some things in the past.”

“He’s not athing, he’s your brother.”

“A brother who still wants nothing to do with me. We’re even now; I dragged him from a collapsing building, he helped me find you. And then he ordered me not to return to the royal city.”

Her nostrils flared. “Do gods take orders from kings?”

“No, not usually. But this is a special case.”

She started to argue before seeming to think better of it—though keeping silent and still remained an obvious effort for her.

I kept talking, partly because it seemed to make her less restless. “He has yet to forgive me for the way things happened on the night of our siblings’ murders, and in the aftermath.”

She was quiet for a few more beats, considering.

Then she asked, “Have you forgivenyourself?”

My stomach dropped.

What a foolish question, I thought, bitterly.

“It’s a fair, important question,” she countered, as if I’d said it out loud.

“You’re getting very good at hearing my thoughts,” I muttered.

A corner of her mouth lifted a touch. “Nothing is safe from me, now.”

I huffed out a laugh, though I was far from amused. I returned my attention to the burned ground. “Fallon needs somebody to hate. Someone to blame for all the things that have gone wrong in our lives. I can give him that, at least, even though I’ve abandoned him.”

She still didn’t argue, but when I glanced her way a minute later, her eyes were glazed over, clearly plagued by troubled thoughts.

Giving her head a little shake, she said, “You’re more than that, you know. More than a target for other people’s grief and anger and hatred. And you are worthy of forgiveness, whether you believe that or not.”

My throat was suddenly too thick to swallow, much less to reply, so I merely gave a noncommittal shrug.

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