Page 110 of Forged in Flame and Shadow

“Sophos.” My sister pulls me into a hug when she opens the door, her thin arms squeezing me with surprising strength. “So nice of you to drop in on us again. I know how busy you are.”

“I will always find time for you, Ettia,” I say as we step inside. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, fine,” she says, though she sounds a little breathless.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course.” She brushes her hair out of her face, and I notice dark circles under her eyes. “Olin has been asking after you.”

“He has?” Warmth flares in my chest at the thought, and I offer up the little wooden toy. “I bought him this in the market.”

“Oh, that’s too kind. You’ll spoil him, you know.”

“He’s still young. He’ll have time to learn about the perils of indulgence. For now, I think we can gift him a wagon without fear of corruption.”

I mean it as a joke, but something about my words troubles Ettia.

“Shall we go through?” I suggest when we’ve fallen into an awkward silence.

“Yes, of course,” she says, springing into action.

We move into the little sitting room, and I regret all over again that I can’t put her up somewhere better—not without drawing attention from Temple officials. It has been four years since I found Ettia, though I’d been searching for her for much longer. When a child is claimed by the Temple of Ethira, they are meant to cut all ties with their kin so that the Temple can become their new family. But I never stopped thinking about my sister—that scrawny, resilient little girl I’d left behind in Xatus.

I’d been convinced I could reconnect with her without sacrificing any loyalty to the Temple, and when I became a bearer, with access to more freedom and resources, it felt like the gods were opening the door for me. I would just check on her, I told myself. Just to get reassurance she was alive and well. But when I finally did find Ettia, near starving on the city streets with a newborn clutched to her chest, I knew my destiny was to help her.

Since then, I’ve had to keep my visits to Xatus secret, but I’ve watched her and her son Olin flourish. We find him seated on the rug in the sitting room, his black hair sticking out at odd angles as he chews on a slice of apple.

“Fossy!” he lifts his hands up when he sees me, asking for a hug. I swing him into my arms and watch his eyes sparkle with delight.

“Hello Olin,” I say. “I have a present for you.”

I show him the wagon and enjoy his fascination as he spins the wheels.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, not taking his eyes off the little wooden contraption. I chuckle.

“Here, let’s put it on the floor and see how far it will go,” I say, placing him down. “Ettia, could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

“Yes,” she says, but she doesn’t move. Olin slides the toy across the rug and makes a frustrated noise when it only rolls a few inches.

“Let’s try moving the rug,” I say, bending down beside him. “It’ll go faster on the wooden floor, I bet.”

I glance up at Ettia, who still hasn’t moved. “Is everything alright?”

She says nothing.

Olin pushes the wagon hard, and it careens toward the wall.

“Look, Fossy! Look how fast!”

The wagon smashes against the plaster, causing the little horse to snap from its twine reins and go flying.

“Oops,” I say, going to pick up the horse. “Maybe moving the rug was a bad idea. Never mind, I’m sure we can fix it.”

But Olin is already distraught, his face crumpling.

Ettia hurries over to him, grabbing his hands.

“It’s alright Olin, it’s alright. Mommy will fix it. Please don’t get upset.”

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