Page 94 of The Blood that Binds Us

Dusaro chuckles without humor, his eyes creasing in the corners as he shakes his head. “No time, Singard.”

“I have to hold it,” he snarls, the veins in his forearms bulging as he exerts all his energy into holding the flames steady.

My own arms turn to lead as exhaustion seeps into them, but I hold fast. We can’t drop our hold until everyone has been evacuated.

“Get. Her. Out,” Sin growls again, his tone rivaling the flames for wrath.

“I told you it would catch up with you,” Dusaro drawls. “I’m not going to risk our home crumbling to the ground to take care of yourpet.Let her burn,” he spits, cold indifference wet on his tongue.

Fury rips across the Black Art’s face, his eyes narrowing into slits. Sin’s hand clenches around mine as he bares his teeth at his father.

I look between them both, confused and irritated they’re choosing now to have a pissing contest while someone is trapped. “Who needs out? Ileana? Where is she?” I demand, panic rising in my voice. If Dusaro won’t risk getting her out, I will.

Sin doesn’t answer me, no sign he even heard me on his face as he continues to stare down his father, his expression threatening something much worse than alchemist fire.

“SINGARD!” I shout, and his eyes finally drop to mine. “Tell me where she is—I will get her!”

“The gate! Your Grace—the gate has been breached!” Aldred warns from behind us.

From over my shoulder, a small group of about fifteen steps out from a cloud of smoke and ash. Behind them, Sin’s guards lay strewn across a now blood-soaked lawn, though no one in the group has their weapons drawn. A woman of small stature stands in front of the rest, clearly their leader, and raises her hand above her head. The air turns rouge as she recalls the fire into her palm, leaving the castle smoking and ruined and bare.

The mother of the flames.

“That’s not possible,” Dusaro breathes next to me, dropping my hand as we release our joined magics.

“Stand down!” Sin calls to the soldiers now charging the group. None of their hands even flinch towards their weapons, though if they managed to create alchemist fire, I doubt they intend on fighting with steel at all.

Sin and Dusaro rush forward to meet the infiltrators where they stand. The woman in front, the one who commanded the flames, is short in stature with dark wavy hair that falls to her shoulders. A labyrinth of lines and circles drawn in black and white paint is smeared across her rounded face. Behind her, the others all wear similar masks of painted-on geometric shapes slathered across their cheeks and forehead, and again under their eyes. They wear no armor, and the swords and knives hanging from their sides appear well-crafted. This is not Legion.

“Sera,” Dusaro murmurs, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Dusaro,” the woman replies. Her voice is lower than I expected, juxtaposed by the roundness of her cheeks and the feminine slope of her shoulders. Her pine green eyes sweep across Dusaro and rest on Sin who hasn’t moved a muscle since calling off his men.

“Singard,” she whispers, her deep voice softening around his name. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“Mother,” he utters, almost a question, as if he doesn’t trust his eyes not to deceive him.

Mother?His mother was murdered, labeled a traitor for marrying Dusaro—a betrayal that was punished with her permanent silence. Judging by the surprise in both Sin’s and his father’s voices, they believed that to be true.

But now that I study her, I see the resemblance. Her green eyes are a darker shade and rounder than her son’s, and her pale skin a stark contrast to the deep umber brown Sin shares with his father. But it’s there—in the straightness of her nose and the curve of her lips—she is undeniably Sin’s mother.

“How are you here? How… They killed you… they…” Dusaro stammers off, shaking his head as if he could rearrange the thoughts in his mind until they make sense.

“I left, Dusaro. I had a duty to protect my people.”

“Protect your people—protect them fromwhat?”

“From you,” she drawls, double edged sharpness in her tone.

“I don’t understand. We nearly started a war with transcendents because we thought you were dead. We slaughtered an entire army that was formed in response to our actions against them. Youallowedus to think that. How could that have helped your people, Sera?”

Never have I heard Dusaro speak with such uncertainty. He stares at—at his wife—as if he hardly recognizes her at all. If it weren’t for her apparent disdain towards him, I’d have written her off as being as vile as the rest of them.

“Did you expect I’d be content to stand by and watch as you and Ephraim spread your lies and your hate for my kind? Teaching people to fear us, as if we were the ones inciting violence. Motivating them to kill us before we killed their wives, their children.” Sera shakes her head and tsks softly to herself.

“I would have protected you. I always protected you,” Dusaro responds, confusion in his tone and his usual sneer replaced with tenderness.

“By hiding me! You stowed me away like some treasure you didn’t want to share. That’s not protecting me, Dusaro. I was a prisoner.” Sera takes a step forward, and every guard around us mirrors her with one of their own.

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