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Chapter 2KLARA
“Stop fussing, Klara,” Da
I huffed out a sharp breath, and my hand dropped away from my head, from where I’d been nervously smoothing down my hair. “That’s not—”
“The guards said you were down in the western market today,” he said, cutting me off, bumping my shoulder with his arm. “Why’d you go there?”
I shot my brother a sharp look. “You had me followed?”
“It’s the shadow moon” was all he replied, shrugging one shoulder, as if that would answer my question. And well…it did.
“Then you’ll know I was with Sora. I’d been in the archives all morning, I wanted to get some air before this tonight,” I explained, waving a hand before us.
We were tucked against the far window of our father’s grand throne room. I could hardly hear my own thoughts with all the chatter, music, and laughter, a headache starting to bloom behind my right eye.
There was an edge to my brother tonight. More guards were in the throne room for this celebration than for any other throughout the year. Even the laughter of the guests seemed louder, more forced.
Perhaps we were all trying to pretend that dragons wouldn’t land at the East Gate any moment, if they hadn’t already.
Across the room, I spotted the Laseta Kalliri—the high priestess of Dothik. She was watching me across the crush of bodies, and I pressed my lips together, inclining my head in respect. Then I looked away swiftly, telling myself to relax my shoulders and to smile softly at no one at all, like I was enjoying the merriment of the gathering, like I was at ease with her piercing eyes on me. Like I had nothing to hide.
Out of the corner of my eye, I waited until she turned her back, speaking with a male I recognized as a powerful merchant, and I blew out a steady, slow breath through my lips.
“What is it?” Da
“Nothing,” I said, turning to him with a small grin.
My brother frowned, his golden eyes cutting to the Laseta Kalliri before fastening back on me. His lips parted, but before he could say anything, a guard approached.
“Rukkar, your father is requesting your presence on the dais,” he said. Prince, he’d called Da
A jolt went through my belly, a spear of disappointment cutting through me.
“Come,” Da
The guard said, with evident hesitation, “Only you. The Dothikkar made it clear.”
He stared down the guard, who was a head shorter than him, until the other male dropped his gaze to the floor.
“It’s all right,” I told him, pressing my fingers to the back of his scarred hand. “Go.”
Da
“There is always defeat in your eyes, sister,” he told me, cupping my cheeks in his warm palms. “I wish you would fight more for what is yours by blood.”
Then he released me. He turned away while I struggled to swallow the sudden shame in my throat. I was alone again, watching my brother spear through the crowd, which parted for him like curtains in the morning, welcoming the dawn.
That was what he was for Dothik. It was common knowledge he was my father’s favored heir, though my half sister, Alanis, was his firstborn. My father was expected to step down from the throne in the coming years. A new rule would come. Da
From my corner in the throne room, I watched my family rise together on the dais. My father, with his graying hair and unyielding green eyes; a pink, thin-lipped mouth; and ruddy, wrinkled cheeks. My stepmother was next to him, though she hated when I made any mention of that title. Instead, I called her Lakkari just like everyone else. Queen of Dothik. And my half siblings.
Alanis, with her waist-length blonde hair and black pyroki scales sewn to her clothes in a way that resembled armor—not unlike the male from the market, I noted. She had never warmed to me, thinking me nothing more than a bug beneath her boot, another competitor for the throne she coveted.
Lakkis, in all her ethereal beauty that left the guards’ tongues tied in her wake. My sister—while she’d always been kind to me—was still practically a stranger, an impenetrable wall I’d never been able to break through.
And Da
Together they made a pretty picture. The longing to join them on the dais burned so hot in my stomach it made nausea rise.
Across the room, my siblings’ mother caught my eyes. Her chin lifted, brow raising. The gold crown seated on her brow sparkled under the lights as the throne room quieted, eager to hear the Dothikkar’s welcoming speech.
This blatant rejection was growing more humiliating every year. I’d thought it would get better. It only ever got worse.
Leave, came the thought that had been surfacing more and more in recent months. Rent the little room we had above the tavern, and live as you please. Or return to the wildlands, where you remember Mother best, where we were happy.
But then I would truly be alone…and that scared me more than anything in this life. At least here, in this cold palace, I had Da
The Lakkari’s serene smirk followed me out of the throne room when I fled, keeping to the outskirts of the room like a rodent, hoping that I drew no one’s eyes but hers.
Unfortunately, I felt the burn of dozens’ as I slipped through the door, the snickering whispers erupting in my wake.
“I knew I’d find you here,” came my brother’s voice, cutting through the hushed, dark chamber.
I raised my head, confused. Then I jolted and wiped my right cheek with the back of my hand, my spine straightening as I smoothed my dress.
“It’s only me,” Da
I was sitting on a bench across from an unyielding pedestal, one that held a gleaming sword. Da
“Have they come?” I asked immediately. “How many are there this time?”
My brother and I looked nothing alike. I looked like my mother—all dark, wavy hair and small features. And Da
“You spend more time in here than you do in your precious archives,” he grumbled, his booted feet crossing to me, ignoring my questions. “You’d think Arik’s sword would’ve lost its appeal by now.”
“It was Bekkar’s sword first,” I told him. The first great king of Dothik, passed down to my own ancestor. There was a white glowing stone still embedded in its hilt, its energy palpable. The heartstone. The last one in existence.
“And then Kara gifted it to Arik after the red fog’s defeat, lysi,” Da
I turned my gaze back to the sword. The power of the heartstone was warm. It felt like a heartbeat to me. Comforting. Tangible. I could feel the tendrils of power floating over my skin, and if my mother was still alive, maybe I could ask her why.
Da
No one had wielded it since King Arik. It burned any who touched it. And yet it remained gleaming throughout the years, not a speck of dust or sign of mottled age marring the metal. The blade was as sharp as it had been in Bekkar’s own hand.
“What does it feel like to you?” Da
I swallowed, my spine snapping. “What?”
“I heard you and your mother speaking once, shortly before she was sent away,” he started, his voice hushed, as if we weren’t alone in this crypt of a place. “Shortly after you came to live here. Right here.”
I swallowed, dropping his hand quickly. “Da
“You told her you had seen them in your dreams. For years,” he said quietly. “What did you mean? Because I know a sword injury when I see it. And that scar? It didn’t come from a sword.”
“Da
“You think I’ll let them take you to the orala sa’kilan? You think I’ll let them take you away to the priestesses in the North Lands, to live out the rest of your days in training and servitude, used as a conduit to try to create more heartstones?” Da
Blood is blood, Klara. You are of me. He is of another. You ca
My mother’s words. Permanently embedded in my mind. I’d wanted to tell Da
“Even go against your own mother?” I asked. “Because we all know what she did.”
Da
“She’s wanted me gone since I first came to the palace,” I told him. “Any hint of weakness… I’m surprised she hasn’t married me off to a darukkar in one of the hordes. If only so she never has to look at me again.”
“You are of royal blood,” Da
I laughed, but it sounded hollow. My eyes were stinging from the tears that had already dried in my lap. “Because I’m so frightening. With all my books and half-mad theories.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Which one?” I returned.
His eyes cut back to the sword, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He was on edge, his tail skittering across the stone.
“What is it?” I asked, turning on the bench to face him more fully. Something was wrong. Had the celebration feast already ended? “Da
“The riders landed at the East Gate.”
His words weren’t unexpected, however. Yet there was something I couldn’t place in his tone that made nerves curl in my chest, skittering my heartbeat.
“How many?” I asked, repeating my earlier question.