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“I will tell you,” he says. “But first, allow me to speak her name again.”

Suddenly, shame heats my cheeks, and I’m sorry for being peevish to Oshli, for ignoring him, for keeping Vanna to myself when he has as much right as I do to see her and honor her. For cursing him so he cannot speak her name.

I’ve been afraid, I want to tell him, but I cannot. So I do the best that I can, and touch my chest, lifting the silence I cast upon him. “You may speak her name.”

In my life, I have never seen anyone look so grateful. “Vanna,” he says, as though the name were a key that unlocks the very air he breathes. “Thank you.”

“She is buried there.” I gesture at the orchids. “Go, speak to her.”

I start to turn for Adah’s house, but Oshli lifts one of the lanterns from his staff. “Wait.” A small smile touches his face, turning it boyish. “Did you know I used to call Vanna ‘my lantern’? Because of how her heart shone.” He looks at me, for the first time without faltering. “You were the light that made it shine brightest, Channi.”

I swallow hard. “Don’t flatter me. She loved you.”

“She didn’t love me until the end. She loved you from the beginning.”

There is no bitterness in his tone, no envy or resentment. He merely speaks truth.

Butterflies flock to him, landing on his arm in such numbers that they resemble a ruffled sleeve. He strikes a flame and lights one of the lanterns.

“Why did you bring two?” I ask.

“For the two sisters,” he replies. He offers me his candle so I may light the second lantern. “Gadda says that this life is merely a stepping-stone to the next. I have faith that in your next one you will find each other again. The lanterns will guide you.”

I take more comfort in his words than he can know. The lantern in my hand sways.

“Do you want to know now what I promised her?” Oshli asks.

When I nod, he sets down his lantern. “I promised to tell you that she will wait for you. That she wants you to take your time.”

They are the simplest words, but also the words that break me. My shoulders shake, and the tears begin to fall.

“I promised her you wouldn’t be alone, that I would be a friend if you needed me.” His voice falls soft. “She wanted you to be happy.”

“She didn’t know about my…my face.”

“She couldn’t have. But she knew life hasn’t been easy for you, Channi. She wanted you to find your way, however you must.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Nor do I,” he admits. “But every day I get a little closer. It is a journey, and it begins once you walk past the walls you’ve built around your heart.” He pauses. “Can you leave those walls behind—for her, for yourself?”

I finally remember the lantern in my hand. I set it down beside Oshli’s. Their glow is a mirror of my own light. “I will try.”

* * *

It is well into the night when I pad into my old room in Adah’s house and reach under my cot. There I find the broken spear that I stabbed Hokzuh with. I hold it upright, and the tip of the blade comes only to my chin.

All day, I’ve thought about Vanna’s request. I’ve thought about the walls I’ve always hated—not just the walls of this house, but also the walls forced upon me by my face.

My face. For years, a serpent’s. Now, until I die, my sister’s.

I might not be able to break down those walls, but Oshli’s right. If I cannot find a way to walk past them, I will always be trapped. And there is only one way I can think of to set myself free.

Still holding my spear, I turn to Mama’s shrine. There is a white orchid next to the sculpture I made of Mama, and it bobs along with my movements.

I catch it in my hand, hold it by the stem to my cheek. My throat swells, making it hard to breathe. It is a moon orchid, Vanna’s favorite.

“Sister,” I say softly to the flower, “your face was the one I loved most in this life. Never did I dream it might bring me pain to see. But it does. Because it is your face, not mine.” The words crawl out of me, and I pause before I can speak again. “I would not disrespect you, so I ask for your permission. Please.” I grip my spear tighter. “Will you let me be free?”