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“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully, looking over her board. “It is.”

“I didn’t realize how much you cared until you showed up in Damenal.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“Until then, I thought you resented me as I’d tried to you.” Her jaw popped open, but I continued, “Think about it, Ria. We were never close. We only shared formalities, but how well did we truly know each other outside of that?”

She chewed over those words, looking at the figures and statistics lining the walls. “More people are going to die in this war, Tolek.” Lyria met my eyes again. “I don’t want to risk that with these bruises still between us.”

“I’m letting mine go, Lyria.” It was the truth. I’d been doing it bit by bit for a while now, and hearing her speak of how she felt growing up—how scarred she was—had released an immense amount.

“I’ll do my best to.” She evaluated me, deciding it was okay to share what she said next. “I was scared when you were…I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up—and we’d always have the unaddressed rivalry between us.”

“I’m here now,” I promised.

No more. I wouldn’t allow our father the power of building walls between his children any longer.

“She helps you see otherwise for yourself, doesn’t she? Helps you see how wrong Father’s thoughts are.”

I didn’t need to ask who she was asking about. I think my sister always knew how I felt, even before I’d admitted it to myself.

“Yeah.” Unabashed, I flashed a lopsided grin. “She is helping me.”

“I’m happy for you, Tolek.” She didn’t say more but I sensed there was something she was keeping in. Her fingers fluttered nervously over the table again, sinking back into that place of forced perfection. I wasn’t sure what set it off, what had her taking her worth from these sigils, but I stepped to her side at the board of war.

“I’ve been a bad sister to you,” she admitted.

“I have not been a great brother.” I ran off in the night with her horse and a measly explanation of where we went, thinking she wouldn’t care. “But let me help you now. Let me help you with this, Lyria.” I searched her expression as she scanned the table. How was my sister as broken as I was and I never knew? “Please.”

Her eyes glassed over. Finally, she nodded, and we sank into chairs around her war table, ready to play a much more dangerous game.

For once, we were on the same team.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Ophelia

When I got back to the cabin, the elation I’d buzzed with in the infirmary quickly faded again. The inkling of hope replaced by the nagging that had persisted at the back of my brain since we arrived at camp

It pounded harder. Demanding. My fingers itched for something to do. Absently walking to the dresser, I opened a drawer, not wanting to pry into the owner’s belongings if it was still full.

A rigorous tempo increased in my head as I stared down at the leathers folded in the top drawer. Three sets fashioned like my own official garb, stored here by Angels knew who.

Beat, beat, beat went that drum against my skull as I sidestepped to the second dresser and pulled. The loose handle rattled. Three more sets, these ones precisely the cut and style Tolek preferred.

And in the two drawers below each of those: tunics.

Rushing to the wardrobe, I threw it open. Cloaks of various weights weakened my knees. Heavy, lined ones for the harsh winter that was threatening the southern mountains. Lighter wool for a season that was months off when the snow may vanish from the tips of this camp but the stubborn cold still gripped the air. All finely-crafted and new.

As I stood there counting the garments and the boots lining the floor of the wardrobe, something cracked inside me. The drum beating against my skull reached its crescendo. This wasn’t solely a camp. It wasn’t made to be temporary and vacated after the battles. This place was a fortress established for as many days, weeks, months that this persisted.

And based on the reinforcements placed here for us, they were setting up for a long war.

Flashes of cobblestone city streets lined with bodies assaulted my vision. Smoke stung my nose and eyes. Rubble dug into my skin.

My fingers tightened around the wardrobe door until it cracked. Splinters sliced into my palm.

No, I swore, that shredding feeling inside of me splitting violently between my ribs. Warm vengeance pooled desperately in its crevices. This would not last that long. I took an oath for the Mystiques, and they would not spend another day in a war they did not deserve.