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He’s only an inch shorter than I am, and he’s built like a stone wall. I have him off-balance, however, and he’s at my mercy. He stops fighting me when he nearly falls down the stairs.

“What do you want me to do?” The new tone of seriousness in his voice satisfies me slightly, but I’m still on fire. The sola brossa burn in my eyes, and my anger burns in my heart.

“You’re going to bury them.”

We reach the back entrance. I open it, thrust the bones into his naked arms, and push him through. I point to the shovel leaning against the house.

“And I don’t care if the kaligorven see you doing it.”

His head jerks up from the bones, and right before I slam the door shut, I see the whites of his eyes.

The ténesomni must remain . . .

I am half awake. The oath of the Shrouded reverberates around my brain, but the voice is all wrong.

. . . Unbroken . . .

It twists and mutates into a screeching wail, snapping through my semi-conscious state.

“My boy, my darling boy ...”

I lurch upright, flinging the bedclothes to the floor. Dread gnaws at my intestines.

“Oh, Rhun, mybaby. . .”

Mother’s voice, transformed by the unearthly tones of grief. My hands and knees collide with the scraped wood floor for the second time tonight as I throw myself from the bed, but I have lost the ability to feel.

Out in the hallway, the other boys’ door cracks open. Korvin’s murky eyes peer from the shadows. All I can do is shake my head desperately at him as I pull the door closed.

“Why, ohwhy. . . my baby . . .Rhun. . .”

I reach the kitchen. My father’s broad silhouette dominates the doorway. A lantern hangs limply at his side. His shoulders are slumped, his head low. An aching cold spreads down my arms as nausea rushes up my core.

“Not my boy . . . Not my son . . .”

Father’s fist tightens around the lantern’s handle. He turns around when he hears me approaching.

“What—what happened?” I say through a throat that has tried to seal itself shut.

The ignati barely manages to reveal his hardened face, taut and murderous.

“The kaligorven took your brother, Belwyn.” His detached tone does not match the muscles twisted so tight they might snap.

I try to look past my father to see, but I can only picture Rhun’s wide eyes as I shoved him out the door, the sola brossa gleaming against his white arms. Father shifts to block me.

“No, Belwyn. He is gone. That is no longer your brother.” He lifts the lantern so he can see my eyes, so I can see his.

“But why ...” I gulp down the words. I know why. He’s dead because his self-righteous brother exposed him to the night.

Father drops the lantern. It smashes on the flagstones, and the fire goes out. In the darkness, he grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me violently. “It does not matter why. Do you understand?” He jolts me again. Pain fires through my neck. “He was a sacrifice the kaligorven demanded.”

A cold sweat breaks out all over me. Whatever he may say, I know it’s my fault. It was me.

I am glad he can no longer see my face.

His grip loosens, and he bends to retrieve the lantern. My mother’s ugly wails rend the early morning air. “We will go to every single house in the Vale and rip every last sola bone from the greedy fingers of the valefolk.”

I bob my chin in agreement, though it’s just a habit. I am not really here. This is not really happening.