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Eleven Years Ago

Iljaria—the Prism Master’s house

Brandr and I turn nine today. Next year we’ll push up our sleeves and receive the first of our tattoos in the color of our patron Lords.

Mine will be bronze, to warn everyone to be wary of my mind magic.

Brandr’s will be red, though he has none of the power of the Lord of Fire that I can tell, and I’ve heard my parents speak in low voices that they fear his true patron is the Ghost Lord.

But they can’t claim him for Brandr. It would mean casting him out of Iljaria society, because my people fear the Ghost Lord’s nullifying magic more than anything.

But this year there is only a token gift for each of us from our mother—esteemed architect and adviser to the queen—and a lecture from our father, the Prism Master.

We sit together in our father’s office, the diamond-paned window open wide, the summer breeze rushing in over the sea.

I would pity Brandr, perhaps, if I were a kinder sister.

He is sickly again—he’s always been sickly, from the moment we were born, plagued with every illness known to the world and rarely leaving his rooms. He sweats and shakes today, but there is anger in his eyes.

He can hardly bear to listen to our father go on and on about bringing glory to our people, serving them with our gifts, being true and being strong.

Brandr is not strong. He has never been strong. And whatever magic does flow through his veins wreaks havoc on him. He hates everything, and he hates me especially, because I have all the strength denied him.

My lecture is worse. It’s all about responsibility, and not taking advantage of those weaker than myself, and how mind magic can easily be used for evil purposes—just look at the Bronze Lord.

I squirm in my seat, acutely aware of Brandr’s ever-increasing anger, because who else would our father be talking about being weaker than me but him?

My eyes wander to the window. I long to be out of doors, reveling in the sweet scent of summer, basking in the warmth of the sun, which always feels like a miracle after the long darkness of Soul’s Rest.

“Are you listening, Brynja?” says Father sharply.

I suck in a breath and snap my gaze to his. “Yes, sir.”

Father frowns. “I suppose you can both go to your lessons now. I have things to attend to.”

Brandr stands shakily and leaves the room with agonizing slowness, but I hang back.

At first, Father doesn’t notice. He assumes I’ve gone, too, and shuffles through the papers on his heavy mahogany desk, all thought of me and Brandr and our birthday gone right out of his head.

I fiddle with the gift from my mother that I shoved into my pocket the instant she gave it to me: a beaded necklace with a hammered bronze pendant.

Brandr got a red one. They’re pretty, I suppose, but they don’t even do anything, which feels like a waste of Iljaria craftsmanship.

I wonder if Brandr is mad about the necklaces.

I wonder if he’s mad that we don’t even get a party for our birthday.

Because today is not about us. Not really.

It’s about our sister, Lilja, who is six years older than us.

Her patron is the Green Lady, though I’ve always thought she must have Prism magic, because her powers are greater than just growing things.

She’s an inventor, infusing mechanical machines with her magic, like a carriage that doesn’t need horses, a self-powered drill, a clock that can cook breakfast, and lots and lots of other things.

Her latest project is a set of wings made of canvas and wood, stitched with power to make the wearer soar like a bird. I watched her make them. I watched her use them, flying so high I feared she would reach the sun. I didn’t dare ask her to let me try, though I dearly wanted to.

My parents are taking Lilja to Daeros to show off her inventions to the king, and maybe even sell some of them to him.

They don’t care about the money, of course.

They’re really going to see if the thing the Iljaria buried in the mountain so long ago remains hidden.

They go every few decades, on one pretense or another.

But pretense or not, Lilja couldn’t be more proud, and I couldn’t be more envious. They’re leaving this afternoon.

So I stand in my father’s office and wait for him to notice me.

“What is it, Brynja?” he asks after a while, without looking up from his desk.

I worry my lip, embarrassed that he knew I was here all along and was evidently just waiting for me to leave.

“I want to go to Daeros with you and Mother and Lilja. I’m old enough to go.”

He gives a little laugh. “You are no older than a dewdrop. You will stay here and look after Brandr.” He pulls out a blank sheet of paper and his lips move silently, words scrawling themselves onto the page without the use of a pen.

I ball my hands into fists and glare at the paper, pulling the words my father just put there right off again, and flinging them into a jumbled heap on the table.

“Brynja!” says my father sharply.

But I don’t care. I’m not staying home to look after Brandr.

I dart into my father’s mind, quick and slippery as a minnow.

A heartbeat later, he smooths the words onto the paper again. “It would be good for you to experience the land that once belonged to us,” he says. “You may come, Brynja. Pack your things.”

I smile bright as the sun and bolt out of the office before he realizes what I did.

Year 4189, Month of the White Lady

Daeros—Tenebris

Lilja is more than a little annoyed that I get to come to Daeros. “She meddled in your mind , Father!” she says, over and over. “She ought to be punished, not rewarded.”

But Father replies that if I had the gall—and the power—to manipulate the Prism Master, I can’t be trusted to be left alone. And I can tell he’s at least a little bit impressed, even though I do earn myself another lecture.

So I travel with Lilja and our parents in one of Lilja’s horseless carriages, rushing swift and silent over the long miles to Daeros, and it is only Brandr who is left behind.

My first glimpse of the mountain takes my breath away, the sun shining on rock and ice, the Sea of Bones crafted in shades of shifting blue beside it. The name is too grim, I think, for such ancient beauty.

We are received in the great hall, the entire back wall made of glass, sunlight refracting so blindingly off the ice it makes my eyes tear.

The king of Daeros greets us along with four of his sons, and I can’t help staring at them.

I am not used to unmagical people, with their dark hair proclaiming they have no power at all.

One of the sons, though, has strands of white mixed into his hair, and magic burns bright beneath his skin. I’m fascinated by him—I’ve never heard of a half Iljaria before. He catches me staring, blue eyes fixed on mine, and I duck behind my mother, embarrassed.

The king gives us a tour of the Collection he keeps in the great hall, which I’m horrified to find is made up of children kept in glass and metal cages. He explains how one is a brilliant singer, how another can swallow fire, and another is an impressive shot with bow and arrow, even blindfolded.

My belly churns; I’m afraid I’m going to be sick, but neither my parents nor Lilja say even a word against it. I’m relieved when the tour is over and we’re all shown to the guest wing.

After that, Lilja and I are made to keep mostly to the room we share. Even Lilja is deemed too young to attend any of the king’s grand dinners, which annoys her to no end.

“It’s because you’re here,” she snaps at me. “I’d be allowed to go if not for you .”

I hold my tongue so I don’t say something rude. I hate that I worship the very ground she walks on, and all I am to her is an annoyance.

She spends most days tinkering with her inventions, occasionally acquiescing to play at Lords and Ladies with me. But even that isn’t much fun. She gets mad if I move my carved wooden game pieces with my mind instead of my hands. She thinks my power is wicked.

“The Bronze God ended up mutilated,” she tells me what seems like a thousand times, shoving her silver spectacles up onto her nose. “If he would have bound his power up inside of him instead of letting it consume him, maybe he wouldn’t even now be in misery and torment.”

“But I’m not wicked,” I say, very quietly, because sometimes I’m not actually sure.

“You used your power to get what you wanted, at the expense of Father, and me. What else would you call it?”

I chew on my lip and fall silent.

There are times when Lilja is called for, to show her inventions to the king, and I’m left alone in our room, staring moodily out the window and wondering why, exactly, I wanted to come. Brandr will never forgive me.

We’re in Daeros for a week before at last I’m summoned from my room along with Lilja. She’s to give a demonstration of her wings to the king, and I’m to be allowed to watch. According to Lilja, he’s already purchased several of her inventions and is considering the wings as well.

We troop out onto the tundra as the sun is beginning its slow descent west. The days are not yet growing shorter, but I still feel a pulse of sorrow—I have never loved the darkness. Wind swirls across the snow and I command my coat to be warmer, and it obeys.

My parents are here, of course, with the king and a few of his sons, including the magical one with the black-and-white hair. There’s a cut on his cheek, barely scabbed over, and I can’t help but wonder how a prince could have received such a wound.

Attendants bring Lilja the wings, and she shows them to the king, explaining how she built them, how she infused them with her magic.

She straps them onto her back, fastening the leather straps across her chest, and then steps to the edge of the cliff, the Sea of Bones stretching into deep-blue darkness below her. Wind whips her skirt about her knees.

Lilja smiles, proud and brilliant.

She jumps.

For an instant the wings spark silver and I hold my breath, ready for her to soar up into the air.

But the next moment she’s falling, spiraling down into the dark.

“ Lilja !” I scream, rushing to the edge.

But she falls, falls, falls.

I try. Lord of Time and Lady of Death, I try to save her.

But the wind and the snow and the ice don’t listen. The sun doesn’t hear me. The wings do not obey.

And so I watch in horror as my sister falls into the Sea of Bones and her body breaks upon the ice.