OFEER

As she walked down the dark street with Atalia, there was so much Ofeer wanted to say. She wanted to tell Atalia how sorry she was—for how she had been, for what she had done. She wanted to speak of Ariel, explain how he was a child born of war and incest, born ill and dying, saved by Luminosity and destined to be emperor. She wanted to ask Atalia so many questions—about her ship sinking, about her wars in Gael, about her days as a gladiatrix.

Yet Ofeer struggled to speak, and for long moments, they walked in silence through the dark streets of Aelar.

We were never friends, Ofeer thought. Even as children, I shied away from Atalia, afraid of her strength, her courage. She fought with swords as a child, while I cowered at the port. She looked up at her taller, older sister. May we now become what we could not as children.

"And you have no news of the others?" Ofeer finally asked, softly. "The rest of our family?"

Atalia shook her head. "Not since we left Zohar on the same fleet. But . . ." Her eyes darkened. "Rumors speak of devastation. Of countless dead. Of Claudia's forces raging through the kingdom."

Ofeer shivered. The houses along the road seemed to close in around her.

"There is a lumer here in Aelar," Ofeer said. "One that I know. She once served Porcia. You might have seen her back in Gefen on the day . . ." She swallowed. "The day you were taken. Her name is Noa, but Porcia called her Worm. I've pleaded with Noa before to use the Sight, to gaze across the sea to Zohar, but she refused to spend her dwindling reserves of lume."

Atalia sneered, and her fists clenched at her sides. She looked so fierce that an old beggar, slumped on the street, scurried into an alleyway.

"I would have made her," Atalia said. "I would have pounded her face in until she used the lume."

"She needed that lume for Ariel," Ofeer said softly. "To heal him." He still slept in his sling, warm against her chest. "He was very sick for a long time. She saved his life."

Before almost killing him, Ofeer added silently, not yet ready to share that tale.

Atalia's eyes softened and she caressed the baby's hair. "He's beautiful, Ofeer."

As they walked, Ofeer slung her arm around Atalia and leaned against her.

I was never a true sister to you, she thought. Let me be one now.

"We'll take him home someday," Ofeer said. "We'll raise him in the villa on Pine Hill. When he's old enough, you'll teach him how to use the sword, and Maya will teach him letters and numbers. And on Lel Urim, we'll all walk together through the dark house, singing and holding candles. Remember, Atalia? Like we used to."

Atalia nodded, and her face softened. "Like we used to."

Ofeer paused from walking. They stood in a dark street so narrow they barely fit. The walls of apartment buildings rose at their sides, eight stories tall, revealing only a strip of sky. If the Magisterian Guard had discovered the corpses in the arena yet, Ofeer heard no sign of it. The city was silent in the night. She held Atalia's hands, staring into her sister's eyes.

"Atalia," she said, "please know how sorry I am. I can never find redemption for what I did. For my betrayal. I don't expect you to forgive me. I . . . I did terrible things to our family. To our kingdom. And I'm so sorry. Please know that I love you, my sister." Her voice shook. "I love you so much."

Atalia sniffed, then mussed Ofeer's hair. "Love you too, little sis. Even though you're a little shit."

"Well, you're a big shit," Ofeer said, unable to curb a smile.

Atalia gave her a playful shove. "And you stink like a horse's ass."

"And you look like a donkey's balls," Ofeer said. She couldn't help but smile, eyes damp. They were the same insults they would hurl at each other as children.

They walked onward. Ariel awoke, and Ofeer fed him as they walked through the dark city, then changed his swaddling clothes in a quiet courtyard, and they walked on when the baby slept again. Finally Ofeer saw it ahead: Ohel Adom, the small Zoharite temple where she had been living. From the outside, it appeared humble, two stories high and built of simple bricks. Its only sign of divinity was a pomegranate engraved onto the doorway's keystone, a symbol few in Aelar recognized. At these times of rebellion in Zohar—which Tirus now called Aelaria Orientalis—Ofeer was thankful for the anonymity.

They entered the temple. Only a handful of candles burned in the main floor, illuminating rows of pews, the pulpit, the heavy Book of Eloh, and the silver pomegranate on the wall. The pews lay in shadows. As the sisters walked toward the staircase, a voice spoke from the dark back rows.

"Atalia Sela."

The sisters spun around to see Noa sitting in the back pew, wrapped in cloak and hood, barely visible in the shadows.

"Noa," Ofeer said. "Why are you still awake?"

Ofeer stepped toward the lumer and sat beside her. Ariel awoke and gurgled, but Noa did not acknowledge the baby. She stared at the pew ahead of her.

"Noa, are you all right?" Ofeer whispered.

Noa turned her head toward her, eyes haunted.

"I did what you asked," Noa said.

Ofeer began to tremble.

Oh God. Oh God, no.

Atalia approached too and sat beside them. She looked at the lumer, eyes narrowed. "Tell us. Tell us the news from home."

The lumer reached out and held the sisters' hands, and she spoke for a long time, voice low, cheeks wet with tears.

Ofeer sat silently, listening. She listened as Noa spoke of her mother's throat slit in the Temple. She listened as Noa spoke of Maya crucified. She listened as Noa spoke of Zohar destroyed, a million people slain—nearly the entire nation. She listened and she did not know how to react. What to say. What to feel.

It was impossible.

It was impossible to understand.

When Noa finished speaking, they all sat silently. Atalia stared at the lumer, no rage, no pain, no expression on her face. Just emptiness. And Ofeer knew that she would never forget seeing her sister like this, just staring, blank, a hollow shell.

Ariel woke up and wailed, the loudest Ofeer had ever heard him cry. His screams filled Ohel Adom until the others awoke upstairs—Shaveet the priest, and Periel who tended to the temple, and the others who lived here—and they came down, and they saw that Ofeer had returned and heard the tidings.

They said nothing.

There were no words they could speak.

With her baby cradled against her, Ofeer held Atalia's hand, and they stared into the shadows.

For a long time—silence. And then thunder. And then Ohel Adom shook and erupted with blood and screams.