40

In the past, Jorge had not always loved it when his mother bullied his friends into doing what she thought best. But in Sonya’s case, he was glad. He really hoped that getting out of the house would help her adapt better to her new environment, and give the family liquor cabinet time to restock as well.

Yet now Jorge was having his own problem finding purpose. He had spent years of his life focused on the venerable art of apothecary, which most Raízians considered dull, dry, and dispassionate. He’d resented such judgment, and to some extent, that was what had led him to apply at the College of Apothecary in Gogoleth. He’d wanted to study somewhere that the art of potion-making was respected. And while he may not have loved living in Izmoroz, he had always been grateful for its reverence of such quiet, patient work.

Except he was astonished and somewhat alarmed to find he couldn’t muster up that same old focus and inspiration now that he was home.

“I don’t understand it, Hugo,” he told his brother as he stared down at Master Velkhov’s ingenious mobile lab, which he hadn’t touched once since his return to Colmo. “It used to be almost like a compulsion, you know?”

“I recall,” said Hugo, not looking up from a thick, leather-bound ledger. “You were obsessed. When you weren’t mixing noxious concoctions, you were blabbering on about them endlessly. It was very annoying.”

“So how could I go from being obsessed to completely disinterested?” Jorge slumped into a plush, leather chair near his brother’s desk and sighed heavily.

Hugo stopped writing a moment and looked over at Jorge with his fastidious gaze.

“Because, little brother, an obsession is not the same thing as a passion. Obsessions tend to burn hot, then sputter out.”

With that, Hugo went back to his work.

Jorge didn’t know when his fussy older brother had become so wise, and he found he didn’t particularly like it. Unfortunately, what Hugo said made a lot of sense. But it left a big question in its wake. If apothecary wasn’t truly his passion, then what was?

“Oh, by the way,” said Hugo, still scratching away with his quill on his ledger. “I overheard Mama planning several romantic dinners for you with a choice selection of the current crop of nubile young women from the most reputable families. I thought you’d like to know.”

Jorge closed his eyes and wearily rubbed them. “I’d forgotten about that part of living here.”

“You don’t have to marry one right away,” said Hugo. “I was engaged to Martina for two years before we married.”

“How often do you see her?” asked Jorge.

Hugo shrugged as he continued to write. “My work is here. She doesn’t seem to mind.”

Jorge wondered if that was a good sign for a marriage but decided to let it pass. “What about Maria? Is she engaged to anyone yet?”

Hugo laughed. “She spends all her time in the Viajero Quarter, talking about politics and smoking hashish.”

“Maybe I should do that, too, then,” said Jorge.

“Please, little brother. You are many things, but political revolutionary is not one of them.”

Jorge smiled. He’d been vague with his family on why he had returned from Izmoroz prematurely, and none of them had pressed him. He was fairly certain his mother believed he’d just been homesick. He was tempted to tell his brother the real reason now, just to see the look on his face, but decided against it. His brother was not known for keeping secrets, and his mother would be furious with him for taking such risks.

Then Maria poked her head into the room.

“Jorge. There you are.”

She had an odd look, her eyes a little wider than usual.

“How was your shopping trip?” he asked. “Was Sonya completely miserable the whole time?”

“Uh…” Her eyes darted to Hugo, who was still writing in his ledger. “Can I talk to you a moment, Jorge?”

“Ooh, secrets,” said Hugo in a teasing voice, though he still didn’t look up.

“Shut up,” she told him. Then she glanced back meaningfully at Jorge. “Well?”

“Sure.” Jorge stood and followed his sister out of the room and down the hall.

She pulled him into the library, which was unoccupied and lit only by a few flickering candles near the entrance. She gripped his upper arms and frowned at him.

“Jorge, who is Sonya?”

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“I mean that I just saw her kill four imperial soldiers in the blink of an eye and I want to know what kind of person can do that.”

“Ah.” His chest tightened with panic. Apparently, forcing her out of the house hadn’t been a good idea after all. “Did anyone see?”

“The Anxeles Escuros. She’s with them now.”

Even worse. “They arrested her?”

Maria shook her head. “No, she’s trying to see if they’ll let her join.”

“Really?” Jorge wasn’t sure that was good news, exactly, but it was better than the alternative. “I suppose it might keep her out of trouble at least…”

Maria’s eyes narrowed. “Sonya said you wouldn’t be surprised and you’re not.”

“If anything, I probably should have anticipated something like this,” he admitted. “She’s… prone to violence when it comes to imperial soldiers. I wanted her to get out of her rut. I should have realized that killing some imperials would do the trick.”

“She did seem to be in a better mood afterward,” said Maria. “But, Jorge, she was merciless. A true killer.”

“Please don’t tell Mama.”

She gave him a searching look. “Are we safe, little brother? Is our family safe?”

“Perfectly,” Jorge assured her. “If anything, we’re more safe than we’ve ever been. Sonya would never let anyone hurt her friends.”

“Okay, fine. I guess I believe you.” Then her eyes narrowed. “You still haven’t answered my question, though. Who is she?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Bullshit.”

Jorge sighed. “Have you heard about what’s been going on in Izmoroz?”

“Of course. It’s all they talk about in the Viajero Quarter right now. The northerners have broken away from Aureum. They spat in the face of the empress.”

“Sonya is more or less responsible for that.”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious. She convinced the Uaine to join us, then led the charge against the imperials herself.”

“Us?”

Jorge winced. “Don’t tell Mama that, either.”

She still looked doubtful. “If what you’re saying is true, why is she here? She should be a hero in her own land, not a refugee in ours.”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. And honestly, I’m not sure I even know all of it. As far as I can tell, the Uaine conspired with the Izmorozian nobility to turn the people against her and drive her out once they no longer needed her.”

“That’s awful!” But now she was smiling.

“It was awful,” he said. “So why do you suddenly look so happy?”

“Listen.” She glanced around, as though there might somehow be spies lurking in Cassa Estío’s library. “My… friends have been really inspired by what happened in Izmoroz. They’ve been talking about making real change, right here in Raíz. And now I find out that my baby brother is friends with the most famous revolutionary in the world!”

“Except you hadn’t even heard of her until just now,” he pointed out.

“But now that I know how important she is, she will be famous. She should be! You can’t imagine how eager my friends will be to meet the person who started it all. Especially since it’s a woman!”

His eyes narrowed as he understood what she was after. “You want Sonya to help with your revolution?”

“Obviously!”

“Forget it,” he said. “Just let her be. She doesn’t need to take on anyone else’s problems. She’s done enough of that to last a lifetime. Several lifetimes.”

“I’m sure she has,” Maria said soothingly, rubbing his back like she used to when he was a little boy. “But maybe she wants to help. Maybe if you talk to her—”

“No.” He stepped away from her lulling back rub. “First of all, she’s tired and broken, and in no shape to lead any more revolutions. Second of all, even if she did come around, you have no idea what you would be unleashing on Raíz. Her abilities… what she can do… it’s not human, and it comes at a terrible price. I won’t let you or anyone else take her further down that road.”

Maria regarded him for a moment, and he saw a hardness set into her expression that he’d never seen before.

“Won’t let?” she asked quietly. “Baby brother, I think you overestimate yourself. Or else you underestimate my dedication to the cause.”