Page 133 of The Stolen Throne
“That’s cute.”
Another smile, then a huff of a chuckle. “He had the greatest laugh. Big and loud, and his belly would jiggle with it. I miss that sound. And the sound of my youngest sister singing. She is the angel with a voice like that. Although hearing her over my brothers’ constant bickering was a challenge.” She shakes her head. “I swear, they can fight over the silliest things. The last time I saw them, Lefwin was angry because Torkel smiled crooked at him.”
I chuckle. Brothers are something I’ll never have. Cain comes closest. Or he did when we were kids. Now, with very adult feelings on his side… Things change, I guess.
“That’s not even the worst example.” Her own amusement fades slowly. “But to answer your question, no. I haven’t talked to them in a while.”
I glance over her shoulder, off into the dunes. “I used to hate it if I went too long without seeing Tabra.” Cain, too. He’s also family, just as strong but in a different way.
She nods. “I miss them every day, and I worry about them, but everything I do is to keep them safe, so I have that to hold on to.”
“I’m sorry you have to be apart at all.”
She gives a little sigh. “I knew that if anyone could understand it would be you.”
Heat surges into my cheeks. I’m not used to being the sister with the compassion. That’s Tabra’s strength. We fall back into silence as I hoist my water up from the well.
“You know we love you and are just worried about you, don’t you?”
My hands pause on the rope, the weight of the full satchel dragging at me. Until recently, declarations of love have been few and far between for me.
“I know,” I mumble, then keep hauling.
“You don’t have to do everything yourself. Or alone.”
I hitch the satchel over the side of the well and let the weight pull me down to drop it on the ground, where I tie it off. “I’m the queen.”
“No. You’re not,” she says. “Tabra is.”
Which makes me expendable again. Yet another reason for me to be the one to go do this.
“I know you’re worried that she’s not improving much. Isn’t that even more reason not to go to the burning lands yourself?”
The arguments have changed recently from not going at all to sending someone else.
I repeat the same point I’ve told to every other person. “Only royalty can enter and be able to find their way out.”
“That’s just a legend. We don’t know for sure.”
“Yes, but since we have a royal to do the deed, let’s not test the theory. Reven can’t go. The shadows in that land…” That’s the last place he should be.
“The zariph—”
I shake my head. “He’s a high-ranked leader, the ruler of his people. But not royal.”
I close my eyes. I’m so tired of fighting this. Fighting my friends. I understand a little better now why Omma was as harsh as she was with me. This existence, as decoy and bodyguard and sometimes ruler—the decisions I’m being forced to make are all impossible.
What I’m not showing any of them is that I am terrified by this entire prospect. So much that I’ve been shaking a little every time I think about it, driving my horse to twitching by gripping my reins tight to stop my hands from visibly trembling.
If the others knew that, it would just add to their arguments against my going. For the first time, I’m happy Reven has cut off our connection.
“Omma could go,” Vida points out. “She’s lived a long life.”
I’ve already thought of that. So has Omma. I breathe out, breathe in, and open my eyes to find Vida’s face a study of concern. “She’s coming with me.”
Not only that, but Omma wants to take Tabra. Something about asking about what that ghost did to her.
Her eyebrows shoot up, and she blinks. “Oh. Okay. I thought I was going to have to push harder.”
