Page 103 of Sword & Sacrifice

“Why now?” Silas bit out. The chill morning air seeped into his skin, into his heart. “You didn’t think I needed you any other time in the last decade?”

“Sai, I couldn’t—”

“Don’t call me that.” Only two people had ever called him Sai—the other was dead, and their father hadn’t even come to her funeral.

“Silas,” Braden corrected. “I couldn’t return before now. Not with Alistair in power.”

Again, Silas remembered Alistair’s half-mad ramblings: “I would have killed your father, but he had the good sense to take himself off and stay away.”

Perhaps Braden had understood the adviser’s intentions and escaped before the mage removed him. If he left to save himself from Alistair, why couldn’t he take me with him? But Silas already knew the answer: Alistair would have rather killed the king consort than allowed Braden to steal away the puppet he’d spent so long crafting.

Silas stared at his father for a long time, unsure whether he wanted to give Braden a chance to explain, to defend his choices, or if he wanted the man to march back to The Queen’s Garden and return to wherever he’d come from. At the thought of the captains’ ship, Silas almost groaned in realization. “You’re the package.”

Braden’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Pardon?”

“Captain Moira mentioned a special package.” Silas never suspected she meant his father.

Braden’s expression pinched at that description. “I don’t think I particularly like being called a ‘package’, though that’s probably why she did it. Even then, I’m not sure I’m exactly who she was referring to.” He turned around and gestured.

A head poked around the door. Tawny eyes locked on Silas. Then the head shook vigorously and disappeared again.

Braden sighed. “Just a moment. He’s a bit nervous to meet you.”

“Because he hates me!” a high-pitched voice exclaimed from around the corner.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Braden said, striding around the doors. “He hasn’t even met you yet.”

“Well, he’s going to hate me, and I’d prefer he do it from afar, thank you very much.”

Their preferences were ignored. Braden hooked their arm in a firm grip and dragged them into the palace, plopping them in front of Silas.

Silas had a hundred things to do, but nothing in the world could have dragged him away at that moment. He scanned the boy from head to toe, taking in every little detail: the messy brown curls; the downcast tawny eyes; the mouth pinched in distress. He was several inches shorter than Silas, even as he stretched up on his toes to appear taller.

“Silas, I’d like you to meet Koen.”

Koen finally met Silas’ eyes, his expression a mix of defiance and hope.

“Your brother.”

Silas sat down. There weren’t any chairs to sit down in, so he ended up sitting on an end table, but it was enough to support his weight as he stared in wonder at his younger brother. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.” His voice cracked on the second syllable and Koen’s cheeks flamed bright red. His skin was fairer than Silas’, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in months. He cleared his throat and deepened his voice to ridiculous levels as he repeated, “I’m fifteen.”

The number rang through Silas’ head. He’s the same age I was when Father left … Which also meant that even before he’d disappeared, Braden had kept Koen a secret. “Why did you never …” Silas couldn’t finish the question, but his father understood.

“Tell you about him?” Braden took a deep breath and settled his arm around Koen’s shoulders. “I wanted to protect him from Alistair. Koen is your half-brother, but that wouldn’t have stopped Alistair from …”

From hurting Koen the way he’d hurt me. A new worry occurred to Silas. “Is he …” Realizing that he and Braden were talking about Koen right in front of him, Silas addressed his younger brother instead. “Are you sick?”

An odd expression crossed Koen’s face, a mix of pain and defiance. “I am not sick,” he said through clenched teeth.

Braden’s hand tightened on his shoulder as he explained, “He’s not cursed, if that’s what you’re asking. And are you …”

Silas shook his head. “A witch broke it.”

Braden’s eyebrows arched. “Adelaide Orestes, I assume.” At Silas’ surprised look, he explained, “I met her daughter on The Queen’s Garden, though officially, she doesn’t know who we are.”

She could probably guess, Silas thought, still taking in the similarities between himself, his father, and his brother.