The Silent(32)

“Compared to you, I am small. Why would I mind your telling the truth?”

“Good point.” Leo climbed to his feet. “For the record, I didn’t start this.”

“I didn’t think you had.” Sura began walking, and Leo fell in beside him. “I’m not going to try to explain my brother. That’s not my job. As I’m sure you can imagine, your relationship with Kyra will cause some to disapprove. I hope you don’t think that all my brothers or I feel the same way as Niran. His feelings are his own.”

“I don’t.” Leo stopped. “I didn’t think I had the right to love her. Not for years. I didn’t think she would even want me in that way when she’d been through so much. But I think she does love me, and I’m not going to be noble for anyone except her.”

Sura frowned. “She chose you. It has nothing to do with rights or being noble. You love her and she chose you. You honor her by respecting that.”

“She is my reshon.”

Sura smiled a little and began walking again. “In my hopeful moments, I like to think the Creator has such a blessing for the children of the Fallen as well as the children of the Forgiven. If we prove worthy of it.”

“Ava has Fallen blood. Kyra has Fallen blood. Why should the daughters of the Fallen be capable of soul mates but not their sons?”

“An excellent question,” Sura said. “Logically, I think you are correct. But when we have no experience of something, it is often hard to imagine it.”

“True.”

“For many of us, hope like that feels greedy.” Sura turned and looked up at Leo. “All of us live knowing that our births probably killed our human mothers. Most of us feed on human energy, often stolen from those who die giving it to us. We are not optimists, and we don’t come by virtue naturally.”

“If virtue was natural, it would have no value,” Leo said. “The Irin aren’t perfect either.”

“Perhaps not,” Sura said. “But you start from a culture where you are valued for being good. We start from the opposite.”

“If I were the Creator,” Leo said, “that would make the sacrifices and the life you and your brothers lead even more worthy of reward.”

Sura laughed. “Then I only hope our Creator is as generous as you.”





Chapter Fifteen





Kyra had avoided spending time with Alyah as much as possible. Unlike Ginny, the Thai Irina didn’t have the easy American temperament that made casual conversation simple. Alyah reminded Kyra of her brother. She was focused and serious. Smart and frighteningly efficient. Though she was patient with the kareshta at the temple in Chiang Mai, she had never been warm like Ginny.

So when Alyah knocked on Kyra’s door the next afternoon while Leo and Niran were scouting the border, Kyra was surprised.

“Leo said you have no longevity spells,” Alyah said, “which puts your life in danger.”

“I…” How did one respond to something so intensely personal? “He’s correct,” Kyra said quietly. “Kareshta have no longevity spells.”

Not that it was any of Alyah’s business. Kyra didn’t like talking about her impending death with anyone, much less someone who didn’t seem to like her. She was having a hard time not being angry with Leo for mentioning it, even though Kyra was sure he had a purpose. Just like he’d had a purpose talking to Ginny about it. Then Ginny had become angry and hadn’t spoken to Kyra again.

“You are necessary for this mission,” Alyah said. “I don’t want to insert myself into your and Leo’s… relationship. But your health is a priority if this mission is going to succeed. I hope you would find it acceptable if I sang a longevity spell for you. I can’t guarantee it will last for long, but it should give us some breathing room. A few days at least. I can always repeat it if necessary.”

So Alyah was willing to give Kyra this magic, but only because she was “necessary?”

It made Kyra feel small, like she had when she was younger and Barak called her “useful.” Her father wanted her around to strengthen Kostas, but he occasionally acknowledged Kyra’s gifts as well. The recognition made her feel less, not more. Perhaps because it was given so reluctantly.

It didn’t matter what Kyra’s feelings were. She was getting tired more quickly, which she’d initially put down to jet lag, but she’d been in Thailand for weeks. It wasn’t jet lag.

“Well?” Alyah asked. “Will you allow me to sing over you?”

Kyra nodded and opened the door to allow Alyah in the bungalow. Alyah scanned the room quickly, taking in the luxuriously appointed bed, flowers, and candles.

“They gave you the best room,” she said. “That’s nice.”

“Perhaps because they thought we were newly married.”

“Aren’t you?” Alyah said. “In a way.”

Again, Kyra found it difficult to read her. “You dislike our relationship.”

Alyah turned. “I find it confusing.”

“Why?”

“You are not equals.”

Her words stung. “No? I thought the Irin valued their women, even if they were not warriors. I may not be as accomplished as you are, but I do have some skill.”

Alyah cocked her head. “That is not why you are unequal.”

“Then how?”

“You have no magic. He is a scribe trained in the academy in Riga. He grew in a world without the tempering influence of the Irina council. He was born in blood, raised among nothing but warriors.”

“And yet he is more gentle than many who boast more,” Kyra said. “It is true I do not have the same magic he does.” She stepped closer to Alyah. “But I do have magic.”

“Not enough.”

Kyra’s temper snapped. “And how am I to learn more when that knowledge is withheld from me? Did you spring from your mother’s womb versed in the magic you wield now? Or did you learn from countless generations who came before you? I had no such luxury. The fact I am alive is a miracle. Ginny spoke of watching her sisters die. Do you Irina think you were the only ones?”

“Do you think you know the loss we suffered at the hands of your brothers?”

“Most of us are killed at birth,” Kyra said. “Those of us who live are usually abandoned to the humans, who call us crazy. We are locked up. Drug-addicted. Hunted because of these faces.” Kyra slapped her own cheek. “Do you think I like looking like this? Do you think I love the attention it brings? Do you think I like hearing the lust of the humans and the revulsion of my brothers?”

Alyah took a step back.

“We are driven mad by what we hear,” Kyra continued, walking toward Alyah. “Those Grigori you hate so much are sometimes the only thing standing between us and insanity or death. The luckiest of us end up in padded rooms. The weakest—the ones with the most magic—are preyed on by the Fallen who want to use us or by humans who see us as easy targets.”

“Magic doesn’t make us weak,” Alyah spit out. “Do you deride your own gifts?”

“What has your precious magic ever done for me but bring torment?”

Allah’s eyes went wide. “Is that why you are with Leo? To gain control over it?”

Kyra raised her hand to strike, but stopped before Alyah could react. She clenched her fist, pushing back the rage that threatened her. She took a physical step back. Then another.

“You don’t know me,” Kyra said quietly. “You don’t know me at all.”

Most assumed the rage belonged only to Kostas. Most saw Kyra’s calm demeanor and quiet life as evidence of peace or some internal fortitude. What they did not see was the well of rage she swallowed daily, just to live a normal life.

She didn’t want to feel it. She often wondered if her repression hurt Kostas by shoving her emotions into him.

Kyra took five breaths.

In. Out.

Slemaa.

In. Out.

“Domem,” she whispered. Kyra walked to the corner of the room where she had set out a pillow for meditation. She sat and closed her eyes.

Domem livah.

Domem manah.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Give thanks for each breath. Give thanks for each moment of peace. She swallowed her anger again.

And again.

She was silent.

Seven breaths later, she felt Alyah sit next to her. The angry part of Kyra wanted to kick her out of the room. The pragmatic survivor needed her to stay and give her magic. Alyah took Kyra’s hand and began to sing in a low voice. It was a tonal chant, dipping and weaving over words Kyra didn’t recognize. As she sang, Kyra felt the energy touch her and spread like oil over water. It rippled over her and sank beneath her skin. She felt luminous and strong.

Her soul wept at the beauty of it. She longed to weave power like this, as Bun Ma wove thread in her loom. As Alyah sang, Kyra listened to the notes climb up and down, measured steps in a heavenly dance.

She fell asleep.



Vasu crouched before her. “Do you see it yet?”

“See what?” Kyra opened her eyes.

She was in her bungalow, but everything was hazy. The vibrant colors had leached from the room. Vasu sat back on his heels and peered at her like a curious bird.

She blinked. He was a raven.

She blinked again. A cat.