A Splintered Land (Heartsong #1)

by Deborah Grace White

“Don’t be put off by my father’s or brother’s manner,” he said, the words too comfortable to carry an apology. “My family are a little wary of strangers.” He paused, then, seeming to feel further explanation was needed, added, “Perhaps it comes from living so close to the border.” “Being wary of strangers is natural,” Marieke said as she mounted the steps onto the broad wooden porch that wrapped all the way around the farmhouse. “It’s the very reason I’m questioning my sanity in coming here with you.” Zev gave a low chuckle. “Well, you didn’t have many other options, did you?” The words should have been frightening, but they weren’t. When Marieke had arrived in the capital, nervously excited to commence her training at the Academy of Song, she’d been as inexperienced as she was alone. Surrounded by others with more privilege and influence, she’d quickly learned that there were some whose strength made those around them feel strengthened themselves, and others whose strength made everyone else more vulnerable. Her cautious assessment was that Zev seemed to fit the former category.

“Our countries like to think we’re different, but the greatest sign of how similar we are is our identical determination to convince each other that we’re better.”

Zev walked along the row, inspecting the growing stalks. His father was right. This year’s yield was likely to be even better than last year’s. Provided no disaster overtook them. Not that Zev was one to anticipate disaster. He didn’t see the benefit in borrowing troubles from tomorrow. Or in pulling them from yesterday to taint today’s sunshine,

“May your labors prosper and your future blossom like the almond tree,”