“Our familia had a saying,” Mia said. “Before your father destroyed it. Neh diis lus’a, lus diis’a. Do you know what that means?” “I do not speak Liisian,” the boy growled. “When all is blood, blood is all.” She held out her hand again. “Blood is all, little brother,” she repeated. Jonnen looked up at her. In the dark, among those beautiful howling faces and open hands and the ghostly gravebone light, Mia could see the reflection of his father in those bottomless black eyes. But in the end, he took her hand.
