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Daughter of Song, she could hear them all thinking, what have you done?
Jacarandas bloomed here. Their purple flowers carpeted the ground, more beautiful than any palace rug. Roa breathed in the sweet smell of them as Poppy rode up to the entrance of the House of Shade.
A man had died here, a long time ago now, and his loved ones hadn’t performed the proper rites. They hadn’t broken the bonds between the living and the dead. So, on the Relinquishing—the longest night of the year—the man’s soul became corrupted and he slaughtered his entire household.
The stories Essie most loved were ones about the Skyweaver, a goddess who spun souls into stars and wove them into the sky.
The two sisters didn’t come wailing. They came quietly, holding on to each other. As if they needed no one’s comfort but the other’s. As if, as long as they were together, there was nothing to be afraid of.
Each voice was heard and decisions were made all together. Those who owned much shared with those who owned nothing. And the sick and the weak were esteemed as much as the healthy and strong.
Most people saw the return of the dragons as a sign the kingdom was healing.
This far out in the desert, screaming winds meant
only one thing.
Sands...
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the color of chestnuts gleaming in the sun.
his voice was like a fire, driving out the cold. Bringing her home.
If she and her sister were two books in their father’s study, Essie would be the one lying open on the desk, enticing you to read it. Roa would be the one stuffed between a dozen others, high up on the shelf.
