“It’s not just that—”
“Look, it’s admirable.” Cullen continued to prevent her brother from getting another word in. “You really care for her. You love your sister. That’s a wonderful thing and I’m not trying to discourage you from doing so. But you can’t let her keep you from looking after yourself and doing what’s best for Marcus.”
Marcus was silent for a terrible amount of time. Eira wished she could see his face, but she didn’t dare move. Finally, he said, “I know.”
Her brother grabbed his head with both hands, ruffling his hair with his fingers. A searing needle inserted itself into her gut at his tortured motion. He was hurting. Not that she didn’t see it—hadn’t seen it. But he’d never let her even try to make it better. He’d always seen her as a pitiable thing, too helpless to even share some of his burdens.
“It’ll be you, me, and Noelle. We already know who over half the team is based on who Minister Fritz asked to create the barriers.”
Well, now Eira had the question she’d come to ask answered.
“We don’t know that.”
“Oh, he asked you and Noelle specifically just because he thought you both had free time on your hands?” Cullen rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He propped one knee on the other, spreading out and dominating the space. Cullen could fill a room with his presence alone. “Be serious about this. We have an incredible opportunity and we would make a stellar team no matter who the Groundbreaker is. I will be the leader and you will be my second; we’ll run the show. Think of the glory.”
Cullen’s hazel eyes glowed almost orange in the firelight—almost like a Firebearer peering into the future. They were alight with ambition and a pride that was almost frightening. Eira didn’t entirely disagree with what he was saying. She wanted the best for her brother and certainly didn’t want to be the cause of him holding back.
But she didn’t fully believe Cullen was acting in Marcus’s best interests either. The only person Eira could be certain Cullen stood for was himself.
“I already told Uncle I’d sign up. We’ll see if I get past the five trials.” Marcus shrugged.
“We know you will. No Waterrunner is better than you in this Tower, not even Fritz himself.”
“Don’t insult my uncle.” Marcus stood with a stretch and a yawn.
“I’m stating facts, not making insults.”
“You’re just buttering me up because you want to make sure I go to Meru with you.”
“Can you blame me?” Cullen paused and there was a brief moment of vulnerability that Marcus seemed to miss as he turned. But Eira saw it. She saw his tired eyes and the brief slump of his shoulders. She saw something underneath the “Prince of the Tower” that he projected to everyone. “I need this, Marcus. It’s victory or nothing for me.”
“I know.” Marcus wrapped his arm around Cullen’s shoulder. “You’ll triumph. You always have; so no matter what, I’m sure of that much.”
As the two men started out of the library, Eira retreated into the shadows on all fours. She pressed herself against the back wall and felt her magic condense in the air around her. Invisible water droplets—present everywhere—grew fat with her power. They shimmered, changing the way the dim light was refracted, bending it to Eira’s will.
An illusion surrounded her. If either young man were to look her way, they would only see wall and shadow. Neither did. They were too engrossed in continuing their discussion.
Eira dropped her magical shield and sat in the darkness. Whispers drifted around her from the books and shelves. Some spoke of love, some of sorrow, most of nothing important at all. Ever since she’d stopped trying to completely shut out the voices, they’d grown more articulate.
She blamed Alyss. The Tower was becoming so noisy she could hardly hear herself think.
There was one place that was quieter than the rest. And, shortly, Eira found herself in the Waterrunner storeroom, pushing on the hidden door and slipping into a forgotten Tower room. She hadn’t visited the mysterious place in days, but it was exactly as she left it. The journal she’d been reading was out on the table, moonlight striking it in a thin line. A candle she’d lifted from the servants’ storerooms in the palace was set out alongside it, half-burned.
“What would you do?” Eira whispered to the journal.
Silence was her only reply.
She knew the answer though. Whoever had written these journals and occupied this room had been someone bold and powerful. Someone who didn’t care about what the world said they should or shouldn’t do. Someone who, at some point, had said the words, Kill our sovereign.
They’d obviously failed. Emperor Aldrik was still alive and well. And his father had died at the hands of the Mad King Victor. So whomever this woman had been, she hadn’t murdered any emperors.
Unless… Eira shook her head. The thought was too impossible to entertain. There was a woman made of pure evil and wrath who had been in the Tower of Sorcerers many, many years ago. At least, so the rumors claimed.
But she was more lore than fact. A ghost whose name was bad luck to even think.
Eira sat on the edge of the bed. It creaked underneath her, but held her weight. She lay back and stared at the ceiling, trying to envision herself as this woman. As someone bold enough, crazy enough, to say the words…
“Kill the emperor,” Eira whispered aloud, trying it on. The words were uncomfortable, sending tingles up her arms. But there was bravery in them. They were dangerous and wild. They weren’t something people who acted appropriately said or even thought.
She shook her head, casting them aside. Eira wasn’t winning any awards for patriotism. But she also didn’t wish the emperor dead.
Still, the boldness those three words flushed her with remained.
Eira turned her head, coughing
