“It should be a good thing to keep people safe, shouldn’t it? It should be. Except . . .” He stirred the flames with the stick. “I guess I never talked to you about it. At that, I don’t think I’ve talked to Dasha about it, or Finn. Or Enna. Never Enna.
“Well. Near the end of the war with Tira, Enna was dying from the heat of the fire inside her, I could tell that. Finn and I had been prisoners in a Tiran war camp, and everything was bad, bad, bad. The three of us were chasing the Tiran army, which was about to attack the Bayern capital. War was everywhere and nothing could get worse. Nothing seemed to matter except stopping the war, because any moment we would all die or the whole world would just crumple up and fall away. I don’t like thinking back on it. But I do. Think about it. More and more since I met Dasha, for some reason.
“So Enna, Finn, and I were riding after the Tiran army. And we were almost too late.
“The Bayern army met the Tiran in the battlefield, and both sides clashed. It was like banging two rocks together, the way they clashed—loud and hard and doing no good. People started to catch on fire. Is it so much worse in a battle to burn people than to hack them with a sword? That’s what I can’t figure. Death is death, right? It shouldn’t be worse. But it was, so much. It was . . . it was bad, Rin.”
His eyes flicked to her face then back at the fire. “I knew what was happening. Enna. She was setting them on fire, and they were screaming. The Tiran. She wasn’t trying to torture them, she was just killing as many as she could, fast, to end the battle. To end the war. She was trying her best not to—not to let them suffer for long. I believe that. She thought she was doing good. But all those people . . .”
Rin watched him until she could not bear the sight. Razo’s curse was to show exactly what he felt in his every expression. What horrors he must have seen. She’d had no idea.
When he spoke again, his voice was pleading, as if she’d accused him of murder and he was desperate to explain. “Back then the Tiran army was trying to kill us. All of us. In their square, they hanged straw men dressed like Isi and Geric—at the first chance, they would’ve hanged my friends for real, you see? And she’d been through some hell, our Enna had, prisoner to a Tiran captain for months. And he’d been a people-speaker to boot. So the lashing out—I’m not saying it was justified, though maybe it was, I don’t know—it was understandable, that much at least.”
He took a deep, quavering breath, as if he was at last getting to the spot that stung. “While Enna burned, I stood beside her with my sword and I fought anyone who came her way. Finn and I did. We kept her safe while she burned those soldiers. And I never dare think too hard about it, because if I do, I wonder if I’m responsible too. If what I did, protecting her while she burned, if that means I helped kill them all, if I made a mistake so big that if I even think about it, it’ll drag me down and suffocate me.
“Curse it all, there I’ve gone and thought about it! Why’d I do that? What is it about you, little sister, that makes me think about things I’d happily decided to forget? Curse you and war and everything, but that was a bad, bad time, and sometimes I feel like I’ll never crawl out of it.”
He wiped savagely at his face, then pushed his fingers into the corners of his eyes to stop the flow of tears. When they slowed, he met her gaze, expectant, pressing his lips together. He needed something from her. This memory of death and burning and guilt had been possessing him for two years—what could she say to all that? She wished that he’d let it stay buried, but the memory, the question, was out now, a bird hatched from an egg, angry with hunger and screeching. And he was waiting for her to speak, to make it better.
Her belly was full, Tusken was perfect contentment in her arms, the tree at her back stretched between sunlight and soil. Though inside she was still clenched up, flinching away from the idea of people-speaking, the fight in her was ebbing some, and she thought easing Razo’s worry might be worth the risk. So she looked inside herself for something honest to say back.
“I’m surprised.”
“Surprised that I defended Enna while she burned hundreds of soldiers?”
“Well, no. I’m just surprised that you thought you might’ve made a mistake.”
Razo stared, then slowly his frozen incredulity softened and turned into an almost-smile. “You’re yanking my boots now.”
“I didn’t think you were capable of making a mistake—you’ve always been the brother who can do no wrong.” Though it was just the sort of thing she might say to tease him, she spoke the words earnestly.
Razo grabbed his knees and rocked back, grinning at the canopy. “I’d sock you one for the mean joke, but you’re as serious as gravel in my socks, I can tell! You didn’t think I was capable? But I’m the biggest . . . How can you have lived with me so many years and say I can do no wrong? Don’t you ever listen to what our brothers say?”
“Yes. You’re noodle-armed, you’re too slow to catch a snail, you’re short one leg, two arms, and a brain, you’re—”
Razo forcefully cleared his throat. “Just so you know, for the future, that was one of those questions I didn’t actually intend for you to answer.”
“Anyway, you know the brothers are hard on you because they’re jealous.”
“Jealous of me.”
Rin nodded.
“They’re so hard because they’re jealous of me. Of how perfect I am. How I can do no wrong.”
Rin nodded.
Suddenly Razo was on his feet, moving his legs and back in a jerky motion Rin could only assume was meant to be a dance.
“Jealous of me. Jealous of me. Those big boys are jealous of me.” Still not raising his voice above a whisper, he chanted and jigged and shuffled.
“They are, you know. You’re the one who’s traveled and fought and done and seen things, the one who always comes back and brings Ma enough coin to keep us all fed. You’ve always been the clever one, and clearly Ma’s favorite. Of the boys, that is.”
He sat back down, his face all innocent happiness. “I almost believe you, but it doesn’t matter. You thought they were jealous. You thought I could do no wrong. You’re better than roast chicken.”
He smiled at her, so she smiled back, and her smile seemed to please him so much, he grabbed her hand that was not pinned under Tusken and shook it, then knocked her shoulder with his elbow, ruffled her hair, nudged her boots with his, making several small gestures of brotherly approval.
The conversation still felt half-formed, a crescent moon that was aching to wax round, and that empty space bothered her. She realized that despite the crowing and dancing, what he’d done while Enna burned would still bother him. On quiet nights it would sneak up and surprise him with the horrible sting of memory. And with that realization she knew what else to say. Habit bid her clamp down on the words, but her brother’s sorrow made her feel angry and reckless. She let her energy warm in her belly and push the words up her throat and out.
“Razo, you had to protect Enna. She’s your friend, and you were a soldier. She made the decision to do what she did, not you. Even if what she did was wrong, you couldn’t have stopped her, and you certainly couldn’t have stood back and let her be killed. You had to protect her.”
“You think so?” His eyes were so serious, so hopeful. Even though speaking to Razo was almost as easy as talking with a child, it still cost her. Part of her recoiled from the people-speaking, but she fought back, needing to say one more thing to make it just enough.
“I know so. I don’t think you ever need worry about that day again, Razo. You did right.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. No jolting dance this time, no hurrahs and happiness. He put the back of his hand over his eyes and kept nodding, speaking to himself as if to a troubled animal. “Sure enough. That’ll be how it was. No worry now. All right then.”
He took a deep breath and when his hand fell from his face, his expression was calm, even pleased.
He pointed at her. “You’re the one who can do
no wrong, Rinna-girl. You’re the family treasure. You’re the reason Ma can keep smiling and none of our brothers have strangled each other yet and the homestead is the best place in the Forest. You are.”
She shook her head, though she wished Razo could make her believe it.
“I want to go home.” The idea filled her suddenly with hopeless longing. “I miss the little ones and the Forest, and Ma. Even our brothers. I miss it all.”
He nodded. “We’ll get you there. Maybe we’ll be on our way tomorrow morning. You just stay here with Tusken while I sneak in and make the rescue.” When he spoke, his hand strayed to his left side.
Rin glared. “You are hiding an injury from me, aren’t you? Let me see.”
She reached for his tunic, and he pushed her hands away. “It’s nothing.”
“Then it won’t matter if I see.”
She lifted his gray soldier’s tunic and sucked in a breath at the sight. His entire left side was bruised deep purple, the edges turning green and yellow. Why hadn’t she realized before that he was injured? I could have, Rin thought. But I didn’t want to notice. If Razo was hurt, he might not be able to break into the castle, and she so wanted it to be him, not her.
“This is not good,” she said.
“It’s nothing, really. I tried to escape and one of Selia’s soliders hit me.”
“With what?”
“His fist.” Razo shrugged. “He was a big one.”
Rin touched the bruise, and he winced. “Razo, I think your rib is broken.”
“No . . .”
“Remember when Deet fell out of a tree? That’s how it looked, and he had trouble breathing. I’ve heard you panting as we run.”
“It doesn’t matter. Broken or not, I still have to go.”
“I’ll go.” Rin spoke without thinking first, and it made her wonder if that was how everyone lived, talking all the time, speaking words before the thoughts had time to settle. “I’ll go to Castle Daire.”
Razo stared. “Were you always this eager to rush off after queens and break into fortresses?”
“Tusken needs his ma back. And I think I can do it. Sneak. They won’t notice me. I’m a better choice than you.”
“Ho there now, I thought you said I was perfect, that I could do no wrong.”
Energy was rising up in her, and she knew instinctively she could make her words very convincing. Perhaps that was people-speaking, she thought. When she got warm inside like that, when words felt tangible before she even uttered them. She took a breath and concentrated on keeping her insides cool and calm. “You should stay with Tusken. Your injury could slow you down. I can sneak right past those guards, tell Isi that you and Tusken are free, and those fire sisters will—”
“Whoa, wait—fire sisters?”
She felt herself blush. “I mean, that’s how I think of Dasha, Isi, and Enna.”
“Fire sisters?” he said again, raising an eyebrow.
She shrugged. “It . . . the name sounded good in my head.”
“Uh-huh. All right, go on.”
“So as soon as the . . . the girls know, they’ll be able to break out of the prison, and we’ll come back and find you.”
Razo sat back on his heels and stared up. Rin followed his gaze. The moon was hanging above them, white and ghostly against the blue sky as if anxious to bring on the night. Rin did not share that sentiment. Her hands were tingling cold in anticipation of Razo’s decision. She did not want him to agree. She wanted him to insist that his ribs were fine and she should stay with Tusken. He should not allow his baby sister to endanger herself creeping into a fortress brimming with soldiers and murderous fire-speakers. Even if she did get inside, what could she do if something went wrong?
Then again, what would Razo do? If either of them were caught, it was over. Better he survive. He had Dasha and home—but she had nothing. Her family would not be safe with a people-speaker around. She would risk herself. It was her gift to give.
“I’m almost tempted to agree,” he said at last. “But really, it’s an idea more worthy of our goat-brained Jef than our smart-as-Ma Rin. You stay with Tusken and run to Bayern if I don’t come back.”
She almost did it then. Panic clenched inside her, all her energy gathered together, making fists of need, and she almost punched it all into words and told him, “Let me go, Razo. You’ll be sorry if you don’t. You know you tend to fail with these things even when you’re not injured. You’d be safer with the child. Our brothers are mostly right about you—this is too important to gamble on your meager skills,” and so on, until she’d found the hole in his confidence and tricked him into letting her go instead. The words were there, in her throat, on her tongue, insistent, demanding, real. She choked, and to keep the greasy black words down, she blurted instead, “I have people-speaking.”
Razo blinked and shook his head as if she’d splashed water in his face. “Wait, whoa, what?”
“I have people-speaking. I’m like Selia.”
“Is this like your bear-speaking joke? Because it really wasn’t funny enough to keep it up.”
She pressed her hands over her eyes. She’d already figured she could not trust herself to return home, but now that Razo knew what she was, that future seemed certain, the idea of home smoke in her hand.
“I’m a people-speaker, like Selia. I’m going to turn into a monster.”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, really. I am.”
“Right.”
“Listen to me!” Instead of words, sobs gathered in her throat. “I’ve had people-speaking my whole life. It’s been inside me like . . . like an egg, growing until something foul could eat its way out. I didn’t know what it was, but I always knew there was something wrong in me. With me. And I had to hold it in or I’d hurt people and Ma wouldn’t love me. And now when I talk I’m afraid I’m going to say . . . I’m going to be Selia, I’m going to make people do things, and I can’t be Rin, whoever that is anyway. I can’t speak the thoughts in my head because by the time they reach my tongue they become infected with it, and I’m not sure when I’m speaking casually and when I’m letting that curse taint everything. No one should trust me, I’ll need to be alone and hide away. I hate it. And I hate me.”
She gulped her breath down and shut her mouth. She had not intended to say so much. People-speaking or not, she never should have spoken those last words aloud. Never, not to Razo, not to anyone. That part of her was a tight, ugly clump best left in the dark.
She stared at Razo, her chin trembling with the effort not to cry, terrified that he would acknowledge what she should not have said and try to console her with hollow words.
He was watching the fire burn. It took him a long time to speak, and when he did, his words were measured and slow. “I’m not the smartest boy, I know that. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing—smarts seem like a load of fancy clothes that you have to wear all the time, and they’re heavy and rip easily even though you’re supposed to keep them clean. A hassle, that’s what that is. So I’m not so smart, and I can’t say whether or not you have people-speaking, but one thing I know”—he looked at her, his eyes golden in the light—“you’re nothing like Selia, and you’re never going to be.”
Rin laughed without humor and pulled her knees up, resting her forehead so Razo would not have to look at his sister’s face.
His voice got hotter. “No, you listen to me now, Rinna-girl. You’re never going to be. Never. Selia’s the queen of Kel, is she? She’s so smart and powerful and can just lock up Dasha and Isi and Enna, can she? Ha! She’s a grunting piglet. And if it came down to a fight, you and Selia, I’d bet the last tree that you’d win without ever opening your mouth. Because you’re Forest born, Rinna-girl.”
Rin was crying then, so she kept her face down, hoping Razo would not notice.
Razo cleared his throat. “See? I know you believe you have people-speaking, but you haven’t tried to talk me into sending you to the castle. You wouldn’t do that, ’c
ause you’re Rin. I’m your favorite brother and not so dumb for being not too smart, and I say, go on and rescue those girls. Show that Selia what it means to be Agget-kin.”
She looked up then. “You’re going to let me go?”
“No chance you’d ask if you didn’t think you could do it. I don’t like sitting here while you go off asking danger for an evening stroll. I think my sneaking skills are rather impressive and I enjoyed the idea of bursting into the prison and shouting, ‘Tusken’s safe, my girls. Break out of that stone box!’ And Dasha rushing up to me and kissing me and—well, anyway, I think my plan sounds like more fun, but you wouldn’t insist if you didn’t mean it, and besides, you did manage to get away last night without being seen, and you were right about keeping us hidden in that tree. And if nothing else, Tusken’s probably safest with me.”
She nodded. Her middle relaxed in relief, even though the thought of stealing into that castle alone made her feel iced over.
“You can do this, right?” he asked.
She nodded again and thought, Razo and Tusken will stay safe. I’ll only have to risk myself.
“All right.” He rubbed his hands together and his tone became as serious as she’d ever heard out of his mouth. “You should head out in about two hours. There’s only one entrance through the castle wall, and it’ll be well guarded. I was going to try and scale the wall—you think you can manage that?”
Cold dripped over the skin of her back and down her arms. Could she? She’d try. If she could only get close enough to the girls to shout the news, then it would all be worth it. Rin nodded.
Razo sucked air in through his teeth. “I don’t know, Rin . . .”
“I can, Razo. No problem. Really. I’m Forest born, aren’t I?” He was not going to let her go. She scrambled for something else to say. “Besides, I have tree-speaking, so that will help.”
“Oh, right, I didn’t think about that. Good.”
Would it help? She wondered if her knowledge of tree-speaking somehow endowed her to be better at sneaking, if it was just a matter of practice, or if she was just so boring no one noticed her. But tree-speaking was not like fire-speaking, not a weapon to be used. Isi said animals were living things and could not be controlled, not like fire or wind. Trees were living things too. She could not make them do things they would not normally do.