The edge of the city is eerily deserted.

With each step closer to the Sanctuary of Souls, the less people linger. It’s to be expected, considering the bandits that haunt this corner of the city. We pass the occasional skittish stranger, hurrying to find their way back onto a crowded street.

I glance sidelong at Paedyn. She’s been spinning that ring on her thumb for the past several hours while managing to look anywhere but my direction. I hate when it’s like this. When we don’t speak. When she acts like my prisoner.

“Your braid is falling out.”

It’s not, actually. But I’m pathetic and couldn’t think of a better way to break the silence. Talking about her hair is better than not talking at all. She grips the brim of the hat, looking around to find any wandering eyes. When she deems the coast clear, the hat slips from her head to let the braid tumble down her back.

“Hold this,” she orders, shoving the hat into my hands.

“There’s those lovely manners,” I murmur, watching as she struggles with the knotted tie at the end of her braid. It’s unbearable to watch, really. “Just let me do it.”

“Absolutely not.” She laughs. “The last time you braided my hair, it was a mess, remember?”

“I was out of practice.”

Emotion flits across her face. “Well, I’m sure you’ve brushed up on your skills since then.”

I’m only confused for a moment before realization rams into me.

She thinks I’ve been with other women.

The thought almost makes me laugh, and yet, I play along.

“Does that bother you, Gray?”

She ducks into a dim side street, pulling me with her. “Are you going to fix this, or should I?”

She’s still attempting to unravel the braid when I lean against the wall. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“What do you want me to say?” she huffs, whipping the braid behind her. “That you braiding another woman’s hair bothers me? That’s pathetic, and I won’t say it.”

I sigh, stepping behind her to gather what is left of the braid into my hands. “Well, I haven’t.” I manage to untangle the strap and run my fingers through her hair.

“Haven’t what?” she asks stiffly.

“Haven’t braided any woman’s hair but yours,” I say softly. “Well, yours and Ava’s.”

I feel her spine straighten against my fingers. “Ava?” She laughs humorlessly. “Let me guess, one of your many lovers? Perhaps one you actually liked?”

I’m silent for a long moment, swallowing back the emotion climbing up my throat. “Yes, I liked her. Loved her, even.”

“Great to hear.”

“She was…” I blow out a breath. “She was life itself. Every bit of good I lacked.”

She glances over her shoulder, but I push her face back toward the wall. “Why are you telling me all this? To make me jealous?”

I smile. “There is no reason to be jealous—”

She cuts through my words. “Really? Because it sounds like—”

“Of my sister,” I finish, talking over her.

I think I hear her jaw snap shut.

“I…,” she stutters, searching for words. “I didn’t…”

“Didn’t know I had a sister?” I say simply. “Of course you didn’t. You and the rest of the kingdom weren’t supposed to know.”

Her hair slips from my hands as she turns to face me. “What do you mean?”

My fingers catch her chin, turning her gently back toward the alley wall so I can gather her hair between my fingers once again. “She was born eleven years ago—her birthday was nearly three weeks ago. For her health, my mother wasn’t supposed to have any more children. But Ava was unexpected. Unplanned.” I take a quiet breath. “The birth was… difficult. We almost lost the queen because of it. I remember sitting by the side of her bed, holding my mother’s hand while the Healers did the best they could.”

The braid is halfway down her back now, her hair slick in my hands. “Ava wasn’t supposed to survive the birth, but she was a miracle despite all the odds.”

“What…,” Paedyn starts hesitantly, “what happened?”

“She was sick. The Healers said she didn’t have long to live. And because of that, Father ordered her to be kept a secret from the kingdom. He didn’t want news of a frail queen and her sick child to spread. Apparently, ill royals are an embarrassment. A sign of a weak king and kingdom.” I roll my shoulders, feeling the tension and anger building there. “So Ava was hidden, was a secret kept by the entire staff. Still is.”

“And now?” Paedyn asks softly.

“She was four when the sickness took her away from me.” I swallow. “I learned how to braid because of her. She was weak, and doing her own hair was something she struggled with. So I learned to do it for her. I used any excuse to spend time together. I’d endure every bit of training the king put me through because I knew she was waiting for me on the other side of it.” I tie off Paedyn’s braid with shaky fingers. “She had this beautiful thick, black hair. Big, gray eyes like my mother. Everyone joked that she was the prettier version of me. And when I looked at her, I saw the best parts of myself.”

“Kai…,” Paedyn starts. “I didn’t know.”

“She wasn’t supposed to ever step foot outside the castle that caged her in,” I continue.

“Wasn’t supposed to?” she asks quietly. “That sounds like she did.”

A soft smile lifts my lips at the memory. “Oh, she did. I made sure of it. When it was clear that the sickness would take her at any moment, I snuck her out into the gardens one night. She splashed me with the freezing fountain water, picked as many flowers as she could.” I pause. “And she laughed. Plagues, despite it all, she always laughed. Her very essence was contagious.”

Silence stretches between us as Paedyn slowly turns to face me. “You never talk about her.”

I look away, shrugging as if the sadness of it all isn’t swallowing me whole. “It hurts too much. Kitt never brings her up either. He knows not to. But everyone loved her. Everyone knows not to talk too much about her when I’m around.” I run a hand through my hair. “Even in death, she still feels like a secret. And I want to talk about her—I do. It’s selfish, really. But every time I look at myself, I see a mangled version of her.”

“I’m so sorry,” Paedyn whispers, her fingers hesitantly brushing across the top of my hand. “I had no idea.”

“Most people never will,” I say bitterly. “Even after she died, the king—Ava’s father—refused to tell the kingdom about her. She’s buried beneath that willow in the gardens. The one you found me under that night during the Trials.” I watch the realization widen her eyes. “I visit her as often as I can.”

“That’s why you were there,” she murmurs.

I shake my head at the uneven cobblestones beneath my feet. “I wanted to tell you. But I never thought I actually would.”

Her palm finds my arm, gentle and unsure. “Thank you for telling me.” She sounds shy. “And I’m so sorry about Ava.”

I smile slightly, desperate to lighten the mood and think of anything but my dead sister. “So, I’ve never braided the hair of a lover. And I hardly think my four-year-old sister is anyone to be jealous of.”

A quick smile lifts her lips in understanding. She is familiar with the sound of a subject change. “As if I would be jealous to begin with.”

I sigh in relief at her willingness to play with me. “It’s cute when you pretend you’re not.”

A quick roll of her eyes before she’s running her fingers over the braid. “Not bad, Azer. I’m not fully convinced you haven’t been practicing on someone.”

“Just you, darling.”

“Hmm,” she hums, flipping her hair over a shoulder. “How sweet.”

I glance up at the setting sun. “Let’s get moving. We can make it a little farther before nightfall.”

I pick up her giant hat from where I tossed it onto the ground. She huffs when I push it onto her head and over her eyes. After lifting the brim to glare at me, she tucks the tail of her braid in before we set off onto the deserted street.

“You’re stepping on my hand.”

Her boot is crushing the fingers I have wrapped around the ladder’s rung. “Oh. Oops.”

“Yeah, oops.”

“I can’t see a thing up here,” she whispers down to me.

The barn we’ve snuck into is swallowed in shadow, and the loft above the stables even more so. We are nearly out of Dor now, and anyone willing to brave the Sanctuary of Souls stops here for a ride through it. Horses bray softly beneath us, settling into their stables for the night.

The shackle rubs against my raw ankle when she pulls herself up onto the loft. I feel my way up the ladder until I’m met with surprisingly sturdy planks of wood. I roll onto my back with a sigh, breathing in the smell of hay and the animals who eat it.

Her shoulder brushes mine as she lies down beside me. The feel of it has my mind racing with the memory of her on my lap. I push the thought aside, just like I’ve done several times now.

“You don’t think anyone saw us sneak in here?” she whispers.

I shake my head, stabbing hay into my hair. “I don’t think there is anyone even out here to see us.”

She’s silent for a long stretch. “I keep hoping he’ll find me.”

Straw continues its stabbing as I turn my head toward her. “Hoping who will find you?”

“Lenny,” she whispers. “Or any of the few people who still care about me.”

“I’m sure they’ve looked for you,” I say, ignoring the growing guilt I refuse to feel.

“Have you killed Mixes? Or just Ordinaries so far?”

I stiffen slightly at the hurt in her voice. “I haven’t found any Mixes in Ilya. Well, haven’t realized what they were if I had. But now that I know what their limited power feels like, I don’t doubt that I will.”

“And then you’ll kill them.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” she spits. “They are exactly what you and the rest of the kingdom are afraid of—your powers dwindling.”

I blow out a breath. “They are the beginning of the end of Elites.”

“And what is so wrong with that, if it means everyone gets to live?” she whispers, pleading for me to understand.

Silence surrounds us, interrupted only by the muffled stirring of horses. “Your mother was an Ordinary?” I finally ask.

“Yes,” she says simply. “She died of illness when I was a baby.”

“And your father a Healer?”

“You already know that.”

“So,” I say slowly, “how is it that you’re an Ordinary?”

“What are you…” A pause. “What are you talking about?”

I shrug, rustling the hay beneath my shoulders. “Shouldn’t you be a Mix, then? That is, so long as your mother was, well—”

“Think very carefully about your next words, Azer,” she says, deceptively calm. “Because if you were about to suggest that my mother was unfaithful, I would think twice.” Her voice is suddenly soft. “They loved each other.”

“I think you overestimate love,” I say simply.

“You can’t overestimate something that is infinite.”

Infinite. How equally intimidating and intriguing.

I can just make out her outline in the darkness. “You can’t tell me that you’ve never wondered why you’re Ordinary.”

Her tone is dull. “I guess I’ve been too busy surviving to figure it out.”

I quiet, contemplating her words. After several long minutes, I clear my throat. “We’ll sleep for a few hours before we grab a horse and head for the Sanctuary.”

“Can’t wait,” she mumbles groggily.

“You going to attempt to stab me in my sleep?” I pause. “Again?”

Her voice is muffled against the pack she’s stuffed her face into. “Well, it didn’t exactly work last night, did it?”

“Still breathing,” I assure her. “But it was a valiant effort.”

“Don’t mock. I’ll push you off this loft.”

“Then you’ll be falling with me.”

She rolls over. “It’ll be worth it.”