Does he even have a face?
I have the strangest urge to push his hood back. What would I find?
What if he’s just a bunch of rats stacked on top of each other?
I can’t hold in the giggle at the image, at the idea that I’ve been scared of a bunch of rats all this time.
I reach out to touch the hood, peel it back, and finally see who he is.
He doesn’t stop me.
It falls to his shoulders, and my breath catches.
He is so beautiful.
His pale skin makes his red eyes, so much like mine, stand out. His hair falls in waves to his shoulders in a cool, blue-toned lavender.
He looks so much like me that I stumble backward.
“Hello, sister dear,” he grins. “I wondered when you’d get brave enough to see my face. You know this is only the third time?”
I know all of the words he’s saying, but they don’t make sense when put together. “The third time? What do you mean?”
He sighs, sitting back on his heels. “We have lived this life a thousand times, my dear Briar.”
My stomach is in knots. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’ve told you,” he says, his frustration evident. “You are here for the safety of the realm. You are a weapon, and I cannot allow anyone to wield you.”
“Then why not just kill me? Why the beatings? The starvation?” Every bad memory, every time he hurt me, comes roaring back to the surface. Every bit of fear that used to drip down my spine at the thought of him returns anew. “You’d do this to your own kin?”
He rolls his eyes. “Kin means nothing in this world, Briar. I did what I did to ensure you stayed here. And yet you still escaped. You still sought more.” He huffs, pushing to his feet. “And I can see it’s time to start over again.”
“No!” I shout, pushing myself to my feet. Though I desire sustenance, I am used to living on crumbs. The weakness I feel right now is nothing compared to the places he’s forced me to. My magic screams within my veins, wild and unchecked, without my Complements to steady me.
My Banisher.
My brother.
He doesn’t seem worried as he stares at me.
“You know I gave that wretched woman another curse. I imagine that little mage of yours is dead by now.”
His words are a pebble on the glass window of my soul. They will not break me.
I would know if Hans was no longer on this plane.
But my magic still reacts to the words, fueled by my righteous anger and desperate desires.
Memories flood me. Hans’s laugh. Gerrit’s gruff stare. Flint’s soft fur.
I can practically taste their blood on my tongue. Feel their hands on my skin.
Laying in the setting sun and being overwhelmed with emotions, with love for them.
That’s what this is, right?
If I’ve been in love before, my brother has wiped it from my memory.
