Page 116 of While the Dark Remains
Because I know to the depths of my soul that somehow the Daerosian king ruined my sister’s wings. That he killed her. And that he must pay.
“Violence is not the birthright of the Iljaria,” my father tells me, a few days after Lilja’s funeral. I’m in his office again, railing to himagainst the king, but I don’t dare use my magic to manipulate him a second time. “Vengeance does not belong to you.”
“But she shouldn’t have fallen!” I cry.
“No,” he agrees. “She shouldn’t have.” He studies me, clearly weighing whether he ought to tell me something. He runs one large hand through his curly white hair. “There were iron shavings ground into the wood of Lilja’s wings. I have no doubt it was Kallias who put them there.”
I shake with rage, with the horror of it. “Then why must we do nothing?”
His eyes meet mine. “I didn’t say that, little one. I only said that violence is not the answer.”
Hope pulses through me. “What, then?”
Father sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers and peering at me over his white beard. I still can’t comprehend how very old he is, but I know his eyes have seen many, many things.
“You know that the mountain once belonged to our people, that we buried something deep in the heart of it. A mighty power that could alter the very nature of the world.”
I nod, not wanting to even breathe, lest he change his mind about telling me.
“We want it back, but we will not take it by force, and we don’t even know if Kallias is aware of the power, if he is searching for it. We have long wished to install a permanent ambassador in Kallias’s court to keep an eye on him, but he won’t agree to one because he doesn’t trust us. We need to send someone he wouldn’t suspect.”
I blink at him, not understanding. My eyes catch the movement of a bright-yellow bird, winging past the office window, but all I see is Lilja, falling to her death.
“What would you say to being that someone?”
The question jerks me back to the present. “What do you mean?”
“It wouldn’t be easy, Brynja. You might be there for a long time, just waiting, just watching. You couldn’t have any contact with us. You’d have to keep your identity a secret.”
I still don’t understand.
Father gets up from his chair and comes around the desk, kneeling on the floor to bring himself to my eye level.
“You saw the children in Kallias’s Collection.”
“Yes.”
“I want you tobeone of those children. To stay in the mountain. To watch Kallias. When the time is right, we will come and take back the mountain for ourselves. We’ll be able to do that without violence because of you, Brynja. You’ll tell us if he’s about to breach the heart of the mountain.”
I am beginning to comprehend what he’s telling me, and something twists deep in my heart. “It will punish him,” I whisper. “It will punish the king for what he did to Lilja.”
He nods. “Yes.”
I take a deep breath. “Am I to live in a cage and perform tricks with my magic?”
“No. For this to work, you must not let on that you have any magic, or even that you’re Iljaria at all.”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean, Father?”
He smiles. “We’re going to turn you into a Skaandan, and we’re going to make you remarkable for something other than magic.” Grief flashes across his face, raw sorrow stitched with rage. “We’re going to make you fly.”
Year4190, Month of the White Lady
Iljaria—the Prism Master’s house
Every morning, as soon as I wake, I drag myself to the training arena, where my father is already waiting. He brings in trainers from all around Iljaria, and even a Skaandan woman sworn to secrecy. They teach me to push myself past my breaking point, again and again and again, untilI become strong, and then adequate and then, by the close of the year, remarkable.
I break every bone in my body at least once. I push through my routines with fractured feet and splintered collarbones. I grow to embrace the pain, to use it as a tool instead of a burden.
