I blink and glance up at him.
He raises his hand. “Please, I mean no offense. I am as baffled by the gods as you are.”
“Your people had dark gifts.” I am no longer willing to keep my mouth shut.
Praxis nods. “I know.” He studies the window as he continues. “Bloodstones ruled all Tarrobane before the gods curbed our magic. My ancestors didn’t achieve such victories without walking over the backs of innocent people. But that was forty summers ago. Why should we be punished for something we didn’t do?”
“Maybe they know giving your people magic again would cause a ricocheting effect.”
Instead of replying, Praxis keeps his focus locked on the window. The longer he remains silent, the more it gnaws at my chest, digging a well of dread.
“Do you believe your magic would be different?” I ask when I can no longer bear the quiet.
“We are different people.”
He didn’t answer my question. He merely skirted around it.
“What of your people’s cruelty toward the outsiders?”
“That’s Astarobane. Things are different here.”
My brow rises. “What do you mean?”
“Not every city is like Astarobane. Nor is every Bloodstone like the ones you see here.”
“Are you different Praxis?”
“I would like to believe I am.”
“What of Tarra?” I ask as I remember the city Gabriel mentioned.
“Tarra is different and full of a lot of former warriors.” Praxis runs his fingers through his hair as he speaks. “You will not encounter the same prejudices in Tarra.”
Something Gabriel said to me strikes at my thoughts. He said Astarobane was someone’s city. But whose? Who enflamed the prejudices here?
“Do you believe the Bloodstone tribe should rule Tarrobane?” It’s a fair question—one that has nagged at the back of my thoughts since Luc kidnapped me.
Taut lines appear near Praxis’ mouth. “We are the chosen bloodline.”
No!
His words curve a line of fear deep into my heart. The Bloodstones cannot revive what their ancestors did. They killed thousands. Burned many villages. Most of Tarrobane was charred black with their greed.
The high gods intervened and took away their magic. Then the other five tribes revolted. First, the Kyanites. Then the Malachites, followed by the Carnelians, Hematites, and Calcites.”
“Is that what your people want? To subject all the Tarrobane barbarian tribes to your authority again?” Somehow, I ask the questions without allowing my bitterness to show.
Praxis shifts, pulling his covers closer and shrugs. “I’m not privy to what the council wants.”
Olah, help us all. I cannot allow that to happen. I’ll kill Roland first, then their tribe will be left reeling.
The rising sun will rise.Kassandra’s grandmother’s voice hisses in my ears. I try to suppress it, but it repeats like a never-ending nightmare.Hector is the rising sun, and he’ll bring magic back.
No!
Hector must die too. I knew it weeks ago, and I know it now. He must die, or the other five Tarrobane tribes will feel the sting of my failure.
To save all Tarrobane, I must be a hawk—diligent and dedicated in finding my prey.
