Ezekiel had once been the light to his sister’s shadow, but Talitha had not always been what she had since become. Ravaged and broken, it had been this brother’s dead shadow that had infected her. A disease had made her ill, turned her into the wicked thing she had become. His own light had become tainted by a demon’s hand. Twin scars remained, displaying this fact clearly. Corvus had brought shadow to a boy who had only ever known pretend war, pretend conflict. Since that day his rages had grown to catastrophic size. One day they would destroy him.
“Then go home,” he said flatly, his smile remaining but no longer warm. He had been pretending so long that he sometimes forgot to drop the mask. “If she’s alive, she’ll come.” Talitha had returned, and he came after, as if summoned. The warrior knew so little of the depths of this bond between them, but it was a strong one. If Kharma and his sister were anything alike (and oh they were) then their blood would rattle and call for one another. This was the truth. Amber eyes gleamed in the starlight, as savage and simple as the boy-king himself.
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