Page 119 of Daughter of No Worlds

“Don’t worry, only the kind that’s already dead.”

“Oh, good, that was almost morbid.”

I ran my eyes along the wall. She liked snakes more than anything, so there were many of those. But the lower shelf, it seemed, was the “bug shelf.” Beetles, ants, little squirming maggots.

I paused at one glass box.

“This one,” I said, pointing, “looks too normal and pretty to be a part of your collection.”

She followed my finger to the quivering butterfly perched on a mossy stick, light reflecting off of shimmering burgundy wings. “Oh. I thought so too at first. But!” Her dark eyes lit up. “Did you know that when butterflies make a cocoon, their bodies totally dissolve? They just become sticky caterpillar goo with a couple of organs mixed in. They don’t even have a brain.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That’s disgusting. How did you find that out?”

I was almost afraid of the answer - so I let out a small breath of relief when she replied, “I read about it.”

Then she added, “But I didn’t think that sounded accurate, so I cut a cocoon in half at Aunt Lysara’s house. And it was right! Just goo.”

“Mother and Aunt Lysara must’ve been thrilled.”

“Mother said I lacked social graces.”

“She says that to me too.”

Funny, because our mother also lacked “social graces”, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Kira put down the beetle, distracted, and grinned at me as she snapped her fingers. Then frowned when nothing happened.

Another snap.

And a third — which released a small puff of blue sparks. She repeated herself, creating a slightly larger cluster of light, like a little fragment of lightning.

“Good, right? I’ve been practicing.”

I smiled, despite myself. The only other Wielder in our family. It seemed fitting. Fitting and slightly terrifying. “Have you started thinking about what you’ll do for training?”

A wrinkle crossed the bridge of her nose, as if I was asking her a stupid question. Another expression that I recognized as one that belonged to me first. “I’ll join the military, like you and Nura.”

My smile faded.

Six months ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to encourage her to follow my path. Hell, that’s exactly what I did when she first started showing signs of being a Wielder — I had no reason not to. I liked the military. Liked the structure, like the competition, liked the way that it drove me to push myself further and further and further until I clawed my way all the way up the ladder. Certainly much higher than if I were secluded in some poor Solarie’s shack somewhere, wasting my time with pointless exercises.

But these last few months — the war, the battles —

“Ugh, it smells terrible in here.” The door swung open and Atraclius poked his head into the shed, wire-frame glasses shifting as he scrunched up his nose. “I’ve been sent to retrieve you. Father’s getting impatient.”

He grinned. He had one of those smiles that split his whole face in two. Almost obnoxiously infectious. “Besides, I’m starving. And I’ve got a lot of stories to tell you, Max”

{I’ve got a lot of stories to tell you, Tisaanah…}

I opened my mouth to answer, but couldn’t speak.

{So many stories.}

The world froze. Then dissolved into blackness.

{Do you like them? I’ll have yours soon, too.}

Chapter Forty-One

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