Page 137 of Sins of the Heart

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“It was too late before I even started.” Mal’s frustration was evident as he scraped his fingers through

his straight, dark hair, dragging it back from his

forehead. He was the only one of the brothers who had

dark hair. Since Sutekh didn’t have a mortal corporeal

form, his sons took the genetic blueprint of their appearance from their mothers. Dagan and Alastor’s

mother had been fair, as had Lokan’s. Only Mal’s

mother had had dark hair and olive skin, and Mal had

her coloring.

His thick platinum hoops—two in each ear—glinted

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in the eerie greenish lights. There was a platinum ring

in the shape of a stylized skull on his baby finger. Red

silk shirt. Dark jeans. Black boots.

Dagan shook his head. Mal was a pirate. Always had

been. Always would be. A couple of hundred years one

way or the other didn’t change that.

The thought was oddly reassuring.

Sometimes, those with extreme longevity who traversed both Topworld and the Underworld became

withdrawn, despondent, clinging to the old ways, unable to change as the world changed. Eventually, they

chose to remain in the Underworld, isolated, alone.

Some went mad. Others went into the lakes of fire. It

was one of the few ways most Underworlders could

make certain the end was the end.

But Mal would never be one of them. He embraced

everything the Topworld had to offer. Foods. Fashions.

Gadgets. Ideas. His pattern of speech changed as the

world birthed each new generation. He was a chameleon, always blending.

To a degree, all of them were. They had to be. But

Mal was the master, and he reveled in making those

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