The Foretelling

The weak are cruel. The strong have no need to be.

We are only an instant, that's true. But we are eternal.

Would you like to have a brother? By now Melek knew much of our language. I would like to have you, he told me. I laughed, but the laughter sounded sharp, like a rock against the both of us, or an arrow, one that could indeed pierce through flesh. I know I can’t. So instead I’ll have a brother.

Of course, you cannot tame bees the way you can horses; they were not our sisters in that way. But you can live alongside them, Queen to Queen, warrior to warrior. You can learn from their sisterhood: how they follow their Queen no matter what, how battle is nothing to them, how they enter into it freely and fight to the death.

In the reign of my Queenship my brother saved my life. He did that when I went to get him from the priestesses. That was part of the foretelling, the part I hadn’t understood: Who you save, saves you as well.

It was the here and now she claimed for herself. Alina was like a piece of ice in the sunlight, blinding and bright and unforgiving. Our people say the shadow is one of our souls, and my mother’s shadow disappeared on the day she was violated. It shattered into black shards, then rose up like smoke. All that was left was the iron inside her; only the hardest part remained.

I didn’t understand that one season was quickly devoured by the next, leaving behind bones and memories.