The moonfaced one was here. She was followed by the sunshine male, but the male was wiser than the others thought. He stayed back. The black fog thinned around Prija, but she didn’t open her eyes.

Prija, I’m here.

The moonfaced girl was clever. She didn’t try to speak to Prija’s body; she spoke to her mind. She spoke in English, but Prija could understand that language even if she didn’t like to speak it. Prija didn’t speak anything.

I have a gift for you.

That was what Arindam’s sons had said before she killed them. Prija snarled.

It’s a gift from Intira.

A trick. Why would they carry a gift from a little girl so many miles from her home? She was so far from home. Prija’s heart cried. She wanted the peace of her forest. The soothing rush of the water over her head. The simple laughter of the village children. Why had they taken those from her?

A weapon…

…killed her own father.

What kind of female can kill one of the Fallen?

Mind crushed from the inside.

This is why they are killed.

This is why they are feared.

“You should fear me,” Prija whispered in her mother’s tongue.

The sunshine male walked in. “Why should we fear you?”

Prija opened her eyes. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. It had been too long.

The sunshine man intrigued her. His eyes were like water they were so blue. Who had water eyes? If she touched them, would her finger go through them like liquid? The mental picture nearly made her laugh.

“Why should we fear you?” he asked again, crouching down.

She wanted to speak, but the pounding wings of the Fallen exhausted her. He didn’t have wings. Not really. But enough of his sycophants thought him a god that he’d created them with his mind. Her own father had been the same. Tenasserim could manifest things with his mind.

Just like Prija could twist the shadow.

But she didn’t have a voice anymore. Using it was too exhausting. Killing her father had locked it inside. Because while she’d hated him with every part of her, she’d loved him in the same way. Killing him had been killing part of herself. That was what Sura and Niran never understood.

She’d also died that day. She’d died with Kanok.

A small gasp from the moonfaced girl.

“He was your twin,” she said. “The brother who died. Kanok was your twin.”

Prija closed her eyes again, but this time she couldn’t block out the woman.

I know you understand me, she said. I have a brother too.

Prija’s eyes flew open.

I have a twin. He is the other part of me. The woman’s eyes were full of tears. If he died, I might not want to live either.

Prija looked at the sunshine man.

Maybe for him, the woman said. Maybe I would live for him. Can you live for those who love you, Prija? The woman reached back and brought a backpack out. She opened the zippered case and drew out a black-and-red-striped fabric.

Prija cocked her head. It was Intira’s weaving.

“Intira made this for you,” the scribe said. “She wanted Kyra to bring it to you. She said you’d understand.”

“She said”—Kyra spread out the weaving—“you’d understand what it meant. And that you had to come back for Intira to finish. That she wouldn’t finish unless you came back.”

Stubborn, brilliant girl. Prija still didn’t see it. She tried, but…

“Leo thinks it’s some kind of music,” Kyra said.

Music?

One of Prija’s old visions came to life. Stars across the sky. Scattered. Rising and falling voices and notes.

Of course. Intira had taken her own stars and turned them into mathematics. Into geometry. It was how she saw everything.

Did she know?

How could she have known?

She couldn’t hear anymore, but if Prija could read the music, she could kill Arindam the same way she’d killed her father.

This time when she opened her mouth, she couldn’t stop the words.

“Who showed her this song?”