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hardest of times. She’d always envied him that, ashamed of her own weaknesses.
    â€œWhat did they want today?” she asked.
    â€œSame as every other time.” He leaned against the stone wall. “The king wants to know what Phaedra told me about the Kindred. He asks me the same questions again and again, but my answers never satisfy him.”
    Not so long ago Lysandra wouldn’t have hesitated to tell Gregor he was a fool to believe in immortal creatures from a different world or magic crystals. What a laugh.
    But no one was laughing now.
    â€œShe’ll visit me again,” he whispered. “I know she will. And then she’ll tell me what to do.”
    Lysandra lowered her voice. “Did you tell them what Phaedra said about the sorceress?”
    It pained her even to say such a thing aloud, but it was what Gregor believed. Helping him hold on to his beliefs might give him the strength he needed to hold on to life.
    He squeezed his eyes shut. “I tried to say as little as I could. I need to be patient. Phaedra will visit me again. She wouldn’t abandon me like this.”
    If this Phaedra really existed, then Lysandra hated her for what she’d done to her brother. For what she’d said to him.
    â€œWhen the sorceress’s blood is spilled, they will finally rise. And the world will burn.”
    Who would rise? There was no such thing as magic, only foolish people who believed in foolish things to better explain what they didn’t understand.
    â€œSo tell the king that—about this sorceress and her powerful blood,” Lysandra whispered. “Let him scurry off to find some girl to blame! Get the attention off you.”
    â€œYou’d wish something horrible like that on someone else?”
    She flinched. Would she wish for something cold and brutal to happen to some innocent girl, all to save someone she loves?
    She wasn’t sure anymore.
    Gregor touched his forehead, then brought his hand in front of his face and looked at the smear of crimson on his fingertips. “Blood is the key to all of this, little Lys. Remember that. Blood is life. Blood is magic.”
    â€œIf you say so.” She tried to keep her frustration out of her voice. Gregor had been through so much; she only wanted him to rest and regain his strength and his mind. “Do you know the identity of this sorceress your dream-girl told you about? Any idea at all?”
    â€œNo,” he admitted. “But she exists.”
    Lysandra let out a shaky sigh. “That doesn’t help us very much.”
    Tarus spoke up from the corner. “My grandmother once told me of a prophecy about a sorceress. One who can wield
elementia
more powerfully than anybody else. She’s the one who can recover the Kindred.”
    â€œYour grandmother sounds like a great storyteller,” Lysandra said.
    Tarus shrugged. “Maybe it’s not just a story. Maybe it’s fate.”
    Paelsians might not believe in magic, but they did believe in fate. They believed in accepting the harsh realities of life in a land that was wasting away day by day—empty stomachs, dying children—as if such horrors could not be prevented.
    Lysandra had never subscribed to such fatalistic beliefs. She knew there was only one person who could change your destiny, and that was yourself.
    â€œPhaedra will visit me again. She’ll tell me how to help her.” Gregor’s eyes shone with tears, then he squeezed them shut again. Lysandra’s heart ached.
    â€œWatchers visit mortals’ dreams,” said Tarus, getting Lysandra’s attention. “Sometimes. Rarely—I mean, it doesn’t happen a lot. But it’s possible.”
    He must have seen the skepticism written all over her face. Still, Gregor seemed so certain. She couldn’t just dismiss his words as the ramblings of an insane person. She might not believe in much, but she believed in her brother.
    And all of this