His mouth moves, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. All I can hear are Darin’s screams echoing in my ears. I’ll never see my brother again. The Martials will sell him if he’s lucky and kill him if he’s not. Either way, there’s nothing I can do about it. Tell them, Laia. Darin whispers in my head. Tell them who you are. They might kill me, I argue back. I don’t know if I can trust them. If you don’t tell them, I’ll die, Darin’s voice says. Don’t let me die, Laia. “The tattoo on your neck,” I shout at Mazen’s retreating back. “The fist and flame. My father put it there. You were the second person he tattooed, after my mother.” Mazen stops. “His name was Jahan. You called him Lieutenant. My sister’s name was Lis. You called her the Little Lioness. My—” For a second, I falter, and Mazen turns around, a muscle in his jaw jumping.
