“You don’t…Sorcha, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said quietly.

“The hell I don’t!”

“You don’t. Look, I’m here for me. He’s in Rabatha, and I’m here for me.” I pulled myself up and sat on the couch. I took a breath. “I’m a shaper. I’m here for training. That’s why I’m here, because I’m a shaper,” I said quickly. I stared down at my boots as I said it.

Sorcha sat down next to me. “More than just a little, eh?”

“More than just a little.”

“Huh. How long are you gonna be here?”

“As long as it takes I guess.” I peeked over at him. “Probably a long time.”

Sorcha grinned down at his hands. The air was full of warmth and peace, but that sharp, confusing want of mine still remained. He fingered the lapel of my vest. “Look at these togs. Looking sharp, Ariah. Looking fine.” His voice was husky, a half-step deeper than usual.

I burned a deep, bright red. I laughed. My hand hovered in the air for a second, uncertain, and landed on his. I held his hand against my heart. I stared down at it, his hand in mine. “I have missed you.”

“I knew you would.”

“I really have.”

Sorcha kissed me on the cheek. “Same.”

* * *

Sorcha walked me to the palace the next morning. He was bright and unfettered, talking a mile a minute. I lingered close to him. He felt like home. I let his words wash over me, but it was his tone and the timbre of his voice that sunk in. Vathorem sat on the steps of the palace, smoking a pipe, waiting for me. “So that’s him, eh?” Sorcha said.

“That’s him.”

“He don’t look like much.”

Vathorem whistled. He pointed at both of us, each in turn, and waved us over. I took Sorcha by the elbow and led him over. “What does he want with me?” Sorcha asked under his breath.

“We’ll find out.” Vathorem wore an odd, quiet smile when we approached. He sat with his knees hunched up, his chin braced in one hand. “Good morning, Vathorem.”

“Morning. You sleep well?”

“I did.”

Vathorem pointed at Sorcha with his pipe. “Who is this?”

“A friend.”

“Not a friend you made here.” Vathorem leaned forward and studied Sorcha. “You’re the little one, aren’t you? The youngest brother.”

Sorcha went cold beside me. He drew into himself. “I’m Sorcha. That’s who I am.” He gave Vathorem a slight bow and stepped away.

Vathorem laughed. He patted the step next to him. “So, that one,” he said as I sat down.

“What about him?”

Vathorem shook his head. “You need solitude.”

“He’s my roots.”

Vathorem looked over. “Come again?”

I blushed slightly and stared out at the street. “Sorcha, he’s…I think he’s my roots.”