“I’m hard to kill.” I drank my coffee.

“Not that hard.”

“You couldn’t do it.”

“I didn’t really try.”

I looked at her from above the brim of my cup. “You tried. I was there.”

Julie grimaced.

“What’s wrong with you this morning?”

“She doesn’t like my banner.”

Why me? Why? I counted to five in my head.

Curran walked through the kitchen door. “What’s wrong with the banner?”

“It’s blue,” Julie said.

“Why is it blue?” my aunt demanded.

“Because it’s the color of human magic,” Julie said.

“It’s the color of every human mage out there,” Erra snapped. “It’s not fit.”

I raised my hands. “I don’t care about the banner.”

My aunt reached over and smacked me upside the head. Magic exploded against my skull.

“If you do that again, I will drop your knife into a manhole for a few days.”

“Don’t make empty threats,” Erra said. “You won’t survive the next few days without me. When you want to threaten someone, you must mean it.”

“I mean it.”

“You remind me of me.” Erra groaned. “You are the punishment for all my transgressions.”

I smiled at her.

“Always remember you are a queen,” Erra ground out. “Banners are important. They are symbols. When a scared child barely old enough to hold his weapon comes to a field of battle to raise his spear for you, your banner will be the first thing he sees—and the last, as he lies dying, gazing at the sky. Your banner tells him what he is dying for.”

“Well, what banner should I have?”

“You are the only living female within our bloodline. You would inherit In-Shinar from me as I inherited it from my mother, while your father would hold Im-Shinar. The oldest female of our blood always holds In-Shinar and flies its green banner. It is your right.”

“Nobody knows what Shinar is,” Julie said.

“Her father does.”

“Will her father recognize the banner?” Curran said.

“Yes,” Erra said. “He will.”

My father would see the banner of his own family on the other side of the battlefield. It would hammer home the point: he was fighting a civil war.

“Let’s split it,” I said. “Green for Shinar and blue for Atlanta.”

“Green with a blue stripe,” my aunt said.

“Fine,” Julie grumbled.

“Go across the street,” Curran told Julie. “George’s cousin owns a textile shop. See what they can do for us. We need large banners. A lot of large banners.”

“Finally,” Erra said. “Someone who understands. Bring me samples, child. The shade of green must be exact.”

Julie got up, sighed to let us know she was suffering, and left the room.

“This still doesn’t solve the problem of our not having an army,” I said.

“What are Roland’s typical tactics?” Curran asked.