“Don’t talk like that,” she said.

Xander’s expression softened. “Discordia—”

“Please.”

She had never uttered that word her entire life. Please was too close to begging, an admission of some deficiency. No wonder her father warned her about feelings. No wonder he taught her never to show emotion, to tamp it down inside her where it could be caged and tamed and hidden.

Discordia wanted Xander to live. She wanted him to live more than she wanted to rule an empire.

Dangerous thoughts—destructive and reckless and weak. Thoughts that she would have killed her other brothers for, because the God of Death was their patron, their lord, their deity, and He did not tolerate such failing.

Xander froze. For a moment, Discordia felt embarrassed. Damocles would have mocked her for the plea, challenged her. Their father would have tortured her at such a disappointment. Rethought his decision to make her Heir.

Xander only let out a breath. “I have something for you.”

Discordia tilted her head, her hand resting against the fur trim of the cloak. She knew she should take it off, but she was compelled to bear the heavy weight of it a moment longer. “Another gift?”

“Something like that.” Xander placed the box in her palms. “Here.”

Discordia lifted the lid and her breath caught. Nestled in velvet was an antique gun, an old limited edition RX Blaster. Avern, they did not make guns like this anymore; Mors weapons were all utilitarian designs, made to look the same. This? Oh, it was a beauty. The barrel was long and filigreed, and it curved into a beautiful pearled handle.

“Where did you find it?” she asked.

He only smiled in answer. “You’ll have to buy more blasters, but I thought you’d be up for the challenge of learning a new weapon.” As if nervous at her silence, Xander cleared his throat. “I remember from Myndalia that you liked experimenting.”

That made her look up. “You watched me from the observation deck.”

“We all did,” Xander admitted. “I doubt a single one of our brothers would have turned you down for an ally. Our one surviving sister.” His gaze shifted.

“What?”

His eyes met hers. “I saw you and Damocles the night you both challenged Adrian and Xerxes. You showed compassion.”

Discordia still remembered Xerxes bleeding out on the floor of the gymnasium, his expression pleading. The way Damocles thought his father’s attention was more important than his brother’s suffering. They had all been taught to work for the Archon’s satisfaction above all else. Not her first kill, but her first of many kin.

Discordia remained silent. Xander took the weapon from her and placed it back in the box, its lid still open. “Our other brothers would have let Damocles wait, no matter how long Xerxes suffered. You were different.”