Free Citadel of the Sky (Thrones of the Firstborn Book 1) by Chrysoula Tzavelas

in the center of the cross. More dolls leaned against each other on a shelf. A stack of bowls teetered on another table, threatening a mug encrusted with a patina of old tea. There was a jar of mysterious, lumpy goo beside the mug.
    At that point, Kiar squeezed her eyes shut in horror, but still couldn’t block out the old, acrid smell in the air. “It’s never been this messy in here before,” she said, outraged. “It’s a good thing I’ve been skipping class. How could he expect to have a lesson in here? It’s intolerable!”
    When she’d come here eight years ago, it had been untidy, but she’d hardly noticed. She’d been so intent on finding the plepanin. It was a powder, she’d read, dull red. It made things and people magical. Maybe it could make her more like her cousins: braver and stronger and more talented. He’d had a shelf full of jars then, each one carefully labeled: spices, teas, poisons, plepanin. There was only a little, but it only took a little. He’d never notice.
    Kiar looked around until she spotted the nearly-empty jar of red powder, high atop one of the bookshelves. He’d peeled the label off long ago, but that didn’t matter. She stepped over clutter on the floor and absently began to reshelf the books. She couldn’t see it from here. It was out of sight, but she could practically feel it, all the same.
    “A mistake,” she muttered. “It made things worse. These stupid lessons, where I just get to see how bad I am at something else. Jerya and Tiana relying on me for answers I can’t even see properly. It didn’t help at all.”
    She moved to the next shelf of books, making a disapproving sound under her breath at the state of the shelving. “This never happened before. I wonder what’s going on?” Then, she looked up at the jar she couldn’t see.
    Sometimes, she wondered if she just didn’t have enough. If it didn’t fully sensitize her to the Logos like it did to normal people. Inscribed objects need a refresh every once in a while, after all. Maybe the Blood did too.
    She shook her head violently.
    “You’re so predictable,” said a calm, familiar voice behind her. “I’m disappointed.” She whirled around, spilling a stack of books across the floor. Twist stood in the door leading out of his chambers, a long dark coat dripping water on the floor. His dark hair was barely damp, which looked like a neat trick. She bit her tongue on asking him about it.
    He chuckled, removing his coat and tossing it over the back of the nearest chair. “I thought you’d quit your studies. Or died of that sore throat. Three weeks claiming illness, and then you stopped even sending messages.” He smiled at her and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I was hurt.”
    “You saw me at Court meals,” she protested. “You never said anything.”
    “Well, what if you’d died and the King had made an eidolon of you? If I’d spoken to you, I would have ruined it for him.” He swept a pile of papers off an upholstered chair and sat down, looking her over. She dropped her eyes to the messy floor nervously, and then wrenched her gaze up again.
    He sprawled back and continued, “But I thought that if you were still alive, I’d find you here someday, sneaking in when I wasn’t home, reaching for the plepanin again.” His blue eyes glittered. “More wouldn’t help you, Kiar.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “I came here for Jerya. No other reason.”
    “For Jerya you came to my workroom and began to clean the case with the plepanin? Oh, yes. You climbed the shelves when you were nine, as I recall.”
    She took a deep breath, ignoring his final comment. “The door was open. How can you exist in this… travesty of a workroom? I thought I’d come in and wait for you. Jerya was very insistent. She wants answers, you see, to certain questions.”
    Twist waved a hand dismissively. “Perhaps we’ll get to those tonight. At the moment, I want to hear your excuses for the last six months.