Free Heirs of Grace by Tim Pratt Page B

black sack dress. “You were gone. You were gone, then you were here, and I hid, and then you were gone , I couldn’t sense you at all, and now you’re back. I don’t understand where you went or where you came from and I do not like not understanding !” The last bit was the shout of a crazy person. Actually all the bits were, but there was extra crazy at the end.
    “That’s not Melinda.” Trey was a sweet boy, but not as quick on the uptake as I might have liked right then.
    “Lady.” I showed her the blade in my hand. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
    I don’t know where that bravado came from. I have never been especially territorial, and I should have been a quivering pile of terrified goo, but in that moment I was ready to cut her down. I think just about anybody else who saw my face—the death glare I learned from Mom, which can make priests and school board officials tremble—would have run away as fast as their legs and lung capacity would allow. But not this woman. She came stomping up the stairs instead, spitting out words while she did it.
    “I am the Eldest Daughter. I am the Firstborn.”
    I’ve read books where people said, “You could hear the capital letter,” when some character intoned the name of a dark lord or magical artifact. It turns out, that’s actually a thing that happens. She was the big- E -big- D Eldest Daughter, and the capital- F Firstborn.
    Whatever that meant.
    “This house and all its treasures should be mine. You are the youngest, the most ignorant, so weak you don’t even recognize your weakness. Of all the sons and daughters and others of Archibald Grace, you are the least deserving of his legacy.”
    I stared down at her. “Wait…are you saying you’re my sister?”
    “I’m not sure that’s what we should be focusing on right now,” Trey said.
    The Firstborn sneered. She had a mouth made for sneering and not much else. “Our father’s blood is strong in me, and thin as water in you. You will renounce your claim to his inheritance. It is my birthright, and I will have it. You are not capable of taking up the mantle of his power. It would incinerate you where you stand. Keep the money.” She spat—literally spat—on my stairs; I was pissed . “I just need the house, and all things within it,” she said.
    That territorial streak rose up in me again. “You’re not getting shit, except your head cut off if you don’t fuck off back to wherever you came from.”
    She was halfway up the stairs then, and she paused. “Do you think you’re brave? You are only stupid.”
    The Firstborn moved faster, then, except it was less moving and more just being in one place, and then in another, without bothering with the space between. Suddenly she was in my face, smiling with a mouth that held more teeth than you usually saw in a human head, and I fell back a step. Trey stepped between us, which was also either brave or stupid, but that didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate it. The Firstborn didn’t bother with him, though, because she was looking into the bedroom, and her eyes went wide. “The mirror. Of course. The portal to the sanctum. The vessel must be there.” She shoved Trey aside like he was a row of dresses hanging on a rail, and he thumped against the wall and slid down, groaning. “You will give me the mirror, Rebekah. Renounce your claim. Tell me to take it. Give it to me .”
    I had warned her. Nobody can say I didn’t warn her. I didn’t have room to do a big wind-up and slash-down like I wanted, so…
    I just stuck the sword right into her belly.
    She gasped, and looked down, and then got a funny look on her face. It was not, unfortunately, an about-to-die funny look. The Firstborn said maybe the weirdest thing she’d said so far: “Thank you. You cured my heartburn.” Then she just stepped backward, sliding off the sword, which left a rip in her dress but apparently hadn’t hurt her a bit.
    Trey was trying to get to his feet, and the