The Firebrand Legacy Read Free

the
table playing cards. Didda told stories that his father had told
him, complete with accents and voices. In the evenings, Carine and
Mom took turns brushing each other’s hair and creating wacky styles
they would never wear in public. Mom hummed old tunes that Didda
and Carine danced to in the shop. It was lovely.
    But now something wasn’t right.
    Nine days passed. Not three, not four.
Nine.
    Every year when the flame went out, no one
knew exactly when Kavariel would arrive. Sometimes he came the
first day, sometimes the third or fourth. But Festival never lasted
more than five days. Never.
    The food had grown scant. The card games grew
dreary. Carine and Didda had used up all their leather making new
belts and carving designs. Carine had drawn as many pictures as she
had carbon for, engraved as much as she could stand with dismal
lighting. She had organized the shoes three times, sorting them
once by style, once by size, and once by value.
    Their throats were parched and their words
were few. Their bellies ached. Carine spent her afternoons by the
boarded windows listening to the waning, confused celebration of
the Festival-goers and the numbing rhythm of splattering rain.
Sleep was the only respite…
    Carine shot up from her covers. Afternoon
light filtered into the dark room; so many days in hiding was
ruining her family’s sleep schedule. She shoved the thin blankets
off her nightgown and strode to her parents’ mattress on the
floor.
    “Didda?” she said in the dimness. “Mom?”
    Didda mumbled from his pillow. Carine
squatted, close enough to discern Didda’s silhouette. Her father
had been so patient the last few days, saying he was full when she
knew he wasn’t just so Carine could eat another bite.
    Mom struggled more than Didda, but in some
ways Mom’s voiced complaints motivated Carine. She rounded the
mattress to check on Mom, but nobody was there.
    “Mom?”
    Carine swept away the quilt that divided the
room. Her shins ran into the bench at the table.
    “Mom?”
    No answer.
    Didda sat up sleepily, and his worry joined
hers as he batted the empty sheets next to him.
    “She’s not here,” said Carine, voice rising.
“Mom? Are you here?”
    “I didn’t feel her get up,” Didda said.
    Carine ran to the door. It wasn’t bolted as
it had been when Carine went to sleep.
    “She’s been parched. We all have,” Didda
said, standing and wiping his eyes. “She probably went for water
and food.”
    “Alone? At a time like this? Without telling
either of us?”
    “Calm down, Carine. I’m worried too.”
    “Calm down?” Carine hadn’t bothered to change
her clothes or even wear her surcoat, since they wouldn’t be
outside. One old sock pooled below her ankle. Her stomach growled.
“The whole point of us shutting ourselves in like this is so we’ll
be together. What if the dragon flies over?”
    Didda wrapped his scrawny arms around her,
but it didn’t help. Mom was missing out there. Carine hadn’t even
had a chance to say goodbye.
    Part of Carine wanted to put on her cloak and
find her mother, to pull her back home to safety. But another part,
a stronger part, knew that going outside would just double their
family’s risk.
    “Do you hear that?” Carine said. She pressed
her ear against the crack between the door and its frame. Outside,
footsteps clapped over the cobblestone.
    “It’s me,” Mom’s voice said. She banged the
door. “Let me in… Let me in!”
    Carine opened it. “What were you thinking,
Mom?”
    Mom stumbled in and slapped the door shut,
dropping a nearly-empty water bucket and a bunch of carrots on the
floor.
    She fell onto her knees, panting. Her long,
graying hair hid her face as she said, “Lock the door. Lock it.
Lock it.”

5 Marked
    Carine promptly obeyed. No sooner did the
door latch than Mom pulled her away.
    “Hide,” Mom said. “We have to hide.”
    A million questions whirred through Carine’s
mind, but she couldn’t find any words. Mom’s eyes