Zaya woke to the smell of cooking meat, but when she opened her eyes, she found the cracked ceiling of an old stone temple instead of the open sky, like she was used to. Frowning, she brought up a hand to rub her eye, and her shoulders ached with the movement.

What Zaya had been doing before waking in the temple came back to her: she had fallen off a cliff while running away from an enemy, the half-elven boy who had killed her father.

Zaya sat bolt upright, and she hissed at the soreness throughout her body.

“You shouldn’t be up and moving already,” said the feared accented voice. “You had quite the tumble.”

Zaya ignored the pain as she looked around, finding the half-elf, Mari, sitting by a campfire. He watched her with his dark brown eyes as he held a rabbit on a stick over the fire. His hair was long, pulled back into a ponytail, and the hair that escaped were wild curls, reminding her of the man he had killed. She fumbled for her sword, but it was not on her hip.

“Why aren’t I dead?” she asked.

“I told you: I don’t want to hurt you.”

Zaya narrowed her eyes as she watched Mari. He looked stiff, like he was ready to bolt at any moment, but there were no weapons around him, not that he needed them. They were both half-elves, and they could do magic. His magic was much stronger than hers, being raised among elves, but he had used no magic on her while they had been running.

“You killed my father,” she said outright.

Mari’s eyes shifted to the fire, and a dark look crossed his face. It did not last long.

“I did,” he said, “and I wish there were words to express my regrets for that.”

Zaya balled her hands into fists. She recalled the way her father had collapsed as the arrow had pierced his chest, the way he had sickened as poison coursed through his system. He had murdered the man in cold blood—killed many men in cold blood.

“How am I supposed to believe you?” she asked. “Why would you have a sudden ‘regret’ in killing someone?”

Mari took his time checking the rabbit, making sure it was roasting evenly. He drew a deep breath, and he turned to look at her again.

“It turns out that the man who hired me to kill, the same man who raised me from birth, had always intended for me to kill him.”

Zaya’s eyebrows came together.

“You probably know what I’m about to say, don’t you? He recognized me. He stopped to stare at me, and it left him vulnerable. I was too stupid to realize why. It had been my job to kill him, and I had taken advantage of the surprise.”

Mari turned a heated gaze to the fire. He lifted a rock near his foot, and he threw it across the temple. Tears shown in his eyes, and there was rage in them, too. Zaya recognized that look in him, and it brought pain to her chest, sorrow for everything that she had lost.

“Once I killed him,” Mari continued, voice low with his anger, “that bastard told me everything. He told me how he tried to kill both of us as infants, but he only killed his sister, our mother, before our father arrived to stop him. He kidnapped me, and he raised me to be a killer because he knew it would make him vulnerable.”

The tremble in Mari’s jaw surprised Zaya. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he turned away. She had at least known that they were siblings—twins. Her father had told her while he had been dying that he had seen her long-lost twin brother holding the bow that had been used to kill him. For the last several months, his voice had been nagging at her from the back of her mind, asking her something impossible.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Mari said, “or even a chance at redemption. We’re both being hunted by the same dangerous man, and it would be better if we stuck to each other’s side when he inevitably finds us.”

“Who?” Zaya asked.

“Our uncle. He wants us dead, now that our father is gone.”

Zaya bristled at the words “our father.” He had asked her to forgive Mari, to forgive “a boy who has gone through unbelievable pain,” according to him. She had not understood him at the time, but if there was truth in what Mari had just told her, then she thought she had an idea, a picture of the abuse he might have endured coming to her mind.

“How come he hasn’t killed you, if he wants you dead?” she asked.

Mari rubbed a spot over his chest, grimacing.

“He thought I was,” he said, “but luckily he wasn’t too careful.”

Zaya scoffed at “luckily,” and she did not miss him flinching at it, eyes growing wide. A wicked satisfaction rose in her. Then, she felt a searing pain in her leg as she shifted herself. She groaned, and she flopped back on the mattress.

“That’s why I told you not to move around,” Mari said, and he had the decency to keep amusement out of his tone.

“What happened to me?” Zaya asked once the pain was gone long enough for her to have a coherent thought.

“You broke your leg. It was poking out of your skin.”

Zaya grimaced at the mental image.

“I set it back the best I could and bound it,” Mari continued, “but I’m going to have to figure out some way to get you to a healer. There should be one ten miles from here.”

Zaya sighed, realizing she had no choice but to trust him for the time being.