7
The Consortium of the Sepulchre in the Skies
Brandyn Blackwood lifted his palm to the wind, the way his father had taught him. At first, he didn’t know what he was looking for. Byrne Warwick always seemed so confident when he did this, so sure of the answers gleaned.
An icy wind rolled off the Seven Sisters of the West. He didn’t need a palm-in-the-wind trick to deduce that bit of truth. But what he didn’t know, and his father would, was what it would bring.
Because if Brandyn did not know better—and, at twelve, he was resigned to the reality he didn’t know much—he’d say behind that wind would be snow.
He adjusted his cloak tighter, pulling his hood well over his face to block the onslaught of ice in the air, and pushed forward.
Barring anything too unfortunate, he’d be home in the
