25
Roma Camp, 4 December 1870
“What do you mean you’re my uncle?” Marie stood and caught Saphira’s bowl—now empty—before it shattered on the ground. She straightened and looked Zokar in the face, searching for some sort of clue. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Saphira took the bowl, and the look she gave her husband said that she, too, thought the revelation ill-timed, but Marie didn’t know if it was because she wanted Marie to know all along or if she still wanted Marie to be ignorant of the fact they were family.
Family!
All along, since childhood, Marie had wanted a normal life and to be part of a family, and here hers was, hiding below the surface like the roles that overtook her that lived below her skin.
Or was this another role? No, the betrayal that welled up from the center of her
