Rise of Souls: A Prophecy of the Sisters Novella by Michelle Zink Page B

two other boats, but many. She turned to the man at the other end of her boat, still sitting calmly, as if she were imagining the spectacle of countless boats converging on the island.
    Instinct finally forced her to her feet. She opened her mouth to scream a warning, hoping it would carry across the water to the still-sleeping island. But the man rose swiftly, crossing the boat in two graceful strides that did little more than rock the vessel from side to side. He grabbed one of her arms and clamped a hand over her mouth. For a minute, she could only stare into his frigid eyes, her gaze flickering to the scar on his neck and the black snake that twisted and hissed from under his collar.
    And then she knew. He was one of the Guard. Samael’s Guard.
    They all were.
    It was her last coherent thought before the man heaved her over the side of the boat, her body tumbling into the ocean.
    The water was cold. So cold it took her breath away. It enveloped her, wrapping itself around her like an icy lover.
    She was glad. Better that she should be in the arms of her beloved sea, sinking into its murky depths, her cloak billowing out around her, than to witness the havoc that was coming for Altus and all who lived there.
     
    Una stepped quietly into the room and tiptoed across the floor to the cradle. She did not want to wake the babies or their parents, sleeping soundly in the next room. She wanted only to see them, to ensure that they were safe and sleeping peacefully, though there was no reason they would not be.
    It had become a ritual since the twins were born. Lady Amalia—Lia, when she and Una were alone—and Dimitri bathed them together, though there was more than enough help at hand. After their bath, Lia would see that they were fed, while Dimitri attended to other business, a strategy that was mostly theory given his fondness for gazing raptly at his wife as she nursed one of his sons while he held the other tenderly in his big arms. Then they would lay the infants head-to-toe in the cradle, carved from one, giant island oak, before retiring to their adjacent quarters.
    Una knew the babies were safe. They always were, and with the Gate closed to Samael forever, the island—and the Sisters—were finally free of the prophecy’s curse.
    Still, Una felt acutely her responsibility to Altus’s first family, to say nothing of the love that had flooded her body for the tiny boys from the moment they entered the world, Brennus squalling and red-faced, Connall as calm as the scrying waters on the south side of the island. She had known then and every day since that nothing was more important than their safety and well-being.
    Now, as she peered over the cradle’s edge, she was unsurprised to see Connall looking up at her with clear blue eyes. He regarded her solemnly, as he often did, as if there were many things he was waiting patiently to tell her.
    She reached into the cradle, touching his tiny, dimpled knuckles. He turned his wrist, wrapping his hand around her index finger.
    “What are you doing, little Connall?” she whispered, smiling. “Your mother is sleeping soundly in the next room, but I’m quite sure she would like you to close your eyes. Otherwise, we both know you’ll be up all tomorrow night, and your poor parents will be too bleary-eyed to run the island the next day.”
    He exhaled softly, a toothless grin breaking out across his porcelain face.
    “Oh, you!” Una said, chuckling softly. “You are a devil, aren’t you? No one will ever see you coming next to your brother’s bluster.”
    She cut a glance to Brennus, sleeping soundly at the other end of the cradle, doubtless worn out from the tantrums for which he was already infamous.
    Connall babbled softly, and Una reached down, lifting him out of the cradle, careful not to let it sway for fear of waking his brother.
    She touched a finger to the bridge of his nose, marveling at the softness of his baby skin. Then, settling him into the crook of her