Storm Glass by Maria V. Snyder

were twins. I entered the room. Tula’s grief flag hung suspended over her bed and I wondered how long Mother would keep it there.
      Zitora and Yelena had sewn the white silk banner. They decorated it with animal shapes surrounding a single blade of grass with a drop of dew hanging from the tip. Honeysuckles were sewn along the border of the flag. It was a representation of Tula’s life and personality. A customary endeavor, making a flag for the deceased and flying it from the highest pole, to release the person’s soul to the sky. Then the flag was used to cover the soul’s most precious possessions in order to keep them from returning to earth to retrieve them. After a few years, most people removed the flag and gifted the items.
      I had missed Tula’s flag-raising ceremony while a prisoner of Alea. Sitting on her bed, I ran my hand over the quilt. Last time I had seen my sister, she was in the Keep’s infirmary, recovering from being raped and tortured by Ferde Daviian. Alea-another one of those cursed Daviians-had promised Tula would live if I cooperated with her.
      Curling up on Tula’s bed, I shuddered as a fresh wave of grief crashed into me. Alea had taken me to the Daviian Plateau, pricked me with Curare and left me paralyzed and alone for hours in her tent. And then he came.
      No. I would not think about him.
      I concentrated on Tula. My ordeal was nothing compared to hers. When I had finally been freed, I learned Ferde strangled her to death and stole her soul. Two weeks gone before I even knew about it. Two weeks a captive for nothing. She died anyway.
      “Opal, are you done? The table won’t set itself,” my mother’s voice called.
      I wiped tears from my cheeks as I hurried to wash and change. My thoughts turned to Kade’s grief over his sister, and I remembered thinking about how time would dull his pain. Which was true, but I had forgotten about the occasional knife of grief that stabbed you without warning.

      I was mortified during most of dinner. Ahir and my mother were intent on telling embarrassing stories about me to Zitora. The Magician seemed to enjoy them and laughed, but I wanted to hide under the table.
      “…naked and soapy from a bath, Opal goes streaking toward the factory, intent on telling her father about her toy duck. Well…” Mother paused for maximum impact. “She crashes right into him and he spills a bowlful of sand on her head! I cleaned sand from every nook and cranny in her body. For months!”
      I cut through the peals of laughter. “Do you think I should check on Father? Won’t his dinner get cold?”
      “Leave your father alone for now. You know how he gets when he’s working in his lab. Dinner will keep.”
      I sighed. One avenue of escape thwarted.
      Before my mother could launch into another humiliating story, I asked Zitora about her family.
      Her humor faded. “I don’t remember my parents. My older sister raised me. We are ten years apart.”
      Mara made sympathetic noises. “Sisters are great. I wish I saw mine more often.” She gave me a pointed stare.
      Perhaps I would tell her about Aydan’s glass factory in the Citadel.
      “Sometimes I wish mine would get lost,” Ahir joked.
      “Mine is lost,” Zitora said in a quiet voice.
      “What do you mean?” Mother asked.
      “When the magicians came, they said I had strong magical powers and should be Keep trained. She escorted me to the Keep and left. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.”
      Gasps of horror ringed the table. Zitora shook her head through the barrage of questions from my mother and sister, and waved away Ahir’s apology.
      “I searched for years,” Zitora said. “Chased every possible lead, visited every infirmary in Sitia, and viewed every unidentified corpse. Either she doesn’t want to be found or she’s dead and buried.” The Magician said the words with a flat tone as if she could no longer produce