The room went so quiet I could hear a candle wick spit.Rowan ducked behind Mother, his face bloodless. "Why is she still talking?"He didn't call me his sister.Father recovered first. He yanked the black cloak from his shoulders as though he could hide the silver lilies embroidered along its hem - the royal symbol for a funeral."You're alive," he said too quickly, without meeting my eyes. "That's good. Of course it's good."Mother still held a bundle of winter roses meant for my coffin. Their thorns had pierced her palm, but she didn't seem to feel it.I almost laughed. The night before, Father had held me against his chest and sworn that, in another life, he would choose to be my father again. Mother had kissed my forehead and promised to visit my grave every day.Yet one extra sunrise had turned me into a stranger who had crawled out of her tomb.Breakfast was served in the Sun Hall. For eighteen years, my chair had always been closest to the fire, and my silver plate had always h
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