The Silent: Irin Chronicles Book Five(16)

Niran touched the back of her hand. Like Intira, Grigori were hesitant to touch, even with casual contact.

“Kanchana said Prija attacked you a few days ago.”

“It’s nothing I can’t defend myself from.”

Niran frowned. “I do not approve of this risk.”

“Intira said her rages are improving.”

“But at the cost of your safety?”

Kyra smiled. “I’ve defended myself against worse.”

“I gave my word to your brother that you’d come to no harm here.”

“Sirius understands the reality of dealing with our sisters,” Kyra said. “We have our own damaged ones. We care for them even if they are dangerous.”

He nodded. “You are very patient.”

Kyra laughed a little. “I try to be. I’m not always successful.”

Niran smiled and cocked his head, watching her.

“What is it?” Kyra asked. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

“Not a thing,” he said. “I am enjoying how you shine.”

She lost her breath for a second. “Oh.”

“You do, you know. Since you’ve come here, you shine more each day.”

Kyra ran a hand over her hair. “I think it’s getting lighter with all the sun.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Niran leaned forward. “When you first came here, you were like a bird just pushed from the nest. Now you are flying. You are a good teacher, Kyra.”

“Thank you.” Her chin lifted. “I’ve only taught my sisters and one other group—mostly children—but the majority of them are leading successful lives now.”

“As you are.”

Her life was slipping away a little more every day, but she forced a smile. “I like to think so.”

“Are you comfortable here?”

“Very comfortable. Thank you.”

“Not too bored?”

This time, her smile came freely. “Not bored at all.”

It was exhilarating to experience so many new things. Every night that Kyra went to the market with Niran and his brothers, she learned a little more. How to bargain. How to cook new foods from the street vendors. New music. New ways of walking and talking and living.

Kyra had never felt more alive.

“Good.” He folded his hands. “Would you like to see a tattoo this afternoon?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Yes! Sirius would be grateful. He might even stop texting me every morning.”

Niran’s smile was devastating. His teeth were straight and white. He had a dimple in his left cheek. “Your brother has been far more patient than I would be. You are both to be commended. But I don’t think it’s Sirius’s texts that make you scowl.”

“No, those would be from Kostas.”

“He’s still calling?”

“It’s every other day rather than every day now. I texted him daily at first. He seems to be relenting.”

“We brothers are protective,” Niran said. “It is our nature to protect our sisters. As for the tattooing, I’d planned to let you observe a ritual last week, but the Grigori requesting the tattoo was not comfortable with an audience.”

“But this one is?”

Niran nodded. “He is an older Grigori who has sisters of his own. He is comfortable around women and not tempted.”

“I would be grateful to witness the ritual. I hope you’ll explain it to me.”

“I’d be happy to.” Niran rose. “Let us leave the table so our brothers can clean up. Intira, why don’t you go back to your studies while Kyra and I go to the temple?”

Intira nodded. “Yes, brother.”

“Be ready for the market at five o’clock.”

She smiled. “I will be!”

Intira, Bun Ma, and Kanchana pressed their hands together and nodded their goodbyes as Niran and Kyra rose and walked toward the temple.

“The thing you must understand is that this practice is very old,” Niran said. “Far older than Buddhism. Far older than Hinduism even. It is possible this is something that was once practiced by early Grigori, though it was lost to us and only survived in the human world.”

Kyra said, “The Irin have tattoos, but I don’t really know what they’re for. Other than controlling their magic. I don’t know the specifics.”

“As far as I can tell, what you do with your singing—the words, the spells you say—they do with their writing. The tattoos just capture the magic more permanently. It is the same history with the Sak Yant.”

“But you said you learned it from humans.”

“We did,” Niran said. “My brother, Sura, was dissatisfied with his life even before our sire was dead. He used to say he felt as if he were rotting from the inside. He became friends with a very old holy man who lived not far from here.”

“A monk?”

Niran shook his head. “No. I don’t know what gods he believed in, but his life was honorable, his body was healthy, and he claimed to be over one hundred and ten years old.”

Kyra said, “Humans don’t live that long.”

“Sura believed him. And this man, he had many markings. All over his arms…” Niran rolled up his sleeves to show Kyra a stylized tiger on his forearm surrounded by unfamiliar writing. “His legs. His chest. The old man had tattooed himself the same way his father tattooed himself. The same way he taught his sons before they left him.”