The Silent: Irin Chronicles Book Five(18)

He said a few more words over the man, then the Grigori rose, nodded to Niran and Kyra, and walked silently out the door.

Kyra sat silently until she felt a movement on her hand. Looking down, she realized she’d taken Niran’s hand at some point, and their palms were lying pressed together. She looked at him, blinking as if just waking up. His voice was a quiet murmur in the background of her mind, like the soft chanting of the monks in the temple.

Niran smiled. “Hello.”

Kyra pulled her hand away and felt the heat on her cheeks. “Hi. I apologize.”

“There is no need.”

“That was…” Extraordinary. Unearthly. “Magical.”

“Yes.” Niran pulled his knees up and rose, holding his hand out to her. “It is very magical.”

She took it and rose to her feet as the young monk who had performed the tattoo rose with them.

“Kyra,” Niran said, motioning to the monk. “I’d like you to meet my older brother, Sura.”



Sura walked with Kyra through the night market, nibbling on noodles and crispy tofu as the sounds of pop music and bargaining surrounded them. There was a band at the end of the street, and the rhythm filled the air, along with honking horns and the sizzle of frying food. Niran had walked ahead with two of his Grigori, and Intira walked beside them.

“I’m so glad you like our city,” Sura said. He’d abandoned his robes and was wearing a pair of jeans and a traditional cotton shirt. “It’s a very cool place. Niran worries so much, sometimes I don’t think he enjoys it at all.”

Kyra was delighted by Sura. He looked like a college kid, had the aura of an old man, and a wicked sense of humor. He’d jumped at the chance to visit the market when he learned his sister was coming. Then he’d hung back with Kyra and Intira, offering a running commentary on the best shopping, the most delicious noodles, and the coldest beer while Niran and the other Grigori kept watch on the market where locals and tourists mingled.

“How are you doing?” Kyra asked Intira.

The girl’s dimples told the story. “Good. This is fun.”

Intira was wandering the market with the wide, innocent eyes of a child. She’d visited the city before but hadn’t ever been exposed to crowds like those at the night market.

Kyra said, “You must tell me if you have trouble with your shields. There is no shame in asking for help. You’re doing so well, but everything is still new to you.”

“I understand,” Intira said. “When we passed the music I had trouble. Then once it quieted down, I remembered to sing.”

“Loud noises distract me too. I’m glad you recovered. If you get in trouble, grab my hand.”

“Thanks.”

Sura grinned at the girl and gently touched her shoulder. “I’m so happy for you, sister.”

“You’re the youngest and the oldest,” Kyra said. “I just realized. Niran said you were the oldest brother. And Intira is the youngest sister.”

“Yes,” Sura said. “There are more stories to tell, but maybe not at the market tonight.”

“No.” Kyra watched Intira take everything in. She was like a sponge. A delighted sponge. “This night is too beautiful to share those stories.”

“You speak the truth.”

Kyra remembered the first time she’d experienced the public market in Thessaloniki, near where she’d been born. It was the first time Kostas had taken her into public with him after they thought they were free of their father.

Kyra had ended the day shaking and in tears. The voices in the market had nearly rendered her unconscious. She’d been told from birth she was weaker than her brothers. Told she was fragile and breakable and incapable. No matter how valued her twin brother was, Kyra was useless and always would be because her mind was weak.

Her first foray out of her father’s compound confirmed every fear she’d harbored.

Kostas had told her she was strong, but she’d never believed him. And his protection over the years and decades since—no matter how well-meant—hadn’t helped her confidence. She still struggled with malicious voices in her mind. Once, they’d come from the outside. Now they whispered from within.

“Sura, look! Is that the ice cream?” The young girl pointed in the direction of a stall selling elaborate treats with candied fruit.

Intira didn’t wear Kyra’s shadows. According to Niran and Sura, she’d been sheltered nearly from birth. Her mother had died, not from the strain of an angelic pregnancy, but from trying to escape from their father. It was the woman’s death that had spurred Niran, Sura, and Kanok to action. Sura had gathered allies from his travels who helped them, other Grigori who bore the tattoos he’d learned to ink.

“The Grigori you tattooed today,” Kyra said. “Is he still around?”

Sura paused. “I believe he’s staying at a temple closer to Chiang Rai. Many of our free brothers choose a monastic life if they can handle it. It lessens temptation.”

“You’re a monk.”

“For now. My vows were not for life. I try to be open to possibilities in all things. Right now my sisters’ well-being is at the front of my mind. That’s why I’m so grateful that you’ve come to teach them what I can’t.”