Valeris looked at first painting it showed two kids in small houses like those of commoners.
They were barefoot, playing in the mud. A boy with silver eyes and a girl with a mane of dark crimson hair—the kind of red that wasn't natural. The kind that shimmered with soulfire in the right light.
There was no inscription, but the image sparked a strange pang in Valeris's chest. Familiar. Too familiar.
She moved on to the next painting.
The same children—older now. The girl standing on a craggy cliff beneath a storm-wracked sky, arms raised as if calling the lightning. The boy knelt behind her, bloodied but alive, clutching a broken sword. In the background, a dead creature loomed—a beast of many limbs, slain.
Her fingertips brushed the edge of the canvas. It felt warm. Almost pulsing.
The third painting—
