“Then I will. When you were eight, you set fire to a batch of scrolls Dad brought home from a trip. Priceless scrolls that he’d gotten while in Egypt over your birthday—when he hadn’t even bothered to call you. You set them on fire. Deliberately. I told Dad I did it accidentally, practicing my energy bolt spell. I thought I was helping you, but I wasn’t, because you only hated me all the more when I didn’t get in trouble.” Kristoff Nast. Thirteen.