The Harvest Moon Big Bang event for 2015 is now over! Thank you all so much to everyone who was able to participate and to those who supported them and came by to read and view the completed works. Hope you all enjoyed it and that there’s an even bigger turn out for next year!
Thank you again for everything and please enjoy HM Big Bang 2015~
Written by quartzfox, illustrations by wonsterrr (interspersed throughout fic)
Synopsis:
It started when the world I had built for myself fell in around me, and it was a long time before I realized I wasn’t alone, in more ways than one. But I wasn’t the only one who was suffering, either… and there was one whose heart ached for solace even more than my own.
Prologue: A Promise to Myself
It feels like it’s been forever. Every time I come home, I keep expecting to hear the sounds of a Native Dragon in the next room, but there’s only silence.
For a while, I would cry myself to sleep every night. I wandered around aimlessly, just going through the motions of running my farm… Frequently I’d go out into the wilds, thinking I’d send some of the wild monsters back to the Forest of Beginnings with messages for her. But she wouldn’t have answered any of them.
How could she?
Eventually, I started feeling things again. Amber, Dylas, Dolce, and Leon all fully shared my pain; most of my time was spent in silent companionship with one or another of them at first, sometimes more than one. But life goes on, no matter what we think we want… And I began to realize that the time I spent with them all didn’t just mean a lot to me.
I came out of my daze a year after she had…disappeared. When I woke up the morning after the anniversary, I felt like I could start to face reality again.
Within a few days, Leon and Dylas had both staked their claims on pieces of my heart, and I was glad to spend time with them as something more than just friends. We had fun, but as often as not after a date with one or the other of them, it would end up that the three of us would run through the old, now familiar places, fighting blindly so as to hide our tears. Sometimes I could feel them sizing each other up as competition when they thought I wasn’t looking. There was a terrible, mean part of me that enjoyed that. It seemed Vishnal had the right of it when I’d jokingly tried to crawl into his bed one slow afternoon, shortly after my arrival in town: I was a bad, bad princess. I’d overheard Blossom telling Volkanon one day that it was a good thing; it showed that I was recovering.
Becoming involved with them made me more open to hanging out with the others in town – and of course, being with Dylas meant a lot of exposure to Doug. If they weren’t hanging out together and arguing, they were griping about each other. Many times I had gone to the store to visit with Blossom and pick up some groceries only to run into Doug, who would ask me what I thought I was doing with “that one trick pony” any time Dylas’ name came up, which was often… And usually his own fault. I started wondering if maybe he was jealous… Though I wasn’t sure which of us he wanted to keep for himself, Dylas or me.
We all knew that he and Dylas liked each other, but Dylas showed no signs of interest in Doug once he and I started dating. It confused the poor dwarf, I could tell. One day I found him looking distracted, and I ended up asking about his type.
Well, he told me.
That evening I took him on a wild whirlwind “training spree” through some of the toughest areas I knew, and he was miles stronger by the end of it. I figured he’d need to be stronger if he wanted to keep up with me… Then I told him I wanted to be with him, and he said he’d answer the following morning.
I wasn’t sure if he had said yes to me for my own sake until the end of our first date. We were at the smithy, and no one else was around. I wanted to be closer to him, so I moved towards him… And damned if he wasn’t the most forthright man I’d met. Oh, Dylas was sweet and honest, but so insecure and uncertain. Leon was quite the opposite, a little standoffish, sometimes too cocksure and fond of teasing, but Doug was right up front about holding me close in return.
How in the world was I ever going to decide between them? My three wonderful men. My snarky, sexy fox; my sweet sullen stallion; and my hotheaded redhead. A more unlikely trio of suitors would be hard to imagine.
And then I thought of something I could do. It was Leon who gave me the idea, though he’d never know if I could help it… I made a promise to myself, I guessed the way he had told me that he promised himself he’d never marry. I swore not to even consider getting married until Venti returned.
And at the time, I had every intention of sticking to my word.]
The Power of Words, Part I
Life went on as ever it had Then came the day there was a conversation at Arthur’s workshop.
No matter where they were, when all the young men of Selphia got together, their conversations were bound to be interesting. I had to wonder what they talked about when I wasn’t around. The things they discussed when I was were bad enough… Like the time Doug and Dylas put an end to the guys’ lunch by breaking into an arm wrestling match that left the two of them all but unconscious on the floor when I came back to the restaurant later that afternoon…
That day, though, was a bit different. When I got there, Leon was teasing the poor Prince with misdirecting words to make Arthur think Leon was talking about glasses, getting the poor thing all worked up for nothing. Leon was like that, even with me; only sometimes would he let down his guard, and then only when we were alone. He loved to tease. Sometimes he was a little cruel, but I don’t think it was intentional. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but he wasn’t planning to let anyone get close to him either. It still amazed me that he’d deigned to become my boyfriend. I still didn’t know how much I actually meant to him. He’d told me in so many words that he would never marry me… And yet, I still loved him.
In spite of it all.
Dylas was so different from Leon. He didn’t always get when he was being teased, and in fact brought out the side of me that was more like the other man. Sometimes I just couldn’t help trying to provoke him. When Dylas walked into the room that day, he heard Leon’s conversation with Arthur and snorted in disgust, just in time for Doug and Kiel to walk in. Vishnal came over at the same moment from the restaurant, and I hailed him to avoid Doug’s inevitable comment. I loved all my boyfriends, though I remained bit nervous. Everyone in town knew of my choices, and though nobody seemed to mind too much, I wanted them all to stay friendly with each other.
And here I used to think I was a one-man sort of woman.
Sensing what was going on, Vishnal greeted me gratefully; I suspected he still wished, in spite of everything, to be more than friends with me, but so far he hadn’t given me any direct signs. Dylas and Doug were toe to toe, glaring daggers at one another despite the foot difference in height, and he decided to try to intervene. Poor innocent boy…
“Doug and Dylas… You two are actually very close friends, aren’t you?”
Leon stopped pestering Arthur and they both turned to watch as Doug’s outrage spoke faster than Dylas’. “Wha?!”
“People do say the best type of friend to have is the type who’s not afraid to pull any punches,” Kiel added helpfully, plying his best innocent smile as the short redhead grew redder.
“That’s preposterous!” Dylas looked more taken aback than angry, and it was adorable. I opened my mouth to intercede, though, before things got messy…
“And true.” Arthur looked as innocent as Kiel. “Everybody knows you two are like bread and butter.”
Oh no. This was not going to be pretty. Goodbye, Arthur, it was nice knowing you.
“Don’t be stupid! How the hell could I ever be friends with this dumbass?!” Doug glared at the true Prince, but he looked more nervous than angry himself.
Dylas had found his center, though. Anger now tinged his eyes as he agreed (for once!) with Doug. “That’s right! You tell ‘em, you mush-brained moron!”
“You bet I will!” Doug declared, pushing up his sleeves as he advanced on Arthur, neglecting to notice that he was agreeing with Dylas for two sentences in a row.
Just as Doug came within hitting range, Leon came to the rescue… sort of. “You guys should just get married, right here and right now.”
Silence fell. Vishnal uttered a sorry excuse for a half-laugh that sounded more like he was actually saying, “Aha ha ha…”
Doug and Dylas turned as one to Leon.
“You just shut up!” they both yelled in unison.
“Uhh, Princess, I think we should be going,” Vishnal said, attempting to take me by the arm.
“Good idea. This is going to get messy,” Kiel said, reaching for my hand. (It wasn’t the first time he’d tried to hold my hand, either.)
“What, was it something I said?” Leon asked, his expression as bland as could be, but the mood had changed: their fury, more than half mockery a moment before, suddenly blazed hot.
“Well, it’s not as though he actually thinks you two will get married,” Arthur tried to reason with them, even as he frantically tried to get the papers and assorted office paraphernalia on his desk out of harm’s way.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you mangy dog,” growled Doug.
“What, do you think you should get to keep her for yourself?” Dylas snarled.
The others gasped. Even Arthur froze.
My throat closed. I couldn’t breathe.
“Ouch,” Kiel said softly, and not just for Leon.
The former Guardian’s face had lost all expression. He might have been carved from stone, and we all felt the temperature drop. None of them would look at him.
None of them would look at me, either.
Dylas’ face was red; clearly he regretted the words as soon as they emerged. Even Doug was shaking his head slowly, but Leon acted as though he saw none of them.
“You are fools,” he said, and there was no tone to his suddenly soft voice. Silence followed as he swept out of the room, all the dignity of his former office of Dragon Priest wrapped about him like a shroud.
And of all of them, only I had any idea how close to his reality that image was.
I could never have imagined that their apparently innocuous little spat would take such a turn. I’d had no idea that either of them felt that way. I’d thought that they were friends with Leon.
I’d thought they thought better of me.
“I… I can’t believe you…” I managed to choke out. I was hot and cold with anger and hurt and disgust and fear and a hundred thousand other emotions. How could I have thought I loved any of them? And then I was outside, and the stupid sunshine was bright in my face though my heart was a raging typhoon. I ran.
And I kept running, following I did not know what or whom, as my feet carried me through my fields and Venti’s empty space and out through the town square and over the bridge into the wilds, and I kept running and running and running, following a random path, until I ran right into something solid… and warm…
His breath knocked out of him, Leon nearly lost his balance. I hadn’t even seen him, hadn’t even known where I was running, just as long as I got far, far away from all of them… Until I careened smack into him.
“Frey!” His voice reached me even as our collision hadn’t, and my eyes opened.
Whatever dignity he’d worn was tattered. He always stood with his arms wrapped protectively around himself, but now he was wound so tight I was surprised he hadn’t shattered himself into a thousand pieces.
“Leon…” My throat was still tight and I was short of breath from running. No wonder; we were by Keeno Lake!
“Why did you come here?” His voice was all edges and broken pieces, held together only by his formidable willpower.
I couldn’t answer, only shook my head. Breathing was not getting easier.
“Did you come to find me here?”
Again, I shook my head. Even if I could breathe, I knew that the words wouldn’t come. I wouldn’t lie to him.
“You just ran.”
I nodded this time, grateful that he was speaking for me, for both of us, and so afraid to cry in front of him. The last thing he needed, I was sure, was for me to cry.
“So did I.” I looked up at him again, and was surprised that he wasn’t actually vibrating.
“Leon…?”
He turned away. Every muscle I could see was tight; pride and pain had him tied in so many knots it hurt to look at him. It was a long moment before he spoke; my breath was almost back to normal, save for the tightness in my own throat.
“You’re all I have, Frey. I can’t get close to anyone. Even… What you and I have, I feel even that can’t really be real. I told you that when you asked me to be with you.” I could tell that the words were even more painful for him to speak than they were to hear. “I can’t explain any better now. You should be with one of them. Both, what do I care?”
We both knew he was lying. He cared. And that was the problem. I didn’t understand why, but that was the heart of it.
“I care. And I don’t care.”
He looked at me at last, utterly confused through his pain. “Frey, sometimes you make no sense.”
“I care about you, and I know you care about me, and I don’t care that we can’t really be together in the end, if that’s the only way I can be with you at all,” I said, breathless now from the typhoon in my heart and my own audacity. “If you won’t marry me, I don’t care, I’ll date all of you if it comes down to it or keeps the peace or something, but my heart will always belong to you!” I squeezed my eyes shut, afraid that I’d cry, afraid that he’d have gone cold again, afraid of a hundred thousand things that made me numb at the thought of each of them.
He stared at me for a long moment. “Frey,” he said at last.
I couldn’t answer with words, only managing a small sound in the back of my throat.
“Frey, look at me.” I could hear him moving to stand in front of me. Stupid. He knew he was too tall for me to look him easily in the eye when he stood too close. Only Dylas was taller. But I was furious with him anyway and wasn’t going to think of him now, except maybe about pounding his face in, even if I needed to stand on a chair to do it.
~Please, please, by all that’s holy, please don’t let Leon break up with me.~
“Frey,” he said again, softly, and he lifted my chin with his finger. “I won’t stop saying your name until you open your eyes and look at me,” he added. “Frey.”
I bit my lip. He was trying to be nice now, to be a little cute, so he could let me off easily. I knew it.
“Frey.”
“Please,” I whispered.
“Frey.”
“Just…”
“Frey?”
“Just make it quick, so it hurts less,” I whispered, my eyes still shut tight.
“Quick, huh?” He sighed. “Well, if that’s how you want it.” He sounded sad.
I couldn’t hold back a moment longer. I was about to lose control completely and cry like I hadn’t since who knew when. Certainly, though I’d cried after Venti left, it was always controlled, but now my control was leaving me.
And then something happened, so quickly I wasn’t even sure it had happened, and my eyes opened of their own accord to see Leon’s face less than an inch from mine and then I knew, I was as sure as I had been that I was going to cry a moment before, that he had kissed me. For the first time in more than a year, though we’d played around and kissed on the cheek – well, to be fair, I kissed his cheek, he kissed my forehead – he had well and truly kissed me. It was a butterfly touch, the quick flash of a fox fleeing the hunt in the woods, and it was more than I’d ever imagined possible.
“Th… That was…”
“Never going to happen again,” Leon said, his eyes going shadowed again, but it was more like the way I was used to seeing them. The coldness had gone out of his voice and his body was less tense, but there was still so much pain in him and my own heart ached in response. Loving him was pure agony, and I wasn’t going to give up a minute of it. Not ever.
He hadn’t moved away. I searched his eyes for a long moment, all too aware of that tiny little teasing trace of a grin on his lips so close to mine.
“No,” I said finally. “It isn’t, is it.” I watched the hinted smile fade with surprise, and the beginning of disappointment, and only then did I lean forward and kiss him back. It was quick and gentle and I savored the feeling of his breath on my lips for a moment more before I pulled away. My face felt hot. I’d never done anything so brazen in my life! It was one thing to hug my boyfriends, or tease them or kiss them on the cheek, but though I’d kissed before since coming to Selphia, I’d never taken the initiative.
“My, my, Frey,” Leon said an eon later. The smile was back, and for the first time in a while, it reached his eyes. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do with you sometimes.” And then his arms were around me and he crushed me to him in a tight hug, and suddenly all the tears came rushing forth and I couldn’t stop them. They weren’t my tears alone; they were his, and I wasn’t going to stop crying for him because no one had in countless years, even centuries, and damn it he deserved them.
And what was more, he sensed that it was his tears I was crying, and he said not a word, only easing me down onto the grass mere inches from the lake and we stretched out together as I cried and he held me. Once or twice I thought I felt something fall on my hair, but it was probably just a leaf.
It was hours later when I finally looked up; I think we’d both fallen asleep. He stirred and looked at me with his bland, teasing smile, and I knew it was all right with us again.
“I still reserve my original opinion. He ought to be buried,” Leon said, his tone back to his usual smoothly mild, sardonic sweetness.
“He’s the first to call himself a dumbass,” I pointed out. “And I’m going to beat the heck out of him myself.”
Leon looked at me for a moment and sighed. “Damn it. You are just too cute for my own good.”
“Huh?”
But he only smiled and rose smoothly, offering me a hand. I accepted it gratefully, not because I couldn’t get up easily, but because of what it meant. I knew that things on the surface would shortly be just as they were between us, but inside it felt like something had shifted.
Maybe it was that he was okay with the status quo. Maybe it was that I was okay with it. It didn’t really matter; we were okay together and it was getting late. Besides, I had some horse butt to kick.
“Let’s detour on the way back,” I said suddenly.
“Okay, but why?”
I stopped at the airship console, having summoned it, and only grinned. “You’ll see when we get there.”
He looked perplexed until we disembarked very shortly thereafter. Then he grinned at me, and I grinned back, just as ferally.
We were at the Water Ruins.
—-
The Power of Words, Part II
By the time we returned to town, having dispatched Thunderbolt, Chimera, and a whole mess of assorted Goblins and the like, it was extremely late. I was sure that everyone was already asleep; it would soon be sunrise. I was not worried; I’d been known to disappear for more than a day with or without one or two of the townspeople off to kill things randomly, and I figured that, given the events of the day, they’d know enough to leave me alone.
So when Leon followed me around my rooms, watching me put away some things and stash others for shipping the following morning, I was content to speak softly with him of our old familiar nothings, exchanging teases and trying to fluster one another just to see each other blush. It was after five when I said goodnight and sent him home. I wanted nothing more than to hug him again, or better yet to kiss him, but that moment had passed. It was hard enough to get close on our dates; now was certainly not the time.
Vishnal woke me at six as was customary, but after his usual fiery-eyed “Good morning!” he immediately seemed subdued.
“Morning,” I mumbled, slightly bleary-eyed. It always took me a second. “Why so serious?”
“Forgive me, Princess!” He gave up all pretense of control, looking for all the world like he’d just accidentally stabbed a puppy in the eye. “For what I have done, I should be flogged! Flayed! F-Fired!” He was practically vibrating with distress. As fond as I was of Vishnal, he could get a little carried away, though it was clear which he felt was the worst of those punishments for whatever he had done.
“Uh, Vishnal… What are you talking about?” I said slowly, not bothering to hide my own nervousness.
He looked utterly miserable. “That scene yesterday… That was my fault.” And suddenly the switch flipped back on and that weirdly distressed face of his vibrated in front of my eyes. It took some doing but I finally got sense out of him. It seemed that Vishnal blamed himself for that ugly scene between Dylas and Leon, being the one who started the conversation that led to it though his intention had been completely different. Vishnal felt responsible for me, as my self-appointed butler. He had been hoping to sort of feel them out as to whether they were serious about me, and had intended to ask if Dylas’ close friendship with Doug was the reason they’d both agreed to date me, but he never got the chance.
“Vishnal, you didn’t say anything hurtful. Please stop blaming yourself.”
“If you say so, Princess,” he said fretfully, somehow looking up at me despite the fact that he was a good deal taller than I. In fact, only Leon and Dylas were taller than he, a fact about which both of them enjoyed teasing me.
The thing was, I hadn’t slept well at all; I’d spent too much time thinking and crying the night before, and being with Leon, and I just wasn’t ready to deal with Vishnal’s hysterics. As adorable as he often was, he just took more stamina than I had that morning, and I had yet to deal with my chores. I promised him that things would work out in time, and he took my words to heart with a sniffle and an unsteady smile. I couldn’t help shaking my head as I ran out to the fields to water my crops and tend to the monsters I’d tamed. Of all the habits for him to pick up from Volkanon…
To my own surprise, I had finished before seven thirty and decided to wander around town to see what was happening. I was sure that everyone would know of the events of the prior afternoon, so decided to see Kiel and Forte first.
Forte had already stepped out, but Kiel was still home. He greeted me gladly, if a little uncertainly. “Are you all right? We were worried about you!”
I nodded. “I needed to…” I tried to find the right words.
“Get away before you hurt someone?” He offered the words with his usual innocent smile, but there was a gleam in his eyes that I’d seen before only rarely. Once again I had the feeling that Kiel would not be a good enemy and I was extremely glad he was my friend. I resolved at that moment not to become involved with him either, because if it went sour, I’d really hate to have to flee Selphia.
“Well, yeah, I guess,” I admitted with a sigh. I was embarrassed that he’d seen through me so easily, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was delightfully naïve about some things, but ridiculously astute about people. And to be fair, I suppose anyone sane in that situation would also have run.
“As long as you’re okay. Doug’s pretty upset. Dylas has locked himself in his room and won’t come out. Porco’s worried enough about Dylas that he actually didn’t eat the dinner he sent up for him!”
“Wow!” Dylas must have been in a bad way then… My heart ached, but I steeled my resolve. What he’d said was unacceptable and I was not going to forgive him that easily, no matter how much I loved him. Love isn’t about accepting people’s faults, after all; it’s working with them to get through life as best as you’re able, and working through the hard parts together.
In fairness, Dylas didn’t know what Leon had told me when we got together and it certainly wasn’t my place to tell him. That didn’t make it okay. Leon would never “keep me to himself” because of a promise he’d made. Somehow, I was an exception… but I was sure that I would never be a complete exception. He had told me that he’d made a decision, once. I was not going to be the one to make him break it.
And I wasn’t going to be the one to go to Dylas either; if he didn’t come out in a few days, I was sure I would cave and approach him, but I was determined to be firm about this.
Still, I was gratified that he knew how badly he had screwed up. Not that Dylas was the town’s most social resident, but if he had barricaded himself in his room, surely he was indulging himself in a nice heavy round of “I’m such an idiot!” self-kicking. It was one of his favorite pastimes, admittedly, and I’d been hoping that being with someone would help his self-esteem, but apparently he needed more work than I’d been able to provide.
But Kiel was still talking while I thought about all this. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad. He didn’t even respond to Doug, who was screaming at him for over an hour!“
“Wow,” I said again, not even knowing how to respond to that. Fighting with Doug was Dylas’ favorite thing to do in the whole world, as near as any of us could tell. It wasn’t a good day in Selphia until they had their daily spat.
“Vishnal’s a complete mess and Arthur feels really badly too. We all do.” Kiel looked at me sadly, attempting a smile. “If there’s anything I can do… I really like you. And I don’t like to see you unhappy.”
I thanked him, and possessed for a moment by the urge to do so, I hugged him quickly.
“What!? Oh, uh, what was that for?” he said, blushing as I pulled away.
“Thank you for being such a great friend, Kiel.” I smiled at him, hoping my gratitude showed. It was good to know that people cared about me for my own sake.
His smile looked oddly sad. “Vishnal wanted to go after you. I told him not to. I thought you were going after Leon, and I don’t think Vishnal could have helped.”
Not for the first time, I briefly regretted not having taken Kiel more seriously as a romantic prospect. He had a very youthful face, and he looked me in the eye even more easily than Doug, who had almost two inches on me in height. But the mind behind those innocently wide eyes was keen as hell, and he was actually older than Vishnal by nearly two years. What I had said to Leon the night before held true; if it meant keeping the peace, I would gladly date all the eligible bachelors in Selphia, as long as I could stay with him. I knew he would never let me get any closer physically, and eventually I might have to marry someone else if I wanted a family, but my heart would always belong most to him.
We were so young, and yet he had so much pain inside him, I wondered if I could ever help him heal. If anyone could, for that matter. I wished once again that Venti were around so I could pump her for information, but…
I shook my head and sighed. “No, you’re right about that. The thought is appreciated though. I should go tell him.”
Kiel nodded. “Okay, Frey. I’ll see you later!” I turned and left him sorting his papers with a thoughtful expression only to nearly collide with Forte as she came running in.
“Frey! You’re all right! I’m glad to see that. Kiel told me what happened.”
“Yes, well… Thank you. I’m fine.” I smiled to show her I really was fine. “I figured everyone would know what happened already.”
“Well, several of us were at Porcoline’s when it happened, too.” She looked distraught, and I sensed that she was embarrassed on my behalf. I nodded, remembering that Vishnal had come from the restaurant, and that he often dined there with Clorica and some of the others.
“I was all set to cut him down but Meg held me back,” she added, “and she told me that it was not my battle. I just wanted to protect you!” She seemed torn between defiance, frustration, and regret.
It helped, though. “Thank you,” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Thank you so much. But she’s right. This is something I have to handle myself.” I made a face that expressed exactly how enthusiastic I was about that.
“Is Leon okay?” she asked after a moment.
I nodded. “He’ll be fine.” I smiled again, taking a page from his book. She didn’t need the details. “I should get going, though. There are a few things I need to take care of this morning.”
Forte nodded and I waved to Kiel again as I left. Bado was standing outside and greeted me with a cheery wave. “Hey Frey,” he said in his usual mellow manner. “How’s it goin’?”
“About as well as can be expected,” I replied.
“Oh, you mean with that thing that happened yesterday?”
Even Bado had heard about it? That sealed it; he was usually perfectly happy to be the last to know about gossip that wouldn’t make him easy money. I was officially embarrassed, and less inclined to hold back against Dylas. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to go to his room and drag him out by the ear. Vague images of riding tack tumbled about the back of my head, ideas which under any other circumstances I might have dismissed out of hand.
Well, almost any other circumstances. The big lug was a handsome hunk of former-horseflesh…
Feeling the heat rise on my cheeks, I hoped Bado wouldn’t notice, or would misinterpret it.
“Yeah. That was some scene, I guess, if everyone’s talking about it.” He shrugged. “Shoulda sold tickets, if it was that good. Might have been an easy way to make money.”
He laughed at my expression then. If looks could kill, he’d have been lying on the floor in shreds. “I’m joking, Frey. Relax. I just wanted to try to make you smile.” His own faded quickly. “I don’t like fighting. I thought I did once, but I was wrong.” Though his words sounded as vague as ever, something in me took note; many times he’d said something right on the border that made me think he wasn’t quite so thickheaded as he worked hard to appear.
Unlike certain other people I could name.
“I’m going to get back to the forge. I had an idea this morning that I think could make me a lot of money!” He smiled, his usual innocuous smile with no trace of the acutely savvy, sensitive man that I’d just glimpsed.
I wandered around town, avoiding people for an hour or so. I was trying to make my thoughts settle; more than anything I wanted to find Leon and tie myself to his side all day, literally if I had to. I didn’t care if it would be awkward, especially since he had nearly a foot on me in height. I also knew that it wasn’t the wise thing to do; he was hurting so much and so deeply, and I already knew that my love for him was part of the problem. He’d said as much, when he agreed to become my lover.
That damned promise! I hated him for it, sometimes, hated myself for rashly going ahead and saying it didn’t matter – not just once, now, but twice. It DID matter. It mattered a lot. But there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
I found myself by Eliza for the fifth time in an hour, and decided to see what was on the request board; maybe a jaunt out into the wilds would help clear my head.
Seven Golems and quite a few other creatures later, I realized that the morning and a good part of the afternoon had largely passed me by. I had indeed lost myself in the mindless release of exercise; I had long since gotten strong enough that even the formidable opponents at Leon Karnak were merely somewhat annoying. It was a little frustrating, if the truth be known; I wanted a challenge that would give me a real workout, but not kill me outright. I just wasn’t quite strong enough yet for most of the things in the higher levels of Sharance maze. I wished something would happen to change the status quo, but I couldn’t imagine what.
I wished Venti would come back.
The thought did me in, and I gave up, knocked out the gate to the Forest of Beginnings and cast Escape repeatedly until I found myself at the gate to the town square, which was full of traffic as everyone was heading home to or out for dinner. It felt like everyone wanted to talk about Leon, Dylas, Doug, and their “little falling out”, except me. Volkanon burst into tears, saying how disappointed he was in Dylas and how he was going to “give that boy a stern talking-to” just as soon as he unbarricaded himself.
Tired of it all, I just went to my room, shoved things in storage or the shipping bin as seemed appropriate, and crawled into my bed, pouring my heart out into my diary.
The next morning, when my chores were done, I headed out into the square only to find Kiel looking excited.
He asked if I’d seen Leon, then told me about having found some papers he wanted the former Guardian to examine. I offered to take them to him myself, which offer Kiel accepted gratefully.
Usually finding Leon was easy. Most often he was in his rooms at the bathhouse, or fishing somewhere around town, or hanging around Arthur’s or Porcoline’s. He wasn’t in any of his usual spots, and I began to get very worried. I even checked by Keeno Lake, and he wasn’t there. But when I went back to the inn, Xiao Pai was there, and she looked concerned when I asked where Leon was.
He’d taken two lunches, so she’d thought he’d brought me along with him to Leon Karnak.
–
The Power of Words, Part III
It was over. Just like that, it was over. Three days after Kiel had asked for the translation of the page he’d found, Leon and I had found the rest of the book, and it was over.
I wasn’t going to abandon him. We could go on like we always had, but I would only hurt him if I did. I kept my smile bright until I reached the safety of my own room, and not caring that it wasn’t even three in the afternoon, I threw myself on my bed and cried myself to sleep.
When I woke shortly before eight in the evening, I knew I’d be in for it. My sleep schedule would be completely off. It didn’t matter, much; I couldn’t move. I was sick with misery. I was still so angry with Dylas and with Doug, and now Leon was… As good as gone from my life. To spend the rest of my life so close to him, who I had learned to love so deeply… No, of course it wasn’t really love. Not the kind of love that mattered. It was companionship, friendship, attraction… but I would not let it be love.
I rolled over to curl up on my side, my body’s position mirroring my cowering, whimpering mind.
It was over.
I was sure Dylas and Doug would be happy, they’d get to fight over me between themselves.
Where the thought might normally have amused me, at the moment, it only made me more miserable. I knew that I could easily be happy with either of them, if I let myself; they genuinely did care about me in their own respective ways. Sometimes I could even believe they cared about me as much as they cared about each other – Leon had called it, sad to say; everyone in town except perhaps Blossom expected Dylas and Doug to ditch me for each other at any moment, and most of us thought she was holding out hope only because she wanted grandchildren, or the equivalent.
For now, however, my misery had discovered my anger and they were feeding on one another. I sat up, suddenly possessed of a need to work out my unhappiness on someone deserving.
It didn’t take me long to get to Porcoline’s. Doug was downstairs, his head on his hands as he sat with Nancy and Jones, who were listening somewhat sympathetically as he mumbled about what an oat-headed, sway-backed horse’s ass Dylas was being. I nodded at them as I passed, making a beeline for the stairs. Porcoline took one look at me from behind the counter and decided to refrain from even greeting me.
I slammed into Dylas’ room, my black mood having worked itself up to a fever pitch. “Dylas, are you still hiding?”
“Go away,” he muttered, curled up in bed with his back to the room.
He sounded so forlorn… My heart suffered a twinge. Still, I kept my resolve – all I had to do was picture Leon. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said, my voice as cold as my hands, “until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
What he muttered next into his arm sounded a lot like, “I don’t… deserve you. Any of you.”
I didn’t answer. At the moment, I was torn. He deserved better than he was getting, certainly. Usually. After that little comment of his, though… Not that he could have known how deeply his words would hit… Dammit, I was wavering again! I had been all set to tear into him, but his pain at the moment went nearly as deeply as Leon’s. That made it harder. I loved him, and that made it easier. And harder.
The fact that he had been lying here in bed for more than four days kicking himself over it was uncharacteristic.
“If you’re so undeserving, you could have just left,” I said, my voice still edgy.
“Yeah, everyone’s just waiting for the horse to bolt,” said a bitter voice behind me. Doug had slipped up the stairs quietly, and was now standing in the doorway with a dark expression.
“Doug,” I said warningly.
“No, Frey,” he said, but this time his tone was sad. “This affects me, too.” He turned back to Dylas. “Everyone in town is affected, really, but Frey’s right. You could have left if you’re so unhappy here.”
“No, I couldn’t.” At least, I think that’s what Dylas mumbled. He rolled over and turned to us, flinching at the light.
He looked like hell. His hair, normally a thick and glossy mane worthy of pride, was tangled and stringy, hanging limp and messy around his face. His lips were chapped and, like his eyes, were swollen and red, the latter with enormous dark circles underneath – in short, the proud “sullen stallion” was not a pretty picture. Doug and I exchanged a shocked glance. In retrospect, we shouldn’t have been so surprised. The man had been curled up in bed for five days. We could hardly expect him to look as stunning as usual.
“I don’t have anywhere to go.”
~Dammit, Dylas, stop tugging at my heartstrings!~
“You guys forget, I don’t know this world. The Selphia I remember… It’s gone for who knows how many hundreds of years. Who knows how much the terrain’s changed, or the towns? I’m not even from this part of Norad. I was born near the capital.” He shrugged. “It was either stay here, or go off alone and probably die.”
“Stop it!” Doug yelled, suddenly up in Dylas’ face. “You don’t tell me you couldn’t have found some way!”
“What do you care!” Dylas yelled back. “You don’t know what it’s like!”
Doug went white. “I damn well do, and you damn well know it! My entire village was killed! I was just a kid!”
Dylas blinked, taken aback. Doug’s raw honesty was reaching him.
“My father, my clan… All dead. I know we weren’t the only clan of my tribe, but I don’t know where any of the others are. I wouldn’t even know how to start looking. And… until Frey came along, all I really had was Blossom. And I was lying to her. To everyone. And for no good reason.”
“You were protecting yourself as best you could,” I said softly.
“Yeah, well, I was an idiot,” Doug said, less loudly than before. “I was a fifteen year old idiot. When I came here, all I wanted was revenge. I never expected to find… Well, you know.” He shrugged, looking embarrassed.
“Someone to care about?” I asked, smiling at him.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching for my hand. Dylas flinched, and so I reached to him.
So did Doug.
We both blinked at him in surprise, but after a moment, Dylas accepted our outstretched hands.
“Look,” Doug said. “Everyone does stupid crap sometimes. Except maybe Frey, here,” he said with a sudden grin in my direction. My cheeks warmed. “Sometimes, it’s amazingly stupid crap, and sometimes, it’s so numbingly stupid you lock yourself in your room for a week instead of trying to fix it.” Now his grin was a little harsh, though not unforgiving as he turned it on Dylas.
“And sometimes, it’s something you can’t help, but you go on doing it anyway, or feeling it anyway, because it’s just so much a part of you that you don’t know what else to do, even though it’s only hurting you,” I added.
“That’s true,” Dylas said. Then he and Doug both looked at me.
“Wait a second, something happened,” Doug said. “Who hurt you? I’ll kick his ass!”
I shook my head, forcing a smile. “No, no, it’s nothing. Please don’t worry about it.”
“Forget that, Frey. If we’re all going to bare our souls, and share our pain, you’re not getting off easy,” Dylas said uneasily. “It has something to do with what I said, doesn’t it.”
I tried to laugh it off, but it fell flat.
I could see his heart breaking all over again… “No… Not exactly, anyway.” The hollow ache that had been filled by my anger and then concern swelled up inside me again. I clung to the hands of the two men I cared about, so opposite in appearance and so alike at heart. The redheaded dwarf and the tall, blue-maned man squeezed back as one. “I can’t say much about it. It’s not my story… but… but Leon…” My lip was quivering, so I bit it. At the very least, it wasn’t fair to complain about one boyfriend dumping me to the other two. “It’s… It’s over.” I could barely choke out the words, and Doug’s arms were around me and Dylas’ were around both of us. We sat that way on Dylas’ bed for a long moment as I tried really hard not to cry.
“Dude. You reek. Go take a bath,” Doug finally said.
“Sh-Shut up!”
That got to me, and while Dylas was torn between indignation and admission, I managed to smile and raised my head from Doug’s shoulder.
“Well, he has been holed up for almost a week. I think a bath would be a good idea for all of us right now. Let’s all go together.” Still holding their hands, I stood up.
Two red faced men refused to meet my gaze. “Together, huh?” Doug said with a lascivious grin. “Well, if you insist…”
“You two stay on the men’s side!” I ordered.
They both laughed, a little shakily, as we walked downstairs and I led the way, hands still linked to each of theirs, down the road to the bathhouse.
Admittedly, I would not have minded sharing with them, but it was not a done thing. Even Nancy and Jones managed to endure separate baths when they went together, so surely Doug and Dylas and I could do so as well. We endured the usual comments as we passed a few people, but everyone greeted Dylas as warmly as ever and some of the haunted look began to leave his eyes.
I thought I heard Doug say something about helping Dylas wash his hair as they went to their side.
When we emerged from the bathing rooms at about the same time, I felt much better, and even Dylas was looking much more like himself. They stationed themselves to either side of me, taking my hands again, and asking where we were off to.
I suggested some exercise, sending a few monsters back to the Forest of Beginnings, to which they both agreed enthusiastically. Immediately, they were on each other about who would hit the hardest, kill the most, and the like. I couldn’t help but to smile and shake my head as I started walking with them back to the airship.
At that moment, Leon was coming out of Arthur’s.
We all stopped. Dylas and Doug stepped in closer, protectively, still holding my hands. Leon looked right through all three of us, nodded a brief greeting, and walked on.
I couldn’t move. My throat was closed so tightly I couldn’t even breathe. He had just walked right by me – us – as though we were strangers… except for the flash of pain I’d seen in his eyes. My knees wanted to give out.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Doug yelled, his grip on my fingers painfully tight. He glared at Leon.
“Stop blaming Frey!” Dylas yelled at almost the same instant. “Look, I’m sorry for what I said. I was wrong. And stupid. Don’t make her miserable for my mistake.”
Leon had stopped when they yelled, but only turned back to us when Dylas had stopped speaking. There was still no expression in his voice or features when he spoke. “It was my mistake. Your apology… Hmm. Your apology is accepted, for her sake.” His lips pursed, he looked the three of us over.
Suddenly, I could feel how it looked to him. He had broken it off with me only that morning – was it really only that morning? It felt like eons… The pain of it was disorienting. And here I was, the same day, holding hands with his two strongest rivals, smiling with them as they argued. Dylas, who had been holed up in his room, was freshly bathed and apparently back in fighting trim. Doug was his usual indomitable self.
I wanted to die from the pain. And if I was only imagining it from his point of view… But then, he had broken up with me. He was the one who wanted never to be happy again. He had said I should find my own happiness.
“Leon.” Dylas said, pulling himself up straight. He was a few inches taller even than Leon was, the tallest guy in town bar none. Now he used that to his advantage; though leaner than Leon, he still had an impressive physique and an imposing presence when he chose. “I don’t know what happened, and I’m not gonna ask. It’s not my business. But I’m saying it with her here, and even with Doug as my witness. Hell, he’s even the one who reminded me of that just now.” He ignored Doug’s slightly incredulous look.
“Frey’s saved all of us. The thing that scares me the most is being alone. Really alone. When I became a Guardian… Well, all I’m saying on that score is that there was only one thing keeping me from running away, and that’s the fact that I knew I wasn’t as alone as I felt. I didn’t think of what would happen if it ever ended. I figured the only thing that would happen is I’d die. I never imagined what would happen if I woke up, and everything I ever knew, everyone I’d ever cared about, was gone.
“But it happened. And you know what? There’re four of us in the same boat, and then there’s Doug, who lost it all too. And you know who else?
“Frey,” Dylas said, with a note of finality in his voice. “Frey lost everything, she doesn’t even have her memories, she has nothing but her name, and you know what she did? She agreed to become a princess for a bunch of total strangers on the word of a damn dragon who, for all she knew, would eat her if she said no. Or if she said yes. And she made a home, and a farm, and friends, and saved all our sorry asses. In more ways than one. And if you’re stupid enough to give that up, to give her up, to hurt her…” He shook his head slowly. “Well, then all I can say is you deserve whatever you give yourself.”
Doug was staring at Dylas in unconcealed shock and admiration.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, the grin growing on his face. “The horse can talk!” Indeed, it was undoubtedly the most anyone had ever heard Dylas say since he’d come to Selphia.
“Sh-shut up,” Dylas muttered. He turned away, his cheeks red, trying to hide his face behind one hand.
I squeezed the other so tightly I couldn’t even feel my own fingers. “Dylas…” My eyes were tearing up again.
Leon stared at him, his expression unreadable, for a long time. “You’re right,” he said at last, and turned away. “I’m sorry.”
I watched him walk away and enter the bathhouse, his head bowed heavily. A week ago, Dylas had thoughtlessly blurted out one of his own darkest fears, and very nearly broke more than one heart. Now he’d spoken his heart, and it didn’t change anything… but he’d tried. He released my hand only to squeeze me against him, and this time it was Doug who tried to embrace us both.
“Let’s go back to your place for a minute and I’ll make you something to eat, okay?” Dylas said. “I have a feeling you don’t want to be around everyone right now.”
I nodded into his chest, and the two of them led me through my fields into my room. Doug sat with me on my bed, one arm around me, while Dylas made us all our favorites.
I noticed that at least one or the other was in physical contact with me at all times since we’d left the bathhouse. Even while we ate, they sat close to me, our knees touching as we all sat tailor-fashion on my big bed. Though it was getting late, I wanted to check the request board in case there were any deliveries. They both came with me, and so they were there when I saw Kiel and waved in greeting.
Kiel came over and seemed happy to see Dylas out and about. Then he lowered his voice a little as he admitted his worries over Leon and telling me that something about the book was still bothering him. The symbols on the bottom of each page seemed out of place to him somehow, but he had no ideas.
I thanked him and he continued on his way home. Doug and Dylas looked at me with concern.
I shook my head; it was late and I was tired. Deciding against checking with Eliza after all, I told them I just wanted to sleep.
“We’ll stay with you,” Doug said, even though I told them both to go home.
“Just through the night,” Dylas said. “We’ll go home in the morning.”
They were insistent, and though I argued with them, they would not budge.
“Now make room, Princess,” Doug said with a leer. “It’s goin’ to be a crowded bed in here. That nag could take it all up all by himself.”
“Why I oughta –“ Dylas stopped himself, making an incoherent sound of anger as Doug exploded into great gasps of laughter. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he howled, and Dylas glowered and glared. Eventually I couldn’t help but giggle myself as I crawled into bed, and they wrapped their arms around me from either side and I finally fell asleep, wrapped in a warm sandwich of affection.
In the morning, it turned out that they’d lied to me. They didn’t go home after we woke, staying with me as I watered my fields and tended to my tamed monsters. They followed me while I chopped wood and broke up rocks into usable material stone, and tossed weeds into the composting bins, and generally tended to the tasks I’d neglected over the last few days. Sometimes they were quiet, and sometimes they were teasing and cajoling, and sometimes they bickered, but they weren’t going to leave me alone with my thoughts.
Feeling a bit tired, I decided I wanted to take a bath again. I let the guys walk with me, but when we arrived at the bathhouse I chased them off, threatening to let Vishnal use them as taste testers next time he got to cooking, and walked into the bathhouse.
Xiao Pai seemed happy to see me, at least, but she was also concerned. She was worried about me and Leon both, she said… She told me he’d gone to the lake. Torn, I decided to bathe first, though my mind was once again racing and my heart tormented.
Then I went to Selphia Lake, to find Leon staring into the water, looking as lost and alone as I’d ever seen him. My heart ached and my resolve stiffened.
I went to him.
—
The Power of Words, Part IV
And just like that, from the depths of despair, convinced we would forever be cursed to be apart, Leon and I had found ourselves transported into a whirlwind of intensity that left us both breathless and ecstatic.
He had not broken his promise, because it had been broken for him – and the results were all he could have hoped for. At last, he could seek happiness, and Leon wasn’t one to do things by halves… The next hours passed by in a rush; somehow in a matter of hours I had a dress, Leon had a tuxedo, and we would be married in the morning.
I did not remember anything from the moment I said yes. I could not say how I got the dress, or when I got into bed. The next clear memory I had was talking to Volkanon about how excited and happy he was as he adjusted my veil and made sure everything was just exactly so.
I stepped out into the square, and was surprised to find it empty. I knew that I was to meet Leon and we were to go around and greet everyone, but I had imagined they’d all be there.
Then I heard his familiar step approaching the sqaure.
I turned to face him as he entered the area, my entire body afire with the love I felt for him, and froze.
“Leon…” I hissed. “You take that stupid thing off right now!”
I could hear him laughing from behind the pumpkinhead mask I’d given him a while back. “Are you sure? I think it’s the perfect accessory for this outfit,” he smirked. I could hear him smirk.
“Right. Now!” I wanted to hit him. How could he do this to me? How could he ruin my wonderful wedding day?
He took the mask off, still grinning. Somehow his hair was perfect underneath it, and he wore none of his priestly vestments. Instead, he was decked out deliciously in a white tuxedo with a blue cravat. Every inch of him but his face was covered, and I sighed inwardly. He had a body worth displaying… and I loved when he displayed it. I could tell he felt slightly uncomfortable in the constrictive clothing, though, and my temper eased. Then he came toward me, shaking his head slowly.
From the moment I’d first laid eyes on him, I was intrigued. He was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen, and he was in very, very good physical condition. But he held himself so tightly, so closed in… Now, though his posture hadn’t really changed, there was something different – and it wasn’t just the lack of that silly – sorry, priestly hat of his. He seemed… calmer.
I watched him, as entranced as he looked.
The wedding proceeded, and I went through it almost in a haze, supported more by his arm and the strength of his unbridled love than my own legs. I tried not to notice the hurt in Doug’s eyes, or Dylas’. In turn, they both tried not to let me see it. I could not avoid the sad understanding in both of their expressions, however. Arthur kept his so carefully neutral, but in his eyes I could see the light of his happiness on my behalf – and the shadows of his own pain.
There had never been any question in their minds of my love for Leon. I was the one who had doubted, who had given in to insecurity and grief. It was my fault that I had almost allowed the end to come, that I had not pursued the matter further, or asked him about the pattern on the pages earlier. If I had, we might have been spared the pain.
They were happy for my happiness, and they understood that it was as over as it could be between each of us. I still cared for them and always would, but as Leon and I made our way around town, speaking to everyone, I knew that I had made the right choice for myself. Leon was magnanimous with his former rivals, not saying a word about who got to keep me for himself, only accepting their congratulations with aplomb and a fond, teasing word. Only when we spoke with Lin Fa and Xiao Pai was it impressed on me how deeply he was affected. Xiao Pai actually teased him – and left him flustered! Seeing Leon, normally so debonair and nonchalant, reduced to an uncertain youth was absolutely the most adorable thing I’d ever yet seen from this man who was utterly adorable to me, sometimes in spite of himself.
I love it when he blushes. It makes me feel happy, especially since I’ve never seen anyone else able to do it to him. I guess that’s why he does it to me – not that I’ve ever been that forgiving of him for it, but at least I understand it.
Before long, it was over, and he was there in my rooms – no. Our rooms. My rooms with my husband. Leon, my husband. My husband Leon! My sweet, sexy, needy, uncertain, silly, witty husband Leon. I lost myself in my husband’s kisses, feeling safe and protected and warm and loved and as happy as I could ever imagine feeling. I wanted the moment to go on forever, leaving me alone with the man I loved most in the world in perfect happiness.
Sadly, all moments must pass, and at last we came up for air. We spoke, setting some ground rules for each other – just the basics, really. Then I remembered that I still had work to do and to my surprise realized it wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet.
With a sigh, I entered the fields to tend my crops and the monsters in the barn. When I’d finished, I went back inside to discover Leon had made me lunch. Then he asked if he could stay with me, so I acquiesced gladly and we wandered around town, visiting with everyone and basking in each other’s nearness.
The next couple of weeks were more of the same, Leon often insisting on staying with me all day, making lunch for me – he was usually up even before me and had it ready by six in the morning! Sweet, masochistic man. He showed his feelings for me openly and often, which was quite a change from the reticent teasing I’d endured for so long. I reveled in it, becoming more comfortable with teasing him. I enjoyed getting a rise out of him as much as he enjoyed doing the same to me, and it didn’t seem to put him off.
—
The Power of Words, Epilogue
He wasn’t there when I fainted.
It hadn’t happened in a long time; I’d built up my strength quite a lot since my first bewildered weeks in Selphia, so many seasons ago. But one day I’d been in a bit of a bad mood, so I’d decided to go out and take it out on some (probably undeserving) monsters, and had ended up staying out all night. When morning came, I realized I wouldn’t make it home before dawn, so I simply headed straight to the fields and began to water the crops.
I hadn’t realized my energy was quite as low as it was, however, and things went very dark for a moment…
I didn’t think it was that long, but the next thing I knew, I heard Arthur’s voice, and Clorica’s; there were others, but it was Arthur who stayed next to me and smoothed my hair and just talked to me quietly until Jones and Nancy arrived. They all kept telling me not to move, and for once I was content to listen. I heard Clorica say something to him about having an appointment, but he shrugged it off, said they could wait.
"I’m okay. Go,” I said. “I’m just dizzy." I was more than “just” dizzy; when I tried to open my eyes I was pretty sure that the world was going to spin out of control.
I felt his hand on my hair once more; his touch was gentle, and then I heard him move away. “Nancy and Jones should be here any minute now,” he said, almost as if he were trying to reassure himself even more than me.
“Thanks,” I said, grateful for the relative coolness of the ground against my cheek.
I kept reassuring everyone that I was fine, I had not hit my head, I just needed to rest a little… No one seemed to be buying it, and Leon wasn’t there. I wished for him, but he didn’t appear. Nancy and Jones came, checked me out, and bore me off to the clinic; by the time we arrived, though, I was able to sit up and focus. I was still tired and dizzy but I knew that if I just took it easy I’d be okay.
Margaret insisted on feeding me; I think if I’d let her she’d have done it herself. As it was she brought me breakfast (which I admittedly had missed) and checked in on me every five minutes to see if I’d been eating. Only after I’d cleaned my plate and she checked under the table to make sure I hadn’t ditched the food did she back down… and still there was no sign of my Leon.
I wanted him. I wanted his arms around me, reassuring and strong. I knew I didn’t really need him there, but I wanted him… and his absence saddened me. I’d thought for sure he’d notice I hadn’t come home, at least, and come looking for me.
But he found me, later in the morning, after I’d eaten and rested and gone back to work – slowly, of course, and with Vishnal and Clorica checking on me regularly. It was Clorica who chased me out of the fields to make sure I ate lunch.
Only after I had eaten and had returned to finish up in the fields did Leon appear… and even from across the field I could tell he was angry.
His eyes burned into mine as he stood over me, seething silently. I smiled up at him, brightly at first, but my genuine happiness at seeing him rapidly faltered as he continued to glare.
“L-Leon?” I ventured timidly.
“I’m not even going to ask,” he said coldly.
He knew me too well; my mind raced with the possibilities of just what it was he wasn’t going to ask. Was it about not having had him summoned? About my fainting in the first place?
“I’m okay, I promise,” I said quietly, all the joy gone. All I knew was that he was unhappy with me. I felt as though I’d disappointed him. “I’m sorry.” I was no more certain of the real reason behind my apology than I was of what he wasn’t asking.
“Just don’t do it again,” he said finally, his tone harsh. He continued to stare down at me, and I had to lower my gaze as the tears came unbidden to my eyes.
“I couldn’t bear to lose you,” he said suddenly, his voice barely a choked whisper as the arms I’d longed to feel around me all day were suddenly there, warm and strong and keeping me safe in his tight embrace. I endured it gladly, but he didn’t ease his grip; crushed against his chest I was finding it just a little hard to breathe.
“L-Leon… I c-can’t… breathe…” I choked out. He released me at last, though his hands stayed at my shoulders.
“Sorry, Love… Look at me.” I took a deep breath to try to stop my lip from quivering and raised my gaze to his uncertainly. Our eyes locked and I saw that his anger was worry. “I don’t want to lose you. I waited over a thousand years to find you. There’s no way I’m going through that again,” he said, his lips curving in that familiar smirk he called a smile. “So if you don’t start taking care of yourself, I’m going to have to do it for you.”
“Does that include taking care of the fields, and the monsters?” I asked, all innocence.
He chuckled, seeing right through me. “Not on your life,” he said, pulling me back into his arms. This time his grip was not so tight.
“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to go to Porcoline’s to pick up something for dinner. Why don’t you go wait for me in bed?”
“But Leon, it’s not even three in the afternoon yet!”
“I know,” he murmured, his lips against my ear.
“O-oh,” I gasped, my face heating up instantly.
He chuckled again, kissing me on the jawline for good measure. “Still care to argue?”
“N-no,” I admitted, “but it is still the middle of the day…!”
“So? Your chores are done, aren’t they?” I nodded. “And you don’t have anywhere particular you need to be, do you?” I shook my head. “So go get comfortable, and I’ll be along shortly. After all, I want to make sure you get plenty of rest so this doesn’t happen again,” he said, the severity creeping back into his tone as his arms tightened just a little.
True to his word, he managed to keep me in bed until the following morning; somehow he’d gotten up before me and prepared a lunch like he always did. I accepted it along with his stern reminder to “eat it, and don’t try giving it away.” He knew me too well. At least it was Tempura Udon, which I really liked. I actually enjoyed everything he made, though he sometimes made things with onions, which I loathed – but he usually remembered to leave them out for me; when he didn’t, I knew he was trying to get to me.
He invited himself along with me; when I called him on it, he didn’t bother to deny that he wanted to keep an eye on me. “After yesterday’s little episode, Love, I want to be sure that you’re fully recovered.”
“Leon, you didn’t even let me get up to freshen up. You insisted on carrying me to the bathroom. I promise you, I’m fine… Unless you want to tend to the fields for me,” I said, smiling brightly at him.
He laughed at that. “You’d trust me with your fields and your pets? I hardly pay any more attention than they need to mine anymore. And as for the fields, I lack your expert touch. I’d either overwater or leave them too dry, and then you’d be upset with me. Even though it wouldn’t be on purpose.”
I sighed and tugged him down for a kiss. “That’s true. You can’t even take care of the houseplants I got.” Capturing his lower lip between my teeth, I smiled up at him. “Guess you’ll have to make it up to me later.” He raised an eyebrow but only chuckled, and I released him to follow me about the fields on my daily chores.
It didn’t take very long; the monsters were on their good behavior today. They’d sensed something wrong yesterday, I gathered from what Vishnal had told me, and allowed me to brush them and harvest their products with a minimum of fuss. Leon helped me carry things to the shipping bin, otherwise hovering just behind me with a proprietary and protective air – as though there were anyone to see him do so, except for Clorica when she came by to pick up the shipment for the day.
“Hello!” she said happily, if drowsily. “You two look so cute together, and Leon’s following you around just like a big puppy!”
“He’s just dogging my footsteps,” I replied. Leon glared but Clorica blinked at me and giggled.
Having processed the shipment, she waved and wandered off to her next task, and I turned to Leon. “Let’s go check out the request box. If you want to play nursemaid to me all day, I’m afraid you’re going to have to put up with the obligations I have to fulfill!”
“I’m not playing nursemaid. I’m guarding you. I am, after all, a Guardian. Or I was. Every Guardian needs something to guard, right? And you’re mine.” He said the last with a smug, superior smile, looking so proud of himself, that I had to laugh. “So I’m only fulfilling my own obligation.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for making me feel so special,” I said dryly.
“But you are special, Love. Special enough that I won’t let you go. Ever.” The humor faded from his expression, leaving a fierce tenderness that hinted at his anger from the day before. “If I have to spend every waking moment making sure that you’re taken care of properly, I’ll do it.”
“Leon…” I was touched, but also a little annoyed. “I’m hardly the same fragile little amnesiac who fell out of the sky. I’ve built a life for myself here. I’ve come a long way; even you have to admit that.”
“That’s why I promised to protect you. Love… Frey… You have to understand how much you mean to all of us, here. Especially to me. Without you… Well, without you this world would not be the same. Even Venti…” His earnest expression faltered briefly; I could see he missed her as much as I did.
“I know, Darling. I miss her too. But until a way is found to get into the Forest of Beginnings, there’s nothing we can do. Arthur and Kiel are doing as much research as you are. Even Barrett’s been looking into things. And as for what this world would be like without me…” I sighed. “Sometimes I wonder what my family is like. Do they miss me? Do I have any siblings? Are my parents still alive? At least I know one thing; I wasn’t married before.” I blushed and he smiled.
“And if you were, he certainly wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain,” Leon teased me, which only made my blush worse. “You’re so cute.”
“Stop it, Leon!” I protested, and he laughed again as he pulled me into his arms. “You know that’s not fair… and you didn’t know much more about it than I did!”
Now it was his turn to blush and he turned his gaze aside. I had later admitted that I’d overheard a particular conversation between him and Arthur, two days before the wedding. He was embarrassed, but I was flattered – and I thought it was adorable that he’d cared so much as to actually unbend his pride enough admit to Arthur his inexperience in that area.
“…I have no father I can ask such things anymore. I can hardly see Volkanon answering questions along those lines, and asking Porcoline strikes me as… Well…”
Arthur had chuckled. “What about Bado, or Jones?”
Leon’s tone had been utterly bewildered. “Jones would be far too technical… But you think Bado knows anything about… marital relations??”
“Well, he was a legendary knight. I find it hard to believe he did not partake of at least some of the ‘fringe benefits…’
I hadn’t been able to stay and listen anymore, too embarrassed myself by the subject matter, but it did make for some interesting fodder to tease my husband with later on. I never admitted it to Arthur, however… Though I didn’t doubt that he’d have a few choice things to say on the subject, and neither Leon nor I would ever live it down with him. As kind as he was, he could be as merciless a tease as my husband.
Nor was I going to tell him about the conversation I’d had with Lin Fa, Blossom, Illuminata, and Nancy on a similar subject. I knew I’d never hear the end of it either.
“Well, we’ve both learned a lot since, anyway. And I have a few ideas…” He pulled me closer, warm affection in his eyes not contrasting with the wicked grin spreading across his lips.
“Help! Help!” I cried out, laughing. “Didn’t you promise to protect me?”
“Oh, but I am protecting you. I shall never let you feel a moment’s loneliness, or sadness, or any unhappiness at all, without being here for you.” He held me so that he could meet my eyes now, and the playfulness had gone out of him again. “I will not pretend that I can keep you safe from all pain and heartache, but I promise that I shall never let you suffer alone.”
I returned his fierce embrace. My throat was tight as I whispered, “I promise the same, Leon. I will never let you be lonely again. Ever.”
I listened to the beating of his heart, strong and true, and knew that our promises would be kept to the very end.
Written by ribbonreverse, illustrated by calypsotea
Synopsis:
There is an unexpected act of kindness, and so there is a debt. Georgia crosses the mountain with a fistful of gold to repay Kana for the life of her horse, because the thought of owing anybody anything unsettles her, and she’ll gladly die before letting someone like him call her ungrateful. One journey turns into several, but with the two towns at war with one another and Georgia at war with herself, meeting up with her rival for fried rice and good company is a difficult routine to keep…
Right As Rain
1.1
“I don’t like him!”
Georgia gripped the handle of her umbrella like a weapon, knuckles white, face tinged red around the edges, clashing with her auburn-ginger hair that trended towards brown when damp. She split a sullen glare between the two girls in front of her, not sure who to be angry at first- Lillian, for bringing him up in the first place, or Laney, for that knowing, pitying look that had dawned as soon as the words had left Lillian’s mouth.
You’re wrong, the both of you. We ain’t like that, I swear. Couldn’t be.
“He’s a jerk.” Not true, the raindrops protested, tapping persistently on the cloth stretched taught above her head. She shook them off, small shards of water spattering onto the pavement. Liars, the lot of them. “The man’s downright full of himself, and besides, he thinks his stupid horse Hayate is cuter than my Dakota. If that ain’t a good enough reason to hate him, I don’t know what is.”
“You sure hate people pretty easy, then,” Lillian muttered, frowning.
“Listen, y'all!” Her accent was slipping, the first warning sign that the fuse on her temper was close to burned up and that she needed to stop talking sooner rather than later. “Listen. He’s my rival. We hate each other, plain and simple. That’s what rivals do. He’s got his side of the mountain, and I’ve got mine.”
Something solidified behind Lillian’s eyes, answer registering. “His side of the mountain?”
“Konohana.” Georgia spit the name of the town like a cuss word, like it was bitter in her mouth, and Laney visibly winced. “He lives over there. I don’t. That’s the way it’s been since I came to this town, and it sure won’t be changin’ anytime soon.”
“Lillian,” Laney started. “Maybe you… Maybe we shouldn’t…”
But Lillian’s feet were already planted firmly in the puddles, and her words were in the set of her shoulders, square and determined and forward-facing.
“It doesn’t have to be like that, you know. The two towns can get along just fine.”
“Well, here’s the thing, Lillian: They don’t get along. No matter how you twist it, they don’t, and I’m a part of this town!”
And how did you get to be there , the raindrops asked. What did you give up to be part of this, and was it worth it?
The umbrella shook and they fell. “I’m a part of Bluebell, Lillian.”
“Girls,” Laney started, trailing off, lost in the weather of words and barometric pressures. Stuck between two brewing storms.
Georgia glared. “I’m a part of Bluebell, and I don’t like-”
A crack of thunder cut her off, and all three women flinched. The rain intensified, and Georgia’s unfinished sentence hung in the air. Don’t like Konohana, don’t like fried rice because that’s their thing. Don’t like him, since he’s theirs, too.
Lillian was firm. “Not everyone here hates Konohana, you know.”
“Yeah, they do. I reckon Mayor Rutger sure does. So do Dad and Jessica.”
“I don’t! Neither does Laney!”
“Well, that’s great for you, Lillian!”
Lightning slashed across the sky.
“Look,” Georgia said, calmer, adjusting the umbrella in her hands. “People here just don’t like Konohana, okay? And the people over there hate us back, the lot of them, Kana included. And that’s fine. Sure, it’s a little tense, but it ain’t hurting nobody.”
Another bolt of lightning punctuated her statement, closely followed by a roll of thunder.
“Girls,” Laney said. “It’s getting pretty bad out. We should go inside.”
“Actually, to put it plain, I was finished with this conversation before it started, and if it don’t bother you and your new best friend too much, I’ll be heading home. See y'all later.”
Laney opened her mouth to reply, but Georgia was already marching away.
“Kana doesn’t hate you, Georgia!” Lillian yelled across the courtyard.
The thought hit her from behind and stuck, digging lightly into the back of her mind, and she nearly stumbled from the force of it. Nearly. She did not, and her boots fell determined and regular across the slick, muddy cobblestone road. They did not miss the same half-step in rhythm as her heart, and they were asynchronous now, her feet and her thoughts.
Regardless, she followed her feet, since she was already headed in that direction.
“Oh, really?” Georgia threw the words back over her shoulder. “Well, then the feeling isn’t mutual!”
It wasn’t until after the front door had opened and slammed shut, boots off, umbrella shaken out, that she realized how unnervingly receptive she was to the idea that Kana didn’t despise her. She examined her insides thoroughly, located the little flicker of hope, and smothered it with liberal doses of don'ts and can’t-evers until it was made of low-lit reddish embers.
But she didn’t douse it with rainwater entirely. Not all the way. She couldn’t bear to.
2.1
The barn was dry and earthy, with a big sliding door that creaked on its iron tracks. Sunlight trickled in through the side windows, filtered through tree leaves and morning mist. Georgia came in, mud and shreds of grass from the fields caked heavily on the soles of her boots.
“I’ve got a treat for you,” Georgia said, putting the pitchfork away. “I’ve brought a carrot! A real, bona fide carrot! Lillian was nice enough to get us one from her farm. Probably to make up for that little spat the other day. You know, I’m really gettin’ to be fond of that girl…”
It took Georgia about five steps towards the feed box to realize that something wasn’t right.
Dakota was on the floor, her legs splayed haphazardly out to one side. She lifted her head and squinted at the fuzzy morning sunlight before dropping back onto the hay with a very unsettling thud. Her leg twitched, and something lurched in Georgia’s gut.
“Dakota? What’s wrong?”
The horse did not move.
Georgia grabbed her first aid kit from the wall, running through the symptoms in her head. Lack of appetite, laying down excessively. That could mean colic, in which case, they’d have to get her some special medication from the city.
Dakota’s leg twitched again. Loss of muscle control…?
And, she realized as she approached, the horse’s pupils were dilated.
“Okay, that’s weird,” she muttered, getting out a stethoscope and listening to her horse’s gut. Didn’t sound like colic, but moving up-
The heartbeat.
Dakota’s heartbeat was irregular.
She’d read about nightshade poisoning before, in her books back at school, back when she was training to be a vet. It was most common in the winter, or… Or when food was scarce. Scarce, like it had been a little bit for the past few days, because they were between paychecks, and-
The stethoscope clattered to the ground as she sprinted to Dakota’s feed box.
The suppliers wouldn’t be stupid enough to-
She picked out a stem with small dried-up flower buds and dark green oval-shaped leaves, and Georgia felt her own heart stop beating for a half-second.
Oh. Oh, no.
2.2
“Lillian!”
There was urgent pounding on her front door, and the farmer opened it to find Georgia bent over on her doorstep, panting.
“Did you run all the way here?”
“Dakota,” Georgia replied, straightening. Her eyes were steely, but there was an underlying panic. “Dakota… Has nightshade poisoning.”
“What?”
“Ain’t sure how it happened, but somehow it got into her feed supply, and…”
Lillian’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh!”
“I might be able to fix her up right if I had some neostigmine. You wouldn’t happen to…?”
Lillian shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Georgia.”
“And there ain’t any way you could get your hands on some? Please? Any way at all? I’ll pay you back for it, I swear. Double what it’s worth. Triple, even. Whatever you want.”
“I could get Dirk to order it, but it’d take nearly a week to get in.”
“That ain’t soon enough!” Georgia exclaimed, on the verge of tears. “She don’t have a week! A few days, at most, and probably not even that…!”
“I know, I know,” Lillian replied, tugging on her bandanna. “But I have another idea…”
“What? What is it?”
“No promises,” Lillian said, pushing past her and running towards the pasture. She returned with her pony. “But I know someone who might have some. You run on home, Georgia, and take care of Dakota. Keep her comfortable, and give her lots of fluids. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
2.3
Lillian returned from the other side of the mountain in a whirl of red skirts and hoofbeats, kicking dust up in clouds behind her in her haste. Georgia was waiting for her at the entrance of the barn, flickering between caring for Dakota and waiting for the medicine. She dismounted and sprinted for the barn, and, unable to wait, Georgia met her halfway.
“Well?”
Her heart was in her chest, pounding, whirling, and she searched Lillian’s face for some sign as to whether or not the mission had been successful. Lillian smiled, panting, and, in lieu of an answer, shoved a hand into her rucksack, pulling something out a few seconds later and holding it out for Georgia to see.
In Lillian’s palm was a small bottle full of hope.
“Thank you,” Georgia whispered, smiling, her shoulders collapsing. She took the container of medicine in her hands. The tightness in her chest uncoiled, and she took a deep breath. She took several. It felt surreal, like it was the first real breath she’d taken in days.
“Don’t thank me. Thank Kana.”
Georgia scoffed. “Right. Did he know it was for Dakota?”
She took the syringe out of the medicine kit and filled it with the clear liquid, and her hands were shaking. She couldn’t afford to be so nervous right now, could she? She needed steadiness. Georgia closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to still the tremors.
“Yes, he knows it’s for your horse. You shouldn’t write him off, Georgia. He was more than happy to help.”
She was too focused on saving Dakota’s life to give a decent reply.
“Seriously, though,” Lillian said, pausing at the door. Georgia could hear the hay shifting beneath her boots. “He doesn’t hate you as much as you think he does. You should go talk to him.”
3.1
Dakota lived, and so there was a debt.
It took Georgia two half-attempted trips and nearly a week to get herself all the way to Kana’s side of the mountain. She did make it to the other side, though, because the thought of owing anything to somebody from Konohana made her stomach turn, and she’d gladly die before letting Kana rightfully attach the wordungrateful to her.
Dakota wasn’t well enough to ride yet, so she’d gone on foot. The trip took nearly two hours, which was a pain, but the sun was warm on her shoulders, and she appreciated the warm summer air and the solid dirt beneath her worn brown work-boots. The leaves got differently-shaped as she started going down instead of up, and she was pretty sure she saw some bamboo stalks somewhere in the brush. The plants were still just as gorgeous as on her side, though, and the air was still clear and pleasant.
The moon was rising in the east. Well, at least not everything is unfamiliar…
It was only as she approached the town that she paused, an unsettled feeling taking root in her gut. If anybody she knew saw her in Konohana, she’d never hear the end of it. Not from her father, at the very least, and she’d probably get more than a lick of trouble for it from several of the other villagers in Bluebell, too.
She imagined the look on her father’s face, and the knot in her stomach tightened.
Thankfully, it didn’t matter, because the minute she walked through the front gate, she recognized Kana’s house. There was a field full of horses on the left, with a huge, well-built wooden stable and a little pet store hovering near the edges. His animals seemed to have more living space than he did, and somehow, she wasn’t surprised. The place was his, through and through. It struck her as uncannily familiar, and she couldn’t tell if it was because she’d been to Konohana once or twice as a kid or because the horses grazing in the field reminded her of home.
Georgia shook the feeling off, and it tumbled off her curls in spirals as she stepped onto his porch, raised her fist to knock, and…
And nothing.
Georgia lowered her arm, and for the next minute, she was a statue on his doorstep.
Her pride demanded that she pay him back for the medicine, because she’d never allow herself to be indebted to Kana- not a ghost of a chance, not on her life!- but as strongly as her pride demanded repayment, it also demanded in the immediate sense that she avoid knocking. To knock was to admit that he’d helped her, that she’d needed assistance in the first place, that she’d been dependent on another person for once and that it had been someone she’d hated.
Furthermore, it had been someone who she had assumed hated her. She remembered again that he was her rival, her rival who despised her, despite Lillian’s fanciful imaginings.
She imagined for a minute how such a person would respond to her showing up at his doorstep with a fistful of gold to repay him for the life of her horse. Would he yell at her for being careless? Was the money enough, even? Could you measure kindness out in coins?
But he helped Dakota , Georgia reminded herself, and that was enough. She rapped on the front door three times, in quick succession, before she could change her mind.
“Door’s open!”
Don’t ask me to open it myself , she nearly groaned, knocking was hard enough, but she pushed the handle down and the door swung inward with a creak. Kana looked up from behind the counter, and the wave of surprise that crossed his face was followed quickly by a massive, million-watt grin that somehow still managed to feel genuine. Maybe it was just the tan, but his teeth seemed alarmingly bright.
“Woah, look who it is!” Kana said as she shut the door and stepped forward.
Is that how they treat enemies over here? she wondered. Smile them to death?
“Hey,” she replied, crossing her arms and giving him an apprehensive look.
He leaned across the counter. “So… How’s Dakota doing? Any better?”
“Right as rain!” She felt her face heating up, and she could already tell that her accent was starting to slip.“Well, not quite right as rain yet, I mean, but she’s gettin’ there. Thanks.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Yeah. Uh. Here.” Georgia rummaged through her bag and pulled out small pouch full of gold coins. She placed it on the counter and drew her hands back quickly, as if it would catch fire or explode at any moment.
“What’s this for?”
“I, ah… It’s for the medicine you got for Dakota.”
Kana pushed the money across the table. “Oh, don’t pay me for that.”
“Look, Kana, I…” She braced herself, because it wasn’t a pretty thing to admit. “I owe you,” she managed, “and I don’t much like owing people things.”
“You’ll pay it back by helping Dakota get better,” Kana said, raising his eyebrows. “Think of it as, like, a gift, from one horse fanatic to another. Besides, I’d be a total loser if I didn’t help a horse in need, you know?”
“I guess,” Georgia said, half-frowning. She paused. “But keep the gold.”
“Nope. Not happening.” He picked up the pouch and handed it to her, gold and all.
“Well,” she said after a moment, the ghost of a smile working its way around the edges of her mouth. “Thanks. And… If Hayate ever needs any help, just holler, and I’ll be right on over. I know I probably can’t do much, but…”
“Oh, definitely. Thanks!”
There was a brief silence, interrupted by a growl from Georgia’s stomach. She flushed beet red, right to the roots of her hair, and Kana stifled a laugh.
“Hungry?”
“What? No!”
Mmmmrgh , her stomach protested.
“Maybe a bit,” she conceded, fiddling with a stray string on the edge of her sleeve. “It’s a long trek up the mountain, and I didn’t really pack a lunch, so…”
“Woah, dude, hold up. You haven’t had lunch yet?”
Georgia sighed through her nose and screwed her eyes shut. “No.”
“It’s, like, one-thirty in the afternoon! Making it, what, at least three or something by the time you get back to Bluebell?”
“Yeah. So?”
“You didn’t even have, I dunno, a piece of fruit or anything?”
She shrugs. “I wasn’t hungry when I left. Besides, I didn’t figure the trip would take that long, so…”
Kana let out a low whistle and ran his fingers through his hair.
He thinks I’m a moron, now, doesn’t he , she thought, tugging at one of her curls and telling herself that the only reason that thought bothered her was because she was prideful.
“Well, you know what that means, don’t you?”
“What?”
He grinned. “It means it’s time for me to make lunch, because guess what? I haven’t eaten yet, either.”
3.2
Georgia leaned against the counter and watched the rice swirl around, vegetable oil crackling and popping up around it. Kana was the one cooking, of course- it was his kitchen, and he was the better chef of the two, anyways. Anybody who’d been to the cooking festivals knew that.
On the plus side, it had given her the opportunity to stash the coin bag behind a pan while he wasn’t looking. Kana would find it later, but only after she was all the way back in Bluebell, and hopefully the distance would be incentive enough for him to actually keep it.
The kitchen was dead silent, except for the sound of rice simmering in the wok on the stove.
“Wow,” Kana said, stirring with a pair of wooden chopsticks. They seemed longer than the ones she’d seen the Gourmet use at festivals. Maybe they were exclusively for cooking, not eating, or maybe they just looked different up close. “Are you always this talkative?”
“No. I mean…” Georgia sighed.
“What’s up?”
“I dunno. I guess I’m still just kind of… Surprised, is all.”
He turned from the stove and quirked an eyebrow. “Surprised?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “That you helped Dakota. I mean, not that you helped her, I know she’s a horse and you love horses and all that, but that you’d help… You know.”
His eyebrow quirked upwards again, and he crossed his arms.
Oh, he’s going to make me say it. “See, she’s my horse. And, so I thought…”
“Yeah, she’s your horse. And she’s awesome! What does being your horse have anything to do with whether or not I would help you guys out?”
“I’m from Bluebell!” she blurted. “And! Well, you know…”
Kana crossed his arms, frowning. “I don’t see why that matters.”
“Well, I don’t know! It seems to matter to everyone else!”
Kana stared at her quietly. His eyes were a lot more serious than they’d been a minute before, and she had the sense that she was being evaluated. Summed up, put in a box. It had been a while since she’d had that feeling. She frowned, but stayed quiet and picked at the stray thread on her sweater. After a second, he turned back to stir the rice simmering in the wok.
“And, you know.” She paused and shuffled her feet, unable to leave it at that. Leaving it at that would have felt like failing. Failing at what? Whatever standard he’s been judging me by? Why should I care? “Well, I kind of thought maybe you hated me. Being my rival and all.”
“Why would I hate you? Sure, we’re rivals, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be buds, too.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, we sharpen each other, right?” He stirred. “Sure, there’s friction, there’s competition, but that’s what drives us to get better at what we do. We learn from each other. We help each other grow.”
“I’d never thought of it like that before.”
“Huh. I always had.” He chuckled. “Sorry. I guess I sound like a, I dunno, a New Year’s card or something. All sentimental and stuff.”
“Huh?”
“You know, the cards you can get around New Years? Usually red? Cheerful holiday sentiments written all over the inside?”
Georgia gave him a bemused look and shook her head.
“You guys don’t get them? Must be a Konohana thing, I guess. Or it’s just my family.” He swirled the rice again. “My dad usually sends one to let me know how he’s doing. He sends letters, too, but the card’s tradition.”
Georgia tapped the floor with the toe of her boot. “So, what does your dad do?”
“He’s traveling right now. He’s in the animal trade, like us. Deals in horses, cattle, sheep, and stuff like that. Mostly horses, though.”
Ding! The egg-timer on the counter hit zero. Kana poked at a slice of carrot, nodded to himself, and switched the burner off. The wok was carried directly to the table, followed by plates, a pair of chopsticks, and a fork.
“Well, food’s pretty much done, so eat up,” he said, dishing out two platefuls of rice.
“Thanks,” Georgia said, sitting down. “This looks really good. You know, I don’t get much fried rice back home, but it’s kinda my favorite dish. Don’t go telling anybody back in Bluebell I said that, though.”
He chuckled. “I won’t, no worries.”
They ate for a minute, and Kana looked thoughtful.
“So,” he said, putting his chopsticks down, “I have a question for you this time. If you assumed I hated you, then…? I guess what I mean is, you don’t… Like, you don’t hate me or anything, right?”
It had been so easy to dislike him before. He’d been an abstract concept instead of a person, the vague, mysterious boy over the mountain who’d hated her because they were rivals, and that was what rivals did. They’d been rivals, so she’d hated him back. But now that she was sitting in his kitchen, now that he’d offered the very distinctly un-hateful olive branches of fried rice and horse medicine, now that he’d proved that he valued the well-being of both her and her animals… Now that he was a reality instead of an idea, sitting in front of her, eating with her, with kindness in his heart and a hopeful grin on his face…
“No,” she said slowly, testing out the words. They tasted strangely like a lie, even though they were the closest thing to truth she’d said about him in a long while. “No, I don’t think I hate you, Kana.”
3.3
“Hey, Dad?” Georgia asked. She was in their living room, adjacent to the kitchen where Grady was washing dishes at the sink. It was his night tonight, since she’d cooked. She was sprawled across the old braided carpet, playing with an orange tabby kitten and a bell and a cheap red feather on a string.
Swing, swing, swing. Watch the birdie, watch the birdie…
The kitten was intently focused, pupils dilated wide, following every movement.
“Yes, Georgia? Did you say something?”
She yanked the string, up, up, and the kitten followed, clawing at the space a second too late.
“Mhm,” she said, dangling the toy again. “I was just wondering, what do you think of Konohana?”
“Konohana?”
“Yeah.” She could practically see him stiffening, shifting, uncomfortable, and she hated to bring it up but she needed her answer verbalized. She had suspicions, but she wanted to hear him say it.
A question for a question: “Why’re you asking?”
Georgia bit her lip and fought the guilt burning in her cheeks.
“I was just wondering,” she replied, trying to be nonchalant.
Grady huffed and put the dish on the drying rack with a loud clank before frowning, clearing his throat, and starting on another dish. Georgia waited silently. He worked his way through the rest of the dishes and utensils before setting the washing rag down on the counter and sighing.
“Well,” he started, “first off, from what I can tell, they think they’re better than we are. They value themselves and their village above us and ours. Can’t say I blame them much. But it sure doesn’t make them any more trustworthy, and it sure doesn’t mean I like ‘em much, either.”
“Right,” Georgia said. He had responded as expected. “I reckon that makes sense.”
But it didn’t, not to her, because it didn’t answer her question.
Yes, they’re different than us. But why should it matter?
And even after trying to wedge Grady’s answer into the hole the question left in her mind, Georgia found that there were gaps that couldn’t be explained away. Peeking from behind the answer were a few of Lillian’s words, the heavenly smell of fried rice, and, more than anything else, the friendly smile on Kana’s face when she’d showed up at his doorstep. Like he was actually pleased to see her. The sound of his voice, relaxed and steady, as he’d explained how he’d fixed up Hayate’s hoof last Spring.
“But you already know how to do stuff like that, right? Being a fellow horse fanatic and all.”
His grin lingered in her mind, and alone in her room, Georgia found it hard to avoid mirroring the expression. She was almost tempted to remove her father’s misfit answer altogether, just to get a better look at the brightly shining things that were trapped in there behind it.
4.1
Georgia slid out of bed and yawned, stretching. Normally, she’d have been up hours ago, but it was Tuesday. She had the whole day off. Grady was probably already at Town Hall, or chatting in the cafe with Howard. Commiserating about how awful hard it is to raise up a good daughter, she thought, chuckling to herself.
It was nice to sleep in, sometimes.
She trudged to the kitchen and briefly considered the frying pan and the eggs in the fridge. Any ideas related to the two were quickly vetoed in favor of normal cereal and fresh milk, as she was much less likely to burn the house down with a ceramic bowl than a stove.
The fresh milk tasted absolutely glorious. They’d never gotten fresh milk in the city.
The city, where her mother had still been alive. Their house had been built with differently-shaped windows and a darker kind of wood. She remembered a few snippets of conversation between her parents. Things had been taller, and the light had slanted differently. She remembered the day that a company representative came home instead of her mother, bringing condolences instead of well-worn smiles.
It had been a nice house, but a sad one. The sunlight there had been less warm.
Georgia finished her cereal, drank every last drop of milk, and set the bowl in the sink before retreating to her room and getting ready for her day.
4.2
She exited her house and found a fellow horse fanatic propped up against her fence.
“Kana! How long have you been here?”
By which she meant, Did my father see you? Which was a silly question, on second thought, because he was still standing. Grady wasn’t terribly fond of trespassers, and while she’d never seen him use the rifle in his closet, she didn’t assume he wouldn’t be willing to utilize it if he felt the need.
Kana shrugged and slid off the fence. “Not long.”
“Yeah,” she said, pursing her lips and nodding. There was a pause, and he was clearly waiting for something. “Okay, so, what brings you to our side of the mountain, then?”
“I was hoping you’d ask that,” he laughed, rummaging in his pocket. He pulled out a familiar-looking leather pouch and held out to her, raising his eyebrows. “I’m here because somebody, not naming any names, left something at my house when she visited last week.”
“I was hoping you’d keep it, idiot,” she muttered.
“Well, too bad.” Kana grinned and gestured for her to take it.
“Oh, don’t be givin’ it back, now! It’s yours!”
“Don’t make this difficult, Georgia.”
“Nuh-uh!” she said, shaking her head, arms crossed, eyebrows a determined line. Her curls bounced. “No way. Not gonna happen.”
“Well, I’m not leaving until you take it,” he said, placing it on the nearest fencepost. “Here, it’s on your land, so it’s yours, now.”
“And I ain’t takin’ it! I told you before, I don’t take charity from people.”
He let out a frustrated huff. “Look, it’s not charity, okay? I know how I would’ve felt if Hayate had been the one who got sick, and… You know, it’s like, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Especially you. So you really don’t have to pay me back.”
She shook her head again. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“If you won’t take the money back, like, at least let me treat you to lunch or something!”
“What?”
For a second, he seemed just as surprised as her, but then the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a way that she’d have called smug about a month ago. Now, it seemed more along the lines of inordinately pleased with himself. She wasn’t sure which interpretation was the most unnerving.
“I’ll take the gold, fine. But then it’s my money, and I’ll spend it how I want, and I choose to spend it on a good meal.” He paused, for emphasis, and raised his eyebrows. “With you. That’s my only condition, so it’s not negotiable.”
She pursed her lips and looked down at her boots, considering.
“They’ve got fried rice,” he added. “If we go to Yun’s, I mean. If you want to.”
He remembered. He’d been paying attention, and that mattered.
“Well,” she said, tugging at one of her curls and avoiding his eyes. “I’ve still got to look after Dakota. But after that, if you insist, I guess I could do with a bit of lunch.”
4.3
The back deck of the tea house was scenic. An ancient record player, stationed on the counter inside, played a slow song featuring an Eastern-sounding string instrument that Georgia couldn’t quite place. The trees provided shade from the warm summer sun. Overall, it was a calm, pleasant atmosphere that contrasted nicely with her impending sense of doom.
Kana hummed. “Hm, let’s see… Can I have some pot stickers?”
“Certainly!” The woman, Yun, turned to Georgia with a smile. “And for you, dearie?”
“Um,” she said, staring at the menu apprehensively. It was full of names she didn’t recognize. She wished, for half a second, that she’d taken him to Laney’s, but that thought was followed quickly by the thought of exactly howterribly that would go. Taking her rival out for lunch? She’d never live it down. “May I please have some fried rice?”
(Oh, this was a lunch date, wasn’t it? Laney was going to kill her when she found out.)
(…If she found out. If. If was good.)
“Of course! I’ll have your food out soon.” Yun made a mark in her book and returned inside.
Leaving Georgia and Kana out on the porch. By themselves. With nothing to talk about.
There were literally summer cicadas chirping in the background.
This was a terrible idea , Georgia thought, staring into her drink. The awkwardness was eating away at her insides, and she gnawed at her lip, face getting redder by the minute. I should say something. Anything. Seriously, though… Think, think…
“So, how’s Dakota?”
“Dakota?” she squeaked, jerking her head up. She accidentally made eye contact, and if the awkwardness was getting to him, he certainly wasn’t letting it show. “Fine! Fine. Dakota’s fine. How’s Hayate?”
Kana took a sip of his water and grinned. He seemed to do that a lot, she noted. “Hayate’s doing great!”
“Good! Good.” The first one came out far too loud, and the second was a bit too quiet, a re-do, as if the two would even one another out into one coherent, normal-sounding response. She opened her mouth, halfway intending to say something else, before realizing that she had absolutely nothing of importance to say and taking a swig of her water instead.
Kana was very good at this eye contact thing. He was watching her face with an expression somewhere between pleased and amused, and she decided that if he was going to be good at eye contact, she would and could be better than him at it. It had everything to do, she assured herself, with the spirit of competition, and nothing at all to do with the fact that Kana had a nice facial structure. Objectively speaking, of course.
“So, hey, random question. Did you go to vet school?”
“Kind of.” Georgia shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to, but I’ve only gotten to take a few classes so far, you know? I’ve taken a lot of classes on animal care, and I know how to do some basic stuff like give shots.”
“That’s totally cool! Why didn’t you ever finish it?”
The answers were scattered and numerous. The crushing guilt of leaving her father all on his own after her mother’s death had been one aspect. Then there had been the overwhelming number of courses, the sense of inferiority, the need to prove herself…
And to prove herself, she had to work harder, which was fine, it was a welcome distraction from the grief, and if she just pushed herself more, if she just kept standing, if she bulldozed over the stress, she could do more, she could dobetter, until she was sobbing into her biology homework at the end of another all-nighter because she missed home, she just wanted to go home and sleep for more than three hours a night, but she couldn’t because she could handle this she could prove herself, j ust accept me, please, and then I can be smart, if you accept me I’ll be worth something, I promise I’ll fit whatever mold you want-
I’ll get rid of my accent, you’ll think I’m smarter, then-
“I couldn’t find the time,” she finally said, because she didn’t want to ruin a nice lunch, and besides, it wasn’t exactly a lie. She hadn’t had time to sleep, or eat, or take good care of herself, because as far as she knew, that was what medical students did, was neglect their bodies for the sake of healing the bodies of others. It was a bit ironic, really.
“Well, maybe you’ll be able to go back, someday.”
If he noticed her sudden change in mood, he didn’t mention it, and she wasn’t sure whether to take the omission as callousness or kindness, so she gave a non-committal shrug.
“I hope so,” he continued, “because I think you’d be totally awesome at it.”
Georgia smiled into her water-glass. “Thanks.”
5.1
Georgia swung through the door of the cafe, a gust of cool autumn air following behind her.
“Can I have a milk tea, please?” she asked, settling down in a chair.
It had been a season since Dakota had healed up, and lately, she’d gotten in the habit of taking her horse up the mountain on Tuesdays to get her used to exercising again. If they just happened to take a route that went by Kana’s place, well, she had to pass by there on her way to Yun’s, and if she was going to bring her horse out, they needed a destination, because wandering aimlessly would never do. Besides, she couldn’t very well eat fried rice in Bluebell. And if Kana had happened to follow her to lunch, well, it was his lunch break, and it wasn’t any of her business what he did with it.
Besides, if he stopped coming to lunch, she’d miss him. He was fun to talk to, as much as she hated to admit it, and his ridiculous knowledge of horses almost paralleled hers. Almost. She wasn’t going to admit defeat, not to Kana, no matter how aesthetically pleasing his face was.
Very , her mind reminded her. His face is very aesthetically pleasing.
And on top of it all, he was nice. She almost wished he’d been awful to her, because then it would be easier to push down the ridiculous butterflies that kicked up in her stomach every time they talked.
“Georgia?”
She looked up with a start, trying to look like she hadn’t just been caught pondering… Well. Kana. “Hm?”
“You’re in an awfully pensive mood today,” Laney laughed, setting the teacup and saucer on the table. “I had to call you about five times before you actually said anything!”
“Sorry.”
“No worries,” Laney said, smiling conspiratorially and sliding into the chair across the table. “So, what’s up? Does this excellent new mood of yours have anything to do with where you’ve been disappearing to on Tuesday mornings? You’re hiding something.”
No. Oh, no, no NO-
Georgia narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t been on time to a single one of our lunch dates for the past month, and you spend the entire day on Wednesday humming to yourself.”
“I hum to myself a lot,” Georgia muttered, flushing and glaring into her tea.
“Now you do,” Laney said, raising an eyebrow. “And besides that, you’ve only ordered drinks for the past month. Meaning that you ate lunch somewhere else.”
“I made myself lunch.” The lie was out of her mouth before she realized how ridiculous it sounded.
The only response was that Laney’s second eyebrow rose up to join the first.
“Look,” she said, gnawing at her bottom lip. Sure, it was a lie, but she had to stick with it, because if Georgia was one thing, it was stubborn. “I’ve been practicing, okay? I’ve been getting better.”
“And you didn’t ask me to help?” Laney looked more than a little wounded.
“No, no! It’s just… I wanted it to be a secret.”
“Why?”
“Because… Because I just did, okay?” She took a deep breath, wracking her mind for a proper answer. “I want to enter the cooking contest this upcoming month, but I didn’t want anybody to know about it in case I end up not being good enough in time.”
“Oh, Georgia!” Laney said, practically squealing. “You’ll definitely be good enough!”
“You sure about that? My last few attempts have been kinda…” She made a waving motion with her hand.
“We’ll make sure you’re ready in time,” the waitress declared. “I’m busy Tuesdays, but do you wanna do, say, Friday evenings?”
It occurred to Georgia, as Laney steered her towards the kitchen for an impromptu lesson on how to make tea, that she’d gotten exactly what she’d wanted. Her meetings with Kana were still a secret, and she’d avoided hurting Laney’s feelings in the process.
She wondered, as she waited for the water on the stove to boil, why she still felt so uneasy.
6.1
It was a lazy Thursday afternoon, and the snow was piled nearly eleven inches high around their ankles. The air itself was clear and crisp. You could see for miles from the peak of the mountain, all the way to the cities in the distance. Distant horse-tail clouds trailed through an otherwise unmarred blue sky, and Georgia faintly remembered reading in a book once that these kinds of clouds lived high in the atmosphere and consisted of very small ice crystals.
“I’m on top of the world!” she yelled to Bluebell through her cupped, mitten-clad hands. The village wasn’t listening, and even if it had been, the distance was too great for it to hear the her voice or the smile behind it properly.
“You’re on top of the mountain,” Kana corrected with a sideways grin.
“Well, now, I reckon they’re right 'bout-” She halted herself mid-word, straightened her accent, and continued. “I mean, it’s the same thing, right?”
“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “And you don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Do what?”
“That thing with your accent. You used to live way out east, right?”
She averted her eyes and hunched her shoulders. “Yeah. So what?”
“Nothing! I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Kana insisted, leaning forward. “Actually, I think the way you talk is kinda cute.”
“What! Seriously?” Georgia whipped her head around to look at him, eyes wide, and she swore she could actually feel her face heating up a couple degrees.
“Of course!” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, turning a little red around the ears himself. Which was weird, actually. He was usually the composed one. A little spark fluttered in the pit of her stomach, and she smothered it. We’re friends. We’re on good terms. Let’s keep it that way.“Although… That came out kinda weird, didn’t it? I didn’t mean that in, like, a creepy way, or anything like that. Just, like, uh, I think your accent’s nice. Because it is. And it’s a part of who you are, so you should embrace it, you know? And I’m going to shut up now, because I’m rambling.”
She could have lingered on the little grin he offered up at the end of his speech, but her mind only halfway registered it because it’d already caught on something else.
“Embrace it?” Georgia snorted and kicked at a patch of snow. “Yeah, right. I don’t know that it’s like on the Konohana side, but Bluebell folks? They’d…”
She trailed off.
“What?” Kana urged, frowning. “What would they do?”
She shrugged, deflating. “I don’t know. But back when I was at the Academy, for vet school, do you know what they looked at me like, when they heard me talk? The minute I opened my mouth, without fail, they looked at me like my IQ’d been automatically lowered about fifty points, just because of my accent. Every single time.”
“The people in Bluebell know you’re smart, Georgia. They like you. You don’t need to prove anything to them.”
The corners of her mouth twitched downward, because did they like her? Did they really, and would they still like her even if they knew what she was hiding? That she actually enjoyed being around the people who lived over the mountain?
“When I first moved here, how do you think they’d’ve treated me? When you first meet a person, do you think they care enough to figure out what you’re actually like? They see how you look, how you talk, how you dress, and they put you into a box, and it’s neatly marked with all sorts of nice labels to keep you organized in their heads. And then they put you on a shelf and you’re just trapped there!”
Kana was giving her that serious, summing-up look again, and she realized that her words had come out a bit harsher than she’d intended. She sighed, deflating a little.
“It’s not like they mean to do it. That’s just the way people are.” She shrugged and fiddled with a strand of hair. “So, I guess that’s why I cover up my accent. That’s why I pretend I like steamed rice better than fried, when I’m over there. Why I-”
Why I pretend not to like you. She caught the words before they slipped out, and they hung in the back of her mind as she turned away and continued.
“I’m writing out the labels on my own box.”
“Georgia…”
“I don’t want to be an outsider, you know?”
“You don’t have to be.” Kana sat down next to her and put an arm around her. “Sure, putting on a front lets you pick your own labels. And I totally get that. But from my experience, the people who really matter end up figuring out who you really are, anyways.”
“I guess so.”
You’re hiding something , echoed Laney’s voice in her mind. Instead of being light-hearted, it sounded accusatory and angry and the tiniest bit betrayed. Somehow, the thought of anyone knowing who she really was bothered her. Sure, Kana had meant it as an encouragement, but all in all, it was was about as comforting as a knife in her gut, which is to say that it wasn’t comforting to her at all.
What was rather nice, though, was the weight of Kana’s arm on her shoulders, and the knowledge that if she closed her eyes and leaned against his chest and listened very hard, she could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat against her eardrum.
She didn’t even have to turn to face him.
“I guess you’re right,” she sighed.
7.1
“Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Georgia sighed, peering at the dish. Surprisingly, it didn’t look half-bad. A small yellow half-moon peered back at her, red stripes of ketchup criss-crossing along the top.
Omelet rice.
Sure, the cooking competition entry had started as a lie, but Laney had been determined to see it to the end, despite Georgia’s best efforts to avoid actually making anything that could pass as a meal. Still, even she could only burn rice so many times before getting it right, and by some miracle, she’d ended up making an omelet that was at least passable.
“You know,” Laney said, “it looks pretty good.”
“Sure, it looks good, but you know my track record. Are you sure you want this on the Gourmet’s plate?”
“You know what I think? I think you’re just nervous!”
Oh, Georgia thought, stomach turning. Bless your heart, you don’t know the half of it.
7.2
The omelet rice lost.
Georgia wasn’t that surprised, but she still felt a little twinge of disappointment at the difference in the Gourmet’s expression between her dish and Laney’s. Still, he hadn’t said it was awful, which, all things considered, was pretty good. She’d take all the ground she got.
“Georgia!” Kana trotted over, looking pleased as punch.
Speaking of taking all the ground they could get…
“Man, you sure picked the wrong team this time!”
“Hey, don’t rub it in,” Georgia huffed. She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, but the irritation was all fake, and they both knew it. “It was my first time officially cooking, and I reckon I did alright. He didn’t die, or anything, so…”
Kana laughed, then, a great booming laugh that carried across the field.
“Hey!”
A blonde chef appeared at her elbow, then, in a swirl of blue star-spangled skirts, with her hands on her hips and ketchup smudges across her apron. She had a dangerously sharp glint in her eyes.
No. Oh, no.
“Laney-”
“Seriously? You’re laughing at her? Do you know how long she spent training for this?”
“Wait, hang on. What?” Kana frowned. “Why would you think-”
“She’s been working on this every Tuesday morning! Every Friday night, too, for the past two months, and you’ve got the nerve to laugh at her for it!” Laney shook her head. “Look, I know you guys are bitter rivals and all, and I know things between our towns aren’t great right now, but this is too much, Kana. I expected better from you.”
He wasn’t laughing at me , Georgia thought to say, and we’re not enemies anymore, but the words got stuck somewhere between her mind and her mouth, and after about five seconds of silence, it was too late.
The people who really matter end up finding out who you really are, anyways.
Finally, after two seasons, the penny dropped, and he understood.
Georgia had expected a lot of things to happen when Kana finally found out that she’d been keeping their meetings and subsequent friendship- relationship?- a secret. She’d expected an outburst, maybe. Anger, definitely anger. Betrayal, hurt, maybe even shouting.
She had not expected silence.
The way his face closed off, the way he wouldn’t look her in the eye, made Georgia wish he’d just yelled at her, instead. For a fraction of a second, he looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he set his jaw, tilted his head up, turned on his heel, and left.
He was out of eyesight before she crumpled.
“Ignore him,” Laney said, pulling her into a hug. “He’s just being a jerk.”
No, it’s me. I’m the jerk .
Even after the way he’d looked at her, she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
8.1
The following Tuesday, he was waiting on the top of the mountain.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I had to.”
Kana didn’t hug her back, and after a few moments, she let her hands fall back to her sides. The quiet crunch of snow beneath her feet as she stepped away felt like one of the loudest sounds she’d ever heard.
“Why, Georgia?” he asked, frowning. “Give me one good reason.”
She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a breath, a white ghost made of water vapor that vanished as soon as it had appeared.
Because I want to fit in.
I’m scared of what will happen if I don’t. What they’ll think of me, if I don’t.
I really, really like talking about you, and that’s the only safe way to do it.
Still, there was a vast expanse of clear, sparking winter air, waiting to be filled up with words and excuses that would not come, no matter how much she willed them to.
He stood for a minute, waiting.
“Well?”
“That…” she started. “It doesn’t mean I like you any less.”
“Except that’s exactly what you’re saying. To, like, everyone you know, except for me. And you wanna know something?” he asked. His voice was quieter and more carefully-level than she’d ever heard. “You’re lying to somebody. You’re either lying to them, or… Or you’re lying to me.”
“Kana!”
“I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before. I guess I was hopeful enough that we…” He huffed. “Georgia, if you really hate me, then you should’ve told me ages ago, and I could have saved you the… The annoyance, of dealing with such a… How did you put it, when you talked about me back in Bluebell?”
“Please don’t-”
“A guy so stuck-up he’d drown in a rainstorm. Was that it? His ego’s three sizes too big, so better knock him down a couple notches, huh?”
“Kana, I didn’t mean a word of it!”
“Well, guess what? Good job, Georgia. Mission accomplished.”
“That’s not what I meant to say.”
“Yeah, you didn’t mean to say it to my face.”
Georgia bristled at that. “You callin’ me a coward?”
“Well, you sure aren’t doing anything to prove me wrong, are you?”
“How… How dare…!” she sputtered, but the words wouldn’t make it out of her throat.
“Actually, I don’t feel much like talking to you right now, and in light of all the stuff that’s just gone down, I’m sure you feel like talking to me even less, so I’ll go ahead and spare you the discomfort.” He started back down the path towards Konohana. “Goodbye, Georgia. It was nice knowing you… If it even was you, I mean.”
“Fine!” she yelled at his back, when he was too far away to hear. She threw a fistful of powdery snow in his general direction. It dissolved and fell to the ground a few feet away. “That’s just fine! Who needs a- a-”
The insults wouldn’t come, no matter how hard she tried. Of course, they would give out now.
“Who needs you? Who needs you, anyways!”
You do , the snow whispered. The clouds gathered above began to empty themselves of their pent-up sleet and freezing rain. She huffed, turned her collar against the wind, and retreated towards Bluebell. The tears left freezing-cold trails down her face, and the burning anger in her chest didn’t do anything to warm her against the gusts of icy wind that cut across her all the way home.
8.2
Freezing rain followed Georgia into the cafe. The interior was warm and welcoming, full of yellow light, but she was soaked to the bone with icy sleet-water. Her anger had frozen on the way over into a solid lump of regret, and she’d been choking on it and her tears half of the way back to Bluebell. Furthermore, she couldn’t feel her fingertips or toes. The rain and sadness had seeped into her socks, and when she stepped into the cafe, she was still shaking from both.
“Hi, Georgia!” Laney chirped from behind the counter, half-turning from where she was rearranging some spices. “Weather’s pretty awful today, huh?”
“The weather? The weather is stupid,” Georgia muttered through a stuffed-up nose, sniffling and pulling off her gloves. “Stupid. Stupid, stupid weather. I hate snow. We never had it out east. Ain’t even good for waterin’ crops, and you can’t bring the horses out, neither.”
Georgia’s accent was long gone, but she didn’t notice. Or care.
Laney did, though, and she frowned, looking her friend over for the first time since she’d actually come into the cafe. If she noticed the redness around her eyes or the tears threatening to spill over again, well, Laney was the sort who was kind enough to avoid mentioning it.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Milk tea would be mighty nice, thanks.”
She wiped her hands on her apron, nodded, and returned to the kitchen. In the meantime, Georgia clumsily dropped herself into a chair.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Laney asked, pouring some milk into a pot and flicking the stove on.
Georgia shook her head silently.
“I figured as much.” Laney sifted quietly through the collection of tins on one of the shelves, searching for the one full of black tea leaves. The top of the tin came off with a pop, and she scooped some into a small meshed bag. “Well, that’s fine. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know, okay?”
“Yeah,” Georgia said, and suddenly the tears threatened to spill over again. “Thanks.”
Five minutes of dead air later, the tea was done and poured into a mug, which was promptly delivered into Georgia’s hands. The steam rose off of it in eddies, and she blew across the surface to cool it.
Laney pulled out the chair across from her and sat down with her own cup of tea.
“You don’t even like milk tea.”
Her friend smiled. “So? Does that mean I can’t drink it a cup of it with my best friend?”
Goergia sniffled and sipped the tea. “It’s hot.”
“Yeah.”
The warm air was filled with silence for a few moments.
“So! Let’s talk about something else, to get your mind off of… Whatever the thing is that you don’t want to talk about. Would that help?”
The redhead shrugged, her eyes still fixed on the cup of milk tea. She clutched it in her hands like a lifeline.
“Well, alright, I guess I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s see… You’re training Dakota for the race, right? How’s she doing? Gonna beat Kana this time around?”
Georgia made a small choking sound, crumpling a little. Tears welled up in her eyes again. She set the mug on the table and buried her head in her hands, because she didn’t want Laney to see her like this, because then she’d know-
And what would be so bad about that?
“Oh! Oh, no, Georgia, honey…” Laney scooted around the edge of the table. “What’s wrong? If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay, we can talk about something else-”
She shook her head. “No, no, don’t apologize, I’m fine, I’m-”
You’re lying to somebody, he’d said. Me, or them. Or yourself.
And the way he’d looked at her! Yes, there had been anger, but that wasn’t the bulk of it. He’d looked betrayed, more than anything else, and the fact that she was the one who’d put the expression on his face was enough to tear her apart.
Or, if not tear her apart entirely, at least unravel her a bit around the edges.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
I’m in love with Kana.
Georgia opened her mouth to say it, but the confession stuck in her throat. It was a confession in both senses, an admission of love and of wrongdoing. She had claimed to hate him. She had acted cruelly towards one who had been a friend. She had kept a secret, for the past three seasons, from those closest to her. She had lied about who she was.
What will she think of me once she knows?
She drew a breath in and tried again, voice breaking. “I’m… So, you know, the mountain…”
Laney waited patiently.
“Kana.” She whispered it, like she was afraid they’d be overheard.
“What about him?”
“On Tuesdays…” She took a shaky breath. “Sorry. I lied.”
Realization dawned on Laney’s face. “Wait, hang on, what? So is that where you’ve been going on Tuesday mornings?”
Georgia nodded.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Laney sighed, sinking into her chair. “I knew you weren’t cooking, but-”
“You knew I wasn’t cooking?”
Laney snorted. “Of course! It was pretty clear that you weren’t getting any practice outside of my training sessions. Honestly, if you’d been practicing nearly as much as you said you were, you’d have been able to at least boil water without running into problems…”
“So you’re not mad? About me lying to you, I mean?”
“Of course not!” Laney rubbed her thumb along the rim of the teacup. “I mean, I do wish you’d told me sooner, but…”
“He’s from Konohana.”
“Do you think that matters? As long as he treats you right, you’ve got my support. Although if he’s the one making you cry like this, I might have to go over there and sort out a few things.”
“Laney!” Georgia laughed, swatting at her arm.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Laney set her teacup back down in the saucer and propped her elbows up on the table. “Anyways, tell me everything. I’m all ears!”
8.3
The cafe was warm and the company was comfortable. The ice storm may have been raging outside, but until the barrage of sleet subsided into gentle flurries of snow, the two friends kept themselves warm with milk tea and small talk.
9.1
It was sunny when Georgia set out for Konohana on foot again, carrying the best omelet rice she’d ever made in her rucksack and apologies on her tongue. The snow from the previous day was melting away, and the ice covering the ponds outside of town was beginning to crack. It had taken her three hours the previous day to decide that the path was still too icy to cross safely, and when her father had asked what she was rushing through her chores for, she said only that she had important business with a fellow horse-keeper on the other side of the mountain.
By the time she reached the summit, clouds were gathering along the horizon, and a steady wind was blowing from the east, and she hurried on to her destination. It was drizzling by the time she got to his doorstep.
She raised her fist to the frame, and…
Too much hesitation. Get it over with fast, like tearing off a bandage. Georgia rapped on the front door three times, in quick succession, before she could change her mind.
“Door’s open!”
She took a deep breath and stepped through just before the downpour started.
Kana looked up from the counter. He halfway-smiled before blinking, confused, and settling on a carefully neutral expression. Pleasantly neutral, she noted. Better than angry.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really, really sorry. Also, I told Laney. About us, I mean. Also the Tuesdays. She kind of already knew about the Tuesdays, but she figured that bit out on her own.”
He looked shocked. It was the first expression besides polite neutrality she’d seen since arriving. Shocked, and a little… Pleased? No, hopeful. Hopeful is the right word.
“Anyhow. I told Laney,” she repeated. “Dad, too. I dunno if that’s enough, so…”
Georgia carefully pulled the omelet rice out of her bag and set it down on the counter. She tried to keep her voice from shaking too much.
“I owe you a debt.”
“You…?”
“I owe you an apology,” she said, cutting him off. “It still counts. And I don’t much like owing people things, so, well… I made some omelet rice. I can’t promise that it’s all that good, but I can promise that I did my best. And if it’s awful, you can laugh at me however much you want.”
How’s Dakota doing?
Right as rain. Well, not quite right as rain, but gettin’ there, thanks.
Kana took the plate and smiled.
“Well, in that case… It’s kinda pouring out there. I’d have to be, like, heartless or something to send you home in this weather, especially with no food. Wanna join me for lunch?”
“What was rather nice, though, was the weight of Kana’s arm on her shoulders, and the knowledge that if she closed her eyes and leaned against his chest and listened very hard, she could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat against her eardrum.”
–Right as Rain, by ribbonreverse; Art by calypsotea
Artist commentary:
My contribution to the 2015 Harvest Moon Big Bang. Having an HMBB was really important to me as this year’s real Harvest Moon is actually incredibly special: it is the closest/biggest supermoon of the year, a Blood Moon, AND a lunar eclipse! I am so glad to be able to participate and do something special for the game series, and fandom, that I love so much. RibbonReverse’s story was really sweet and really cute, and I particularly love the vibrant voice she gives to Georgia. Please enjoy! ^_^
Drawn with #2 pencil, inked with Sakura Micron Pens, and colored digitally in Photoshop. September 2015.
“We can’t keep playing pretend forever, Arthur." On keeping secrets, remembering the past, and finding who you are.
Or: Frey and Arthur go on a journey.
ONE
It’s been a week.
Venti’s back in the castle. After a year and a half of searching, of fighting, of a thousand near-deaths—she has Venti back. It still seems a little strange, to go through the door connecting her rooms to the main hall and see Venti sitting there as she always did, overseeing the matters of a divine dragon. Frey looks at her sometimes and just stares, waiting for her to fade again.
She doesn’t, of course. But Frey’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
-
Frey has a routine.
She gets up—on her own, most days, having long dismissed both Vishnal and Clorica from their wake-up call duties. (Frey doesn’t have trouble waking up—it’s the falling asleep part that she can’t quite get the hang of, anymore.)
She pulls on her work clothes and eats breakfast.
She goes to her animals first: feeds them, brushes them, gathers their fur and honey and milk.
She takes care of her crops next, harvesting and watering and planting.
After setting aside whatever items she needs for herself, she ships the rest.
Then she would set out for the rest of the day to Rune Prana, donned in armor and weaponry, with a pack of food, medicine, and other essentials on her back.
Now, though—Frey pauses in the process of slinging her shield on her back. Her boots are laced, her back is packed, and she’s wearing all her combat gear, but—
Venti is back.
Frey closes her eyes and sheaths her sword.
-
Venti gives Frey a curious look when she walks out into the main hall, still dressed for battle. Her head tilts to the side, and if Venti were human, Frey thinks her eyebrows would be raised.
Venti does not say anything at first. She just looks at Frey with those sharp eyes of hers, honed through centuries of knowledge and experience. Then she turns to the other people in the room—just a few travelers and merchants—and orders them to leave, her voice set in that low, intimidating rumble. Once the room is clear, the dragon settles into a more relaxed position, limbs stretching leisurely before her. Frey has known this version of her from the beginning—not as the regal, imposing Ventuswill, but as Venti, warm and lighthearted, shorn of all pretenses.
“Frey?”
Just one word, said in that light, familiar tone, and it tears her apart.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Frey says. Her voice trembles. A shadow comes over her; Venti curls her wing, very gently, around Frey. Venti stretches her neck and leans her head down to nudge at Frey’s side.
“I missed you, too,” Venti says, soft and quiet. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
-
“Sometimes I forget you came from the sky,” Venti says to her later, and Frey thinks, Sometimes I forget, too.
She remembers very few things about her life before all of this. Some of her memories have come back, snatches of images and sounds and smells: a farmhouse, a man saying her name, the rich scent of the earth. Beyond that, the only clear memory she has is riding an airship, carrying the rune sphere for a mission, and falling endlessly through the sky.
It is tempting, to think of the castle as home. She knows the number of steps it takes to reach the butlers’ quarters, knows the sound of rain against the slanting rooftop above her room, knows the texture of the stones that make up the walls. It is tempting, too, to think that she is a princess, that she truly belongs here.
“Selphia doesn’t need a protector anymore, now that you’re here,” Frey says casually, glancing up at Venti.
“Maybe not,” Venti acknowledges, “but it will always welcome you.”
It’s hard to read Venti sometimes, with her being a dragon and all, so Frey just nods and looks away. But she still hears what Venti is telling her, and it is this: no matter what Frey chooses, no matter where she goes, they will always be there for her with open arms.
-
Frey goes to meet Arthur for lunch. It is a quiet affair, as it is still a little early for the lunch rush at Porcoline’s Kitchen. He asks about her day; she asks about his. It’s all so very ordinary and mundane and calm and it grates at every single inch of her, the normalcy of it, to be sitting at a table at Porcoline’s and eating his lunch and discussing crop values as if they had not just been at the brink of war mere seasons ago, as if Venti had not ever been gone, as if—
Arthur stops in the middle of discussing something related to his trade. Frey suddenly realizes that she’s breathing a little too hard, that her fingers are wrapped too tightly around her fork.
“Frey? Is everything alright?” He reaches out to her, covers her hand with his. Gently, he smooths out each of her fingers until the fork loosens from her grip, then runs his thumb across her knuckles. Slowly, she feels the rest of her begin to relax, and she manages a reassuring smile.
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m still adjusting to everything that’s happened.” It’s not everything, but it’s a truth nonetheless. She says nothing of the emptiness in her mind where her memories once were, of the endless curiosity burning inside her.
It’s not that she doesn’t trust him. There are few constants in her life, and he has become one of them. But there is so much to say, and she’s never had good timing.
“No need to apologize,” Arthur says. “You’ve been through a lot.” A shadow passes through his eyes when he says that, and there’s a strange look on his face, like he wants to say something but can’t bring himself to do it.
The door opens and the lunch rush spills into the room.
The moment is gone. Arthur lets go of her hand.
-
She remembers that first moment between them—that first hint of interest that sparked and led them to where they are today. It had been after she’d found Amber and things were still relatively calm. Frey and Arthur had spent a lot of time together with him guiding and helping her with the duties as the stand-in princess, and it’d happened during one of those afternoons.
Their conversation had somehow shifted away from the value of strawberries to Arthur’s fondness for spectacles, and he said, his voice low, “I’d bet you would look lovely with glasses on.”
Her breath caught with the way he was looking at her, and with a burst of courage she leaned closer to him and replied, “Well, let’s give it a try then.”
He’d been caught off-guard at her sudden proximity, and she took that opportunity to slide his glasses off and put them on herself. His breath stuttered, and she remembers wishing that she could have seen his expression, but Arthur’s eyesight was truly terrible and everything was a complete blur through his lenses. She lasted for a few more seconds before finally squinting and pulling them off.
“So?”
There was a curve to his mouth when he slid his glasses back on, as if suppressing laughter—most likely at the expression she made, her face scrunched up as she tried to see through them. But that look on his eyes had never left, and he was still focused intently on her as he said, “I was wrong.”
Frey was taken aback, unsure of how to respond.
Then he smiled. “You are lovelier than I could have ever imagined.”
Even now, it never ceases to amaze her, how he can just say things like that without turning the slightest shade of pink.
She thinks she started falling for him then.
-
It is only later that Frey gathers the courage to speak. She’s curled up on one of the sofas in his office, a book in her hands while he pores over his paperwork. It has been a lazy afternoon, though Arthur is working as usual.
Frey says, her heart in her throat, “Do you ever want to switch back?”
It takes a moment for him to react, but she can see the moment her words register in his mind by the way his hand pauses in the middle of writing. Slowly, he puts the papers down and lifts his head to look at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean—being in the castle, instead of here. As a prince.”
“Not really. I’ve never really felt like a prince, as you know.” He looks at her for a long moment. Whatever he sees there makes him stand and walk toward her, then sit next to her, his knees touching hers.
He takes her hand and asks, “Do you? Want to switch back, I mean.”
She does not respond at first, and she can feel his fingers tighten around hers, the tension vibrating from his body. The answer isn’t as simple as yes or no, for her. It is about the idea of letting go of who she has become, of everything that has defined her since the beginning of her memory, of embracing the unknown.
But it isn’t about what she wants.
“We can’t keep playing pretend forever, Arthur,” she finally says.
“I know.”
“It’s a miracle the rest of the town hasn’t found out yet. And then there’s your father—someone from the palace will eventually find out, too.”
“I know.”
Frey pulls her hand away. “Stop saying that. I know that you know.” It comes out harsher than she had intended, and his mouth stretches into a thin line. She closes her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just—I’m sorry.”
Arthur hesitates, then puts his arm around her in lieu of a response. She leans her forehead on his shoulder. He’s stroking her side with his thumb, and his touch is a comfort, his way of letting her know that things are okay. “Tell me.”
“No, I’m sorry. You have work. We can talk about it tomorrow.”
Arthur tips her head up so that their eyes meet. He says he does not feel like a prince, but at times like this, with the full weight on his gaze on her, she can imagine him at the palace so clearly.
“Tell me,” he says again.
The words spill out of her. “I’m starting to think that all of this is real. That me, being a princess, belonging here, is real. But my life didn’t start here. Sometimes I wonder—did I have a family? Are they looking for me? Do they miss me? I don’t have a real home, or parents, or—”
She takes a shuddering breath and looks away. In the corner of her eye, she can see his mouth open, then close, and she wonders what words he held back.
Then he takes her face into his hands so they are looking at each other again, and she has never seen him so solemn. He says, “Your princess status may not be real, but never doubt that you belong here.”
It isn’t until he begins wiping her cheek that she realizes she’s crying. There are other things he wants to say, she knows, but he remains quiet and holds her until the tears stop falling at last.
-
The next few days pass by.
Arthur had promised to revisit their discussion at a later date, but he has suddenly become more involved with his work, and she has only seen him during meals at Porcoline’s Kitchen.
It’s a little lonely, she admits. But even though she is the acting princess here in Selphia, she knows that he still manages international trade on behalf of the kingdom on top of the work he does locally.
Frey leaves a note at his desk. It says, Remember to take a break every now and then! Come by for dinner sometime. She signs it with her love.
-
Frey sees Arthur walking out of Jones and Nancy’s house one day and thinks nothing of it.
But when she catches him going in or out of the clinic a few more times during her daily rounds through the town, her mind goes into overdrive.
The most logical conclusion to draw is that he’s discussing merchandise with them. Frey has often bought medicinal ingredients from Nancy; it would not be unusual for Arthur to discuss work-related matters with them.
But a small part of her wonders if there is something wrong. He does not look ill, and he has not mentioned anything to her, but then again, she’s seen him so rarely over the past week, so would she even know?
Ridiculous , she tells herself. You’re being ridiculous. There are other reasons to visit them, after all, as it is their home as well.
Frey shakes off her suspicions and walks away.
-
The last time Frey had been to the clinic, she had just come back from Rune Prana with Venti. She had done most of the healing herself, but the others had forced her to go for her own sake.
She has often wound up lying in one of the beds in their clinic more times than she would like to admit, scraped and bruised and battered. Frey takes better care of herself now, though. She still remembers the third time she’d collapsed and woken up there, the way Nancy’s face had crumpled in relief when Frey opened her eyes, and how Nancy had hugged her and scolded her at the same time.
Jones had spoken to her in private, later. We weren’t sure if you were going to wake up, he’d said gravely. I’m not a miracle worker, and there’s only so much a body can take.
She had been tempted to lighten the mood by joking around, but she saw the look on his face, that deep concern, and understood what he said to be both a warning and a plea. Frey has not worked herself to exhaustion since, and she has learned when to fight and when to run away.
So when she walks into the clinic and sees Nancy’s face immediately transform into alarm, Frey is quick to assure her, “I’m fine, Nancy, don’t worry.”
Still, Nancy scans her from head to toe, pursing her lips as she replies, “How can I not worry when every time I see you, you’re all scraped up?”
Smiling, Frey lifts her arms and spins to show Nancy that she’s uninjured.
Apparently satisfied, Nancy smiles back. “Is there something you need?”
“I was just passing by and thought I’d say hello,” Frey says casually, inwardly wincing as the words come out.
Nancy hears the partial truth for what it is and raises her eyebrows. Frey did want to see her in a non-medical situation for once, yes, but the full truth is that she’s worried about Arthur, and says this to Nancy.
What Frey expects is for Nancy to scold her, to tell her that it is not her place to be asking about a potential patient, but Nancy goes all soft and sad instead. “Arthur is fine,” is all she says.
Frey does not think Nancy is lying to her. But there’s something off about it, the way she says it, the way Nancy’s looking at her, that robs her of her relief and makes her stomach twist anxiously instead.
When Nancy sees the expression on Frey’s face, she says, very gently, “Maybe you should speak with Arthur directly.”
Frey nods and looks away.
-
She isn’t sure what to do anymore or what to believe.
Frey fixates on that look on Nancy’s face, that intuitive feeling there is something she is missing here, something she does not know, something Nancy will not tell her. Mostly, she is worried about Arthur, though she can’t find it in herself to bring it up to him.
How would she even say it? Hey, Arthur. I swear I’m not stalking you, but I kind of saw you hanging out at the clinic a lot more than you usually do. And I know it’s none of my business, but are you okay? Like, physically. Health-wise.
She cringes and shuts her eyes.
A moment later, someone comes barreling into her. Her breath rushes out of her lungs as small arms wrap around her waist, and Frey feels a flutter of wings when she instinctively returns the hug.
Frey opens her eyes, knowing already who she’ll find. Amber looks directly at her with that wide-eyed gaze of hers, her mouth curved into a tiny frown.
“Amber. What are you doing?” Frey smiles, brushing Amber’s hair behind her ear.
Amber says, “I’m hugging the sadness out of you.”
Frey feels her throat go suddenly tight.
“Don’t be sad,” Amber whispers, and Frey strokes her hair, presses her close.
In the end, it is Amber who convinces her. Amber, who is somehow naive and perceptive all at once, with her preserved innocence, and with her loving arms, hugs Frey’s sadness away.
And Frey makes a decision.
-
Her decision is this: to talk to Arthur.
This is more than just her own loneliness—Arthur has often overworked himself to the point of collapsing, and she is not the only one who has noticed. Frey has spoken with Margaret and Dylas, listened their mirroring concerns. Margaret has offered to help stage an intervention of sorts, but Frey does not think that would go over all too well with him.
But when Frey finally goes to speak with him, he isn’t there.
“He’s gone?”
Frey gives Volkanon a blank stare. Arthur’s desk is clear of its usual clutter, and even his room is tidier than usual. She had noticed the airship was gone earlier but hadn’t made the connection.
The older man gives her an odd look. “Yes, His Highness said he was needed at the capital for a while. He didn’t tell you?”
With her silence and the look on her face, it is clear that he did not. Volkanon looks at her with something close to pity. She almost expects him to go into his usual outbursts on her behalf, but he doesn’t, and somehow this—his silence—is worse.
“Did Arthur say when he’d be back?”
“No,” Volkanon says, but is quick to add, “He will return soon, princess, I am sure of it.”
She manages a smile. “I hope so.”
-
Arthur is gone for a week.
When he does come back, it is only for a short time, and then he leaves again.
She begins to wonder if he plans on returning to the palace. He was never meant to stay in Selphia on a permanent basis, after all.
Frey misses him more than she thought she would. Her life does not revolve of him, is not only him, but he has always been there since the beginning. He gave her his crown and gave her a home and made her into who she is today.
He sends her a few letters. They contain apologies for leaving, details about his travels, questions on her well-being.
He does not say when he is coming back.
-
After Frey’s morning chores are done, crops watered and animals taken care of, she finds herself in Arthur’s office again. It’s become part of her routine to drop by after her work is finished, just to say hello. She can picture him so easily: Arthur sitting at his desk, writing or reading through harvest reports, or him standing by the shelves, running his fingers along the books.
But he isn’t there, and it’s just her, staring pathetically at his chair.
She takes a sheet of paper from his desk and writes him another note for when he returns. When she’s done, she places it face-down, then turns to leave.
Margaret is standing by the door, looking at her. “I miss him, too,” she says quietly.
It isn’t like he’s leaving forever , Frey wants to say. But for all she knows, he is.
Margaret takes Frey’s hand in hers. “I know you usually come by to see Arthur. But don’t hesitate to drop by anytime,” she says, her voice achingly gentle. “You are family, too.”
It is a touching statement. Frey squeezes Margaret’s hand back and smiles.Family, she thinks, and something blooms in her chest, bright and genuine and hopeful.
-
When Frey enters Arthur’s office the next day, the first thing she hears is his voice, and all she can think is, he’s back, he’s finally back, and nothing else.
The other details filter in slowly. His customary cloak and dress have been abandoned in favour of a lighter outfit, tunic and trousers. His hair, which he has not cut since they first met, is tied into a low ponytail. Even his voice sounds different—normally soft and quiet, it is now raised with an agitated edge—and it is directed right at Forte.
“—don’t need a bodyguard, I’ll be fine—”
“With all due respect, Your Highness, I think you do—”
The sight of Arthur and Frey arguing with each other is so odd that Frey is momentarily taken aback. The door shuts quietly behind her, but neither have noticed her yet, absorbed as they are in their debate.
“I understand your concern, Forte, but—”
“You can’t journey out into the middle of nowhere alone, without protection. Even if you weren’t a prince, it would still be a terrible idea.”
Arthur has his back to her, but she can still see his shoulders tense when he hears her voice. He turns slowly, and though he smiles at her, it’s guarded and strained. His reaction to seeing her is so opposite from her elated relief, and it stings. She thinks it must show because his face immediately softens, and he takes a step toward her.
“He is,” Forte says, drawing Frey’s attention to her. Arthur gives Forte a hard look that she cannot understand.
“Forte,” he says, a sharp warning.
“Where?”
When it becomes clear that Forte is not going to keep quiet, Arthur gives a heavy sigh, and all of his resistance seems to drain out of him. “There’s something I need to find.”
“And it’s in the middle of nowhere?” Frey asks, repeating Forte’s earlier words.
Forte turns toward a map spread out on the desk, and Frey walks toward it. She points to a red circle marking an area southeast of Selphia, much farther than Frey’s ever had to go, where there is nothing but untouched nature for miles.
Frey suddenly understands Forte’s frustration. “You can’t go out there alone. It’s too dangerous.”
Arthur stares at both of them, two people in unmoving solidarity for someone they care about. “You’re a Dragon Knight,” Arthur finally says to Forte. “Your role is to protect Ventuswill and Selphia.”
Forte has a conflicted look on her face, torn between her duty to the Divine Dragon and to her prince. She looks as if she wants to protest, but Frey saves her from making the choice.
“I’ll go with you.”
Surprise flickers in Arthur’s eyes. In the few seconds he stares at her, off-guard, she sees that this is not the answer he wants or expects. Whatever it is he’s looking for, he does not want her to know about it.
“Selphia has survived without royalty to guide it,” Frey says evenly, anticipating Arthur’s counterargument.
He sighs and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he does not look at her. “Fine,” is all he says, then goes to study the map.
Forte flashes a relieved look at Frey. “I will keep the town safe,” she vows.
“I know you will,” Frey says, and the knight gives her that rare smile before she leaves.
Frey waits until the door closes before turning to Arthur again. He is sitting by his desk now, his temple resting against his fingers. There are so many questions bouncing around in her head, why did you leave and why are you leaving and are you sick and you know you can tell me anything, right?
In the end, she says, “Is it because of what I said, the other day? About the switch?”
His head snaps up and he looks startled, confused. “What?”
“After we had that conversation, I don’t know, things changed. I’ve barely seen you, the past few weeks. And you’re—different. Far away.”
“I’m right here.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He has that look on his face again, the one she can’t read, and he suddenly seems so tired.
Arthur reaches out a hand, palm up. She takes it, and he draws her to him until she is standing between his legs.
“I’m sorry,” he says, the words heavy and quiet. He is apologising, and for what?
Frey slides her hands from where they rest on his shoulder to the sides of his face, gently lifting his head up. Beyond him, in the corner of her eye, the bright red circle calls to her.
“What are you looking for?”
There is a knowing in the back of her mind. It is a prickling sensation formed by the emptiness of his words in his letters, the rigid line of his shoulders, that guarded smile.
She thinks back to that cave, the glasses, the story of his mother. How he had opened himself to her.
“You don’t have to tell me. But please don’t shut me out.”
The silence stretches unbearably. Her hands drop away, though his remain at her waist, holding her there.
“A plant,” he says at last.
“What?”
“A sun crystal. It’s a rare, used as an ingredient. And it is only found there.” He tilts his head in the direction of the map.
“An ingredient,” she says slowly, and she knows from the look on his face that she will have to ask. “For what?”
He presses his mouth together, and for a moment, she thinks that he won’t respond.
Then he says, “A cure.”
TWO
Frey peers over the edge of the airship, watching the buildings and trees become smaller and smaller, reduced to geometric shapes as the ship climbs higher. The memory of the fall is vivid in her mind. Those terrifying few seconds, the wind whipping at her skin—she had never really considered how miraculous it was that she survived, but she thinks of it now.
Arthur calls her name. She has felt his eyes on her for a while now, no doubt worried about her safety, so she pushes away from the ledge.
“Do you want me to take over?”
They’d left only hours after that conversation, after her insistent I’ll go with youand his reluctant confession. A cure, he’d said, and she’d been so startled by his answer that she hadn’t asked what it was for, and by that time he was already turning away, telling her to go pack and be ready to leave.
“No, it’s not that.” Something in his voice makes her pause, and she walks across the ship toward him.
“What is it?”
There’s a grim expression on his face, though his mouth quirks in a wry smile when he glances at her. “I don’t know how you can look down so much without getting dizzy, but there’s something you should see.”
She follows his gaze and inhales sharply. The sky is clear where they are, but there are dark, billowing clouds blanketing the area ahead, creeping closer and closer.
“Can we go around it?”
“It’s moving fast, and the wind is not on our side.”
Lightning flashes in the distance. Frey watches the storm, then turns back to Arthur. “We need to try. At this rate, we’re headed right into the middle. It’ll be safer at the edge, at least.”
Arthur nods in acquiescence. “You should go inside.”
Frey almost laughs, and he gives her a look in response. “Of course you won’t,” he sighs. “Then hold on tight.”
She latches onto the railing just as Arthur turns the wheel. A particularly strong gust of wind knocks into them at that moment, and the ship lurches to the side as the steering wheel spins. There’s an almost painful tug on her arms as she loses her footing, but then the ship steadies as Arthur regains control, and she finds her balance once more.
“Sorry,” he says, voice tight. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. What about you?”
Arthur doesn’t respond. His fingers are still wrapped around the steering wheel, knuckles paper-white.
“I’m fine,” she repeats gently. Slowly, she reaches under his arms to place her hands next to his. “Let me take over for a while.”
It takes a moment, but he steps back. “Take a break,” she tells him. “I’ll call you as soon as there’s trouble.”
His arms come around her, and she leans back against his chest, and all the strain between them seems to unravel, relief loosening her limbs. Arthur rests his head on her shoulder, presses a kiss to her jaw. He says something so quietly she can barely hear him, although it sounds suspiciously like another apology—though for what, she does not know.
“What?”
“You’ll call me if you need help,” he says, and it isn’t what he said, but she doesn’t ask again.
“I will.”
Then he draws away, taking his warmth with him, and goes below deck as she keeps an eye on the oncoming storm.
-
Arthur comes up not long after as they enter the periphery of the storm. The dark clouds immediately envelop the airship, and Frey shivers as they pass through. Water coats the ship and rapidly cools into frost. The wind has picked up, and she does not dare lift her hands from the wheel.
Thunder rumbles through the air. The entire vessel quivers in response. She feels it as it passes through the wood of the wheel, rattling her bones. Lightning flashes some distance away, yet it still lights up the sky around them.
“Let me take over,” Arthur says, raising his voice to be heard.
Frey shakes her head. “I don’t want to risk it.”
Arthur begins to speak again—to insist again, to be sure—but then everything is white, illuminated, on fire. She is blind for a precious few seconds before a deafening crack bursts in her ears, and all she can see is the deck split in two, and they are falling,
and falling,
and falling.
-
Arthur searching for her, shouting her name—
her body smashing into the railing—
his hands, reaching for her—
And then the crash.
-
Frey wakes to chaos.
Everything is fire and smoke and pain, and someone is screaming, and by the time she realizes that she’s the one screaming, her throat is raw and dry. Every muscle in her shakes violently, and she stares wide-eyed all around her, a blur of green and red and brown, until a drop of water forces her eyes shut.
It’s raining, she realizes. It’s raining, because there was a storm, and they were flying, and the storm—
Arthur .
Her mind, still in a panicked haze, fixates onto that one thought.
Arthur was with her, and now he’s not.
Frey pulls herself into a sitting position, nearly buckling from the agony of moving her left arm. She gasps Arthur’s name, and then says it, then screams it at the answering silence.
Her fingers dig into the dirt. This is what grounds her: the feeling of the cool earth under her hands, steady and still. Maybe it is her affinity to it as an Earthmate, but she draws peace in it for now, closing her eyes and breathing deep and slow.
When she opens them, the kaleidoscope of colour rearranges into a more discernible picture. There are trees all around her, many with broken branches. Pieces of wood are scattered everywhere, and she follows the trail to the remnants of the airship. Split into two, the bow of the ship hangs a few feet above the ground, having landed on a tree. The stern lies nearby in a small clearing, splintered beyond recognition.
She tries to remember what happened after that first bolt of lightning had struck the ship, tries to remember where Arthur was, but all she gets is a throbbing pain in her head.
Frey touches her head gingerly, feeling for any open wounds, but her hand comes away dry. Her left arm is broken, and though it hurts a little to breathe, she concludes that her ribs are only bruised. Her legs have a few scrapes and cuts, but after a quick inspection, none are serious enough to warrant her immediate attention.
No dragon to land on, yet she still has survived another fall from the sky.
Propping herself up against a nearby tree, Frey grips her arm. It is, miraculously, the most serious of all her injuries. She creates a makeshift splint for it out of the fabric from her shirt and the wood from the ship, using only a fraction of her healing magic to dull the pain.
Arthur is still out there. She doesn’t know how bad his injuries are, or if—
No . Frey takes in a shuddering breath. He’s fine, she tells herself, over and over. Her mind is a litany of desperate wishes and prayers and his name.
She gets to her feet and begins walking toward the wreckage.
-
It isn’t difficult to find him, in the end.
She spots him lying close to the ship, a crumpled heap of arms and limbs. Her heart seizes, then starts racing as she runs toward him, ignoring the searing pain that shoots through her body at the effort.
Frey falls to her knees beside his body. “Arthur?” she says, shaking his shoulder. “Arthur, come on.”
He doesn’t move. With a trembling hand, she presses two fingers to his neck. There’s a sob building in her throat, and she chokes it down as she presses more insistently, shifting her fingers around, trying to find—
A pulse.
It’s slow and thready, but it’s there.
She almost cries with relief.
Frey sits back on her heels and begins to look him over, head to toe. There’s a nasty gash near the back of his head, and his arms are covered in scrapes and burns. His wrist is swollen and red, fractured at best. One of his legs is bent in an odd angle, too, most likely broken.
But what she cannot tell is if his neck or spine has been injured, and she does not dare risk moving him until she does know.
Her eyes flick back to his head, where the grass around it has been stained red.
She does not hesitate. Her hands glow green as she pours every drop of magic she has into her fingertips, into him. Frey holds them around his head, and he begins to heal.
-
The second time she wakes, it is to Arthur’s warm hand around hers. Her fingers twitch, and she feels him go still. Then he says, “Frey?”
She opens her eyes. They’re in a tent, she realizes, and the rain is still pattering away against the fabric.
Arthur is peering down at her with worried eyes through cracked glasses, and he is conscious, he is alive. The last thing she remembers is pushing all her energy into him in a desperate attempt to heal him. She must have blacked out from the effort, but he’s okay, and the relief at seeing him, hearing him, overwhelms her entirely. A sob escapes from her throat, and then she can’t hold it back anymore.
Arthur looks at her helplessly for a moment, wide-eyed. And then he is beside her, wiping away the tears at the corner of her eyes, murmuring quiet reassurances.
“I am alive because of you,” he says. “You saved me, and we’re going to be okay, we’ll get through this.”
She rolls toward him and presses her face against his chest. He wraps an arm around her, careful not to jostle her bad arm. She breathes in the scent of dirt and sweat and blood and rain, and when she tilts her head up to look at him, she finds his eyes already on her.
“We’re okay,” he says again, and there’s something different about the way he says it this time. It’s almost as if he’s asking a question, his intonation pitched the slightest bit upwards at the last syllable.
The vague letters, the abrupt trips, his distant behaviour, the secrets he has, all of it falls away when she thinks of when she saw his body, so still, so broken. She has faced all the monsters in Rune Prana, and yet nothing has terrified her more than that moment.
“We’re okay,” she confirms, and presses her lips to his. He sighs, just a little, and kisses her back, slow and sweet.
She keeps thinking of the airship falling, of waking up without him, and his mouth becomes more insistent, as if he senses the direction of her thoughts and is trying to draw her back. His tongue skims along her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth open, and her mind is anchored to the present, to the feeling of his tongue against hers, his hand splayed on her stomach through the thin fabric of her shirt. Then his fingers skim along her ribcage, and she inhales sharply and draws back.
Arthur looks at her face, then at where her hands have come up to guard reflexively at the pain. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s fine. Bruised ribs. I’ve already healed it a little, it’s just kind of tender.” She inspects the rest of her injuries and finds that most of her cuts are already closed up.
“I don’t have as much experience with healing magic as you do, but I know enough. But your arm… I only did surface-level work on it. I didn’t know about your ribs, though,” he says, and looks a little frustrated with himself.
“Not your fault,” she reassures him. “I’ll be okay. What about you? Your head?”
She sifts through his hair, matted with dirt and blood, to feel along his scalp. “It’s fine. My leg, too. You spent too much of your magic on me.”
Frey brushes off his mild reproach. She looks around their tent for the first time, taking in the frayed blankets, the cracked lantern. “Is this all that’s survived from the ship?”
“No. Most of the supplies are still good to use, surprisingly—the supply room was mostly intact when I went through it.”
“Food? Water?”
Arthur grimaces. “That was what didn’t survive. We still have enough rations for a few days. I’ve set up a couple of bins from the ship to collect the rainwater, so that should do for now.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Impressive, for a castle boy,” she teases.
He flashes her a quick grin and a shrug. “I’ve had some time to think.”
She tilts her head to the side, frowning. “How long have I been out?”
“Not sure. We crashed late afternoon, and when I woke up, it was dusk. I didn’t have much time before the sun went down, so I grabbed what I could. It’s been a few hours since then, at least.”
“How far away from the town are we?” she asks, her brows drawing closer together as she thinks. They have food and water for a few days, but this is the farthest she has ever been from the town, and she does not know if her magic can reach that far.
Arthur’s expression mirrors hers. “Five hours away by airship, at least. And that’s before we went off-course because of the storm.”
“You have no idea where we are.”
“I have some idea,” he says mildly. “I was charting our course on the map before we crashed.”
Frey shuts her eyes. She repeats, “Five hours,” and tries to calculate it in her head, how far home is, how long it’ll take to get there on foot if she can’t teleport them back.
It isn’t an option.
Arthur rubs his hand on her back. She leans into his touch, into him.
“It would take us maybe a week, week-and-a-half, on foot,” he says. He’s trying to be strong, to be unafraid, but she can see the same worries lurking in his eyes.
They survived the crash, a miracle in itself. But would they be able to survive the journey home?
She tries not to think of it. Instead, she holds out the blanket to Arthur. “Your turn to rest.”
Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off swiftly. “Just for a few hours. I’ll take first watch, and we can switch after that.”
“Why don’t you just sleep with me?” He flushes as soon as he says it, and she can almost imagine the stuttered apology that will follow, That’s not what I mean, but he just leaves it at that, and it surprises her.
Well. She knows what he meant.
Frey settles on a straightforward reply. “I don’t want to take any chances, especially if any of the wild monsters start getting curious.”
“Alright. Just wake me if you start getting tired.”
“Sleep,” she says sternly, but with a smile.
She waits until Arthur gets settled, and when his breathing starts to even out, she slips out of the tent with the lantern and keeps her eyes on the trees.
-
Her skin glows blue, brighter and brighter, traveling through linked hands to Arthur—and fades.
Frey staggers slightly with the effort to teleport them out. Arthur braces her shoulders.
“Maybe we’re too far,” he says.
She gives him a look. “I’ve teleported back from Sechs Territory, which was just as far as this, if not farther. I don’t understand why this isn’t working.”
Arthur ducks back into the tent for a moment, then comes out to toss her something to eat. She looks at his leg, the one that had been broken from the fall. There isn’t even a scar, and he isn’t limping, either.
He follows her gaze. “I told you, you went overboard. I think you used up most of your energy on me.”
He still has that look in his eyes, heavy and unreadable, though she thinks she sees guilt there. For a moment, she thinks it’s because she prioritized healing him over healing herself, but she remembers that he had that look even before the crash happened.
Frey carefully flexes her arm. She’d removed the splint earlier, satisfied that the bones had set and healed in the proper place.
“So what are we going to do, then?”
Arthur pauses, then says, “Try doing it alone, without me.”
“That isn’t happening,” she counters immediately. Her jaw sets. “I’m not leaving you here.”
“Frey,” he sighs.
“No. I’m not going home without you. Look, if we just start walking back… We have a general idea of where we are, and the closer we get, the less energy it will take for me to take us back.”
He’s hesitating, and he seems to brace himself for what he plans to say next. Frey suddenly understands. “You want to keep looking for that plant.”
“Yes.”
“For the cure.”
The words roll on her tongue, lips parting. A cure for what? Are you sick? She looks at the way exhaustion sits on his face, how it tugs heavily at his eyes and mouth. If Arthur is willing to risk his life for this plant, this medicine, if Arthur is sick enough to need it—
She wonders if she saved his life only to let him die from whatever illness he has.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“We’ll go look for it. Together,” she adds, when he opens his mouth to protest.
“Alright,” he says quietly. “Let’s go see if the map survived.”
-
Two days later, they still have not found the plant.
Only a portion of the map had survived, but they had been able to make an educated guess as to where they were based on their surroundings, as well as what direction their goal may be in.
But it’s been two days of walking through the forest, and her optimism is beginning to waver.
The journey has taken its toll on Arthur, too. He has not complained once since they made their decision to continue the search, but he is still a prince. She doubts he’s ever had to do anything like this before, the only exception being the one time she took him out with her to the outskirts of Selphia, and she never repeated the experience.
It’s not that he isn’t decent with his defensive and offensive magic, it’s just that she can tell that this isn’t the sort of work he likes doing. He likes numbers and books, networking and trade—not hunting and gathering, fighting and foraging.
Arthur stretches out in their tent. Frey collapses next to him, flexing her aching feet. They lay there, side by side, staring up at the ceiling of the tent. She closes her eyes and listens to the sounds of the forest, the wind rustling through the trees, insects chirping and night owls hooting.
Arthur twines his fingers with hers; she strokes her thumb against his palm, following the soft crease of his lifeline. “Your hands are still soft,” she laughs.
He turns to her, smiling in response to her laughter. “What?”
She rolls to her side and raises their linked hands. “You have soft hands. Royal hands,” she repeats, then moves his fingers so they feel the palm of her hand, the callused ridges. “Mine are rough.”
He presses a kiss to the centre of of it and the warmth from his lips spreads down to her toes. “Farmers can be royalty, too,” he says lightly, referring to her supposed princess duty.
“You have it backwards. Royalty can be farmers—or rather, they can farm. But farmers can never become royalty.”
Arthur taps his thumb against hers, thinking it over. “You’re right,” he says, finally, and the words are heavy with the past, with blurred vision and glasses and mothers who walk away and don’t look back.
“I didn’t mean—”
He brushes a strand of hair from her eyes. “I know. It’s okay.”
“I understand what you mean, though. In Selphia, even as a princess, you still have to give back to the town in some way.”
“Does that make you unhappy?”
“No, I think it’s a good thing. I don’t mind farming. It doesn’t seem very princess-like, though.” She gives him a sidelong glance. “I wonder if you would have had to farm, if I hadn’t shown up.”
“Perhaps. Although I did come to Selphia to focus more on international trade.“ His expression shifts, becomes more serious. “What will you do, when you are no longer a princess?”
It’s the first time he’s directly referred to their conversation, her confession. She’s caught off-guard. “I… I’m not sure. I don’t know.”
Then he says, “If you remembered—or discovered—your real home, your real family… would you go back to them?”
Real home, real family, he says, and they are words that she’s said before. But there’s a jarring dissonance in her mind, and she doesn’t know what they mean anymore, what they meant. Who she is now, versus who she was.
“I don’t know,” she says again, and both her past and future seem to blur before her.
He seems to sense her distress, because his face softens, though he still looks oddly sad. “You could do anything, you know. Be anyone you want to be.”
He means to present her with infinite possibilities. He does not ask, who are you? but who do you want to be, and the question takes root in her mind.
Who do you want to be?
A farmer, she thinks, because at her core she is of the Earth. It is only one manifestation of her power as an Earthmate, but it is one that she has a particular connection to.
But beyond that lies a realization she has buried deep down.
Who do you want to be?
Who she has been for the past year: Selphia’s princess, soldier, and protector.
-
A week has passed since the crash.
Her hopes are running as low as their food rations, and she feels her energy draining each day.
Arthur is still determined, and though she catches him glancing worriedly at her every now and then, he has respected her choice to stay with him.
“Arthur.”
Frey has stopped walking a few paces back without him noticing. He stops a few feet away from her, but he does not turn.
She wants to help him, to find the plant, to find the cure.
But she does not think dying in the attempt is a good idea, either.
“Arthur,” she says again, and when he turns, she knows that he can see it in her face. Every muscle in her body trembles with exhaustion, with resignation.
“We aren’t going to find it. We don’t even know if we’re going in the right direction.”
He is silent.
“Look, I know how important this is to you, and I’m sure that when we get back, we’ll be able to try searching for it again.”
“We can’t,” he says grimly.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s rare—it can only be found until the spring equinox.”
Frey pauses as she counts how long it’s been since they’ve crashed. “But that’s… in two days.”
“Yes.”
Dread unfurls within her. Two days to find the crystal. To save Arthur.
Two days that they may not survive.
She swallows hard. “We’re almost out of food, but the real issue is water. I know you need the cure, but—”
“What?” Arthur suddenly says, looking confused.
Frey blinks, repeats the words slowly. “You said it was a cure. That you needed it.”
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did, you—”
“I never said that it was for me.”
Frey stares at him, something familiar in his expression. She’s seen it before, she realizes. The first time was at the office, when he told her the purpose of his trip, and the second time was when she realized that he wanted to keep searching for it.
Both times, she never asked.
“What is the cure for?”
Arthur meets her eyes. Pauses. For a moment, she thinks he might lie to her, and she isn’t sure if she would be able to tell the difference. But he had told her once that he never would.
It is her, then. She never said the words, never asked him, because she was afraid of what the answer would be.
Then he says, “For you.”
“Me,” she repeats, uncomprehending.
“It’s an experimental cure,” he says, and drops his eyes. “For amnesia.”
The words don’t process at first. They filter in slowly through her ears, and then the past few weeks come flying through her mind, slotting the pieces together.
“Your trips to the clinic,” she begins slowly.
“I brought my findings to Nancy and Jones, to see if they would be willing to make it.”
She nods, but there is something else that she does not understand, no matter how hard she tries. “Why would you keep this from me? Why wouldn’t you just tell me, instead of—”
Instead of the long trips and the vague letters. Instead of his shuttered eyes, closed off to her.
Arthur takes a step toward her, then another. “I wanted to surprise you,” he confesses with a rueful smile.
She has known him for two years now, and though she thinks she’s gotten better at reading him, there are times when she has no idea what he’s thinking. Looking at him now, there is only a whirlwind of confusion and mismatched conclusions in her.
“That’s all?”
He hesitates. Just a split-second, but she notices. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about it. I’m sorry,” he says again, voice low, and his remorse is true. “After you told me how you felt about our situation, the swap—I never really considered what it’s like for you, or what would happen after.”
“That’s why you’re doing all this?”
He is much closer to her now, close enough to take her hands in his, though he doesn’t. Her fingers twitch, wanting to reach for him, but she forces them still.
Arthur angles his head to the side, peers at her from his cracked glasses. “It’s part of it. The other part is that you want to find who you were in order to know who you are, and I wanted to help you. After all, isn’t it natural to want to help someone? Especially when that someone is very important to you?”
The familiar words rush at her, said between them from another time.
Frey tilts her head up slightly to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” she says, “but let’s go home.”
Something flickers in his expression, a strange mixture of relief and resignation, and he searches her face. “Are you sure?”
Frey knows what she is saying goodbye to. She’s still a little dazed at the revelation, at the possibility of knowing her past. But when she thinks of the risks, the potential outcomes, and everything that’s happened?
She takes his hand. “Let’s go home,” she repeats, and leads the way.
-
They take things at a slower pace, now that they are not spurred on by the urgency of finding the plant. They come across a river the next day, and they are overcome with relief, laughing and hugging each other. Frey manages to catch some fish while Arthur sets up a fire to boil the water.
She burns the fish a little, but at that moment, it is the best thing she’s ever eaten.
Later, they take turns bathing in the river, washing away the blood and dirt and grime of the past week. The water is cold, as is the crisp, spring air, but they dry off and warm quickly by the fire.
For the first time since the crash, Frey feels good. Refreshed. She tilts her head up to the sun, arms braced behind her, spreading her fingers across the dirt.
When she turns to Arthur, she finds his eyes already on her in quiet contemplation. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking of Porcoline’s cooking,” he says, and though she knows his answer to be a deflection from the truth, she laughs.
“It was that bad, huh?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he is quick to say, though he is smiling, too.
“When we get back, I’ll cook that turnip heaven dish you love so much to make up for it,” she promises.
His face visibly brightens. “I’ll look forward to it, then.”
-
“I think I’ll be able to teleport us back.”
Arthur, in the process of packing up their supplies, looks over his shoulder at her. “Are you sure? We can still head back some more so it’s less of a strain.”
“You and I both know that we’re lost,” she says. “And I’m sure. I feel much better.”
He looks at her for a long moment. “When?”
Frey shrugs. “Now. Later. Anytime, but it would be nice to get back in time for dinner.”
“Alright. I’ll go put out the fire and finish this up, then we can go.” He grabs the container they used to collect the rain and slips through the trees for the river.
Both of them could have easily put out the fire using their magic, but neither had wanted to expend any more of their energy than necessary, conserving it for emergencies.
Frey waits for him to return.
Five minutes pass, then ten.
The river is no more than a three minute walk away, and she starts to get restless. “Arthur?”
They have not been apart from each other since the crash. Frey walks quickly through the trees, thinking of broken legs and bloody heads.
He is kneeling when she finds him, his body curved over the ground. Arthur does not look at her when she approaches, intensely focused on something between his fingers.
Finally, he gets up.
An iridescent crystal shines from his cupped hands.
THREE
They teleport back to the main gates.
Forte, on patrol in the area, nearly drops to her knees when she sees them. She sprints toward them, taking in their dirt-stained clothes, Arthur’s broken glasses, their pitiful bag of supplies, and launches into an endless barrage of questions.
“What happened? Are you okay? We sent out a search party days ago. Where did you—?” Forte cuts off, voice breaking, when Frey hugs her. Frey can feel Forte’s body trembling, and she hugs her tighter.
“We’re okay,” Frey says, pulling back. “We made it back. We ran into a storm, the ship crashed—”
“What?!”
“—but we’re fine now, really! We’re just happy to be home. Right, Arthur?” She turns to him, but he is already walking away in the direction of the clinic.
“We’re just going to be at Nancy’s for a while,” Frey tells the other woman, her eyes following Arthur’s retreating figure. “Let the others know that we’re back.”
“Will do,” Forte says, and runs off in the direction of the castle.
-
The cure, Nancy tells them, will take at least a week to brew, if not more.
The days in between are fraught with anxiety and excitement for both of them, though they are kept busy by their royal duties, having accumulated over their absence.
Arthur masks it well behind his placid smile, but his anticipation outdoes her by a mile. By the middle of the week, Arthur is banned from visiting the clinic, barring emergencies.
Frey visits him later that night. There is a mountain of paperwork on his desk, and she half-expects to see him behind it. But it is late and he isn’t there, so she heads to his room instead.
The sliver of light through his door tells her that he is still awake. She knocks softly.
“Come in.”
He’s sitting on his bed, a folder open on his lap. “You’re still working?” she says, raising her eyebrows.
“I have a lot to catch up on,” he says, and his smile does not quite reach his eyes. Something like disappointment curls inside her chest. There is a part of him that is still unreachable, still closed off, and she does not know what to do.
She takes a step back, hesitating. But she has only ever known how to move forward.
Arthur looks at her in surprise when her sword clatters on the floor, followed by her shield, then her cloak, then her boots. Frey moves onto his bed, straddling his outstretched legs, one knee on either side of him. He is completely still, and when her fingers go to slide off his glasses, his eyes close. She sets it aside.
Finally, he closes the folder, putting it on the side table. She smiles at her victory, and his face softens. “I couldn’t sleep,” he confesses.
Frey takes his face into her hands. “If the cure works, if it doesn’t work… Either way, it won’t change anything.”
His face tightens, and his eyes slide away from hers. He doesn’t believe her, she can tell. “It won’t,” she insists, then sighs. “Look, if it doesn’t work—I’ll be disappointed. Of course I will. But nothing will change. You’ve done so much for me.”
“I once told you that I didn’t have a home,” she says, and she feels him start to withdraw, his eyes bruised with guilt and sadness. “But I was wrong. I do have a home—here, in Selphia. With everyone… with you. You are my family. No matter what happens, I will still be here, and I will still love you.”
Her voice breaks. Arthur looks at her, eyes wide, a storm of emotion on his face. It is the first time either of them have said it. For an agonizingly long moment, he does not say or do anything, and it is just her with her heart in her open hands.
Then he leans forward, pushing his back from the headboard, and slides his mouth against hers. He kisses her hard, and the hand on her back pulls her closer, the other sliding from her waist to her thigh. Relief melts through her limbs.
He pulls back, resting his forehead against hers. When he says it back, it is almost a sigh, quiet and raw with emotion: I love you.
She presses her mouth to his this time, soft and gentle and slow.
-
The mixture is thick and bitter, and it struggles slowly down her throat.
“It should take a few hours for it to take effect,” Jones says. She washes it down with a glass of water. Arthur is silent beside her, but his anticipation is palpable against her skin, blending with her own.
“You should stay with her for a while, just in case there are any side effects,” Jones tells Arthur. He nods.
Later, she still has no idea if it’s working or if it isn’t. All she knows is that it’s giving her a terrible headache. The pain feels like nails in her temples, blurring her vision, and she staggers.
“I’m fine,” she says when Arthur begins to hover around her.
Arthur looks at her, worry lining his face. “We’re going back to the clinic.”
-
A week passes.
The cure doesn’t work.
The disappointment is a tangible thing between her and Arthur, a heavy weight on her chest. She hadn’t known how much she’d hoped it would work until it didn’t.
Arthur takes it particularly hard when she tells him. Anything? he asks, and she takes in the rough exhale, the subtle slump of his shoulders when she shakes her head no.
But his demeanor suddenly flips a few hours later when he sets aside his work to take her out shopping, to eat lunch, to a walk by the lake. The shock alone from the fact that he stopped working was enough to allow herself to get pulled along, but by the fourth hour of their outing, she begins to realize: he’s trying to distract her.
She kisses him underneath the trees by the water, and he smiles and wraps his arms around her.
They will be fine.
-
“I have something to tell you,” Arthur says.
Frey turns to him a fraction, still reading through the week’s harvest report. “What is it?” she says absentmindedly.
“Frey.” Something in his voice gives her pause. She raises her head, slowly lowering the report.
There is an envelope in his hand, and he is holding it out to her. His body is rigid with tension. “It’s easier to show you, I suppose.”
She slides the letter from the envelope. It’s addressed to Arthur—Your Royal Highness, she notes, followed by his name and his title—and at first, she doesn’t understand.
Then she reads it again.
I have found the person you are searching for. I regret to inform you, however, that she has recently been pronounced deceased after her prolonged disappearance. She has no living relatives. Her grave can be found in a small town southeast of the capital on her family’s property.
The letter goes on to detail directions and an address.
It is dated a week before their departure.
Arthur’s trips, his absences, his sudden distance—
“You knew,” she says. Her own voice sounds distant in her ears, her words heavy in her mouth. “You already knew who I was.”
“I did.”
“Why didn’t you—why didn’t you tell me earlier? Before all of this?”
“I wanted to try to find this first. To see if you could remember, on your own.”
She sits down slowly, ignoring the way his arms move toward her in assistance. “You should have told me.”
He is silent. Then, so quietly she strains to hear, “I know.”
“You should have—” her voice breaks off. “You know how important this is to me. And you kept it—”
Her vision begins to blur. Frey turns away, swiping angrily at her cheeks. He moves to stand in front of her; still she does not turn. Then he is kneeling in front of her, touching her face, her hands. It is a startling image: a prince of Norad, on his knees before her.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you,” he says, and she finally sees that unreadable expression of his stripped bare. The confession spills from his mouth, raw and honest: “I was afraid.”
Her brows draw together. “Of what?”
“Of losing you.”
Her breath rushes out, eyes widening. His fingers tighten briefly around hers. “I was afraid that if your memories came back, you would change. That your feelings for me would change, or that you would want to leave. It’s terribly selfish for me, I know,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a self-deprecating smile. “But you deserve the truth, and here it is. This is all I know. If you want to leave… if that’s what you want, I will accept it. I can arrange for the airship to take you to your home whenever you wish.”
The choice is in her hands.
She thinks of his apology, of all the times he could have told her. But she thinks, too, of the letter, of the forest, of the lengths he has gone through for her.
“I want to go today,” she says. His eyes flinch, but the rest of him is still.
Arthur nods once, drawing himself inward again. He rises from his knees. “I’ll have the airship prepared for you, then.”
Frey grabs onto his wrist before he walks away. “For us,” she corrects him softly. “If you can.”
His face transforms with unrestrained hope, the lines in his face relaxing. “Of course,” he says, and leaves.
-
Frey has not been on an airship since the crash.
She steps onto the deck, ignoring the tremble in her legs. But the sky is clear, and there are no storms forecasted for the entire week. She takes comfort in that, at least.
Arthur steps out from the cabin, where he has stowed their belongings. “Are you alright?” he asks when he sees her.
“Yeah,” she says, flashing a quick smile at him.
He is not convinced, though he does not move toward her, either.
Arthur has so often been a closed door. After the crash and the forest and the plant, she had thought he had begun to open up to her.
She has forgiven him for the letter. But she has not been able to give him reassurances for the fears he had so openly revealed to her at last. Some of his fears are her own—would she change, knowing who she was, knowing the past?
“Frey.” Arthur takes one step forward, then stops.
“Let’s go,” she says, and holds tight to the railing.
-
Her family’s home turns out to be a farm on the edge of a quiet town.
They had docked a few miles away, circling around through the country route, not ready to face the people yet, to see if they would see her and recognize her.
Frey looks around at her family’s property. The field, she notes, is filled with crops. Her heart sinks. “Has someone already moved in?” It has been almost two years since she fell from that ship the first time; it is unreasonable to expect that everything would still be the same.
“I didn’t investigate that far,” Arthur says, looking as if he wished he had. When she does not move, he glances over at her. “Do you want to come back tomorrow?”
“No. I want to see the grave.” The sun is beginning to set; soon, she may not be able to find it. She sets off away from the field, toward the south edge of the property. After a moment, Arthur follows.
There is a small clearing, a family lot where five headstones mark five graves. She goes to the oldest, most weathered stones. Her grandparents. Her parents were next, and she kneels down to read the inscriptions. They had not died long ago—only five years. Sorrow wells up inside her for the family she does not remember. She may not have her memories back, but some part of her recognizes this, recognizes the touch and feel of the stone as she traces her parents’ names. Her shoulders grow heavier, her muscles remembering what her mind does not—how grief bears down on her body, turning them into lead and stone.
Pain flares at the top of her head, then disappears. Frey shakes it off, blinking, and finally moves toward her own gravestone.
It is the strangest feeling, to be standing at her own grave. She looks over at Arthur to see that he, too, is unsettled by it. But then she follows his eyes, not to the stone, but to the flowers and candles in front of it.
Fresh flowers, and flames that are still burning.
She is bending down to inspect them further when a voice suddenly calls out.
“Who’s there?”
Frey snaps up and begins to reach for her sword, moving slowly but steadily in front of Arthur. A young man with light hair and purple-hued eyes walks toward them from the direction of the field, a sickle gripped tightly in his hand. “You’re trespassing on private property,” he calls out.
Arthur steps out from behind her, palms raised, opening his mouth to introduce himself before she can stop him. “We do not wish for any trouble,” he begins smoothly, but then the man suddenly halts a few feet away from them. His face goes ashen, the tool slipping from his fingers.
For a moment, none of them say anything. She and the man stare at each other. His breaths are ragged and fast, his eyes wide. She can feel Arthur’s gaze flickering between them, but there is an insistent pressure in her head, and she cannot look away.
He is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The soft features of his face tug at her, and the thought resounds in her mind: I know you.
Then he says, “Frey?”
It is a choked sound, and she starts when she hears her name. He breaks out into a boyish grin and closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her in a crushing hug. She does not move, cannot move, and she can hear him saying her name, over and over again.
Finally, he lets go. “I thought—” he says, and his voice is still shaking, “I had hoped, for so long, but—”
“Lest?” she whispers, pulling the name from somewhere deep in her mind, a murky fog where there was once nothing.
“Yes,” he says, his brow furrowing at the confusion on her face, the uncertain stillness of her body, he stops. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t—I don’t know who you are,” she says quietly, and sees the moment the words hit him, like a punch to the stomach. “I lost my memories two years ago in an accident.”
“But you know my name.”
“That was—that was just now. I don’t know where it came from.” Just as she says that, the pain lances through her head again, stronger than before.
Arthur catches her as her knees buckle. “Is it the side effects again?”
She shakes her head, attempting to tell him that no, the headaches from the potion felt different, but the pain eclipses every other thought.
Distantly, she hears Lest say, “Let’s get her inside,” before blacking out entirely.
-
Frey wakes, and the first thought she has is, This is my room.
It isn’t the stone walls of the castle, but she recognizes her surroundings with startling certainty. The way the wallpaper started peel at the corner, the stain hidden behind the curtain, the drawer and the closet—everything is exactly how she remembers it.
And she remembers.
Not everything, she realizes as she sits up. Lest is still a hazy blur, her mind struggling to slot things into place, to put things into focus. But she does remember endless days of sleeping and waking here in this room, of growing from child to adult, of settling her armor in the corner by her closet.
Frey walks out to the hallway and pauses by the stairs. Arthur and Lest are speaking quietly, and she strains to hear.
“…normally would have been turned over to become the property of the kingdom as you said, Your Highness—but she had left it for me in her will.”
“So you live here, then?”
“No, I—no. I just use the fields. I come here sometimes and use the guest room, but I… I haven’t changed anything. I was never able to. Being here, it reminded me so much of her—I couldn’t bring myself to move or pack anything away.”
“You were close,” Arthur says, and it isn’t a question.
Lest pauses. “Yes,” he says carefully. “We grew up together.”
The floor creaks when she takes a step forward and their sudden silence tells her that they sense her presence. Frey walks downstairs at last, and they immediately stand and move toward her.
Lest is the first to reach her. “How are you feeling?” he asks, full of concern.
“I have a bit of a headache, but I’m fine now. I think—” she looks over at Arthur, who has not moved any closer. “I think I’m beginning to get my memories back.”
Arthur’s eyes widen. Then Lest speaks, drawing her attention to him. “I’m glad to hear that. Do you remember me, then?”
“Not yet. I remembering my bedroom, though—growing up here. Fragments of it, at least.”
“Why don’t I try to fill in some of the missing pieces?” Lest says with a smile, the gentle features of his face brightening. “Over here, I used to come over for lunch when we were little… and over here, we marked our heights. You were taller than me for the longest time, and I was so upset at that…”
Lest continues to tell her of their shared memories, and she listens, utterly enraptured. After some time, she realizes that Arthur has not spoken—and when she looks over to him, he isn’t there.
-
She and Lest settle on the sofa in the living room after an hour of trading stories—tales of her time in Selphia for anecdotes of her life. Not everything he tells her triggers her memory, but some pieces do click into place. It will take some time for the rest, but she is certain they will.
Lest takes her hand in his. “I missed you so much,” he says, the lingering grief evident in every syllable. “The past two years, not knowing where you were, then thinking you were dead…”
“I’m here now,” she says softly.
Lest looks at her for a long moment, tracing over her features with his eyes, as if he were afraid to forget. Then he brushes her hair behind her cheek, his hands lingering there, his touch familiar against her skin.
Her breath catches, and she pulls away. We grew up together, he’d said. “Were we—” she swallows the question, not knowing if she wants to hear the answer or not.
But he hears the rest of what she did not ask. “We were,” he says, “for a time. Not when you left, though. It was a mutual breakup.”
She releases her breath slowly. “Why?”
His smile, but his eyes are a little sad. “We were better as friends. I moved on. So did you, apparently,” he says, giving her a meaningful look, but there is no bitterness in his voice. “Quite the catch, too,” he adds teasingly.
Frey smiles back. “He is, and I love him.”
Lest’s face softens. Then he says, “He better be good to you, or there will be consequences—royalty or not.”
Frey rolls her eyes.
“Will you be coming back home?” Lest asks.
She stares at him for a moment, then looks around. She had not considered it—moving back in here, to her family’s house.
The answer comes to her immediately.
-
Frey finds Arthur in the guest room, a binder of work open on his lap as usual. He looks at her and gives her a strained smile. “How was your talk? Did you remember anything else?”
“I did, but we can talk about that later,” she says, climbing onto the bed and settling next to him. He does not quite look her in the eye.
Would you go back to them? echoes in her mind, and she had not realized until earlier what he had meant at the time: will you leave me? She finally understands everything, finally knows what that look on his face had meant, the way he’d tried so hard to hide it.
I don’t know , she’d said in reply. But she knows now.
“I can stay for one more day before I have to return. I can return in a few days to bring your things.” His voice is so determinedly neutral that it tells her how much he is struggling to hide whatever he is actually feeling.
He still doesn’t understand, even after everything. But she can’t blame him—she hadn’t, either.
So she says, “I’ll go home with you.”
He searches her eyes, letting out a breath. A relieved smile slowly spreads across his face. “You will?”
“Of course. Haven’t I already told you? My home is with you.”
Arthur takes her hand, stroking his thumb over her knuckles before bringing her hand up to brush against his lips. “And mine is with you.”
-
Frey spends the next day showing Arthur around the house, telling him everything she remembers. He listens with a smile, showing interest in every inane detail she gives. Where she tripped as a child and knocked out her front tooth. Where her father first taught her how to sword-fight. They are little things that come back to her, day by day.
When the day is coming to an end, he says, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer?” There is no uncertainty in his eyes anymore—only concern for her.
“I would like to come back and visit regularly,” she admits. “I haven’t decided what to do with the house yet. I want go out to the town and meet the people there, too. But not now. Maybe later, when I’ve prepared for a longer trip.”
Arthur and Frey talk of their plans for when they get home, too. What will happen, now that she has her memories back. So far, it is this:
Frey will remain at the castle and continue her work, although she will begin the process of stepping down as princess for the time being.
Arthur will send a letter to his father, informing the King of his intentions to stay at Selphia on a more permanent basis while still fulfilling his royal duties.
He will move in with her in the castle.
Frey does not know this yet, but in the near future, she will be made princess once again.
They say goodbye to Lest, who tells them to come visit soon.
When they arrive in Selphia, they are welcomed back with familiar smiles and greetings, with Volkanon’s bear hugs and the gentle notes of Margaret’s harp and the smell of Porcoline’s cooking.
Written by hopeandalexander, illustration by ribbonreverse
Synopsis:
Losing your parents at a young age is hard. Living with caretakers who seemed bothered by your existence is even harder. It gets easier if you have someone by your side; someone who cares about more than anything in the world. Iris and Mistel only have each other to keep themselves company as their caretakers take them through life. They learn about themselves and that nothing is set in stone, that their future is in their hands regardless of what others say.
“Oh, the poor things…”
“Losing their parents so young…”
“What’s going to happen to them?”
“I don’t know…”
The rain couldn’t cover their whispered thoughts. The crowd of people in black all had their eyes on the children standing before two graves. Sympathy laced their voices and it struck her heart like tiny pinpricks of ice. These were words she didn’t want to hear. She wanted to hear her parents, laughing and holding her close, saying it was a joke and that they were fine.
This was a wish that would never come true.
Mistel hugged her neck with his chubby arms. He fussed and buried his face into her hair. Adults were saying that he was too young to understand what was going on, but Iris knew he did. No matter how young or old a child was, they knew when their parents were gone. Mistel was no exception and she knew that he was a smart child. Of course he knew that his parents have died and weren’t coming back.
The group of humanized crows dispersed as the minutes flew by. All that remained were Iris, Mistel… and another couple.
They approached the children and Iris could feel an air of resentment. It made her feel worse than before. The way they looked at them with eyes that could stop a tiger from wanting to pounce.
This couple would be their new caretakers.
“Come, children. We should be getting home now,” the woman mentioned, holding her hand out for Iris to take. “You both could use a good washing to get this terrible day over with.”
Iris didn’t like how she said that. She may be young, but she felt like she deserved to have some time to mourn her parents passing. What kind of monster would want to make her move on so fast? If it was a sign of things to come, Iris should bolt right now and hide out somewhere. Perhaps in a museum. There was one nearby and she could make it there in no time.
Mistel fussed in her arms, threatening to cry out at any moment. There wouldn’t be any time to run away. With so many essentials needed, it would be impossible. She would need to return in a matter of hours if she did. And her arms were getting tired from holding Mistel.
With a heavy heart, she reached out for the woman’s hand and grasped it in her own. The man took Mistel from her, which made him cry out and fuss immediately. She dared a quick look at their new caretakers faces and found them scrunched up in disgust. If they didn’t like children, why did they volunteer to take them in? Did they feel obligated after their parents deaths?
Her parents wouldn’t have wanted her to judge by character like this. Perhaps they were just tired from today’s events and they would be warmer to them in the morning.
This is what she told herself as they got into their car and drove away from the cemetery.
~*~*~
Some time during the drive, Iris fell asleep. Her new caretakers shook her awake, hardly gentle at all. Mistel was already in the older woman’s arms as they climbed the steps to the building. Something clicked within her, a feeling that made it unbearable to see him away from her. Her limbs felt heavy as she climbed out of the car and tried to run after them. They refused to move fast, making her appear sluggish and ready to fall over from exhaustion. Climbing up the stairs proved to be the more difficult than she had hoped. Luckily, the woman and Mistel, who was fussing in her arms, hadn’t moved from their place at the top of the stairs.
“I can… I can take him from you, if you would like…” Iris spoke, holding her arms out for Mistel. Please give him to me. You don’t want to hold him anyway…she thought to herself, hoping that it didn’t read on her face.
“You’re much too tired to hold him yourself,” the woman replied, staring down at her. “Although, I do expect you to bathe him. Are you too tired to do that?”
“No, ma'am. I can do that just fine.”
“Hm.”
Her husband climbed up the steps and unlocked the door for them. Iris wasn’t sure what to expect from their living quarters. She saw the long winding stairs that lead to the upper floors and prayed that she wouldn’t have to climb them. Her prayers were short lived as the couple started to ascend the daunting staircase. Iris followed them, her feet hurting with every step she took.
With each flight, she hoped that they reached the destined floor but they kept climbing. By the time they reached the top, Iris was exhausted. Mistel’s cries of distress were louder than before. When she looked at the woman, she could see she was uncomfortable with holding him now. In any moment, she would expect the woman to hand Mistel over to her. She hoped that she would.
The husband opened the only door on the floor and led their noisy group into the flat. Iris remembered her old home. How her parents filled it with flowers and books with walls the color of the sky on a cloudless day. This flat was bland with white walls and decorated with gray painted furniture. Flowers decorated a table near the door, but Iris realized they were fake as she passed them. The living area was just as bland with it’s white walls and gray couch. Even the rug in front of the TV, the only piece of color in the room, was white.
It was so clean and neat, Iris wasn’t sure how they expected two children to live here. Especially Mistel, who could be a messy little boy at times.
“Are you hungry?” the woman asked over Mistel’s screaming. Iris wasn’t sure if she was talking to her or to her brother.
“Would you like me to feed him, ma'am?” she asked, her arms once again waiting for Mistel to drop in them. The woman didn’t hesitate plopping him in her arms then straightening out her own dress. Once Mistel realized who was holding him, he quieted down to just soft sounds. He looked up at his sister with big eyes that resembled their mothers so well.
“I’ll cook you up something, then. Before that, you two should take a bath,” the woman said, smoothing the last of the wrinkles of her dress. Her heels clicked on the hard wood floor as she walked down a hallway, not bothering to see if Iris followed. She did, not wanting to anger the woman who may just as well be her new mother. She opened the second door to their left, revealing a white bathroom. “You’ll find all you need under the sink. My husband bought some… bubble bath for you two. Try not to make a mess.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Iris said, holding Mistel closer. The woman stayed in the bathroom, watching them; analyzing them. It made her feel uncomfortable and even Mistel started to fuss just a bit more.
The woman sniffed, tilting her head up. “I’ll bring in some clean clothes for you two.” With that, she walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
When it closed, Iris felt at ease and Mistel quieted down. She didn’t think they were bad people, but she didn’t believe that they wanted them around. It made her wonder why they took them in. What kind of relationship did they have with their parents? Now that Iris thought about it, she couldn’t remember seeing them over for dinner or to speak to parents. There were so many other friends that her parents had who were warm and welcoming to them. They were always willing to play or give them a sweet every now and then. So who were they?
“Iris…”
Mistel hadn’t talked in days since they told her about her parents death. It was so good to hear his cute voice. “It’s going to be okay, Mistel,” she cooed, plugging up the tub and turning the facets on. She set Mistel down, allowing him to stand on his own two feet with her support. “We’re going to be fine.” At this point, she wasn’t sure if she was telling it for his benefit or her own.
They bathed in a rush, Iris putting only a few bubbles in for Mistel’s benefit. When she pulled them both out, she found clothes resting on the lid of the toilet seat. When their caretaker brought it in, she didn’t know. After she dressed them both, she picked Mistel up again and brought him out of the bathroom. Her feet made soft sounds as she went down the hallway to the adults. The smell of cooked food reached her and her stomach growled. Iris couldn’t remember the last time she ate.
As she walked into the dining room, she noticed a high chair in the white room and a small plate of food waiting for her. The woman was at the sink, washing dishes. Iris took the time to put Mistel in the high chair, making sure the straps were secure. “Ma'am, do you want me to feed him?”
“I can handle it. I’m not comfortable with you calling me that all the time,” she turned around, drying her hands on her apron. “I don’t want you to call me ‘mom’, either… It’s a bit too soon for that.” She looked over to the side, a thoughtful look on her face. “Call me Margery for the time being. I don’t believe that children should call adults by their first name but… I’ll make an exception, just this once.”
“Yes, Margery,” Iris said. The words felt heavy and strange as they rolled off her tongue and out into the open air. She wasn’t sure if this was something she would ever get use it.
“My husband said that you can call him Henry,” Margery said as she rummaged through Mistel’s baby bag. “So you don’t need to fret about that.” Pulling out a small container of baby food, she walked over to the table and took a seat near the high chair. “Well, you should go on ahead and eat. You must be hungry.”
Iris sat down at the table and picked up a fork to start to eat. It was just spaghetti, but it just tasted off to her. For now, she chalked it up to the days events and how awkward she felt here in Margery and Henry’s home. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Margery fed Mistel. Mistel was a bit fussy with the meal, but took it after a few tries. She waited for Margery to lose her patience, but she never did.
They finished eating and Margery was quick to clean up the plates. “Tomorrow, we will have to go to your home and bring your things here; both yours and Mistel. You don’t mind sharing a room with him for now, do you?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. We only have our office room left and we are going through the process of moving things around. It may be some time before you can get your own room.”
“I’ll be fine rooming with Mistel for as long as you want,” Iris assured again, bowing her head.
Margery looked down at her, lifting her nose up. Did Iris say something wrong? Was she too polite? Then why was she looking at her like this? Margery didn’t keep the eye contact for long. She grabbed a wet paper towel and started to clean both Mistel and the high chair up. After cleaning, she tossed the towel out and moved back to the sink.
“Your bedroom is the door after the bathroom. It’s all set up for you both,” Margery said, her back facing them.
Iris took Mistel out of the high chair and held him close. “Goodnight, Margery,” she said, padding back down the hallway. She wasn’t sure if Margery returned the farewell or not. Reaching the door, she opened it and stepped inside. Once again, the feeling of uneasiness passed. She felt safe.
Looking around the room, she found it to filled with at least a bit more color than the rest of the house. Some pastel greens and yellows. This must be the only happy place in the entire flat. Iris placed Mistel on the bed and wandered around, looking for extra sheets. When she found them, she rolled them up and placed it on one side of the bed, a few inches from the edge. It would keep from Mistel from rolling off the bed at night. She saw her mother do this a few times when she wanted to nap with him and keep him safe.
Iris jumped into the bed and took hold of Mistel, bringing him up to the pillow and tucking him in. She laid down beside him, feeling the days exhaustion envelop her like a warm blanket. Even Mistel yawned and buried his face in the pillow, ready to fall asleep with her.
And soon, she did.
~*~*~
The sun woke her, momentarily blinding her. Iris didn’t even notice that the blinds were open last night. She was so tired that her senses were all skewed. Now that she had slept with a full stomach, her mind was clear to think.
Her parents were gone.
They were gone and they weren’t coming back.
No amount of wishing was going to bring them back.
Not even if she found a magic lamp with a genie in it or a mermaid trapped in a net that would grant her a wish if she set her free.
They were gone.
And she cried.
Iris let it all out until she felt dried up. She was finally a mess of broken sobs, shaking under the warm covers. Mistel woke up just in time, fussing for his own reasons. She picked up her mother-like instincts and dried her face with her hands. She was quick to change Mistel’s diaper and returned to laying in the bed with him. She wasn’t sure when Margery would wake them up, but she wanted to enjoy just a little bit more of peace until then.
Two hours passed and Margery finally knocked on the door before stepping in. “You’re awake. I would have thought you would bother us the moment you woke up.” Her noise scrunched up, likely from the smell of the diaper she changed. “Breakfast is ready. We’ll be heading to your old home right before lunch.”
Old home. The words echoed in her head and it twisted her heart and stomach into a knot. She didn’t want to think of it as her “old home.” Then again, there were many things she didn’t want to think about. Iris had to face them or she would never move on. “I understand. Mistel and I will be out soon.”
Margery nodded her head and left the room, leaving the door open. Mistel cuddled close to Iris and played with her hair. If they were late for breakfast, Iris didn’t want to imagine what Margery would do. With a heavy sigh, she got out of bed and lifted Mistel up into her arms. She made her way back to the kitchen, finding only Margery there at the table. Her meal left untouched and there was a plate waiting for Iris, a bowl for Mistel in his high chair.
Her caretaker helped her sit Mistel in the high chair and they took their seats. It was porridge and waffles, a breakfast idea that never occurred to Iris. She started to eat when Margery did, who was waiting for her. Every now and then, both Iris and her took turns feeding Mistel so that the other could eat.
“I do have some good news for you, Iris, dear,” Margery spoke. She brought a napkin to her lips and wiped them. “You should be able to attend the same school as before. Henry has looked it up and found that we’re in the schools district.” She cleaned up their plates, bringing them over to the kitchen. “Which is good news since you won’t have to miss out on your education.”
“Who will watch over Mistel?” Iris asked. School was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She expected to have a few days away from school to grieve for her parents, but Margery had other plans. If she could find a loop hole, then she could stay here with Mistel until she was ready.
“I will. I’m capable of raising children.”
Iris wasn’t sure if Margery ever had children. For some reason, she had her doubts. “Okay…”
After cleaning everything (even Mistel), Margery brought them to the living room. Iris finally looked at a clock for the first time since the day before yesterday. It was already ten in the morning. It seemed so much later. Maybe it was because she didn’t want to head back to her “old home”. She didn’t want to find out how little of her stuff Margery would be willing for her to keep.
“There’s some toys for Mistel, I suppose you could watch some TV, as long as it’s proper,” she said. “I’ll be working on cleaning up the office down the hall. Find me if you need anything.”
Margery left without saying another word. Iris looked at the basket of toys and pulled out a windup caterpillar and ducks on a string. He took to them immediately, rolling or pulling the ducks around. She sat on the couch and watched him. She thought about what things she bring and what she had no choice to leave behind. Would Margery expect her to leave her childhood memories behind? It must be so.
“Iris!”
She jumped and Margery stood before her, holding Mistel who looked at her. “Y-yes?”
“It’s time for us to go. Go on and get dressed,” Margery said. Mistel was already dressed, most likely when Iris was so lost in her thoughts.
“I’m sorry. I’ll get dressed right away,” Iris said, stepping off the couch. She did so and met the two at the door.
And off they were to her parents old home.
~*~*~
There was nothing she disliked about her home. The way it looked with the flowers her mother had planted in the flower boxes by the windows and the garden. She could see the iris flowers her mother planted in the flower box at her bedroom window. She saw the misteltoe she planted on the ground level of their home. It aligned well with Mistel’s window on the second floor. It wasn’t even grown yet; she wondered if it ever will, now that someone new might be buying their home. Perhaps they would uproot it if it got too big.
She loved the pastel pink gate that she had helped her father paint three years ago. She loved the pathway leading up to their front door. If she were to walk to the back, she would find the tire swing that her father put up for her. She would find the patio furniture that her mother loved to sit on when they were outside together.
These memories were sweet on her tongue and her body felt warm. How could she leave such a place behind? Iris would never be able to find a home as wonderful as this one.
“Iris, please. We have much to do today,” Margery spoke as she walked up the path.
Could she not see that Iris was mourning? Couldn’t she just have few minutes admiring her old home and wishing that she could keep it with her forever? Perhaps she was a hopeless dreamer at this young age.
Iris followed after her, struggling to catch up with Margery’s much longer legs. They walked up the steps to the door and she felt like magic would happen at any moment. That a gust of wind would open the door and her parents would be standing there. They would wait for her and her brother with open arms. Instead, Margery produced a key and opened the door.
It still smelled the same.
Her mother made her peanut butter cookies before she left with her father to their dinner date. The smell lingered in the house for much longer than it should have. Even the smell of her mothers baking made her chest ache and her eyes burn. At any moment throughout the day, she knew that she would cry. When she stopped traversing memory lane, she noticed Margery walking up the stairs.
The question rested on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be set free. “Margery, how much are we allowed to bring back with us…?”
She looked back at the little girl, a frown on her face. Iris wasn’t sure if it was because she asked a question or because she was thinking. “Not too much,” she snapped. Margery seemed to struggle with saying something, her lips twitching. “Henry said that he would like for you two to be comfortable, though.” She started up the stairs again, her shoulders heaving up and down with a sigh. “Take what you want, but we’ll be looking through it all once Henry comes home tonight.”
This excited Iris. She would be able to take what she needed and wanted. Iris waited for Margery to clear the steps. She bounded up them, taking them two at a time. Her mother would always yell at her for it, but this was urgent. She had to see her stuff again, to see her room again. It would be the last time she would ever get to see it. The least she could do was take a photo of it to store in her memories.
Margery had gone down the right hallway, but she went straight to the left. Her door was the first one and she almost kicked it in.
Here was her room. Still as clean as she remembered it. It’s lavender lace curtains and purple canopy bed were her prize possessions of the room. There was something even greater hidden in the room, though. She walked over to her pile of stuffed animals and started pulling them out of the pile until she found her prize.
The mahogany box brought tears to her eyes. Out of all the gifts her parents had given her, this one was her most favorite. Iris pulled the box closer to her and unclasped the lid to open it. Her stationary set; a gift on her tenth birthday. The pens had beautiful purple cases that wrote in black. There were two purple journals filled with her writing on its purple pages. This case, this set, it was so important with her. For the nights that she left it behind, she had suffered from withdrawal. Without a night to let loose all her thoughts, she didn’t know what to do with herself other than mourn. Now it was back in her arms.
She picked the box up and held it close to her. A bit of strength came back to her, somehow making her feel like things were going to be okay. A sound came from behind her. Looking back, Margery was there, setting down some boxes. “Put what you want in these. If you need more… we’ll talk about it with Henry.” She left again, leaving Iris alone.
The boxes didn’t look too big and there was only three of them. Would she be able to fit what she wanted to take with her in them? She would have to see.
All afternoon, Iris packed clothes and a few stuffed animals and books in her boxes. To her surprise, the only thing she wasn’t able to fit were her blankets, sheets and pillowcases. She would have taken the canopy, but she could tell Margery wouldn’t have liked that. If she couldn’t take it, she at least wanted the sheets and blanket. Margery would be the only one she could talk to about it.
Iris made her way down the hallway to Mistel’s room. Walking in, she found that most of his stuff was already packed away. She walked over to the rocking chair and moved it back and forth. “Margery, I finished packing but–”
“But what?” she interrupted, packing some of Mistel’s clothing in a suitcase.
“… Is there another box around for my sheets and blanket? I would like to take them,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Sheets and blankets?” Margery asked, giving her an incredulous look. “We have plenty of those back at the flat! You won’t need more of them there.”
Did she expect any other answer? Well, somewhat. “I know, Margery, but… these are pretty important to me…”
Margery finished packing Mistel’s clothes. She took a deep breath and let it out. For a few more moments, she was quiet, just staring at the wall. “If you fold them up yourself, without help, we can bring them.”
She was unable to contain her happiness. She jumped over and hugged Margery’s waist, oblivious to how much she tensed under her touch. “Thank you so much!” After letting her go, she kissed Mistel’s forehead and ran back down to her room. She stripped her bed and started to fold everything as best as she could. Her mother made sure to teach her well about folding.
Iris never thought that all the things her mother taught her would come in handy. Now her little lessons didn’t seem so silly since she needed them now.
After she finished packing, Margery stood in her doorway, Mistel in her arms. “Watch him for me, please. I’m going to be moving some of the boxes down to the car.”
Iris nodded and took her little brother. Margery ran back and forth out of the stairs, bringing many boxes at a time. Iris stayed out of her way, remaining in the living room.
Today would be the last day in her childhood home.
She would never walk through these halls or up the stairs ever again. It was heart wrenching, just as much as her parents death. She brought Mistel through the house while Margery was busy. They wandered through the kitchen and dining room, the backyard and bathrooms. She even took a step into her parents room.
Iris set Mistel down on the floor and wandered to her mother’s bureau. All her makeup and jewelry was there. She didn’t want to leave this behind, but she couldn’t imagine how she would be able to sneak it in. With one look behind her, she made sure that Margery wasn’t standing at the doorway. She didn’t want a scolding from her for trying to take such frivolous things.
Making sure her pockets were big enough, she started to place bits of makeup and jewelry in her pockets. She didn’t take much, just things that reminded her the most of her mother. Once she finished filling her pockets, she looked at herself in the mirror. If Margery didn’t pay too much attention to her, there would be no way to tell what she had done. She could only hope that that would be the case.
Picking Mistel up, who was trying to play with a slipper, she walked back down the stairs. Margery was putting away what looked like the last of the boxes. The elderly woman wiped the sweat from her brow. “Are you ready to return home?” she asked.
Return home… She would have to get use to it.
Iris looked back at her former home and took one long last look at it. She would burn its features in her mind so that she would never forget it. The moment she stepped into the car again, her new life would start. She didn’t know how she would be able to handle it, but she would have to do her best. Mistel needed her and that would drive her until she couldn’t go any further.
Taking a deep breath, she let it out at a slow pace. She turned back around and climbed into the back seat of the car, strapping Mistel in his own seat next to her.
If only she knew then what her life would be after that day.
~*~*~
“ He once thought it himself, that he might die with grief: for his wife, his daughters, his sisters, his father and master the cardinal. But pulse, obdurate, keeps its rhythm. You think you cannot keep breathing, but your ribcage has other ideas, rising and falling, emitting sighs. You must thrive in spite of yourself; and so that you may do it, God takes out your heart of flesh, and–” -Bring up the Bodies, Hilary Mantel
“Iris!”
She closed her book and smiled at the little boy running up to her. Mistel jumped into her arms, and she lifted him up on her hip. “Good afternoon, Mistel,” Iris greeted. She set him down and started to fix up his hair. “How was school?”
“It was great! I learned a lot of new things today and even showed everyone that book you told me about,” he answered. Mistel took her hand as they walked down the sidewalk. Children all around them were going home with their parents or grandparents. “Everyone in my class thought it was great. They want me to bring another book next week!”
Iris touched his nose, earning a giggling reaction. “I’ll be sure to find a good one at work today, okay? Something just as grand as the one you brought in.”
Mistel’s fingers clenched around Iris’s hand. He hated it when Iris had to work. It left him alone with Margery and Henry. They weren’t… bad people to him, but he felt a lot safer when his sister was around. “Do you have to go in…?”
“I’m afraid I must. You know Margery wanted me to do good at being there,” she answered, squeezing his fingers back. “After all, she’s the one who helped me get it.”
Of course she did. Margery just knew that the library would be the perfect job for Iris. Whenever Mistel saw her there, she looked perfect doing it.
In his eyes, Iris was always perfect, even during her faults.
But right now, the fact that she wouldn’t be with him today sadden him. “Okay…”
“Don’t be too sad, Mistel. You have your cello lessons today!” Iris reminded. “Don’t you just adore your teacher?”
He smiled. Yes he did. His teacher, Mrs. Roux, was always nice to him. Whenever he played a piece without a problem, he would award him with a piece of candy. If he missed a few notes, she still did as long as he promised to do better next time. If Margery had ever learned that she had given him candy, she would find a new cello teacher. He took his dental hygiene as a serious manner just so Mrs. Roux could continue to teach him. “I do adore her, Iris, but I adore you more.”
Iris bent down and kissed his forehead. “You are the sweetest and handsomest man I know, Mistel.”
He loved it when she complimented him. He had never known anyone else to receive such high compliments from her. He hoped she didn’t give them out as well as she did his. It would make him a bit jealous.
“What are you reading?” he asked when Iris opened her book again and started to read.
“Oh, this book I borrowed from the library. It’s a wonderful read.”
Mistel smiled. His sister loved to read just as much as she loved to write and loved him. Although, he wasn’t a fan of her walking and reading. So many things could happen while she was doing so. Even now, he realized they were coming close to the corner, the street zooming with cars right after it. He tugged at his sisters arm, trying to get her to pay attention.
“Iris, wait! You can’t read and walk,” he urged, tugging at her arm. Not once did Iris pay attention to him, her noise buried in her book. He looked over at the street, seeing a bus ready to drive as soon as the light changed. If Iris continued to walk with her nose in her book, it would run over them both. “Iris!”
The light changed and the bus moved.
Iris stopped just at the corner, the bus zooming past them.
Mistel looked at the back of the bus, his eyes wide and mouth open. Iris looked up from her book and looked at him. “Hm? Did you say something Mistel?”
He looked at his sister, a look of complete admiration on his face. “You’re so cool!”
She laughed. “Oh, Mistel.”
The light changed and they crossed the street. They were lucky to find a cello teacher just a block away from the elementary school. It was easy for her to bring him there afterwards. They walked up the steps to the brownstone apartment complex. Letting themselves in, they walked to the door of the first floor apartment and knocked.
An elderly woman opened the door, smiling at them. “Hello, you two.” She leaned a bit closer to Mistel. “Are you ready to learn, sweetie?”
“Yes, ma'am!” Mistel took Mrs. Roux hand, squeezing Iris’s one last time before letting go. “Have a good day at work, Iris.”
“And you have a good day at practice.” She kissed his forehead.
Mistel watched as his sister left the building and squeezed Mrs. Roux hand. Iris would be at work until eight at night. Mrs. Roux lesson would only last for an hour and after that Margery would be picking him up.
… He didn’t want to go home without Iris.
“Come now, Mistel. Let’s go and have some fun.”
Throughout his lesson, he knew that there were many easy mistakes that he made. These mistakes were hardly done before when he played certain pieces. Mistel was more nervous than usual about returning home. He was never beaten and they never starved him. He just had an overwhelming sense of unease about going home.
The time came, though.
Margery was waiting at the door for him with Mrs. Roux. Mistel could only stall in the bathroom for so long. He stepped out and took Margery’s hand. “Goodbye, Mrs. Roux. Thank you for teaching me today.”
“You are always welcomed, Mistel,” she said, pinching his cheek.
Margery pulled Mistel away without saying a proper farewell to her elder. She was hasty and rushed him out of the door and down to the car. Mistel’s uneasiness was for a good reason. While he couldn’t tell what was wrong with her, he still knew that things weren’t going to be pleasant. Anyone could snap and hurt someone. Who’s to say that Margery or Henry wouldn’t snap today?
It scared him.
He hopped into the car and buckled himself in. Margery fell into the drivers seat and slammed her door shut. She held the steering wheel in a tight grip. Mistel could see in her face how much she tried to keep hold of her anger. His throat was sore and he wanted to ask her what was wrong. She would only scold him, telling him that a child doesn’t have to worry about an adult.
So he looked out the window and waited for the car to move. Or for Margery to speak.
“I had a wonderful pot roast in the oven and now it’s ruined!” Margery finally said. “We have to go to the market. Perhaps I can find something to cook in time for dinner. Completely unbelievable…”
This wasn’t the first time Margery had messed up a meal. It happened when he was younger but as he grew older, she was messing up more and more. Perhaps it was her old age finally getting to her. Mistel would never voice this or even his concern that she might be unwell. He’d rather it be someone else rather than him.
The car started and they drove away from Mrs. Roux’s apartment. They didn’t live too far from the school or even his teacher, but they were quite a ways from the market. During this time, it was bustling with activity. After Margery parked the car, Mistel hopped out and followed as she walked into the store. He was the one who grabbed the basket to carry around the store as they shopped. She always asked him to carry it. Mistel didn’t mind, of course. At least she asked.
They made their way along the produce section and he made a face at the vegetables they passed. He made an even worse one when Margery put a bunch of them into their basket.
“What’s that look for? You’ll eat it and you’ll like it,” Margery said with a sense of finality.
Mistel whimpered as he followed her to the meats. He never liked vegetables. Even as a baby, Iris has told him that he pushed his vegetable baby food aside. What was there to like about them? They were leafy and gross just to look at them. Their taste? Just as leafy and gross. Mistel doubt his body could even stomach it if he swallowed.
Tonight was going to be bad.
~*~*~
“Mistel, you must finish your vegetables.”
“I can’t…”
“I know you can. Just take your fork and eat it!”
No child could handle a parent yelling at them and Mistel was no exception. Even when he was much younger than he already was, he didn’t like them. Having her yell at him to eat something he despised only made the sinking feeling in his stomach worse. Margery made him uncomfortable with her constant glares and huffing breaths.
He wished Iris was around…
“I’m home!”
Oh, how the Goddess showed her mercy.
Iris walked into the kitchen, placing her bag on the floor near the couch. She walked into the kitchen and kissed Mistel’s head. “I’m sorry I’m so late. There was a lot of books that I needed to put away at the library.”
Margery huffed, her glaring eyes now on Iris as she moved around the kitchen. “So long as you were at work and doing nothing else.” She stood up and proceeded to leave the table. “Make sure Mistel eats his vegetables. I tire of trying and he listens to you.”
“Yes, Margery,” Iris answered, sitting where Margery had just been. Once a door closed down the hall, she reached over and piled Mistel’s vegetables onto her own. “Good job, Mistel. You ate them all.”
Mistel smiled at his sister. She knew exactly what to do and what to say at the best of times. He rest his arms on the table and his head on top of them. “Do you have any interesting stories to tell me, Iris?”
Iris nodded her head then held up her finger, chewing the mouth full of vegetables. “I do!” she answered after swallowing. “A man came in today with a book he borrowed fifty years ago. Why, the adventures he told us about it and where he’s been with the book. One time…”
His sister went on about her story, telling her the adventures that this man had gone on with this one book by his side. Of how he traveled around the world, always reading that one book when things got rough or when he was lonely. It never occurred to Mistel that his sister might be twisting the truth a bit. She was his sister and she would never lie to him.
She finished her dinner and set him off to get ready for bed. Mistel did so, knowing that Margery wouldn’t approve of him being up too late. He entered his room alone and changed into his pajamas. He recalled of days where he would spend nights in Iris’s room for the first few months. It happened after their parents deaths. Margery put a stop to this as soon as she deemed them unable to grieve any longer. She claimed that they had grieved long enough and that Mistel should sleep in his own room.
He never liked it. He missed sleeping with his sister.
An hour passed and he still couldn’t fall asleep. Mistel crawled out of bed and opened his door. It was quiet in the house. He was sure Margery was asleep and she usually slept like a rock. Closing his door, he sneaked to Iris’s door and opened it a bit. “Iris?” he whispered, taking a small peak inside.
“Come on in,” responded his whispering sister.
They often did this, where they would sneak into each others room if they were having a hard time sleeping. They would talk or tell stories to one another. It was a peaceful thing and it made Mistel feel a bit better about what happened during the day. He continued to sneak into his sister’s room and climbed onto her bed. She was writing away in her purple notebook, a fluffy purple pen in her hand.
He climbed onto her bed and cuddled close to her. “What are you writing about?”
“Oh, a fantastic story, if I do say so myself,” Iris answered. Her pen never stopped moving. It amazed Mistel to see how much his sister could do at the same time. “I hope you’ll be able to read it one day, Mistel.”
“I’ll be able to if you read it to me.”
She smiled at him. Finally putting her pen down, she ruffled his already messy hair. “Perhaps I will one day.”
The sound of something breaking broke their moment.
Immediately, Mistel felt a sense of dread wash over him. He clung close to Iris, grabbing her arm. She touched his hand before pulling his hands off. Iris stepped out of the bed and made her way to the door. She opened it a crack then opened it more. Mistel hoped that she would stand at the doorway for a moment before coming back, but he saw her leaving.
He didn’t want to be alone in the room, so he followed her, doing his best to be as quiet as possible. Mistel found Iris resting her ear against the master bedroom, a look of concentration on her face. He followed her example, putting his ear against the door. If Iris was listening, it had to be about something good or important.
“How could we fall so behind in our bills and rent?”
It sounded like Margery.
“Raising two children isn’t easy.”
“We should have never agreed to raise them. I mean, who in the world would have thought that they would die like that?! I didn’t!”
“There’s nothing we can do about it now. We’ll have to move and sell a few things to make things work out.”
“What if we ask Iris for help? She has a job now. I’m sure she can find a way to help us.”
“No one’s paid for volunteer work, Margery. We just have to move. I’ll look for apartments tomorrow. Be sure to break the news to the kids.”
Iris took hold of Mistel, picked him up, and brought him back to his room. Mistel was quiet as his sister tucked him in. It was hard for him to make any real sense of the situation. He understood the moving part, but the other parts of the conversation didn’t make any sense to him. Iris, as usual, was completely unreadable. He couldn’t tell if she was sad or angry at what they just heard. He couldn’t even tell how he felt about it since he understood so little.
“Iris, are you okay?” he asked, reaching up to touch her hand.
Iris covered his hand with her own. “I’m okay, Mistel. Please get some sleep.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at him. “I love you.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “And we’re going to be okay.” Giving his hand a squeeze, she pulled away from him and left the room, the door closing behind her.
Mistel didn’t believe anything she said. Something was wrong and he didn’t understand it. He wanted to, though.
~*~*~
When Mistel woke up and got ready for the day, he expected Margery to talk to them like Henry said for her to do. She prepared breakfast and went about her own business, as usual. The entire flat felt suffocating. It made him uncomfortable as he ate his breakfast. Iris finished first and put her dishes in the sink to let them soak.
She turned to Mistel, her smile big and wide. “Mistel, would you like to spend all day outside in the city? There are some places that I think you would enjoy.”
Mistel smiled at her. There was nothing better he would like to do today. Every day that he spent with his sister, whether they were in or out of the house, was magical. She didn’t hesitate to make it the best for him. It was so admirable. He wished he could be even half the person she was.
They prepared as soon as Mistel finished eating. They made their own lunches and got ready to leave for the entire day. Margery stood in the kitchen, cleaning up and watching them as they were ready to leave. She followed them to the buildings hallway just as they made their way down the stairs. “Don’t be out too late, you hear?” Margery said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I don’t want you two to miss dinner.”
“We won’t, Margery,” Iris assured, lifting Mistel up so they could leave faster.
“And be careful! You never know what kind of ruffians are out there today.”
Mistel was the only one who saw Iris roll her eyes. “We will! Don’t worry so much, Margery. We’ll be fine,” Iris assured, finally reaching the other floor. She quickened her pace, hurrying out of the building. Whatever Margery was going to say next was on deaf ears.
For today, they were free.
Outside the building, she set Mistel down and took his hand. Together they walked down the streets, talking about what adventures they would have. Every part of him was brimming with excitement and he questioned Iris at every block. Were they going to have fun? What was it that she had planned for them? Her answers always involved saying that he would have to wait.
Often, he wanted to close his eyes and let it be more of a surprise, but he knew that Iris couldn’t carry him for miles. Besides, he didn’t want to feel like a burden to her. He would much rather have fun and let her take it easy. He may be young and understood little about things, but he knew when stress hit his sister. Mistel knew that Margery put a bit more pressure on her than she did him. All because she was older. If he could, he would take the brunt of Margery’s discipline, just so that Iris could relax for one day.
Today, though, would be a day for relaxing. Iris always kept her word and he always believed her every time.
“We’re here!” Iris announced, waving towards it with a fancy flourish.
Mistel smiled, gazing at the museum before them. He had heard his other classmates say how much fun it was and he wanted to go for ages. Margery always said that they were much too busy to go and that Iris had too much to do to take him. The Kinetic Museum was a big thing in his class.
“Let’s go!” Mistel said, taking Iris’s hand and pulling her along. Iris laughed, but allowed him to do so. Together, they hurried to the building and climbed up the massive stairs. Although the walk tired him out, he became energized upon reaching their destination. He was ready to see all that the museum had to offer and take in the mass amount of knowledge of kinetic items. Nothing could put a damper on his mood today.
They spent the entire day in the museum, looking at all the pieces and touching the ones they could. Seeing it crowded with various patrons, Mistel made sure to keep close to Iris. He always held her hand and made sure his eyes didn’t wander too much away from her. The afternoon came and they left the museum with their stomachs ready to eat. The park was just across the street from the building and they had a little picnic, discussing what they saw.
It was no where near nightfall when they finished and Iris suggested they walk around until the sun set. Neither of them wanted to go home and Mistel felt that it was because of last night. Iris appeared distracted. It was different from when she thought about her stories. When she thought about her stories, she always had a far away look on her face. She had a look that spoke about what she was thinking about, whether it be fairies or romances. This look was nothing like that look. This look made a knot in his stomach and caused him to worry for her.
Mistel dared not mention it, though. If something upset his sister, he didn’t want to be the one to remind her about it. He knew that she would tell him when she was ready. When she was ready, he would always be there for her.
The city was bustling with those who were ready to go home. Some of the stores were getting ready to close, but others dealt with dinner rushes. Or they dealt with those who wanted to do some last minute shopping before heading back. Mistel looked at the stores, taking in the ones he knew were there and those that were almost brand new.
Then he saw it.
Mistel pulled hard on Iris’s hand, making her stop.
“Is something wrong?” she asked but he hardly heard her.
He continued to pull his older sister until he reached the window he was looking in. It was a glorious silver tea set, one he had never seen before. Margery had many tea sets back at their flat and she used one for every different occasion. This one felt special to Mistel, though. There was no way around it; he wanted it.
“Iris, can we please go inside!” he urged, tugging at his sisters arm again.
Iris looked from him, to the tea set, and then to the setting sun. “Mistel, I don’t think we have that much time. Margery and Henry will be waiting for us…” Mistel gave her the biggest pout he could muster. He wanted to go inside; he wanted the tea set. Iris could only withstand his look for only so long. With a defeated sigh, she allowed him to lead her into the shop.
Immediately, Mistel let go of her hand and ran over to the tea set. He dared not touch it, though, paying close attention to the sign that was near the displays. “Can we get it, Iris? Please?” he asked, looking up at his sister as she walked up behind him. His sister looked into her purse and frowned. He knew that look. It was a look that said “we can’t afford it at the moment”. Mistel grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Please…”
Mistel wasn’t sure what made her change her mind. A flash of determination came to her features and she walked over to the shopkeeper. He watched with excitement as Iris handed the money over to him and the shopkeeper set off to box their item. Mistel stepped away as he took a box and started to package the item with care. To Mistel, he couldn’t help but see the act done with love and care. It was amazing.
The shopkeeper placed it in a bag and handed it to Iris. Mistel ran up to her and grabbed her hand. “What would you like to do with it, hm?” she asked as they left the shop. “Should we show it to Margery? Or keep it to ourselves?”
Did she have to ask? “Let’s keep it for ourselves! She doesn’t need to know what you do what your money. It’s yours!” Mistel answered, giving her hand another squeeze. Iris smiled down at him.
It was their little secret that the library was paying her for her work there. She had told Margery and Henry that it was volunteer work. Ever since she started working there, Iris made plans that they would move out from under their roof. They weren’t cruel to the siblings, but their lifestyle wasn’t pleasant. Iris would always tell him that one day, things would be better for them. That one day, she would give him the life he always deserved.
Mistel dreamed of that day coming. He never asked when it would happen, knowing that Iris would tell him when it was time.
They walked home in a dreamy state, the conversation lively between the two of them. When they reached the apartment complex, Iris hid the package in the stairwell. She promised Mistel that she would retrieve it after Henry and Margery were asleep. The walk had exhausted Mistel and he made no complaints when his sister picked him up and made her way up the stairs. They were up there in no time, but Margery and Henry were waiting for them at the door.
He looked at his sister with a scared look, but she cooed softly, assuring him that things were going to be okay.
“Did you have fun?” Henry asked, holding the door open for them.
“We did. Thank you for asking,” Iris said, carting Mistel into the flat.
“Where did you go off to?” Margery asked as she followed them, her husband following suit.
“The Kinetic Museum. It was free today.” These were just typical questions that they always asked when they came home. Mistel would often grow irritated by them and he knew his sister did, too.
Henry stepped up behind him and touched the back of the siblings heads, an almost father like touch. “I’m glad. There is something we need to discuss.” He motioned for them to take a seat on the couch. “Margery was suppose to tell you today, but I suppose she didn’t have the courage.”
Iris sat down on the couch, but she didn’t let go of Mistel. She let him sit on her lap, let him stay close to her so that she could assure him that things were okay. Mistel wasn’t so sure but if his sister believed so, then he would, too.
“We understand that you both enjoy your schools and lessons. We also know you enjoy your jobs,” Henry said as he sat in a chair, “but we’ll be moving next weekend.” Margery stood behind Henry and her grip tightened on the back when he said this.
Mistel looked at his caretakers and then at his sister. She had such a calm and collected look on her face, but her eyes gave it away. He didn’t know that emotion but he didn’t like it. It just didn’t belong on his sister’s face or in her eyes. “We understand,” she said, squeezing Mistel a bit. “I’ll be sure to pack my things and help Mistel with his. If you need my help with your own things, I’ll be happy to give it.”
When Mistel looked back to his caretakers, they looked a bit surprised by Iris’s response. Did they believe that his sister would put up a fight? That she was childish and would do such a thing? “I’m… I’m glad that you understand, Iris. We hope that you will be able to convince Mistel to not put up too much of a fight during the move.”
He couldn’t help but feel offended by this. Did it seem that he would cause such a problem during their move? Why did they insist on treating him like a child? Despite being exactly that, Mistel always thought of himself as mature for his age. Or at least, more mature than the others in his class. He didn’t voice this concern, feeling Iris tighten her arms around him. It was best to keep quiet about it.
Dinner came and went, along with his bath. Mistel lay in his bed, looking up at the ceiling. He didn’t mind the idea of moving. He had no attachments to this apartment just like he had no attachment to his birth home. Moving was just… moving and nothing more. So long as he was with Iris, he knew he would always be home.
Hearing the soft knock on his door, he sat up. “Iris?”
Iris peeked her head into the room and smiled at him. As she walked into the room, Mistel smiled at the package in her hands. “I told you I would get it again,” she whispered.
He moved closer to the package and opened it. He did it with care, afraid that it would break if he went faster. The tea set didn’t lose its initial sparkle, even with the situation earlier still fresh in his mind. He picked up a tea cup and ran a finger around the rim. “I’ve never seen a tea set like this before…”
“There are all sorts of antique tea sets in the world. This one in particular just happened to catch your eye,” Iris said, taking the cup from him.
Mistel rocked back and forth. “What are antiques?”
His sister moved closer to him and he followed suit, leaning into her. “Hmm… how can I explain it…” When she looked down at him, Mistel gave her the biggest pleading look he could muster. “They’re like old artifacts from a long time ago. There are many who collect them, putting them on display or even selling them like the shop we went in today.” Iris placed the tea cup on the bed and reached into the parcel to take out the kettle.
Reaching out, he touched its side and stroked it. “… Do you think I’m too young to collect antiques?”
While Iris looked at him with wide eyes, she had a smile on her face and it grew in size the more she stared at him. “I don’t think so. In fact, I think you will be wonderful at collecting antiques.” Just like that, her smile faded into a small one. “Let’s just try not to get so many of them for now. I don’t know how Margery and Henry would mind up carrying so many things with us to a new home.”
This confused Mistel. The way she said it made it sound like there would be a lot of moving for them in the future. That couldn’t be the case now, could it? “I understand, but I would like it if we collected as much of them as we could!”
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Of course. Anything for you, Mistel. Remember, we have a bit of packing to do tomorrow, so rest well.” Iris put the tea set back into its box and brought it over the his desk. She waved goodbye to him as she left his room, the door closing with a quiet click.
Mistel fell back into the bed and stared up at the ceiling. A happy feeling filled and warmed him. The conversation between their caretakers was far in the back of his mind. It made falling asleep easier, his eyelids so heavy that he drifted off within seconds.
The thoughts of moving never entering his dreams.
~*~*~
The week passed faster than they expected. They were always busy with packing away some items so that the big day would be easier for them. Mistel helped Iris with her room and she with his. Quite often, Margery had asked Iris to help her with packing up the kitchen or closets. It left Mistel to continue on his own. Iris didn’t mind it so much, if only it didn’t feel like she was doing it on purpose. Mistel was still a child and she believed Margery had a hard time remembering what children were like.
When Saturday arrived, they had packed their belongings and were ready to say goodbye. The flat was completely bare inside. Margery made sure they were thorough in taking all their possessions and packing them. There were no hiding spots from Margery’s careful eyes. She checked all the spots often to make sure that everyone did their part. It was hard to make sure that she didn’t find the antique tea set Iris had bought for Mistel. The moment the truck came, she hid it in the back.
“I have so many fond memories of this place…” Margery whispered before they got into the car. “It’s such a shame that we have to leave.”
Iris couldn’t feel the same sentiments of this home. She had only lived in it for such a short time. Her real home would always be where her parents had raised her until their deaths. After work, she would sometimes walk past it. She stared at the windows that haven’t seen life since her and Mistel moved out. There was a “for sale” sign on the gate, but no one had bothered to buy it. A part of her was so glad about this fact. Perhaps she would one day be able to buy it with her own money. Oh, Mistel would love this place so much.
Unfortunately, it was such a far off dream. It would take her years to earn that much money.
The car started and they drove away. Iris wasn’t sure how long the drive was, all her attention focused on Mistel. Her little brother seemed fine about the move and didn’t seem at all upset about it. It was a little strange to see, but Iris didn’t think anything of it. Despite what Margery and Henry thought, Mistel was mature for his age. At one point, the two siblings fell asleep against each other. The drive lulled them into a deep slumber. When they finally felt it stop, it was dark outside.
“We’re here,” Henry said. Try as she might, when Iris looked out the car window she couldn’t figure out which one was their new home. By the looks of them, though, they looked small. Iris wasn’t sure if all their stuff would be able to fit in them. Although, knowing Margery, she would do her best to make sure it fit.
Stepping out of the car, Mistel in her arms, Iris followed Henry as he led them to an apartment building. He took a key out of his pocket and opened the entrance doors, then took them to a rickety old elevator. The door lifted upwards by hand instead of opening from the sides automatically. She had only seen elevators like this in books. They only went up two floors out of fifteen and down five doors when they came to their new home.
Henry opened the door and Iris knew that this wasn’t a great place. The walls looked cracked and the hallway was small. She shuddered at the thought of what the rest of the apartment would look like. With the others, she walked further in. It didn’t seem like it was too different from their old flat, with the only exception that it was more enclosed. … Of course, part of the apartment seemed like it was in shambles. Connected to the living area was a kitchen and she could have sworn she saw something crawl on the wall. She didn’t dare say anything. With luck, it was only her imagination.
“This is… nice…” Iris commented. She smiled at Mistel. “Why, it’s a new castle, Mistel. We’ll be able to decorate it and imagine it to be whatever we–”
“Stop that nonsense, you silly girl!” Margery interrupted. She held her nose high in the air, looking completely disgusted. Iris wasn’t sure if it was at her or at their new living environment. “This place is a dump and I won’t have you two ruining it even more so. Goodness, we have so much work to do!”
Margery continued to rant off what they had to do, walking into the kitchen to check the water. Henry touched Iris’s shoulder and led her down the hallway. It was much shorter than their other home and he opened the first door on his right. The room it revealed was small and didn’t look any better than the rest of the apartment. “You two will need to share a room for the time being. That won’t be a problem, will it?” Henry asked as Iris walked further in.
“Not at all. Thank you, Henry,” she answered, setting Mistel down. When she looked back at Henry, he looked a bit uncomfortable. “Is something wrong?”
“Margery and I have been talking,” he started, “we would like for you two to call us 'Aunt’ and 'Uncle’ from now on. You’ve lived with us for a few years now, so it seems fitting.”
She exchanged looks with Mistel. It was a strange to use such terms with their caretakers. While Margery could be too much for them at times, Henry hadn’t done anything wrong to them like she had. It was possible to call him their uncle, wasn’t it? “I’m sure we can do that,” Iris said.
Henry gave her a smile and left the room, leaving the door open. Iris took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. She sat down on the dusty floor, Mistel sitting next to her. “I don’t like this place, Iris…” Mistel muttered as he leaned into her.
She’d be lying if she said she liked it. It looked like a mess and who knows if there were any bugs that were crawling around the place. Iris shuddered at the thought; she hatedbugs. Especially the ones that liked to crawl all over you. From the room, she could hear Margery shout that they had running water. That was a good sign in such a terrible looking place.
“We’ll be okay, Mistel,” Iris assured. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and held him closer. Her lips brushed against the top of his head. “We have each other still and that’s all that matters, okay?” Her brother looked up at her and she could feel exactly what he was thinking: that she was lying. To be truthful, she didn’t know if they will be okay. Yes, they would still have each other, but how could they survive living in a place like this with Margery? Iris didn’t know how and it scared her. Fear wasn’t an option since her parents death.
Deep down, though, she knew that if she didn’t remain strong, then fear would grip Mistel in its inky claws, too. This was one thing she didn’t want to happen. Grabbing Mistel, she stood up and walked out of their new bedroom. “Let’s go and get some of our stuff from the moving van. I’m sure if we spruce things up a bit, the place will look as good as new!”
As they passed the kitchen, they ignored Margery and Henry discussing something important. Whatever negativity they spoke about, Iris ignored it. Only positive thinking was going through her head about their new living arrangements. Once outside, she set Mistel down and he ran over to the truck to try and open it for himself. “Do you think we can display the tea set here, Iris?” he asked, fiddling with the lock mechanism.
Iris reached over and opened it herself, easing the truck door all the way up. “We’ll just have to see. You wouldn’t want Margery to take it away from you, do you?” she asked as she lifted Mistel up into the truck. The look on her brother’s face told her everything she needed to know: of course he didn’t.
Most of their bedroom items were in the front of the truck for easy access if they arrived at their new home too late. Each one was labeled as well from clothes to sheets to desk items. Iris reached up for the smallest box containing her writing equipment and held it out for Mistel. She told him to keep guard of it, for it contained her most precious memories and things that were most important to her. Mistel assured her that he would take good care of it and waited on the side for her. Grabbing various boxes with their names on it, she stepped off the truck.
Henry was stepping out of the apartment building when they passed. “Just take a few of your bed items tonight, you two. We’ll work on the rest in the morning,” he explained to them before they could get any further up the stairs. “I’ll be bringing up the mattresses in a moment.”
“No problem, Uncle Henry.” It was such a weird thing to say to him after all these years. To call him “Uncle” Henry instead of just Henry. It left a strange taste in her mouth and she didn’t believe she would ever be able to get it out.
Iris and Mistel continued upwards until they reached their apartment. Margery was opening the windows to let out the musty air of the apartment. They placed their boxes in the room, pushing them to the wall to leave room for the mattresses. Opening the box labeled Mistel, she pulled out his blankets, sheets, and even a few of his pajamas. Placing them to the side, she opened up one of her own boxes, pulling out the exact same items from her room. It was Margery’s idea that they put their bedding and pajamas in one box. That way it would be easier for them to go to bed when they reached the new apartment. Iris had to admit that she was smart in that aspect.
“Incoming.” Mistel rushed over to Iris as Henry came in with one of the mattresses. He placed it a bit roughly on the floor and left the room again. A few moments later, he pulled in a second one. “We’re going to have an early day tomorrow. We already ordered dinner so after that it’s straight to bed. Alright?”
That was one of the things that separated Henry from his wife. Margery was more demanding and expected things to done without saying anything. Henry at least had the patience for both Mistel and herself; even though it didn’t feel like it at times. “Alright. Thank you.” Henry nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Mistel pouted but he still grabbed his stuff and brought them over to his mattress. Iris took her own sheets and watched Mistel as he made his bed—with some problems. She was only called once to help. With their beds made, Margery walked in with paper plates with pizza on top of them. “I see that you two have already settled in,” she said, an annoyed tone in her voice.
“We are, but we’ll make sure that you’re nice and settled in tomorrow before lunch,” Iris assured. Mistel moved a bit closer to Iris as Margery handed her the plates.
“See that you do. Make sure that Mistel stays out of the way, as well.”
“Yes, Aunt Margery…”
Margery looked a bit annoyed the word “Aunt” but she said nothing. She stuck her nose up into the air and headed out the room. They nibbled at their dinner in silence. They could still hear Margery and Henry talking through the paper thin walls. Whatever they were talking about, it didn’t seem like they were fighting at the moment. Iris hoped that they wouldn’t fight anymore tonight. Mistel didn’t need a night of no sleep from those two, especially if he was going to help.
Mistel finished his food first and put the plate on the floor far away from his bed. “Are you sure we’re going to be happy here, Iris?”
Try as she might, she knew she couldn’t tell him the truth. As his older sister, she was in charge of making sure that he was healthy and happy. While lying to him was nothing she was proud of, she knew that she had to. “Of course we will, Mistel. We have each other, right?”
~*~*~
Two years later and this was still true. Iris was now eighteen and Mistel was now seven. In the two years since that day, they have moved from different apartments and cities. Some were better than the last while some were worse. They never had a place as perfect as their first home but it was better than not having a home at all. He was sure to count his blessings just as Iris has told him to do. Even if that one blessing was his sister, it was enough for him to see the bright side of things. Iris was all he needed to keep on going and all she needed was him.
That was the way they did things and Mistel couldn’t be happier.
Even now as he waited at the corner of the sidewalk for the light to change so he could cross. He was with a group of classmates with their parent and older siblings. None were even aware that he was around, which is how he liked it. Mistel had told Margery and Henry that he would stop by Iris’s job after school. He never said how he would be getting there. They had offered to have a friend drop him off but he always turned it down. He didn’t want to have to deal with their friends as much as he didn’t want to deal with them.
At least he wasn’t alone. It took him a long time to find out which classmate walked past the bookstore but when he did, he made sure to blend in. He told Margery and Henry that he was walking with friends to the store and that was good enough for them. Although, they seemed more relieved that they didn’t have to deal with something else about him. Mistel tried to not let it bother him so much with much difficulty. He suppose with time he would be able to feel numb about their negligence involving him.
The light changed and he was the first one to step off the curb and cross the street. It was a cold day and the snow was threatening to fall at any moment. Everyone was in a rush to get home before it did, but he was still faster. The bookstore was right on the corner and he didn’t hesitate to walk up to it. A lady exited the shop and held the door open for him, which he thanked her for with a smile.
It was nice and warm in the store. The smell of old books, tea, and coffee mingled in the air. The store had many shelves filled with various sections, a counter covering only a small area. There were a few chairs and tables for patrons to sit at and enjoy a book or two to read. Mistel never saw it as a way for a business to strive but he was guilty of doing this, too. The owners and workers never seemed to mind so why should he bother saying anything?
Mistel touched the shelves as he walked towards the back. He knew exactly where he could find his sister. His feet slowed to a full stop as he found her in the back–
With another man.
With haste, he ducked behind a shelf and peeked out around it to spy on his sister. He had never seen his sister stand so close to another man like that. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and he was whispering in her ear. It made Mistel uncomfortable and a feeling stirred within him. It got worse when the two of them kissed and his chest ached. He wanted to run away from his sister, but run to her at the same time. For once, Mistel didn’t know what to do.
He could run off and find a way into the apartment, but he could be more malicious. It whispered in his ear to step forward and confront them on their public display of affection. He wanted to learn about when their relationship started and learn why. Why had Iris never mentioned him? Mistel wouldn’t tell her that she hurt him by her actions. Telling her would be too easy and he wanted her to feel guilty about what she had done.
This is exactly what he would do.
After straightening out his uniform, he walked up to the happy couple. Once Iris saw him, she pushed her companion off her and smiled. It was such a guilty smile. This is just the beginning of it, IrisMistel thought to himself, smiling at the pair. “You two looked close.”
Iris cleared her throat and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t expecting you so early, Mistel. It must have been an easier walk here than usual, hm?”
This was a terrible lie. Iris could do better than this and Mistel knew this to be true. So why was she doing it so poorly? “If you paid more attention to that lovely grandfather clock, Iris, you would see that it is the time I arrive. There is no quicker way to the store, unfortunately.” If there was one, he didn’t find it and it meant that none of his classmates went through that way either.
“Oh… Yes, of course,” Iris mumbled, looking down at her hands. After some time, she beamed at him and placed a hand on the man she had just recently been kissing. “Mistel, I would like for you to meet, Arthur. He is a good acquaintance of mine.”
Arthur was a handsome man, not like Mistel would say this out loud. His sandy blonde hair and blue eyes must indeed draw in a few unsuspecting girls; like Iris. Mistel hated him, though. He hated everything about him.
“So this is the famous Mistel, huh,” Arthur said, a nice toothy smile on his face. He held his hand out for Mistel to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Iris has told me much about you and I’ve been looking forward to us finally meeting.”
Is that so, huh? Mistel knew exactly where to push and how hard to do it. With a smile, he took Arthur’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’m glad to hear it. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about you. Why, Iris hasn’t told me a single thing about you!”
Arthur looked back at Iris and Mistel enjoyed that look with such deliciousness. “Is that so…” Arthur mumbled, his brow furrowing.
Mistel took his hand away and straightened his clothes, his smile never faltering. Whoever this Arthur was, it was nice knowing him. Something like this will send him away and he would have Iris all to himself. That was how life meant for it to be; Iris told him this herself.
“Mistel!” Iris said it through gritted teeth and such harshness. Mistel had never heard her talk to him like this before. It was strange and it made him uncomfortable. He refused to show it, though. Instead, he still smiled at her. “Why don’t you go to the history section of the store? The owners got quite a few new books about antiques that I think you would just love.”
That stung more than Mistel was expecting. He turned on his heel, not once losing his smile, and made his way to the history section. It was close enough that he could see them from between the shelves, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Instead, he delved into the books ordered just for him to read. He kept one eye trained on the couple, trying to determine their exchanging words. Soon, but not soon enough, Arthur stormed away from Iris and down the aisle. He could hear the door open and close behind him.
Good riddance.
Mistel returned his attention to the book, finding the antiques he saw interesting. He could see Iris moving towards him. Then she stood right before him. He made a show of just now realizing her presence, slowly tearing his gaze away from his book to smile up at her. Iris looked down at him with such a stern look that it almost made him feel bad about what he did. Almost. Instead, he looked down at his book, a pout on his face. The whole point was to make a show of feeling bad even though he didn’t feel bad about it at all.
“I can’t believe you did that, Mistel. Arthur was so excited to meet you!” Iris scolded, putting her hands on her hips. “Why, he even bought us tickets to a museum just an hour drive away. He thought it would be educational for us and insisted that we go so that he may meet you. Yet here I see that this is how you treat him! What do you have to say for yourself?”
He wasn’t going to take this.
Mistel smiled up at his sister. “Well, if it was so important for him to meet me, how come this is the first I’ve ever heard of him, hm?” He snapped his book shut and laid it in his lap, his eyes never leaving her. “Of course, why would you tell me? It’s not like I’m your only blood relative that means the world to you. Perhaps you do not care about me as much as you say that you do.” Still smiling, he looked past her and to nothing in particular. “Perhaps your promise of always being there for me was nothing but a little white lie to help me go to sleep at night. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
Oh, the look on Iris’s face. She looked so hurt and upset but now it wasn’t at him; it was at herself and he enjoyed it. He wanted her to feel as hurt as he did and then some. Mistel wasn’t going to be the one who hurt here: she would.
Iris ran her fingers through her hair and made her way over to the other armchair. She sat down in it with a soft sound and buried her face in her hands. They were quiet for a while, the sounds of other customers whispering and pages filling the air. Whatever occurred outside their little bubble wasn’t important at the moment. Mistel wasn’t going to let anything interfere with his guilt trip for Iris.
“I’m sorry, Mistel… I just… I just lost track of what was important…”
Perfect.
Mistel looked over at his sister and found her to be shaking. That’s when he started to feel guilty. He wanted Iris to feel bad about what she did, but he didn’t want to make her cry. Putting his book on the table, he stood up and walked over to her. He wrapped his arms around her head and shoulders. “It’s okay, Iris. I know that you’re feeling lonely at the moment.” He buried his nose in her hair and sighed. “I can’t always be there and I understand that. I suppose…”
Iris placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away from her. “I’m sorry, Mistel. I never meant to hurt you… Not like that…”
He smiled at her. “I know you didn’t. Let’s just put this chapter to a close! I have a wonderful book to get to and I believe you’re needed back at work.” His sister smiled at him and stood up, placing a kiss to his forehead. As she went back to work, he sat down in his previous seat and started the book over again.
The hours passed by while Mistel read and Iris worked. Before he knew it, he had gone through two sections of the history area by the time they were ready to leave. They walked through the fresh shoveled snow and to their next destination: home. If you could call it that. Home was wherever Iris was and that’s how he liked it.
He reached up, took her hand in his and squeezed it, like he did many times when they were walking. Iris smiled back at him then trained her eyes back to the path they were walking. How odd. Usually she would squeeze back. Was she still upset over what happened? Mistel pouted. What was the big deal, anyway? Iris didn’t needArthur when she had him. He pushed the thought from his mind. Iris would come around when she was ready to come around.
She always did.
Walking home took them only half an hour, but each step towards the place made their feet heavier. The neighborhood wasn’t the best. There were many rundown apartment buildings and a tree wasn’t seen for another mile or so. Even their apartment building looked miserable. They entered it and Iris checked the mail before they ascended the stairs to the second floor. Three doors down and they stopped to open up the door to their tiny apartment. The white furniture looked so strange in it.
Mistel stepped inside first and plopped his book bag on the pristine white couch. If Margery were here, she would chew his ear off. Luckily, she wasn’t. With their constant moves and debt, Margery herself had to get a job of her own. She changed jobs often, never liking to learn a craft for too long. It caused many fights between her and her husband, but Iris and Mistel have learned to tune them out.
He followed Iris into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He watched her as she started to prepare dinner. With Margery gone, it was her job to take over many of the chores such as cooking and cleaning. Her food wasn’t the best, but at least it was edible. It took quite a few lessons from Margery for Iris to get it right and even then it wasn’t that great. Mistel liked her cooking, though, and found it to be much better than their aunt’s (if only because Iris never made him eat his vegetables.)
As he watched her, he decided about what to do with their situation. Other than with him, when had he ever see Iris really happy? Yes, she was happy when they conversed with one another and talked, but what about after that? If he wasn’t around, who made her happy? Well, that had an obvious answer.
It was him, of course!
… Right?
Then why did she look like this? Why was she so sad that he sent Arthur packing? Did he really make her happy while he wasn’t around? The thought of such a thing unsettled him. How much longer before he wasn’t the number one importance in Iris’s life? Questions popped into his head and he didn’t like any one of them. They made him uncomfortable and he wanted nothing more than to just ignore it and get back to his life.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand to see Iris sad like that.
Mistel took a deep breath and stood up from his seat. Walking up behind Iris, he wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tightly. “I want to give Arthur a chance… for you…” He could fill Iris stiffen up and then relax. Just like that, she was back to her ordinary self.
Iris put down her cooking utensils and turned towards him to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Mistel. You don’t know how happy I am to hear that.” She pulled them apart and knelt in front of him. She was smiling so big now. To think that Mistel was the cause of part of her sadness just a few moments ago. “Arthur said you’ll enjoy it. If he knows you as well as I do, I believe you will, too.”
Mistel smiled at his sister. It took all his willpower to not say something smart; to not say something that could hurt her and make her cry. “Maybe I will, but we’ll just have to see.”
~*~*~
The day finally came for the trip to the museum. Margery and Henry would be working late tonight which meant that they were in the clear. Iris didn’t want them asking too many questions about where they were going and who with. Mistel didn’t want to, either. Margery wasn’t kind on punishments when she found out about any lying.
They sat and waited for Arthur to arrive in his car. Iris seemed fine, writing away in one of her many books and humming to herself. Mistel wasn’t too sure about this day and what it could entail. So many bad things could happen, even in a museum. Of course, they would all be because of him and because he just couldn’t find it in him to like Arthur. He still couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried to think about it.
A horn sounded from the front.
Mistel pulled back the curtain. There was a fancy looking car down below. In a place like this, it was only likely who it might be. He turned his head and found Iris packing away her things into her satchel. “Are you ready, Mistel?” Iris asked, smiling her brightest at him.
He was doing this for her. This is what he told himself and he chanted it in his mind as he followed Iris all the way downstairs. Arthur was waiting for them outside the car. It didn’t look like the events that happened a few days ago bothered him anymore. What a shame. Mistel wanted him to suffer for a little while longer. Perhaps he should—No! He would behave. For Iris.
“Nice to meet you again, Mistel,” Arthur said, smiling brightly. “Maybe we can start over today? I would like that if we could.”
Mistel couldn’t help but feel like he was talking down to him. No, that wouldn’t be it, right? If Iris talked to him as much as Arthur said she did, then he had nothing to worry. Mistel held his hand out and Arthur shook it. “I would like that very much, too.” At least, to an extent. He could see Iris out from the corner of his eye, beaming at the exchange between the two of them. “What museum are we going to, exactly?”
“Oh, you’ll love it, Mistel.” Arthur opened the passenger door and the door to the backseat. He closed them both once the two siblings got in and rushed over to his side. “It took many months of research for when they would arrive, but I was finally able to pinpoint when and where. It’s a shame they don’t come any closer to the city. Oh well. There’s nothing we can do about that.”
They? What in the world was he talking about? “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me, hm?” Mistel asked as Arthur started the car and they drove off.
Arthur chuckled, looking at him from the rear view mirror. “I can’t. It’s a surprise.”
Iris turned in her seat and smiled at him from the front. “It’s a surprise meant for you, Mistel.”
Mistel raised an eyebrow at this. He didn’t know what they were planning… but he already knew he wasn’t going to like it. The scenery and time just slipped by. Mistel didn’t even try to think of something else to pass the time. He dreaded this day, unsure of what will happen as events played out. Before he knew it, they were pulling in to a parking lot. There were more people then expected and it took them a bit of time to find an empty spot. As they looked, Mistel could see a big white tent behind the museum. Why such a thing was there, he didn’t know and he didn’t want to find out what it was.
Iris helped him out of the car while Arthur waited for them on the curb, smiling that smile of his. Mistel wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. He calmed down, though, when Iris took his hand and led him to the museum. It bothered him when Arthur took her free hand, but he told himself to stay strong. It was only for one day and he could handle sharing Iris for today. Right? Right.
Getting into the museum was easy but inside was a chaos of so many people. It made him uncomfortable. When he looked up at Iris, even she could see that it wasn’t such a great idea to be in there. When he peaked around her to look at Arthur, even he looked a bit uncomfortable. Still, he took a deep breath then smiled at him and his sister. “Iris, perhaps it would be better to show Mistel his surprise first,” he suggested with a smile. “We can kill some time there and be able to come back in when its far less crowded.”
“Yes, that’s an excellent idea, Arthur!” Iris agreed, leaning in to him. “Come, Mistel. Arthur believes you will like this.”
Mistel didn’t bother covering up his rolling eyes. He didn’t really believe that Arthur knew him as well as Iris said he did. What could he know just by Iris telling him? … A lot, actually. But Mistel wasn’t falling for it. Arthur did not know him as well as he thought he did.
He squeezed Iris’s hand as they walked out of the museum, joy filling him as Iris squeezed back. They walked along the sidewalk surrounding the museum and towards the back. Mistel frowned as they headed for the big white tent. What could be so important in there? There were most likely animals or some sort of zoo behind those white flaps.
Arthur let go of Iris’s hand and walked over to be on Mistel’s other side. This was preferable, but he didn’t like him being so close to him. “When Iris told me that you enjoyed this, I knew I had to looked for a place so that you may view them.”
What was he talkingabout?
They continued walking towards the tent and dread continued to fill him. Arthur waited by the open flap, letting Mistel and Iris in first.
Mistel had never seen such a splendor before in one place.
The banner hanging from the ceiling said it was an antique show and it was amazing. So many different vendors from all corners of the world. Mistel let Iris’s hand go and she allowed him to slip away to one of the nearby crowds. The vendor talked about how the particular clock he was looking at was over two hundred years old.
Mistel was completely awestruck. To think that such an exhibit was behind the museum. He grabbed on to Iris, who was standing right behind him. “Can we please look every where? Please!”
Iris chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “Of course we can. We brought you here just for you, Mistel. It was Arthur’s idea, after all.”
He looked up at Arthur, who was smiling down at him. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was glad that he knew that much about him. Perhaps there was hope for him after all. Mistel managed to smile at him before he ran off to enjoy the various antiques.
Two and a half hours passed with the trio stopping to look at every antique that Mistel wanted to see. Mistel pulled them in different directions, leading them all around the tent. When he found an antique, he added in his own facts when a vendor talked. He was always one step ahead of them and he was happy too share his knowledge with Iris. As much as he didn’t like him, he also enjoyed sharing his knowledge with Arthur. Even if it was only so he could one-up him; to prove to Iris that he was a much better choice for company than Arthur was.
Yes, he told himself that he would be on his best behavior and he was. He would one-up Arthur about something and then smile when it seemed that he was too vicious. He didn’t want to make either of them feel toobad. If he covered it up, he could still make Arthur feel terrible while still making it seem like he was innocent. In his book, that wasn’t a bad thing to do at all.
Before they knew it, the exhibit was ready to close. Arthur looked at his watch and chuckled. “It looks like we won’t be able to go into the museum now. They’re getting ready to close up, too.”
“Aw, what a shame. It would have been fun,” Iris commented as she hooked their arms together.
“Are you kidding? This was better than the museum!” Mistel grabbed Iris’s free hand, restraining from making a comment about their arms. “I enjoyed it so much. Thank you, Iris.” His sister gave him a look and glanced at Arthur. He knew what she wanted her to do. But to thank Arthur? Mistel wasn’t sure that he could do it. Then he thought about how sad Iris was when he didn’t accept him and how cruel he was the first time. Any other time, Mistel would have been happy to make her feel terrible about something she’s done. Today, he would be kind for her. So, he smiled at Arthur, straining so much to do so. “Thank you, Arthur. I’m glad that you took me here.”
Arthur laughed. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’m always happy to make someone so important to Iris happy.”
At least he had his priorities straight there. If he cared for Iris, then he definitely had to be ready to care about him. Did this cure everything between them? Mistel thought about it on the drive home. He was silent, which seemed to concern Iris but she never questioned it. If she knew her brother, she knew that he would tell her when it was time.
They drove up to their crummy apartment building, finding that the lights were still off in their part of the building. It was a good sign that neither Henry or Margery left work early.
Iris handed the keys to Mistel and he hopped out of the car. It bothered him, but after today, he would allow his sister to have some alone time with Arthur. She was out there for almost an hour when she finally came in. Mistel watched Arthur’s care drive away. Looking back at his sister, she looked to be in heaven after today’s events.
She danced over to him and held him close. “Thank you for today…” she whispered. “How do you think of him now?”
This made it difficult to say. Iris had such a great time and he did, too. But… “I still don’t like him.”
Iris pulled away from him. The hurt was so evident in her face that he didn’t want to continue speaking. He knew that he had to, though.
“I can’t lie, Iris. I don’t like that he’s taking your attention away from me…” Mistel muttered, looking down at the floor. He pulled himself close to Iris and buried his face into her stomach. “If you promise to keep paying attention to me everyday, I won’t care if you keep dating him. Just don’t forget about me.”
He could feel his sister laughing at his words. She pulled them apart from one another and knelt before him. “Mistel… No one, not even Arthur, can stop me from paying attention to you.” She reached up and fussed over his unruly hair. “You’re my little brother; the only family I have left. To ignore you is ignoring a part of me and I cannot allow that.”
Mistel smiled at her. “Promise?” he asked, resting his forehead against hers.
“I promise. I always say that we’ll always be together. No matter what comes our way, right?”
“Right!”
~*~*~
It looked beautiful in the box it came in.
It looked beautiful in her hands.
It looked beautiful in Mistel’s hands and in his eyes. They sparkled with such admiration and hope for the future.
No matter where she put it, it looked beautiful.
More importantly, it looked beautiful on the table between their caretakers and them.
Iris had worked so hard writing the book. Years spent working and researching to make it perfect. When it was complete, it took her time to find someone to be her agent. She was so young so she understood why they wouldn’t risk it. If her current one hadn’t given her a chance, she was sure that they would still be living here.
Tonight, it would change. Tonight, they would be free.
“I… I don’t know what to say…” Margery whispered, staring at the book with its beautiful purple cover. Iris didn’t want them to see the title or what it was. She removed the dust jacket before she presented it to them (even if it hurt her to do so.)
“I don’t expect you to say anything,” Iris commented. She had her hands folded in her lap, doing her best to hide that she was shaking. “I’m going to write a check to you for all the expenses you have spent on me and Mistel. Not everything, of course, like food. Things like school clothes and supplies; doctor visits and such.”
Henry ran a hand down his face. “Are you even aware of how much that will be? Iris, many of the things you are talking about have happened years–”
“I have been keeping a record.” Iris looked over at Mistel. He nodded his head and placed the binder he had under his arm on the table. Iris leaned over and opened the book. The pages held receipts inside file covers. They looked as new as when they were first printed out, even if it was years ago. “I made sure to keep a record. I knew that I would one day get Mistel and myself out from under your roof. I did not want to leave with any bad blood between us and money seemed like a good place to start.
To start . She didn’t appreciate the way Margery treated Mistel, but she didn’t want to hold any grudges. She wanted to square away her debts to the couple and be gone from them.
Margery picked up the book and leafed through it. Every so often she opened her mouth to say something but closed it up right away. Iris figured she was trying to point out something she missed, but she wouldn’t find it. Iris was thorough on making sure she got each receipt spent on her and Mistel.
Henry took his tea cup up and sipped it. “Now, you understand that living on your own is a hard thing to do, yes?”
“I understand.”
“And you’re sure that this is what you want to do?”
Iris nodded her head. She didn’t miss a beat at answering his questions. One moment of stalling could show that she doubted herself. Even if the feeling inside of her was small, she didn’t want to show it to them. Mistel believed in her and she believed in herself. She was going to be brave.
Henry reached over for the binder and took it from Margery’s hands. He closed it and slid it back to the siblings. “Then I support your decision.”
“Really?”
“Henry!”
He took a sip of his drink again. “Iris is grownup now. I’m sure she’ll be able to handle taking care of herself and Mistel. After all, she’s a published writer now. They’ll be fine.”
Iris never expected this. She thought that they both would put up a fight to let them go. Another part of her told her that they wouldn’t care if she stayed or went. Now to see that Henry was alright with them leaving while Margery fought to keep her claws in them was surreal. She layered her hands on top of one another and bowed her head. “Thank you so much. You two have taken cared of us for so long. We appreciate it.”
Standing up, she hurried off to the room she shared with Mistel. Mistel followed shortly behind, not wanting to be alone with Margery and Henry for long. In the room, their beds were already stripped bare and their bags packed. Once the book came in the mail, they packed their bags so that they could leave.
They did a quick check on their belongings. After the check finished, they grabbed them and walked out to the hall. Margery waited for them, her fingers intertwined and a vicious look on her face. Iris made sure she stepped in front of Mistel. If Margery was going to lay a hand on any of them, she would have to go through her to get to Mistel.
“Aren’t you off to a perfect little life, hm? Just you and your brother, yes?” Margery asked. Venom dripped from every word she spoke. It was frightening but Iris wasn’t going to flinch or back down from her task. After a few seconds of just glaring at one another, the elderly woman huffed and opened her bedroom door. “Don’t come back if you end up failing!” She slammed the door shut behind her.
Iris let out the breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. Mistel took hold of her arm and gave it a comforting squeeze. It was all the reassurance she needed to continue walking down the hallway. Henry was no where in sight, something that Iris was glad for. She opened the door, letting Mistel walk out before her. They had changed apartments once again and they were on the top floor. The elevator was a rickety old thing, but it brought them down to the lobby without a problem.
The night was cool when they left the apartment building. There was no one outside and only a few cars parked. The streets light were just starting to come on.
To think that they were finally free from their caretakers.
Mistel reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Iris, where will we go now?”
What a fantastic question. Even Iris didn’t know the answer to that. She prepared everything else but where they would go after they left. She smiled at him, squeezing his hand back. “Anywhere we want, Mistel. We’re free.”
When he smiled at her, Iris felt amazing. She didn’t know where they would go tomorrow, but for today, she wanted to appreciate being free with her brother. This would be a feeling that she knew she would always remember even into her old age.
~*~*~
Antiques were so difficult to clean. Some where so delicate that he was too afraid to use nothing more than a dry cloth. Others could have their paint chipped away from a cleaner. He had to store a variant of knowledge in his mind to be sure that he was doing things right. With so many antiques, it was difficult, but there was nothing he enjoyed more than cleaning them. In such a small apartment in such a strange city, it was better than going out and exploring. Of course, he did this but only when he was with his sister.
Speaking of his sister, Mistel was unaware of where she was at the moment. She told him that she was going for a walk, but that was a few hours ago. It was just like Iris to go for a walk and get lost in what was around her. That didn’t ease his worries about her whereabouts. Anything could happen to a lovely lady like her.
More importantly, he knew that she would want to listen to the answering machine.
Almost all day the phone had been going off. Mistel knew the calls were never for him so he allowed the answering machine to pick it up. As always, it was her agent and editor. They were asking her about any future story ideas that she was willing to tell them about. As if they didn’t know the answer.
The years since they left their caretakers have been well. Mistel was able to collect as many antiques as he would like and Iris was able to collect her books. The riches from Iris’s first book even helped them move from place to place. Unfortunately, since then Iris hadn’t written a single story. She would write poetry and ideas for future novels, but none of them stuck. Mistel would often find them in or around the wastebasket.
It was sad to see his sister like this. Mistel had hoped he would find ways to help her, but there wasn’t much he could do. He could only be there for her when she needed him.
Right on cue, his sister walked into their apartment. She looked tired. Perhaps she was walking around this whole time.
“Hello, Iris,” he greeted her, smiling from behind an ornate screen.
She smiled back at him as she made her way to the answering machine. “Hello, Mistel. I hope your day was well.” She pressed the small blue button.
“Yes it was. Thank you for asking, “Mistel responded. The answer machine told her how many messages there were.
“ Iris! It’s your agent. I haven’t heard from you in weeks! What’s going on, sweetie? Do you have anything juicy to tell me? A nice story that you’ve taken under those glorious wings of yours? Call me!”
“ Iris, I know you’re going through some things, but you can’t keep not writing! You became one of the best selling authors of your time! You can’t just squander this time and become invisible to the world. You need to write! Call me!”
“Iris! I’m tired of–”
Iris deleted all the messages. Even she knew what they were all going to say. Mistel watched her as she sat down on one of their box furniture creations. Between their antiques and books, there was no room in their apartment for furniture. There were only two beds and a table while everything else was just created with the boxes. Mistel would often find Iris asleep on a long stretch of boxes, having done so after trying to write the night before. They moved so often that it didn’t make any sense to unpack things then pack them up.
So, they left them in boxes. It was much easier like that.
After some time, Mistel walked over to sit down next to his sister and rest his head on her shoulder. “Do you want to move again?” he asked. That’s what they did. If one place had no good antique shops or did nothing for Iris’s creative flow, they moved. They could still do it for a few more turns until they needed to get a job or two. That was a time in their lives they would handle when it comes to them.
Iris smiled. Oh, he knew her well. No one could know Iris as well as he did. She had had many boyfriends since Arthur. Some were good and some preferred their hobby than paying her any attention (they dared not speak about her former love that to fish.) They tried to understand her, but Mistel knew the truth: they never will. Mistel had always been with Iris and no one will ever reach his level of understanding her.
“Yes… Yes I would like to move again,” Iris answered. She leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Mistel waited patiently for her to say something. “Perhaps we’ll move to another city. A nice big one.”
“Maybe we’ll move to the country!” Mistel commented, laughing.
Iris laughed with him. “Perhaps we should move to the country. A nice remote place where its hard for anyone to come and see us.” Iris took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That would be wonderful, Mistel…”
Mistel took her hand. “Then let’s do it. It’s not like there’s anything here for you and me.” What a true fact it was. Mistel had already graduated high school and found no interest to go to college at the moment. He was smart, well beyond his years, and saw no need for it. Perhaps in the far future, but he would much rather live in the now.
His sister continued to stare up at the ceiling, but Mistel knew. He knew that she was jumbling the idea around in her head. She was weighing things around, wondering if it would be much better for them then staying in the city. Iris finally looked down at him smiled. “Let’s do it.”
Mistel knew that this would be the best thing for them. Even if it was only temporary, he was glad that they would be moving someplace new for them. Perhaps it would be a much bigger place where they could buy more books and antiques. The hope for it thrilled him with such a force of greatness.
Over the next few weeks, the two of them researched places they could go to. One was always better than the other or worse, but there weren’t any that was perfect for them. All their research led to dead ends and made them restart their search. An ad in the paper caught their eye. They were asking for traders and vendors to come to their little town and bring it to life.
What was the worse that could happen?
With their boxes packed in a truck, they made their way to the country. The journey there was long and tiring. They pushed on, hoping that this place would help them in ways that their previous homes couldn’t.
They arrived at Oak Tree Town during the afternoon. The plaza was very empty and only one lonely vendor stood at the far end of it. A woman approached them, smiling. “You must be Iris and Mistel. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, shaking both of their hands. “I’m glad to see that you have an interest in our little town.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet us,” Iris responded.
Mistel looked around the plaza and found a round man siting in a booth. He didn’t look entertained.
“My name is Veronica and it was a pleasure. I think you will enjoy our little community. Allow me to bring you two to your new home.”
The siblings followed Veronica across Oak Tree Town. They found the town was much bigger then they expected but it was so quiet. It seemed like not a single soul besides Veronica and the man in the plaza lived there. Mistel found this to be quite comfortable. He never liked how busy the city was. Moving to a different environment that was quiet would be wonderful for him. He looked over to his sister. Of course, it was important for his sister to be comfortable in this town as well.
At the moment, he couldn’t figure out what was going through her mind. It was rare that he couldn’t read her. It was so strange that this moment was when it was happening.
Veronica took them to an abandoned house and unlocked the door. The minute it was open, a cloud of dust hit them, sending them in to a coughing fit. “I’m sorry. It’s been some time since someone has lived in here. Please, come in.”
She led the way inside. Everything had a layer of dust covering it. Mistel sneered at it in hopes it would disappear from his look alone. “This looks nice, right, Mistel?” Iris asked. He glared at his sister. Surely she was jesting with him, yes?
“It use to be a store, but when the owners moved away, they ripped out the counter.” Veronica put her hands on her hips. “Gunther’s our local lumberjack and he said he’ll be happy to help you with anything you needed. Let’s go upstairs.”
Mistel wasn’t sure if he wanted to see any more of their new living quarters. If the upstairs was as dusty as the downstairs, then he wanted to stay somewhere else until they were clean. They ascended the stairs, finding it much bigger than their previous flat. If they used their space wisely, it would be livable for the two of them. To Mistel’s amazement, the upstairs wasn’t as dusty. Perhaps someone cleaned it up a bit in hopes that someone would move in.Then why couldn’t they do that for the first floor, as well? Mistel thought to himself.
“Is it too small for you two?” Veronica asked. She was standing at attention, something that Mistel admired. She clearly enjoyed her job and wanted to do it right the first time. Traits like that were difficult to find, sometimes.
“It’s perfect. We’re use to living in such close quarters,” Iris answered.
Mistel walked up to the kitchen counters and rubbed a finger on it. He sneered at the dust. “Are we going to have cleaning supplies? I must say, it wouldn’t be wise for us to live in such conditions…” he said. Then he smiled up at her. “Of course, I’m sure we can find a way around it. With hope, we won’t get sick or suffer from anything.”
“Mistel!” Iris hissed, placing her hands on her hips.
Veronica chuckled. “It’s fine, Iris. We do have many cleaning supplies that I’m going to bring over to you if you are willing to clean today. Would you prefer that, Mistel?”
“Yes, I would.” Mistel walked over to the window and opened it. He took a deep breath of the clean air. “I think we will take it, don’t you agree, Iris?”
Her stern look melted away and she nodded in return. “Yes, we will. Thank you very much, Veronica.”
“You’re welcome and we’re happy to have you part of this community,” she replied, shaking Iris’s hand. “Allow me to ask Gunther and the other men to help bring your things over. I shall bring over some cleaning supplies and some food for the both of you. If you’ll excuse me.”
Veronica swept past the siblings and made her way down the stairs. The sound of the door closing downstairs reached their ears. Iris walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her chin on his forehead. “Do you like it so far, Mistel?”
He leered at the dust that seemed to already accumulate on the place that he had wiped. “Well, its dusty and quite… big for the two of us. It’s a bit too early to tell.” Mistel squirmed beneath his sister. Her motherly tendencies usually got on his nerves. She often did it at the most inconspicuous times. It didn’t bode well for it to happen to someone trying to assert their independence. “Maybe I will once its clean.”
She fixed his messy hair, chuckling. “Then we should get started.”
It didn’t take long for Gunther, someone named Fritz, and a man named Maurice to bring all their items over. Fritz already made a bad impression on Mistel after he broke one of his favorite antiques. He quickly shooed him out, telling him to never return to the building (or near him) again. Veronica gathered up the cleaning supplies she promised, bringing along food and her daughter Angela.
Everyone left them alone to clean, which is how Mistel preferred it. Between him and his sister, Mistel was the one who did all the cleaning. Iris could clean, but she wasn’t too good at it. Mistel knew how to get into every nook and cranny to make sure it was clean. Out of anything he learned while living with Margery, she taught him how to clean well.
The two of them worked well into the night. Mistel focused himself on cleaning while Iris brought up their boxes and furniture. Their grandfather clock struck twelve and they collapsed onto Mistel’s mattress. Considering how late they started, Mistel was quite happy with how he cleaned the flat. The bathroom and kitchen were clean as well as the places where they would put their beds. He swept and the walls looked clean enough. All and all, a job well done. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to clean downstairs, but he was going to tackle that in the morning.
“I like the people here, Mistel.”
He smiled at his sister, turning on his side to face her. “I’m glad you do. I’m not sure about that… Fritz fellow. He is quite annoying.”
Iris laughed. “Oh, the child is quite the character, though. Everyone here is…”
Mistel was glad to hear this. Whenever they moved, Iris never seemed to get involved with any of their new neighbors. He never did, either, but Iris always enveloped herself with those she met. It seemed to inspire her to write and gave her ideas. The last few times they moved, she wasn’t inspired at all. It was why she walked around so often; all in hopes that something would inspire her. Seeing her like this was a relief.
“I’m glad that you like it then.” He yawned and rolled onto his back. “I think I’m too tired to eat…”
Iris sat up then crawled off the bed. She took up his blanket and covered him with it. “Get some sleep, Mistel. Thank you so much for everything you do to help.”
Mistel smiled at her. He did indeed love her attention. He yawned as she kissed his forehead and walked away. “Night, Iris…” Before he closed his eyes, he saw Iris sit at the table, a pen in her hand as she scribbled away at whatever was before her.
~*~*~
Iris had never been more motivated then tonight. Meeting part of Oak Tree Town inspired her so much that her fingers just moved on their own. Her story just unfolded, beautifully imprinting on the page. The words looked up at her as she wrote them. They felt so grateful to her for writing them and they wanted her to do more. They wanted her to write it all out for fear that she may explode if she didn’t.
She didn’t hesitate to listen to the words calling.
She wrote well into the night and into the morning. When Mistel woke up, she was still writing, unable to stop. Mistel didn’t bother her for the rest of the day, deciding to clean up downstairs while she wrote. At lunch time, he tapped her shoulder and invited her to join him for lunch. Iris gave him a pout, looking down at the words she had written. She wasn’t sure where she was at the point in the story but she didn’t want to stop.
Her brother insisted, though.
After putting her book away, she followed him through the town and to the restaurant on the other side. Those who hadn’t met them greeted them with open arms and promises to come by with food for them later. It was strange to Mistel to find how warm everyone in town was. In the city, just as much as they didn’t interact with their neighbors, their neighbors did the same. To be so welcomed when not even twenty four hours of joining it was strange; they welcomed it, though.
“I really like this town, Mistel.”
Mistel took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad you do. You seem to have already made yourself home here, hm?”
“I have. They just offer so much inspiration and I can’t stop,” Iris answered. Even the far off look had returned to her eyes. That was a good sign. Now, her agent and editor wouldn’t have to always contact her in hopes that she had something new for them. Iris would write a new book and they would enjoy it. Mistel looked forward to the day where their jaws would drop from what amazing story they had just read.
“I hope you keep going then.”
At the restaurant, they met another one of the residents, a man named Raeger who gave them a delicious meal. He refused to charge them just this one time to welcome them into the town. After their lunch, they disappeared back to their home so that they could continue their work. There wasn’t much that he had left to clean. All he had left to do was to dust one more section downstairs. After that, he would be able to unpack his antiques and display them.
But when Mistel looked at the various boxes of antiques, he couldn’t imagine where he would put them all. Upstairs would only hold half of their collected treasures. It was only logical that he store and display them downstairs so that anyone could admire them.
The idea popped into his head before he opened the first box.
They already had so many antiques in their possession and they didn’t need this many. Why not sell them? This was a nice spot to set one up and perhaps someone here would appreciate antiques as much as he did.
What better time then now to show his independence?
Mistel quickly made sure that Iris wouldn’t be aware that he was going to be gone. It wouldn’t be hard. She was writing away in her notebook. If Mistel looked a little bit closer, he was sure that he would see smoke rising from the pen and paper.
Confident that she would remain that way for the next few hours, Mistel left the house quietly. He made his way to the carpentry shop and talked to Gunther about his idea. At first, the carpenter was hesitant to take on such a task due to the money required for it. Mistel assured him that it wouldn’t be a problem and that he would be able to pay him for his job. It took some time to haggle and to explain what he would like to have done, but he they found some terms they agreed on.
They shook hands to make it official and Mistel hurried off home. Just as he entered the home, his sister descended from the stairs.
“Now where did you run of to?” she asked, smiling.
How could he not tell his sister his genius idea? He ushered his sister up the stairs and sat her down. He explained his idea and saw her confused expression. Mistel was surprised by this look. She even looked hurt that he would sell the antiques that they had collected. A moment passed and she smiled again at him.
“If this is what you want to do, Mistel,” Iris started, reaching for his hand, “then I support you on this. I know you’ll be wonderful at this. Why, I can see it now. Various antique collectors coming from all around the world to see the antiques you have. You won’t stop doing so, will you?”
“I could never dream of stopping, Iris,” Mistel retorted, turning his nose up into the air. “To stop collecting antiques is like you no longer writing; it simply does not work.”
She chuckled and rest her head against his. “I’m glad to hear this.”
This would be their life now. So much had happened to them from the time they had left Margery and Henry’s home. They moved from place to place, using it as a chance to get far away from the previous guardians.
Iris was once again motivated to write. She would continue to write all sorts of stories and send them to her agent and editor to publish.
Mistel would continue to collect antiques and sell them to anyone who showed interest in them. Perhaps one day the town would become active enough for him to gain more business.
Perhaps one day, they would move away from Oak Tree Town. It was in their blood; they would pack up and move to another place to see how it would fit them. As perfect as the town was for them, sometimes one could never resist the urge to travel. But since these two siblings lived in the now, Iris and Mistel would enjoy their time in their new residence.
Who knows? Perhaps someone would convince them to make it a forever home.
Fics are being queued to post from midnight tonight (though don’t expect something at literally midnight, ok?). We’ll have fic posts and art posts, spaced out so you all have enough time to enjoy the work you’ve all put in. Thanks again for being great participants and hope you enjoy the Big Bang!
Hi all! Sorry for the delay, but submissions are open and being taken in!
Thusfar we have entries from mintleifs, hopeandalexander, wonsterrr, and windfalling. Great job you guys! Love the excellent work!
Everyone else, you have until the 28th AT THE LATEST to get those in! Really, we mean 11:59:59 on the 27th- but you do have till about 6 AM or so on the 28th if you REALLY need it. Please message us if you need an extension!
Looking forward to seeing the rest of those wonderful entries!
Hi all! Sorry for the delay, but submissions are open and being taken in!
Thusfar we have entries from mintleifs, hopeandalexander, wonsterrr, and windfalling. Great job you guys! Love the excellent work!
Everyone else, you have until the 28th AT THE LATEST to get those in! Really, we mean 11:59:59 on the 27th- but you do have till about 6 AM or so on the 28th if you REALLY need it. Please message us if you need an extension!
Looking forward to seeing the rest of those wonderful entries!
Final submissions are due tomorrow! Please try to get them in before midnight (but if there are life obligations that may produce a small delay, just message us, we understand)! Head on over to our submit box to deposit your art and stories. We start posting on the 28th (just in time for the Harvest Moon!), so you really have wiggle room till the 27th, but no later than that!
Please message us if you have any questions- also if you’re an early bird who catches all the worms and want to put your submissions in early, feel free!
What happens if one party doesn't submit anything on time?
As this has happened many a time in the gift exchanges I’ve hosted for this fandom, I’m expecting it might happen as such.
In which case, the person who did submit it, you’ll be posted. As you know your match, you can deal with that as you will. It’s more fair that way than in the Starry Night exchange, where people were left out bc their partners never delivered.
We don’t plan to do a call out or anything, but you really should try to get your work in, everyone!
Hope that writing and art stuff are going smoothly. Feel free to message us with any questions or concerns and remember the deadline: September 25th is our final date for all submissions.
Hope that writing and art stuff are going smoothly. Feel free to message us with any questions or concerns and remember the deadline: September 25th is our final date for all submissions.