Chapter 1 ✼ Nia
The soup scorched my tongue. I watched my twin brother go for seconds.
“Hoth,” I groaned, fanning my mouth.
My tongue and half my lip went numb instantly. I guzzled from Norynne’s cup. My little sister shot me a look that would’ve made Medusa proud. Glacier-blue flashed behind long black strands that had escaped her braid.
I shrugged a silent apology to the little devil six years my junior.
She let me live.
Barely.
“Norynne, get fresh water. Nia’s gonna need a lot more if she keeps dreaming like that,” my twin scoffed, shoveling more meat into his insatiable maw. His appetite had always been extraordinary, but Nathan was a tank now. Unlike me, he ate for two.
He grinned, running a hand through wind-tangled black hair—short, but curly like mine. Fraternal twins, yet mirror images. One soul, two bodies. Inseparable and indestructible.
Except by hot soup, maybe.
“Nia, finish up and handle the dishes,” Mom warned, changing Nedwin. Nine-month-old bundle of joy — and the last of the litter.
The second she turned away, Nathan stuck his tongue out.
I shot him a horrified look: Cut it out or get hit. Mom’s backhands didn’t play. Alone with five kids, she had to be tough. Especially with Norynne, the little monster who had refilled her cup and sat down an arm’s length away from me.
“Fine, I’ll get it myself,” I mumbled.
Nathan was up in a flash. “No, Nia — no. Here.”
He shoved his water at me and grabbed my bowl in the same motion. I took the cup, barely noticing the broth sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
“Hey. Quit spacing out,” he murmured, ice-blue eyes teasing.
“Thanks…” I whispered. More to myself than him. I sank back into the chair.
Nathan leaned back, studying me sharp, like he could see things I hadn’t even grasped yet. “You’re acting weird today.”
I just shrugged.
“Nia’s always weird,” Norynne deadpanned. Fact of life, like the sunrise.
“I mean more than usual,” Nathan countered, turning a scowl on our little sister. “And you, Norynne… thirteen going on thirty. Christ, don’t act like such a bitter old crone.”
They bickered for a while. Eventually, Norynne called him a greenhorn and that settled it.
Normalcy. But today, it felt hollow.
The heat of the soup had long faded, but something inside me remained restless. A foreign weight sat on my soul, dragging me into depths I didn’t understand. I searched for what was wrong. Found nothing.
Finally, Nathan took the bowl where I was just pushing vegetables around. He finished the rest and set it aside.
“I’ll do the dishes. You go to Layra. Do that for me?”
He put a hand on my shoulder, tilted my chin up with the other. His touch was familiar. My anchor. I smiled gratefully. Fresh air would do me good.
Nathan pressed a kiss to the top of my head and snagged Norynne. “You’re drying, Runt. Penalty for stealing my apple at lunch.” She punched him in the ribs, giggled, and grabbed the rough cloth.
The chair scraped over the floor, barely covered in straw, as I stood up. I tossed two extra logs on the fire to beat back the night’s chill. Wiped the table down fast, swept the crumbs into the small bucket. Done.
“Nia.” Mom pointed at the slop container. “Take that for the pigs when you bring the bread to your sister Layra. And bring the blankets this time! They’re still over there.”
I bit my lip. “I’ll try.”
“Honest, at least.” She smirked at little Nedwin and blew a raspberry on his round belly. “That’s what matters. In a family, you have to be able to trust each other.”
I saw it out of the corner of my eye. A dark flicker in Nathan’s gaze. He wasn’t a boy anymore who obeyed blindly. Lately, he’d been clashing with Mom more and more. Something had happened between them. I stayed out of it, but I felt the resentment tearing a rift. A secret driving them apart.
Nedwin’s bright giggle followed me to the door, but it didn’t reach out into the night. The village lay shrouded in silence. Not even the livestock stirred. Strange.
“Crap. The bread.”
Sigh. A few steps out and already forgetting things. Embarrassed, I dumped the leftovers into the pig trough, turned back, and cracked the door open quietly.
“…don’t start with that again, Nathan.” Mom sounded drained.
“But he had to be here less than two years ago, or Nedwin wouldn’t exist,” Nathan hissed back. His voice was low, demanding. “Don’t think I missed that our names all start with ‘N’. All of us — except Layra…”
I froze in the doorway.
Nathan stood before Mom. He towered over her now, shoulders broad, posture coiled tight. “Why hasn’t he ever shown his face? Where the goddam styx is he?”
Mom wiped a hand frantically across her cheek. She looked more sad than angry. “Nathan!”
“Does he not care about us? Does he even know we exist?” he barked, agitated.
Norynne put a hand on Nathan’s back, but he was gone, lost in his own head. Unstoppable. Not on this subject.
Mom spun around, one hand shielding Nedwin, who looked up at her, startled by the raised voices. Her other hand pointed a warning finger at Nathan. Her look turned hard.
“You know nothing. And my—” She cut herself off, swallowed, and drew herself up to full height. Intimidating was too big a word to describe her, yet not enough. The firelight mirrored in her eyes, making them glow like she was fire on the inside.
“My husband ...and my decisions are none of your business,” she snarled, jaw tight. “When you have your own… family, maybe you’ll understand.”
She forced the last sentence out like it caused her physical pain.
Nathan trembled. “I would never leave my wife and kids behind. Under no circumstances,” he murmured darkly — like a holy vow.
For a few heartbeats, they just stared each other down.
“Is he dead?” Nathan’s voice sliced through the room.
Mom didn’t answer. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes reflected all the agonizing longing she endured in silence every day. Like the looks she cast into the distance when she thought she was unseen. But Nathan only saw that he wasn’t here. Not with her. Not with us.
He was alive. And that made it worse.
Heavy breathing. Sharpened silence.
Nedwin’s whimper broke the spell hanging over the small hut. Mom blinked, lifted him with watery eyes, and rocked him.
Outside, an owl screeched.
“Then he’s dead to me,” Nathan growled. He stormed past me. The door slammed with a force that made the beams shake.
I walked over to a silent Norynne, took the cloth from her, and threw it over my shoulder. I smoothed her black braid back and cupped her face in my hands. Despite her strength, her big glacier-blue eyes sought an anchor in my ice-blue ones.
“Nathan loves us. He’ll come back once he’s cooled off.”
Her expression hardened. She snatched the cloth back and slammed it onto the counter beside her. “Great. And who’s helping me with the dishes now?”
Norynne never talked much. But what she said often broke my heart. I stroked her hair lovingly and went to Mom.
“He doesn’t mean it like that,” I whispered, barely audible at her side. I wasn’t sure why I had to say it. But she needed to hear it. Today. Now. If not from Nathan, then from me.
Mom nodded and gave me a tortured smile that bared more of her soul than she’d ever openly admit. And for a second, I saw the woman who raised us. The one who used to laugh a lot.
“I’m taking the bread to Layra now. Should I take Nedwin?”
She shook her head and pressed the little one tight to her chest.
“Mama?”
Her gaze softened as she tore her stare from the fire to look at me.
“Nathan loves you so much that your pain becomes his. Whatever stands between you two… fix it, please. Before he chokes on it.”
She placed a hand on my cheek. “I wish it were that simple.”
I gave her a wistful kiss on the cheek, draped a blanket around her shoulders, and headed out.
The autumn wind bit my nose in warning, tugging at my dress and the leaves of the great beech tree. Usually, as soon as the animals heard us coming, they’d grunt, maybe squeal. Tonight? Everything remained ghostly quiet.
“Nathan?”
No answer.
I rubbed my arms and listened into the silence. Even though I saw no one, it didn’t feel empty. It was waiting. My heart beat a little faster as I took a hesitant step toward the gate. Another. I breathed through parted lips to keep quiet, scanning for danger. Nothing. Every step careful, every movement under rising tension.
A rustle behind the corner of the pig pen made me freeze.
I clutched the loaf of bread like a shield, pressed it to my chest, and edged slowly toward the rough fence. The pigs were huddled tight together. Above me, a cloud slid over the near-full moon, and somewhere in the expanse of the plains beyond the woods, the wind whistled sharp.
It almost sounded like a howl.
