"Mistral! Just pick one braid and get it over with, will you? I haven't got until Miracle Fest!"

Overall, it was an ordinary day in the Hild House. Except for today, Mistral was doing up Meya's hair instead of Morel. As a result, Meya's daily morning whining was more melodramatic than usual. She bobbed and jerked her head to the rhythm of her rant, which only slowed Mistral down.

Mum sighed over the acorns she was pounding with her pestle.

"Meya, the fields are only a little way away. A quarter hour won't make much of a difference."

"And Meya is also only a little way away from lynching." Meya spun around and sniped at Mum. Mistral combed out the ruined braid and redid it from the top. Luckily, Meya was too busy giving Mum a piece of her mind to notice, "Beautiful hair won't make much of a difference. If at all. So, remind me again who this is for?"

Meya glared upside-down at Mistral, who was working too feverishly to respond. Mum was losing her temper fast, so Marin hastily pitched in,

"Let Misty have some fun, Meya. Your hair is rich and strong. And it's such a rare color."

Meya's glare changed target to Marin. For someone so impatient and impulsive, her eyes were paradoxically cold. Marin barely had time to prepare for the barrage of acid her middle sister usually reserved for her, before the girl let loose.

"So I should lend me head as her practice loom? Me time is gold. And what's under me hair is how I mine it. Will you decide on one already, Mistral?!"

Mistral jolted and dropped her attempt at the elaborate lace braid. Poor girl was on the verge of tears. Mum abandoned her pestle, her well of patience drying,

"Meya, workday or rest day, you're scarcely in this house. Would it kill you to play with your sister for a quarter hour?"

Meya sneered at Mum,

"Because that's me job. Feeding all your pretty mouths. And this is your job. Braiding each other's hair and matchmaking the May Queen."

Meya snatched her lunch and straw hat then sprang up. Mum bolted to her feet.

"You will not talk to me like this!" Meya ignored her and strode pointedly to the door. Mum stormed out from behind her pile of acorns, "Don't you walk away from me, Maelaith Hild! Get back here this instant! Meya!"

The door slammed shut. Mum stood panting, red in the face, her chest heaving. Mistral dashed in and clung to her dress. Mum draped an arm around her.

"Does she know she's the reason we can't work?" said Morel, who'd been silently cracking acorns for Mum.

"Morel," Mum growled in warning.

"You know it's true, Mum!" Morel sprang to her feet, "We're all carrying Greeneye blood! We're dirt poor! Who'd want to marry us if we weren't the prettiest we could be? Why d'you even marry Dad, anyway?"

Marin's heart skipped several beats. Mistral clutched Mum's leg tighter. Mum raised a trembling finger,

"Morelia Hild, you stop right there, or Freda help me I will beat your calves raw!" Mum snarled. Morel flinched, eyes wide in fright and guilt. "There are Greeneyes on my side as well. There are Greeneyes in every family in Latakia!"

A suffocating silence fell. Morel stood frozen, unblinking, breathing gingerly as she watched Mum. Marin got up and went over to her, laying comforting hands on her shivering arms.

Mum calmed herself with a long, slow, silent sigh.

"You're not working outside not because Dad's afraid the sun will steal your beauty. And what we do here isn't any less important than the work Meya and the boys do in the fields." Mum glanced at each of her daughters in turn,

"Who will tidy the house? Who will do the shopping, the cooking, the laundry? Who will mind the vegetable patch? Who will weave and mend clothes? You're needed here. And you're happy being here. That's why you're here. Your father and I decided four breadwinners are enough. And you're earning your own dowries."

As Morel nodded meekly, Marin looked away in shame. Having taught herself to read and write from Myron's books, she copied church manuscripts with her beautiful penmanship, and sold stories, songs and poems she wrote at the bazaar for a copper or two.

But, being Gold Class, she didn't need to do this. Her real goal was to buy her freedom. Travel the world like Tricia of Haventoth. Write fresh stories based on her real experiences. Instead of stale, wishful dreams. But her beauty also meant she could marry into a rich family and give Mum and Dad an easier life in their old age. And she was torn. Had secretly been for years.

"You asked why I married your father." Mum continued. The three girls perked up, sensing a story that would not be told twice, "Yes, he's always been poor, and he was open about it. He has Greeneye relatives, and he was open about it."

Mum traipsed back and settled down behind the pile of acorns, her face bitter and jaded,

"By the time my troupe came 'round to Crosset, I was quitting even before I realized I wanted to. Ten years on the road. Every village in sight. Singing from morn to dusk. That ringmaster milked me like cattle. My Song was dying even before I had Meya."

The girls gawked in horror. Mum sniffed as she fidgeted with an empty acorn shell,

"Your father was the one man who never asked me to sing. All the times he visited me, he'd bring me honey he'd hunted himself to soothe my throat. He'd talk to me about anything but my Song."

"I told him I'd never done a day of housework, that I was about to give up singing. He vowed he'd never force me back into it. He'd laugh with me when he came home from the fields to our messy house."

Mum smiled through her tears. Her three daughters mirrored her despite their differences. Then Mum turned to Marin,

"This might be harsh on your ears. Especially for you, Marin. But know that Freda's blessings will not last. My Song. My beauty. My youth. Even these naughty lasses."

Mum betrayed a devious grin as she jerked her chin at her still generous bosom. The four women chortled, then Mum glanced at each of them, solemn,

"Your time to choose will arrive someday. When it does, look not at how the man treats you, but how he treats someone less blessed than you. Someone like Meya. "

The young women exchanged looks at that strange advice.

"That is how he'll treat you once your flowers have withered, once your fruits have fallen."

Marin's hands clenched into trembling fists as the past faded away, revealing the present. Terron Neale stood with overflowing mug in hand, surrounded by his admiring troupe as he drunkenly boasted of how he managed to land himself the prettiest young maiden in Crosset. The throng erupted into another round of cheers following yet another clever punchline.

At long last, he spotted Marin's blue eyes peeking from under her hood. She stood just beyond the crowd, waiting with Maro.

"Marin, my love!" He staggered over and slung his arm around her shoulders, "Been tellin' my folks the good news. So, have you decided?"

He leaned in, his beer-smelling breath blowing into her nostrils. Maro clenched his jaws. He kept silent but didn't budge a half-step from Marin's side.

Marin gazed into Terron's bright brown eyes brimming with hope and joy, then swung her hand back and let fly with all her might.

Terron pirouetted on tipsy feet and keeled to the floor with a crash. Clawing at his stinging cheek, he stared wide-eyed at Marin, as did all the men in the rowdy tavern, which had fallen graveyard silent.

Marin pulled the hems of her raggedy dress out of his reach, as she stared serenely down her apron at his pathetic form at her feet.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Marin! What was that for?" cried Terron, is drunken bliss evaporating fast.

Marin's kind blue eyes were cold and vacant as a frozen winter lake.

"Oh, you know what for."

With that, Marin swept outside, never once looking back.

The bastard didn't deserve to see her tears.

⏳

The sun had fallen, and night drifted down after it upon Hadrian. Merchants sat under multicolored tarpaulins strung across crooked sticks. Locals and tourists milled about on the dirt road. Harried families, clingy couples and squealing youngsters flock from shop to shop, adding goods to their overflowing hands, storing some in their engorged bellies.

Meya watched the scene from the shadows behind Old Mother Gelda's tavern. She rested her hand on the low fence, scratching behind the ears of the snoozing, doomed sow in its pen. A lone cricket chirruped somewhere in the vegetable patch, its shrill call keeping time for the steady low hum of the passing crowd.

A pair of father and daughter entered the stage. Wee lass looked not a day above six, with long brown hair that shone like the silk the Tyldornian merchant was advertising, and brown eyes that twinkled in the lights of the roadside lamps. She led her Dada along with an eager hand, her cherubic lips flapping as she babbled in excitement. Her father nodded along, his eyes filled with pride, his smile with adoration.

Meya couldn't remember the last time she had an amicable talk with Dad. Perhaps it was too long ago, when she was too young to recall, when her heart wasn't yet cold and bitter, when her smile was not yet a sneer. Perhaps it had never happened. And, thanks to Marin, it might never will.

A wave of resentment surged from her twisted stomach. Meya bit hard on her lips to force back rebellious tears, her hand on the pig trembling from the painful effort. The rational part of her knew it wasn't Marin's fault. Marin couldn't have possibly intended for this to happen. But then where was this unbidden pain and grief and disappointment supposed to go?

Ever since she saw Dad's name in that letter, she'd imagined countless versions of their reunion. Rehearsed her summary of everything that had happened since she left Crosset, anticipated his reaction to each revision.

Again, Dad was supposed to be here not for her family or for one of her siblings, but for her and her alone. And again, Freda struck her with a harsh reminder that it was never to be. She'd never be worthy of even that. No matter what she'd achieved, what she'd been through.

But should it bother me this much? Does whether Dad knew or approved of what I did makes it right? I knew what I did was right. I knew I succeeded. Arinel thought so, too. Coris said I should be proud. Gretella and Jerald are on friendly terms with me. Shouldn't that be enough? Why do I not feel enough?

The answer wasn't instantly obvious, so Meya dug deeper within herself.

It's not enough because I want Dad to be happy for me, too. I want him to hear good news from me. I want him to know I'm doing fine...well...great.

Heavy, dragging footsteps approached her from the tavern, followed by two more pairs of feet. Meya smirked drily when all went as anticipated,

"Well, that didn't take long."

Deke halted, then resumed walking. He stopped for good a little way away.

"Meya, I'm really, really sorry."

"For what? Knocking up me sister and ditching her, or keeping it from me?"

"You knew?"

Meya hitched up a wry grin, then shrugged once she remembered he couldn't see the look on her face,

"You're not that hard to read compared to the folks I met on the way here. You flinched every time I badmouthed Marin. I'd be blind if I didn't figure it out."

Silence fell, then Deke sighed and clomped over to the log Meya was sitting on. Meya ignored the urge to edge aside and make room for him.

"Well, both." Deke settled down, striving to look dignified and somber even with one butt-cheek dangling in mid-air, "I should've told you, but I was afraid you'd get mad. And I shouldn't have been. Because you shouldn't have dangled our friendship over my head like that."

Meya tensed. And now Deke was going to make his choice between her and Marin. It didn't take a brain of Coris's caliber to predict whom he would choose.

Meya chanced a glance at Deke, then turned away when she caught his mouth moving, holding in shivers.

"Why d'you hate Marin so much?"

The dreaded ultimatum never came. Meya whipped around in surprise. Deke's cold eyes signaling the end of their friendship she'd anticipated turned out to be a melancholic, anguished, almost pleading look.

"I dun hate her." She shook her head wearily, "I just—wish she'd do more with the blessings Freda gave her, is all."

"Do what?" asked Deke. Meya huffed, annoyed.

"You know what I mean. She's Diamond Class." She spat, "She dun need to save up for her dowry. She could've sold all those gifts them idiots piled on her then bought her permit ages ago. Travel wherever she wants. Marry whoever she wants. Live whatever way she wants. Like that Tricia of Haventoth she worshipped. How many chances you think arrived at her door on a silver platter and she turned it down? Some at me expense!?"

Meya glared at Deke, but he hadn't cringed back. His face was blank, and his eyes flashed with defiance like they rarely did before Meya,

"Wanna know exactly why Marin turned down Terron Neale?"

Meya started, blinking. Deke yanked up a blade of tender spring grass, twisting it idly,

"Marin made me promise at pencil-point never to tell. Well, she could stick that up whatever orifice of mine she wants." He tossed the grass away with a vicious flick, "I can't let you go on resenting her when you don't know diddlysquat about her even when you've lived in the same house for seventeen years!"

Deke let loose in a single breath. Meya gawked, her battalion of pithy comebacks scattered by shock.

"Maro heard the bastard bragging to his friends about how he played the gentle lover to wheedle out stuff on Marin from other girls. Mostly you. He told Marin, and she went straight to the tavern and slapped the daylights out of the git."

Meya's freckles stood out as the ruddiness drained from her cheeks, her eyes swimming with tears. Deke leaned in and grasped her shoulders,

"You think she doesn't want to leave Crosset? To be like Tricia? Why d'you think she stayed for this long? Why d'you think she turned down her only chance for freedom? Because being the big sister means sacrifice! For your parents. For you. For Morel and Mistral. That's why she never complained. That's why she never did what she wanted to. Because, unlike you, she's made it a point to never put her own needs before everyone else's!"

A teardrop threatened to fall from Meya's eye. Deke turned away with a sigh, leaving one hand on her shivering shoulder,

"You know you could earn more from selling food or embroidery or writings like your sisters. Or singing—Yes, we know you've got the Song." Deke cut in wearily when Meya opened her mouth to argue,

"But you insisted on working the fields for half the pay of normal folks, then you break the law so you could earn their rate. You're too proud to use your Song. Too proud to practice the work you've insulted. You said your sisters were born blessed. All they did was keep doing their stuff while you gave up on the first try."

Meya stared at the ground, chilled by the truth.

Despite her appearances, despite her poverty and seeming lack of choices, Meya had always been spoiled. She had always chosen the choice she preferred, had always stomped tall grass and paved shortcuts where there shouldn't have been any, had always outsmarted laws and wriggled through loopholes for her own gain. Without the slightest thought for the consequences to the people around her. And it was more for that than her glowing, monstrous eyes that Dad resented her.

It's not the result that matters, Meya. It's your selfishness.

Arinel's voice echoed in her ears. Meya closed her eyes as her heart weighed with guilt.

"Sometimes, you gotta swallow your pride, Meya. Do some things you hate. For the people you love."

Silence descended. Meya simply nodded, not wishing to disturb it just yet. The lone cricket was still chirping, further off now because of the human presence, its song a warm balm nursing the sores on her heart.

"So, this is it, then?" She croaked. Deke raised his eyebrows. Meya unfurled a bitter smirk,

"You gotta go home and marry Marin then raise your babe, dun you? And Marin prolly wanna travel someday, so—"

Meya scratched idly at the flaking bark of the log. Deke squeezed her shoulder.

"We're still friends, Meya. We just—we all have to do our things someday. We've been over this when you left Crosset. You messed up, so you're banished. I messed up too, and now I got a wife and babe to fend for. It's not like you did anything wrong to me so I'm leaving you. It's not as if we won't be friends no more."

"I know. 'Tis why 'tis so awful." Meya dropped her head into her hands, "'Tis nothing I can do."

"Same, same." Deke patted her head, "But you got new friends now. And a new job. And I'm still your best mate. We just...won't be together that much anymore. I'm sorry."

Meya snorted the boogers back up her sinuses. A teardrop swayed on the tip of her nose. She plunged her hand under the wide collar of her dress (it was proof of their long shared history that Deke didn't blush or cringe), and fished out the tiny drawstring bag, the one with her allowance she'd used to taunt Morel earlier. Without a word, she held it out to Deke.

"Meya, no. I can't." He took barely a look then backed away, hands raised.

"I'm leaving for Safyre in a few days with Lord Coris and Lady Arinel." Meya sniffed, her voice thick as she lied, "I got everything I need here. You folks need this more than me."

"But—"

Meya snorted.

"So you're putting your pride before your family's needs?" She raised an eyebrow at him. Deke froze in his tracks. Meya laughed as she tucked the bag between his slack fingers, "'Tis all I have on me now, but I'll keep sending more. You're part of the family now. Dun overthink it."

She clutched his shoulder then pushed, as one might a babe's cradle. Deke's eyes reflected the golden gleam as he held the tiny pouch to his chest.

"Thank you, Meya. So much." He looked up with a trembling smile. Meya smiled back.

"You take care of Marin." She threw her arms around her best friend, now a father, husband-to-be, and her brother-in-law, feeling unavoidably weird about it all, "How far along is she? I'll try to be back for the birth."

Tinges of pink blossomed on both sides of Deke's long face. He scratched one absently.

"I'd say two moons since—you know—" He avoided her eyes, shrugging. Meya snorted.

"—You guys shagged. Yeah." She nodded in jest. Deke chuckled through his embarrassment.

Bracing her hands on the rough log, Meya leaned back and tilted her head to the sky, where the first constellations had just peeked out from lazily drifting sheets of dark, powder-blue-gray clouds.

Unless she had misremembered, the twinkling yellow star was said to be the light reflected from the forehead-horn of Gyrinae, the fabled water dragon terrorizing the seas around Everglen.

"To be honest, I'd always thought I'd rather 'twas you than all them louts. Just never dreamed it would actually happen." She confessed with a faint smile and a shrug. Gyrinae's light blinked down at her as if in response, "She's deeper than I thought."

"Well, she's Marinia, the blue ocean." Deke agreed, brown eyes clouded with admiration and adoration, "Her heart's as deep as it is wide."

Meya couldn't help agreeing. She realized she no longer minded that Deke had that look of cherishing in his eyes as he thought of her sister. And she realized she didn't mind that much, anymore, about Dad not being here for her today.

She would have the chance, someday. Like Jason said, it wasn't that Meya's need wouldn't ever be enough for Dad to care, but now, it was Marin who needed Dad more than she did.

Marin had always put her little sisters' needs before hers. Perhaps it was time for Meya to be the big sister for once.