Page 10 of Under the Lion Star

“It is,” she cut off my protest. “You’re so afraid of doing anything imperfectly that you choose to do nothing at all. I hate to compare you girls, but do you remember the first dress Yunia ever made?”

I scrunched my nose, recalling it vividly.

“It was horrible,” my mother whispered, despite no one else being home. “But she was so proud because she’d done it. She’d sewn an entire gown. Now look at her, dressing some of Fjorn’s wealthiest.”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“But if it had been you,” my mother continued. “You would have given up at that point because you didn’t make something grand on your very first try. You can’t live that way, Alda. If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing poorly. How else can you improve?”

I shrugged, feeling like a child.

“You have centuries left in this life,” she smiled wistfully. “Find an opportunity, take a risk, and see it through. If it turns out you don’t want to do it, then start again with something else.”

“I’m going to head to Grandma’s,” I looked out the window to hide the sting of embarrassment that colored my cheeks. “I told Marcy that I’d pop in for dinner.”

“If it gets late, you sleep there, okay?” Mom set her hand on top of mine. “You know I don’t like you wandering the countryside after dark.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” she waved her hand at the empty pastry box on the table.

As I laced up my boots, I tried to recall a single risk I had ever taken. Every job I attempted, I quit after feeling clueless. Every man I had dated, I ended it when things seemed they might get serious.

It was easier to quit before I failed. Before I embarrassed myself. But perhaps by doing that, I was ultimately failing at living.

Chapter 2

Zialda

My hand coasted over the tops of the wheatfield that edged the road, letting the tassels brush across my palm with each step. I ventured into the countryside so often over the years that I could have navigated without sight. Even avoiding the space where our home had once stood.

The house had been demolished, and now a barley crop grew in its place after a neighboring farmer had purchased the land. He’d paid well over what it was worth, telling us to use the money for our education.

A small stone marked where our front door had once been between the rows of grain. The farmer’s wife had carved a lily, my mother’s favorite flower, into the face.

I’d never gotten close enough to see it myself, but I often paused at the edge of the field to stare at it from a distance. Sometimes, I’d let loose a string of curses directed at the Gods themselves or my mother for leaving us. Mostly, I just avoided it.

That day was both a blur and crystal clear. There were moments of it that I couldn’t recall, no matter how hard I tried. Like attempting to grasp a handful of fog, they just wouldn’t come to me. The law officers' faces and voices were muted, if they came at all, as if underwater. Other things, the memories I wished would fade, still came to me as if I were living them: my mother's face, her bruised body, the strange marks on her torso.

A snake in an egg.

With a shake of my head, I turned away from the field and headed toward my grandmother’s house. There was no point in dwelling on the past. I had no power to alter what happened or to find those responsible. The grief spiral that I circled on a daily basis wouldn’t suck me in today.

Overgrown brambles lined the pathway that led to Grandma’s porch. Each step groaned under my weight in protest as I made my way to the front door and frowned at the areas of peeling paint along the siding.

Without knocking, I entered and was immediately tackled by my eight-year-old cousin, Marcy.

“You made it!” She shouted, hugging me as if we hadn’t seen each other in months when, in reality, it had been a few days.

“Give her room to breathe, Mar,” Aunt Stella sighed, poking her head out of the kitchen. “Gran’s out back doing whatever it is she does. I’ve stopped asking.”

“Blood magic,” Marcy whispered with wide eyes.

“Grandma does not do blood magic,” I laughed. “If she knew how, she’d be living with a bunch of paramours at her beck and call.”

“I don’t need blood magic to attract men,” Grandma scoffed as she entered through the back door. “With all these newly returned soldiers, I’ll have an entire retinue of handsome men in no time. Just you wait.”

“Gross,” my aunt winced.

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