Page 2 of Fate

“Would it help if I brought you some tea? You need your sleep.”

Firen swallowed. Brought the bedclothes a little higher about her chin. Her tears had stopped, but the ache hadn’t. “Yes.”

Another kiss. This one to her forehead. “All right.”

Because that was Mama. Always helping. Always doing her best to ease any of her children’s troubles, even if she couldn’t quite understand them.

She wouldn’t take advantage of that either.

Mama was right. She was being silly about it. Dwelling and pining when she should learn the skills that would help her later on. How to keep house, especially. To cook. Her nose crinkled again. Even how to take care of the fledglings. She didn’t mindthe playing so much. It was changing their dirty napkins she didn’t care for...

Or maybe she’d learn more of Da’s work. Not the larger work—those took strength she simply didn’t possess. But the jewellery, perhaps. The pretty things that caught the light and sold particularly well when the suns were out.

Just until her majority. It wouldn’t take long afterwards, she knew it. Her first market. Or maybe her first fete. That would be nice. When she could dress herself with such care and Mama could help her braid her hair...

No, she wouldn’t be waiting long. She was sure of it.

1. Fete

Many orbital cycles later...

There was no mistaking her sister’s joy as she burst through the door. The brightness in her eyes, the strange hand clasped in hers as she pulled a stranger through the hall and into the warmth of the kitchen.

“Mama!” she burst out, all light and excitement.

None need ask what had happened. Not when their hands were clasped so tightly, when the shy smile on the man’s face as he glanced at his new bond-mate did all the talking for them.

Her younger sister.

By more seasons than she cared to count.

She shoved the thought away. Moved forward to embrace her with their mother, then to embrace her new brother as well. He was young also, but handsome. They made a fine couple. Perhaps their children would share in their father’s chestnut hair rather than Eris’s pale locks—so near to Firen’s that they were often mistaken for one another unless faced from the front.

“This is...” She turned her head and gave a bewildered sort of start. “I forgot to ask your name!” Then Eris laughed, as it was the most inconsequential thing in the world, while her mate ducked his head and placed his hand on his chest to greet her mother.

“Varrel,” he supplied. “It is a pleasure to be here.” There was an earnestness about him that was charming, and some of the hard lump in Firen’s stomach loosened at his manner.

“Varrel,” her mother repeated, and her smile warmed as she gripped his arm once in a friendly gesture before offering for him to sit. Then paused, glancing toward the door. “I should...”

Firen swallowed. “I’ll get Da, Mama. You sit. Maybe get them to actually talk a little.” It was only a tease, and Eris was too enamoured to even glare at her sister before she passed through the back door.

She took a breath. Then another.

She wasn’t jealous. Every union was to be celebrated. She was just... disappointed. A little. Because she thought she’d watch each of her siblings bring home their mates with her own settled by her side. Where they might whisper to each other about the day they found one another, just between the two of them. A fond reminiscence. Something... something shared.

The garden was beginning to bloom. Winter had been a long one, but the flowers that burst in crimsons and deep purples seemed to only have thrived from it. The herbs were fragrant—trying their best to combat against the smoke and ever-present smell of metal shavings, burned wood, and slick oil that came from her father’s workshop.

She slipped through the door, the fire low. It was early, yet, and she found him seated at one of the worktables, a lamp burning brightly even with the open window allowing plenty of light. Fiddly work, then.

He glanced her way as she entered, but he did not put down his task.

“A commission?” she asked, moving nearer.

He grunted in response. He liked to craft for his own sake, allowing the metals to speak to their nature. But others preferred to hire his hands to craft visions of their own, sometimes with only crude drawings to replicate their desires. A risk, every time. But often one that could keep the family fed for a month once it was finished.

He muttered a low curse, then gave her a sheepish smile as he put down his tools. “What brings you into my lair, Firi?”

She swallowed. Smiled. “Eris brought someone home. Mama wants you.”

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