She surprised herself sometimes. The day had been more than rough on her soul, yet here she was, in bed, and not sleeping it off like she normally would. If she allowed her head to hit the pillow now, she’d dose off right away, drained and weary as she was. But Zara sat up in her bed with duvet covering her legs, studying the new items she’d brought back from town.

She would have forgotten about them completely had she not stumbled over her bag on the way to bed, which caused the anklets inside to jingle, which led her mind drive back to the more pleasant aspects of the day. She glided her fingers across the anklets, mesmerized by the shine of white-gold, the light clinking of the bells. She fantasized them wrapped around her ankles as she tapped and twirled to melodies of the flute and drums, barefoot across the snow—without a care for frostbite—dressed in a light gown that made circles wider than her arms could reach out. She would glide among the trees, deeper and deeper into the depths of the forest, where she could dance forever in peace.

Zara held the anklet against her skin. It was a nice contrast, the white shine glowing against the duller brown. She would feel beautiful in these.

Taking comfort in that one positive thought over the multiple negatives lingering at the back of her mind, Zara placed the anklets gently on the covers. It was a shame she hadn’t thought to steal another book on dancing, or perhaps even try to find a copy of the one she owned previously.

Zara sighed. If only books were more accessible to her, she’d probably be happier. Maybe. She already owned a healthy stack of literature, history, and religious texts, neatly put away in her dresser’s most bottom storage space, accumulated from years of home school and the ever-so-rare occasion when her father brought back some old books his colleagues were donating. But those books were usually stories that educated in the subject of Gods and holy worship—subjects he believed Zara should focus all her attention into instead of the “frivolous nonsense” she preferred.

Zara enjoyed fantastical tales of drama and romance, but she also loved a good laugh too. Her favorite heroes were both witty and passionate about justice. Tragedies were not for her. She still had a few stored in her drawer that were read for school, but would never be picked up again. If she was going to fall in love with a hero, he or she was going to have a happy ending, as they rightfully deserved.

Zara flipped through the new book she had in her possession now, titled The Histories of Forbidden Arts and Deities. A pang assaulted her heart, just like it had at the library when she had bagged the text like a professional thief. The feeling hadn’t lasted long after she left the building though.

Stumbling upon Yohid had been the highlight of her day—the boy that shared her secret, but none of her protection. She prayed to Mother Lilith that he had found shelter for the night.

And all at once, she was crying again. She let the book go and wiped her tears with her hands.

Shelves upon shelves of books circled the building, the scent of old pages and scrolls within every aisle; strolling down those vibrant cobbled streets, savoring its delicious scents of coffee and baked sweets; being able to talk to someone about a thing that made her existence unspeakable—and that someone actually listening to her without judgment and shame, even if for a short time…

It had all been over too soon.

Zara had built an energy she hadn’t had for a very long time: excitement. Maybe even a bit of happiness.

But that was until her father had found her and dragged her back home in the most humiliating way. The looks she’d received…particularly from that man who had seemed determined not to break eye contact, like he was reveling in her misery.

Like she was some silly, disobedient little girl.

As much as she would like to begin reading her new stolen book, Zara was no longer in the mood for it. Skimming through the pages brought out a misery that was both agonizing and dizzying all at once. She closed the book and shoved it back into her bag. She toyed with the anklets again, wondering if she should hide them in her desk’s junk drawer, where her journal was.

A fit of irritation bubbled beneath her skull. That damn journal caused me more harm than help. That damn journal and that damn Rowan, too.

Tonight’s meal wouldn’t have been half as bad if her brother had just kept his mouth shut. Zara regretted writing the entry, and she regretted throwing it at that idiot even more, almost like she had asked for this to happen.

Rowan had deserved that smack in the face…even though he’d been making a valid point about their parents leaving Zara to the streets alone.

But he had it coming anyway.

A light tapping on the door startled Zara. She instinctively hid the anklets underneath a pillow, praying it wasn’t one of her parents coming to “check” on her.

Though if it was one of her parents, Zara wondered why they hadn’t forced themselves in already. They almost never knocked first, so this was quite…different.

“W-Who is it?” she asked nervously.

“Me,” Rowan’s low mumble came from behind the door.

Surprised that he would be approaching her this late—and also that he had actually knocked this time around—Zara replied, “Um. Come in?”

The door creaked open and shut, and now Rowan was standing in her bedroom awkwardly, not saying anything. Zara wondered why she had allowed him in at all.

“What?” she grunted. From his uncharacteristic solemnity, it seemed he had something important to say.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the one who’s here.”

“I had something to say but…” His frown deepened. “But now I don’t know how to say it. Especially since it’s…you.”

Zara rolled her eyes, sighing heavily. “Just leave. I was about to go to sleep.”

“I’m actually surprised you’re awake now. Because you’re never awake.”

“Oh yeah? So you came to my door knowing that I might have been asleep?”

“Well, yeah. But then I heard you crying so…I knocked.”

Zara stared him down. He was going to tell her what this visit was about or she was going to get up and kick him out herself. She had enough energy for that at least.

Rowan cleared his throat before she could make her thoughts clear. “I heard about that boy. And what Baba said about looking for him.”

“That boy’s name is Yohid,” Zara growled.

“Mhm.” He scratched the back of his head, looking unsure of how best to react.

“How did you find out?” she inquired. He had stomped off by the time Yohid’s name was brought up, consumed by his own tantrum.

“He was talking about it with Ma in the parlor. I was listening outside the door, when I went down later to use the washroom.”

“Oh.”

Rowan stepped closer to the bed, seeming lost. He clearly wasn’t used to seeking out his sister to not rile her up.

“C-Can I see your new anklets?” he asked.

Zara dismissed him. “Why the hell do you care about them now? You wanted them taken away!”

“I was just joking around,” he replied defensively.

“In front of Baba? For what? So he could beat me again?”

“No!”

“You might as well have ripped the damn page out of the book and read it to him, word for word. You’re such an ass.”

“Hey you threw it at me, ok?” Rowan scolded, pointing at his leg. “That left a little bruise over here.”

“Oh, a little bruise. I’m so sorry,” Zara mocked, her vision blurring with frustrated tears. “That has to be many times worse than having to live a precarious waste of a life like mine. I should have known better.”

“…Precarious?” His forehead wrinkled, not understanding what the word meant.

Zara wanted to scream, but she managed to keep her voice down. “It means my life could end at any moment. Like it will with Yohid, and anyone else who dares live with an ounce of this curse. Fuck!” She tugged at her loose hair, taking shallow breaths as she tried not to sob.

Rowan lowered his head, staying quiet.

“Don’t pity me,” Zara grumbled, sniffling.

Rowan shrugged. “I wouldn’t pity you,” he said, chuckling it off, but Zara still knew it was a lie. “And I wouldn’t have said anything more about it…” He brought his palm to his cheek, the one Zahir had struck. “I agree with you. Baba really is a weak tempered fool, like you wrote.”

Zara studied him, her vexation slowly decreasing. She didn’t understand why Rowan was doing this. Him trying to make her feel better about anything was unlike him. It wasn’t bad, but Zara couldn’t help but wonder what his deal was, or if there was some catch to this. But after a minute, she whispered, “Okay.”

After wiping her face clean again, she reached under her pillow and pulled the anklets out.

“Whoa.” Rowan’s thick brows flew up. “Those are fancy.”

“I know.”

“How much did you spend on them?”

“Ten coins.”

His mouth dropped. “That’s it?”

“Yes. They don’t have any real gold in them.” She lifted one up and shook it, easily. “See? They’re light.”

“Wow. Well, good for you.”

Yes. Good for me. She had finally been able to spend some of the money she’d hoarded for years. Zara didn’t receive any allowance for her chores anymore. According to Zahir, there was no point to it.

“Did you try them on yet?” Rowan asked.

“Not yet.”

“Are you planning to dance in them? They’re going to be noisy. Ma and Baba are sure to find out.”

“Yes I will, but obviously when no one’s around. I would like to practice dancing again…”

It was strange. She hadn’t had a normal conversation with her younger brother in ages. She could also say the same for her older brother, Naz. Naz was a stranger to her. A ghost of a man that got all of the family’s praise, even though he never showed his face. Zara hadn’t seen him in years, not since her magic was discovered. And even before that time, he was hardly around.

She wasn’t particularly close with either of her siblings, but Rowan had always been around. They, at the very least, had a relationship—albeit not a great one. Which was something Rowan was beginning to change now, for some reason.

Unless this was a trap of some sort.

Zara shook herself from her rambling thoughts.

Another pause, then Rowan mumbled, “I’m…sorry.”

She glanced at him. His face had grown a little pink—an odd sight. Her lips broke into a small smile. At least his apology was genuine.

“…Thank you.”

Rowan cleared his throat.“You know they probably won’t even catch him.” His tone was hopeful, and Zara found her lips curling up further. She, too, hoped Yohid would be okay, that he wouldn’t be caught. But only time would tell. And there wasn’t a lot of it left.

It was now that Zara noticed her brother’s state of dress. His hair was still messy, but he had it tied away from his face; he wore a black laced cotton shirt with decorative stitching around the dipped neckline, and plain brown pants—an outfit unfit for sleeping.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked.

Rowan glanced down at himself like he’d forgotten all about it. “Oh, yeah. I was about to head out until I heard you crying in here.” He grinned deviously, returning to normal spirits.

“What?!”

“Shh. Don’t be so loud,” he hushed. “Ma and Baba are sleeping by now, I’m sure.”

“What are you thinking?” she spoke quietly. “It’s late, it’s dark, and—where would you even go?”

“To the bar?” He said this as though it were the simplest answer in the world. “Like I usually do whenever I sneak out?”

“Wh-?! You’ve done this before?”

“Yes.”

“F-For how long?”

“A few months, here and there.”

“A few…months? In a row?” That couldn’t be possible. They were just getting out of winter, and the nightlife was scarce during Pria’s coldest seasons. Unless one wanted to freeze themselves to death, they usually stayed indoors.

“Well, no I mean…I didn’t go anywhere during DeepWinter obviously.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t make it out and back alive.”

Flabbergasted still, Zara demanded, “And you didn’t tell me of this…why?”

Rowan laughed. “Um, why would I?”

Good point.

“You would have snitched anyway,” Rowan said. “You’re always in such a shit mood these days.”

There was no rebuttal for that one; he was right on the mark.

“So…you’re going alone?” she said.

“No. We’re meeting Shia down the block.”

“We’re?”

“I’d like to take you. To make up for tonight.” He flashed her a smile that was obnoxious and weirdly kind. “You need to loosen up, yeah?”

Immediately she recoiled, and her stomach flipped. “No,” she stated with a firm head shake. “I can’t do that.”

“We’ll take one horse,” Rowan insisted. “And I always come back way before dawn anyway. It’s just a few hours of fun—”

“I’m not going.” Zara was not one for that type of “fun”. It was the type of fun her father would murder her for, should he find out. And since luck was hardly on her side, he would.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t snuck out of the house herself before, but it was only to the forest, which was a fifteen minute’s walk away. Ten if she rushed. Rowan was talking about going miles away into town right now.

“You can meet people,” he said. “Maybe even make friends. You need that, right? Because you have none—”

“Shut up.”

“Or, you know, you don’t have to talk to anybody if you don’t want to.”

“Rowan, I won’t know anyone there.”

“I’ll be there.”

Zara huffed. “But I doubt you’ll stick around me.”

Rowan chuckled. “You can busy yourself with drinking then. Come on. After today, I say we both need this.”

“I…I don’t know.” It was tempting to take the opportunity to leave this prison of a house for one night. In fact, it was making her heart race with anticipation. He was right, she needed this. If Rowan had gone to town multiple times in the middle of the night without their parents being the wiser, then what could be the harm this time, if she tagged along? Even if luck was not on her side, it clearly was on Rowan’s.

But Zara’s inexperience in night life—or any kind of social life really—was making her throat tight and her head swim. She’d sorely stick out for sure, in the most awkward way, and as generous as her brother was being now, she knew she was going to end up alone when he eventually ran off with his friends. In the middle of a bar. In the dead of night. And that was enough to make her want to stay where she was, in a prison that at least kept her safe and sound.

“Zara,” Rowan spoke. “You don’t know what you’re missing. If you don’t take chances like this, you’re going to be miserable forever.”

Zara’s mouth parted, unable to speak against something that was so…true. She had a chance now, to leave the house on her own, without the tyrannical supervision she hated so much. It was risky, and very stupid, and they could very well get caught, and Zara didn’t know what night-time bar goers were like and that made her queasy because what if they were dangerous? But if she kept thinking of the what-ifs, then she would never know, like Rowan had said, and when was the last time Rowan had uttered something that sounded smart? .

After dwelling—and rambling in her own mind yet again—for another minute, Zara couldn’t handle Rowan’s expectant, yet challenging, gaze on her any longer. She relented.

“O-Okay.”

She lifted the covers out of her way and stood while Rowan clasped his hands together, excited for the win.

“Yes! Get ready quickly. I’ll wait in my room for you so meet me there, okay?” He was already at the door as his voice softened significantly.

Zara thought she replied with an, “Okay,” but she couldn’t be sure over the loud rushing in her ears. It made her want to crawl back into bed and pretend she had never agreed to do anything.

“And after this, you’ll thank me for being the best brother ever,” he whispered, opening the door.

She scoffed nonchalantly, even as her limbs shook. “I doubt it.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t keep up with that anyway.”

He snickered and quietly exited the room, leaving Zara alone to stress about anything and everything that could possibly go more wrong tonight.