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

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

Mum's sigh could be heard even over the incessant pounding of her stone pestle over acorns.

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

"And my eyes, interestingly, have always kept me only a little way away from lynching." Meya whipped around to get a snipe across, and Mistral was left to comb out a half-finished ruined braid and redo it from the top. Luckily, Meya was too busy giving Mum a piece of her mind to notice, "A beautiful braid 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, and Marin couldn't help trying to smooth things out.

"Just 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 instead. For someone so impatient and impulsive, her eyes were paradoxically cold. Marin barely had time to mentally prepare for the barrage of acid her middle sister usually reserved for her before the girl let loose.

"So? Does that make my head her practice loom? My time is gold. And what's under my hair is how I mine it. Will you decide on one already, Mistral?!"

Meya hissed through gritted teeth up at Mistral, who jolted and dropped her attempt at the elaborate lace braid. The poor girl was on the verge of tear. Mum abandoned her pestle at last, her well of patience drying.

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

Meya turned and sneered at Mum.

"Because that is my job. Feeding all your pretty, cherubic mouths. And this is your job. Braiding each other's hair and matchmaking Queen Marin."

Meya grabbed her lunch and straw hat then stood up. Mum bolted to her feet.

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

The door slammed behind Meya's mane of half-braided orange hair, leaving Mum to take heaving breaths. Mistral dashed over to cling to her dress, and with one arm Mum absently held her.

"Does she realize that she's the reason we can't work?" Morel, who had been silently cracking acorns for Mum to pound all along, finally pitched in her two latts.

"Morel," Mum's level voice was undercut with danger.

"You know it's true, Mum!" Morel sprang up, arms flailing. "We're all carrying Greeneye blood. And we're dirt poor! Who'd want their sons to marry us if we weren't always the prettiest we can be? Why did you even marry Dad, anyway!?"

Marin felt her heart skip several beats. Mistral clutched Mum's leg even tighter. Mum raised a finger trembling with fury,

"Morelia Hild, you stop right there or Freda help me I will beat your calves raw!" Mum's hoarse, cracked voice rose into a snarl. Morel flinched back, eyes wide in fright and guilt. "There are Greeneyes on my side as well. There are Greeneyes in every family in Latakia!"

Mum glowered, chest heaving. A strained pause followed as Morel remained frozen, breathing gingerly as she watched Mum, eyes unblinking. Marin got up from her corner and went over to Morel, laying silent but comforting hands on her shivering forearms.

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

"The reason you're not working outside isn't 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 love being here. That's why you're here. Your father and I decided together that four breadwinners is enough. And you're all earning your dowries by your own methods. So is Meya."

As Morel nodded meekly, Marin looked away in shame. Having taught herself to read and write from Myron's books in her free time, 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 all 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 were instantly alert, sensing a story that would not be told twice, "Yes, he had always been poor, and he was open about it. He had Greeneye relatives, and he was open about it."

Mum traipsed back and settled down in her spot behind the pile of acorns, her usually demure, graceful demeanor bitter and jaded like her stream of biting words.

"By the time my troupe came 'round to Crosset that year, I was quitting even before I realized I wanted to. A decade on the road, singing from midday to dusk at every village in sight took its toll on me. The ringmaster was milking me like cattle. My Song was already pushed to the limit even before I had Meya."

The girls' eyes widened in horror and grief. Mum sniffed back tears as she picked up an empty acorn shell to fidget with,

"Your father was the one man who never once asked me to sing for him. All the times he visited me, he would bring me honey he had hunted himself to soothe my throat. He would talk to me about any and all things, apart from my Song."

"I told him I had never done a day of housework, and that I was about to give up singing. The only job I was good at. He vowed to never force me back into it, and he laughed with me when he came home from the fields to our house in chaos."

Mum smiled through her tears, and her three daughters, despite their differences, all mirrored her. Then the Hild matriarch turned to her eldest and prettiest daughter.

"This might be harsh on your ears. Especially for you, Marin." Marin started and blinked in surprise, "But know that Freda's blessings will not last. My Song. My beauty. My youthful vigor. Even these naughty lasses."

Mum hitched up a devious grin as she gestured with her chin towards her still generous bosom. The four women chortled in unison, then Mum glanced around at each of them, her voice solemn,

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

The young women exchanged blinking looks at that strange advice.

"For that is how he will be treating you once your flowers have withered. And your fruits have fallen."

Marin's hands clenched into trembling fists as the past faded away to be replaced with the ongoing scenario before her eyes. Terron Neale was standing with overflowing mug in hand, surrounded by his admiring troupe members as he drunkenly boasted of how he managed to land himself the prettiest young maiden in Crosset.

His mug swinging, he glanced about the throng, which has erupted in another round of cheers following yet another clever punchline. Then his eyes finally spotted Marin's, peeking out from under her hooded cloak, peering patiently at him from just beyond the crowd, where she stood waiting with her elder brother Maro.

"Oh, Marin, my love!" He staggered over to her side and slung his beer-laden arm around her shoulders, "I was just telling my folks the good news. So, have you decided?"

He leaned close, his beer-smelling breath blowing into her nostrils. Maro clenched his jaws but remained silent, yet never edging a half-step away 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 the might in her arm.

Terron pirouetted on tipsy feet and keeled to the wooden floor with a dull crash. Clawing at his stinging cheek, he whipped back to Marin in utter confusion, as did all the men in the rowdy tavern, which had fallen graveyard silent.

Marin pulled the hems of her raggedy dress out of the way of his akimbo limbs, ice-blue eyes serenely staring down her long apron at his pathetic form at her feet. His drunken bliss evaporating fast, Terron protested in annoyance borne of embarrassment.

"Marin! What was that for?"

For once, Marin's usually kind blue eyes were as cold and vacant as a frozen winter lake. And there was a hint of venom in her voice which was reminiscent of Meya's as she softly obliged.

"Oh, you know what for."

Amidst the lingering stares of shock from the merrymaking men, Marin swept out of the tavern, never once looking back.

The bastard did not deserve to see her tears.

⏳

The sun had fallen, and night had drifted down after it upon Hadrian, but the multicolored tarpaulins over merchant stalls remained propped up on quirked sticks, even as their backs sagged with exhaustion. Locals and tourists milled about on the dirt road. Harried families, clingy couples and squealing youngsters flock from shop to shop, adding more goods to their already overflowing hands and storing some in their engorged bellies.

Through the gaps over sitting merchants' heads, Meya watched the scene from the shadows behind Old Mother Gelda's tavern, one hand resting on the low fence, absently scratching behind the ears of the snoozing, doomed sow in its pen. A lone cricket chirruped from somewhere in the vegetable patch on her other side, its shrill call keeping time for the steady low hum of the crowd passing by.

A pair of father and daughter entered the stage. The young 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 torch-lamps. She was leading her Dada along with an eager hand, cherubic lips flapping incessantly as she babbled in excitement about something or other. Her father simply nodded along, his eyes filled with pride and his smile with adoration.

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

A wave of resentment surged up from her twisted stomach, and 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 that it wasn't Marin's fault, that 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 had imagined countless versions of their reunion. Rehearsed her summary of everything that had happened since she left Crosset, and 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, it was like the gods that be had struck down a harsh reminder that that was never to be. That she would never be worthy of even that. No matter what she had achieved or been through.

But should it bother me this much, though? 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 solution to that conundrum wasn't instantly obvious, so Meya dug deeper to find the answer for 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.

Familiar heavy, dragging footsteps approached her from the tavern, followed by two more pairs of feet. Meya allowed herself a mirthless grin 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 my sister and ditching her, or keeping it from me?" Meya retorted.

"You knew?" Deke breathed, astonished. Meya quirked up a wry grin, adding a shrug once she remembered he couldn't see the look on her face,

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

There was a moment of charged silence, then Deke sighed and clomped over to the log Meya was sitting on. Meya steeled herself against the instinct to edge aside and make room for him.

"Well, both." Deke settled down, striving to retain a dignified, somber appearance even with one butt-cheek dangling in mid-air, "I should have been open about it. But I was afraid you'll get mad. And I shouldn't have been. Because you shouldn't have dangled our friendship over my head like that."

Meya tensed up. 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 who he would choose.

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

"Why do you hate Marin so much, Meya?"

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

"I don't hate her." She shook her head wearily, shrugging, "I just...I wish she'd do more with all the blessings Freda bestowed upon her, is all."

"Do what?" Deke asked. Meya blew out a breath, annoyed.

"You know what I mean. She's Diamond Class." She spat, "She doesn't need to save up for her dowry. She could've sold all those gifts them idiots piled onto her then bought her freeman permit ages ago. Travel wherever she wants. Marry whomever she wants. Live whatever way she wants. Like that Tricia of Haventoth she so worshiped. How many times has opportunity came to her door on a silver platter and she turned it away? Some at my expense!?"

Meya slapped her chest, wide, glowing eyes glaring at Deke, who hadn't cringed back. His expression had become blank, and his eyes gleamed with defiance like they rarely did before Meya.

"You wanna know exactly why Marin turned down Terron Neale?"

Meya started, confused and alarmed. Deke turned away and yanked up a blade of tender spring grass, twisting it idly,

"Marin made me promise at pencil-point never to tell. Well, she could go ahead and stick that up whatever orifice of mine she wants." He tossed the grass away with a vicious flick of his hand, "I can't let you go around resenting her for the rest of your life, when you don't know diddlysquat about her, despite having lived sixteen years with her."

As Deke glowered at her, Meya could only gawk back, her battalion of pithy comebacks scattered by shock. He turned away, allowing her to breathe again,

"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 paled, the glow of her eyes flickering with tears of shame and guilt. Deke took the opening and leaned close, grasping her wire-taut 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 drop of tear was threatening to tumble from Meya's eye. Deke turned away with a heavy sigh, leaving one hand on her shivering shoulder in consolation.

"You know full well that 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 confirmed wearily as 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 insisted your sisters are born blessed, when you know that they just kept doing their stuff after you gave up on the first try."

Meya stared at the ground, chilled by the truth.

Yes, despite her appearances, despite her poverty and seeming lack of choices, Meya knew she had always been spoiled. She had always chosen the choice she preferred best, 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 of 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 from the recent, fresh past rang within her, and 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 due to the increased activity where they were. Its song was like a warm balm nursing the sores on her heart.

"So, this is it, then?" She managed a croak. Deke turned, eyebrows raised, and she hitched up a bitter smirk, "You gotta go home and marry Marin then raise your babe, don't you? And Marin probably wanna travel someday, so..."

Meya flicked 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. That's why it's so awful." Meya dropped her head into her hands, "'cause there's nothing I can do about it."

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