The King's City: Fire Witch

By Lee Cope

“But you can’t just know that sort of thing. Not without magic.”

Linguist and teacher Ithild has always been the impulsive one. It’s part of the reason she’s arguing with her sister, Ette, the historian. When Ette confides that she hasn’t heard from one of her best friends in months – nor anyone at the University he works at in the out-of-the-way Border City – Ithild volunteers to go investigate. Surely there’s no way a whole University could just fall out of contact, and besides, a break from each other will do the sisters good.

But Ette hasn’t exactly been honest, either, and when Ithild can’t return from her trip, it’s obvious that there are a few conversations they should have had much earlier. Like how much, exactly, Ette knows about the supposedly-departed Hraethenn. Or what exactly happened on the night of the accident that Ette has never talked about.

There are no letters back and forth from the Border City. Ithild could really use Ette’s experience, and Ette needs what Ithild knows. Between them, they’ve nearly got all the pieces they need to stop the coming invasion, but there’s half a country and a lot of secrets between them.

After all, this is politics now. Everyone’s always got another secret.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Cope
• Release date: Aug 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648578215

Lee Cope

Lee is an Australian fantasy author and wordsmith-for-hire who likes to procrastinate from writing with more writing.Their writing efforts can be traced either to the terrible Disney ripoff they wrote when they were six, or to the not quite as terrible but equally embarrassing David Eddings ripoff they wrote at fifteen, depending on your definition. They like to think their writing has gotten less terrible with practice, and if not original, then at least it derives from a variety of sources now.They fund their fantasy writing by selling their wordsmithing services as a writer, editor and research assistant in projects both fictional and non. These ventures also fund one of the last DVD collections left in a digital world, a somewhat ill-advised martial arts interest, a modest video game library, and the upkeep of two very affectionate cats.Lee has studied in Canberra, Melbourne and Dublin, all revolving around writing, literary analysis, and some languages and linguistics to round it all out. Their current degree is on hiatus. They would love to keep learning languages in their spare time, but that requires first having some spare time.

Book preview

The King’s City

Fire Witch

by

Lee Cope

© by Lee Cope. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-6485782-1-5

Cover design by Yu Chun Lin

Internal art by Joe Lombard

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing from the author. Short quotes for review purposes excepted.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real life persons (living or dead), places or events is entirely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to:

My family, my friends, my partner, for endless support

You, for reading this, of all the books you could be reading

And to my cats, who have put up with enough of my nonsense to warrant a spot on this list. Trust me.

Acknowledgements

There are a number of people without whom this book wouldn’t exist.

First to my cover artist, Roku, who created a cover better than I had ever imagined it could be. She is a delightful individual, even when I’m being somehow both demanding and indecisive at the same time. The same goes for Joe, who created the amazing designs for the chapter headers. I deeply appreciate how often Joe allows me to rope him into helping me out with weird projects.

Second to Prithvi, who may not ever read this final product, but in the book’s early stages, provided some of the best feedback and advice that I’ve ever received on a piece of work. Wherever you are, I hope this lives up to what you thought it could be.

Third, to my beta readers and story sounding boards, who read it over and were honest, or who listened to me babble endlessly and helped me sort out my thoughts until they made sense. The book has improved immensely for their efforts.

Fourth, to my parents and my partner, for always believing that this would come together in the end.

And of course, to everyone else I don’t have room to list here. You’re all wonderful, and I appreciate you so much.

About the Author

Lee is an Australian fantasy author and wordsmith-for-hire who likes to procrastinate from writing with more writing.

Their writing efforts can be traced either to the terrible Disney rip-off they wrote when they were six, or to the not quite as terrible but equally embarrassing David Eddings rip-off they wrote at fifteen, depending on your definition. They like to think their writing has gotten less terrible with practice, and if not original, then at least it derives from a variety of sources now.

Nowadays they live in Melbourne, Australia, with one of the last DVD collections in an increasingly digital world, an ill-advised number of bookshelves, and a pair of delightful cats.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Prologue

Years and years ago, Ithild watched Ette reading books at the desk. Both desk and chair were too big for her — her feet, free of their shoes, dangled inches from the floor. But Ithild, who was smaller still, thought her sister looked just like an adult.

Ette’s feet paused in their swinging as she looked up and noticed Ithild.

Do you want to read this one? Ette asked, holding out one of the books from the big pile next to her.

Ithild shoved the door all the way open and joined her sister, sitting on the floor with her back against the three drawers by Ette’s leg. She opened the book, and began to read — or rather, admire the pictures — starting from the big diagram on page thirty-six.

Half a lifetime ago, Ette sat at the same desk and chair, whose corners were now worn smooth by the swinging and scuffing of the sisters’ feet. Ithild, down the hall, was already asleep, textbooks still packed in the bag by the door. She had studies to complete in the school break, of course, but they were tomorrow’s problem. Or perhaps the day after…

On a day that might have been weeks or centuries ago, Ette left early in the morning and spent all day out of town.

Ithild sometimes imagined that she opened an eye a crack, just enough to see the light in the hall, and woke up enough to hear the door close. Just a short moment, much more calm than when Ette was carried back into the house that evening, surrounded by shouting people.

Ithild hadn’t woken up that morning, of course, but imagining she had made her feel better, sometimes. Or made her feel worse, which could, on some days, be the same thing.

By the time Ithild woke up, Ette was already awake and working at the table, a notebook open in front of her, a half-finished cup of tea by her elbow, her long hair loosely braided back and her blouse sleeves rolled up.

Morning, Ithild said as she walked behind the island bench to the stove and the kettle against the back wall.

Ette glanced up, using her free hand to tuck a stray hair back behind her ear. Morning, Ithild.

The tea things were still laid out on the kitchen bench. Ette had left some of the things out for Ithild: the brown ceramic mug that Ithild usually used, and a little iron spoon, both etched with tiny runes around their edges. Ithild didn’t take sugar in either tea or coffee, so Ette never left it out for her, always putting it back in the cupboard after she used it. The kettle was still too hot to touch, so Ette must only have boiled it recently. Ette had experimented with a new rune string recently, so the kettle boiled fast, but unfortunately didn’t retain heat for very long. She had left out the coffee jar for Ithild, and the coffee pot.

The ceramics of the coffee jar and its lid made a grating noise as Ithild twisted them against each other. The runes roughened the surfaces and made them grip, so that air and damp didn’t get in, but it could be tricky to coax them apart.

Once Ithild had her coffee, she sat down at the table opposite her sister with a sigh.

Have you been up for a while? Ithild asked.

Not long, Ette said. Ithild studied her face, trying to see beyond the pleasant and calm smile.

Ithild had grown used to Ette lying late of a morning and waking slowly. On particularly bad days, she might not emerge until noon. But for the past month or so, she had started waking up earlier and earlier. Now she was up before Ithild most days, even on days when Ithild had to teach.

Oddest of all, she hadn’t said anything about it to Ithild. Usually, Ette told Ithild when she was having good days or bad days, at the very least to let Ithild know if she’d be up to helping around the house that day. And sometimes to vent her frustrations as well. Just after the accident, Ithild remembered Ette confiding that there were days when she feared she’d never be able to research again, or even do groceries by herself or help with the chores. Now, for Ette to have been up and working every single day for a month? Ithild would have thought she’d be excited! But she hadn’t so much as acknowledged that anything had changed.

Ette pushed away her paper, dropping the pencil gently onto the desk. Done, she said.

Done with what? Ithild asked, dragging the paper across the table so that she could read it.

Ette tipped her cup towards herself while Ithild looked over the page, but sat it back on the saucer, apparently finding it empty.

A course application, Ette said. Sorry, Ithild, but can you deliver it while you do the groceries?

Sure. Ithild finished scanning the application. This is Hraethenn studies isn’t it? You think they’ll accept the application?

You’ve already taught nearly all the basic classes this year, Ette said, And we’ve still got several months to fill. You’re the only other person who might apply to teach anything.

Not true! Ithild protested, but without any real feeling behind it. I still haven’t covered application procedures or the rune combinations class.

Ette gave her an impish grin. Still … since everyone has been learning so well from you, I thought they’d prefer you finish those classes than switch over to me …

Ithild snorted. You’re lucky I’m happy you feel up to teaching a class, she said, folding the paper and putting it in the pocket of her trousers.

I promise I’ll help with the regular classes next year.

In that case, I want first choice of the history subjects.

Ette smiled. There were still bags under her eyes, but lately her expressions had been spirited again, like they were before the accident. Ithild wondered if she should just ask. But if Ette hadn’t brought it up … why would she want to keep her recovery a secret?

So … does this mean I can get out of making breakfast today? Ithild suggested.

Ette sighed dramatically. Alright, alright. But only because I know you were up late reading last night.

I was researching! Ithild protested. Ette was worse than their mother for knowing when Ithild was up late reading. It used to be because Ette was reading too, and a light sleeper, but these days she slept like the dead, so Ithild had no idea how she found out.

Ette stood up and straightened her skirt and blouse. And of course, this particular book is a charmed text that disappears in sunlight, so you could never have read it during the day.

Ithild made an annoyed noise through her nose. I seem to remember you taught me how to read at night without Mum and Dad noticing.

And I seem to remember you always got caught anyway, Ette said, opening the pantry and getting the eggs out.

Ithild felt suddenly guilty. Oh — you don’t need to make anything that fancy, she said. It was just a joke. I can make breakfast if you like.

Ette waved a hand over her shoulder, without looking at Ithild. Don’t, she said. I said I’ll make breakfast, and I’ll make breakfast.

Ithild picked up her mug. Well, as long as you’re sure, she muttered, taking a sip.

I’m sure, Ette said. Now — toast or that leftover cornmeal?

Later that day, while Ithild was running errands, Ette was still sitting at the dining table. In front of her were strewn envelopes, all neatly addressed in Ette’s own handwriting, then stamped across with a variety of official Post Office stamps. Not at this address. Not at this address. Undeliverable. Could not be reached. Not at this address.

Those that weren’t stamped and sealed were perfunctory.

Ms Dall,

Thanks for your enquiry. The books you have requested are not at this library. They are currently on loan from the Border City. We have sent a request for them to be returned, and we hope that you will not be waiting too long to receive them.

Regards

Ette,

Unfortunately, I haven’t heard anything from Althus. Might he have accepted a new position recently? I hear that the Border City University is losing professors. He might have decided it was time to move on. You might try Welford — that’s where most of the professors in his field are these days, I think. I know a professor or two at Welford myself. I’ll send out some feelers for you if you like, and let you know if I hear anything.

Regards

Ette pushed the papers away from her, and pulled out the notebook again with a sigh. She wasn’t getting anywhere with this. She’d penned half a dozen notes, some professional follow-ups, some more a release for her frustration than an attempt at communication. But she’d only sent them the first few times. The letters she got in return were never helpful.

They sat on the other end of the table, distracting her from writing her lecture notes. She reached across and pushed them even further away, but it didn’t help.

She rubbed her chest. It wasn’t that far past noon, but the ache was already returning, along with the slight burn of fatigue behind her eyes. Writing letters was a job for better days than this.

So, Ithild said, leaving the blackboard and sitting down on the chair. She dusted chalk dust off her hands away from her dark trousers — she and Ette preferred the same colours in their clothes; dark blues and blacks, whites and off-whites, pale yellows, but Ette was a little more fashionable than Ithild. Ette wore long skirts with patterns, and decoratively embroidered shirts. Ithild, on the other hand, could usually be found in trousers and solid boots, usually without patterns, and rune embroidery small and subtle.

In our last course, we covered some basic rune sequences. I want to start today with a history lesson, but I promise it’ll be quick. This was a new course and a new topic, and Ithild liked to start those with history lessons.

A ripple of laughter. This class had experienced Ithild’s quick history lessons before. Though she really did have to be brief today — Ette’s course had also been approved, and she was teaching right after Ithild today.

Midsedge magic has always been based on inscriptions and writing. But of course, literacy was not always what it is today. Writing was for the elite, and for the middle classes who aspired to work for them. Scribes, auditors, records-keepers, and jobs like that. This meant that, as magic was explored, writing separated into two forms: Everyday writing, trade manifests, political documents, letters … all written in one script, and anyone who could pay a tutor or who had literate family could learn. Magical writing, on the other hand, was taught only to mages’ apprentices. We talked about this before — mages were the most prestigious job you didn’t have to be born into: the children of nobility just too far down the line of succession to inherit, occasionally particularly promising scribes’ and merchants’ apprentices. But magic doesn’t care about the script you use, and it was less than a hundred years before magic was used equally in both scripts. Some magic was restricted by restricting knowledge of chemistry and physics to mages, but eventually mages lost their monopoly. The exact details a longer discussion for a different course, however.

Ithild paused. But as magic became widespread, a problem became obvious. Over a long enough span of space or time, even if two groups of people use the same language, words take on different meanings. Over time, too. How many of you used to get annoyed at your parents for not understanding when you used slang? Or remember your grandparents accusing you of speaking incorrectly.

One of the older students in the back piped up, Some of us know about getting annoyed at our children, Ithild!

Ithild laughed. Thank you for being the one to say that, not me. But on the original topic: the first problems runes solve is that meaning drift. Nobody uses the language for everyday speech, and academics have decided on and disseminated the glossaries, so the translations are universal. I should point out here: in all studies, amulets and protective charms and the like have never been found to be effective. The reason is this: Everyone affected by a spell has to agree on the meaning. Strong, hard, brittle: for words like that, their meanings don’t really change enough to be a problem. But what about harm? Protection? Beauty? Once your magic is transported to more than a single town — even a single family, sometimes — those sorts of definitions start to break down. The more people you spread it across, the deeper the problem. So runes might be locked in their translations, as the language is dead, but we still can’t do anything about the restrictions on concrete magic versus charms and amulets.

She paused and turned herself back to the topic again. She had to be finished in time for Ette’s class, she reminded herself. Back to why we use runes rather than the standard alphabet. As you may — well, as I hope you recall, since we only talked about it a couple of weeks ago — ordering of runes is very important. Runes that line up to form different words and meanings than intended affect the outcome of the spell. They might reduce the effect, produce a different effect, or just make the spell fail entirely. Imagine the same problem, but in our ‘everyday’ alphabet, where every word is made of on average … perhaps five to seven letters? You’ll notice that most commonly-used rune terms tend to use only two to three runes. The more runes you add, the more likely that there will be unintended combinations, and the harder it is to make a spell viable.

She tossed her chalk from hand to hand. Of course, there have been attempts made to find the exact boundary of how ambiguous a concept can be before it stops working as a rune string. No-one’s found it yet, especially because any scholars studying it are working with ambiguous translations anyway, and we can’t even get all of one Department to agree on those, let alone academia in general, let alone any experimental groups from the general public. So if anyone is looking for a groundbreaking thesis topic …

That one didn’t get a laugh. Ithild brushed past it. So. That in mind, today we’re looking at some of the most common combinations that can trip up a spell …

***

After the class, Ithild finished wiping the blackboard and picked up her things as Ette’s students filed in, followed by Ette herself.

Ette held up a hand over her cheek, first two fingers bent like the rune for ‘eye’ or ‘watching’ — a gesture of congratulations, or wishing someone good luck.

Ithild grinned and returned it. Your turn.

Thanks, Ette said. Ithild examined her face. Ette had seemed tired that morning, even though she’d insisted to Ithild that she’d be fine. But as she looked at Ette’s smile, even though her sister’s eyes did look a little tired, Ithild reminded herself that Ette was far more energetic than she used to be, even just a few months ago. Ithild must be getting used to this new, more energetic Ette, if she was this worried.

I’ll see you at home, Ette said, as she started to clean off the few little bits of chalk on the board Ithild had missed, and Ithild looked away before Ette caught on that she was staring.

See you there, Ithild said.

A head of hair, of a red so dark it was nearly brown, poked around the door, almost a full half-second before the freckled face it belonged to. Ithild waved to Ette one last time as she headed over to the door to join Celes, Ithild’s best friend since childhood.

They were quiet as they walked through the common areas of the library, with all the bookshelves in rows, away from the lecture rooms in the back. But as soon as they reached the library door, Celes turned to Ithild, as though she had been bursting to talk the whole way. So, Ette is back to teaching again? she asked.

Ithild nodded.

Is she getting … I mean, is she feeling better recently, then?

She seems to be. I hope she is, Ithild said.

Celes gave her a smile and squeezed her arm. Let’s go for drinks this afternoon, she said.

Ithild thought for a moment about refusing — Ette would be expecting her home, and there might be something she needed to do … but Ette was always telling her to go and enjoy herself, and Celes had certainly been encouraging Ithild to follow her sister’s advice for a long time.

I can’t be back too late, she said. But sure. Let’s have a drink!

After all, Ette was doing so well recently.

***

Ithild was much later getting home than she had expected, so the lights were already off. She tried to open the door without making too much noise.

Once she’d slipped through the door and closed it behind her, Ithild stopped to listen a moment. Once Ette was asleep, she slept like a stone, but she often had trouble getting to sleep in the first place. Ette usually closed her door when she went to bed, just in case, but Ithild still wanted to be careful.

But the house was silent. Ithild decided that it was probably alright if she was just very quiet. She wasn’t quite ready to go to bed just yet — the conversation had been so good, and her mind was still buzzing.

As she walked into the kitchen, she amended that: her mind and parts of her skin. She and Celes had had a few more drinks than just one. She dropped the shopping on the kitchen table, and only put the most important things in the ice box — the milk and the meat to the left of the little divider and fruit and vegetables on the right — and left the rest of the bags on the bench.

She was just a little too blurry-minded to read, so she decided that she’d have a cup of tea and sit on the couch for a while.

The usual teas were at the front of the cabinet, and Ithild pulled them out and laid them on the bench. Hm. No — she wanted something a little different. What did they have in the back?

Apparently, Ette had been making a lot of tea while Ithild was out. It seemed like they were out of other tea. Ithild would have to write herself a reminder to restock. No — wait, there was one jar right at the back, where Ithild had to stretch up onto her toes to reach it.

She pulled it to the front and popped the lid off.

The smell that came from it was strong and unfamiliar. It was certainly not tea. She stared a moment into the jar. It was full of little swatches of paper or cloth — it was hard to tell without turning on the lights. She could only just discern the colour: white cloth stained with a yellow tinge.

It was Sweet Ansson’s Pain. Ithild hadn’t seen that since she was in her first years at university. It wasn’t a substance that had been at parties, though she had been at plenty of those, of the kind her parents had warned her to stay away from. But there had been an older student, she knew, who had used Sweet Ansson’s Pain sometimes during exam crunch time. It was supposed to make a person energetic, some said it sharpened the senses. The student used to say it made her feel like she was floating, though sometimes it made her focus so intently on one thing that she forgot other responsibilities entirely. Ithild knew some other students who had tried it, too, but none that she was very close with.

Ithild frowned, and put everything back exactly where it was. She scooped some of a light herbal tea into a little mesh bag instead, and turned on the kettle, hoping it wasn’t too loud.

As the kettle started to make a soft rushing noise, though, she decided she didn’t want tea after all. She tipped the leaves back in the jar and put her mug back in the cupboard. She turned off the kettle before it boiled, turned off the lights and just went to bed.

She suddenly wasn’t feeling so buzzy anymore.

***

Ithild woke twice the next morning. Once in a hazy half-doze, feeling fuzzy, to the sounds of Ette moving around. Later, she woke again, no longer really hungover, but still woolly-headed and vague, and desperate for a glass of water.

Ithild came out of the bedroom, downed two glasses of water in quick succession, and started to slowly make herself a coffee, hoping it would help clear the last of the fog out of her head. All of the groceries had already been put away, the bags folded and laid on the corner of the bench, and Ette was sitting at the table with her notes and an empty cup.

Ithild had thought that after she’d had time to sober up, she wouldn’t be so disturbed by it, but her mind just kept getting drawn back again and again to that little cup on the table and the jar in the cupboard.

Was that why Ette was waking up so early now? To keep the Sweet Ansson’s Pain secret from Ithild? Or … no, Ette used to wake earlier than Ithild before the accident, too — could it just be that she was returning to her old routines now that she had it?

Ithild was glad that she sounded a little hoarse, because she wasn’t sure that she could have feigned a casual greeting. Good morning.

Morning, Ette said, distracted by her book. She turned the page. Have fun last night?

Ithild stiffened a little before she realised that Ette was talking about her night out with Celes rather than her going through the tea cupboard. It was nice to talk to Celes again, she said. Since she’s been away so long.

Visiting friends, wasn’t she?

Family.

Oh, of course. Now I remember.

The conversation died as the coffee pot started to boil on the stove, and Ithild was left wondering if the silence was awkward, or if it was only her imagination. Ette certainly seemed too absorbed in her books.

She asked after you, Ithild said, deciding to take the oblique route to the topic. She noticed you were teaching classes, and she said she’s glad you’re feeling better.

Ette looked up. Ithild, you’re trying not to mention something.

Ithild tried not to tense up. I’m not, she said.

Ithild, you’ve been bad at keeping secrets since you were losing baby teeth.

Ithild poured her coffee to give herself a few seconds to think. Could she just ask …? No — not directly. If only her head wasn’t full of fleece, she could have come up with a better response.

Let’s talk later, she said, not entirely able to stop herself sounding sour. Ette frowned, and Ithild wasn’t sure if it was concern, exasperation, or a mixture of both.

Ithild wanted to just get the jar from the tea cupboard, to show it to Ette and ask her why she was hiding it, but she bit her tongue. She tried a smile, but it came out weak.

Later, then, Ette said. She paused. Once you’re less hung over?

Ithild nodded.

She finished her coffee, tapping her finger against the rim of the mug as she sat on the couch. Celes … Celes would be up by now, probably, and at home. Celes’s husband was the maintenance manager at the Idesse train station. Celes kept most of the maintenance records in order, but she did it from home usually, so that she could look after their two sons. Ithild could drop by if she wanted …

She stood up. Need anything from the store?

Ette looked up. You went yesterday, she said. No, I’m fine.

I just realised I forgot something, Ithild said, and drained her coffee mug. I’ll be back in an hour or so.

See you then, Ette said, and went back to her book, clearly just letting Ithild have her lie.

***

Ithild had to wait a few moments for Celes to come to the door. Celes looked even worse than she did, dark circles under her eyes, hair still a mess. But she gave Ithild a smile anyway

I’m not up for more, if that’s what you’re here for, she said.

Ithild shook her head vehemently. Not today. Do you have time for a chat?

Celes stepped aside. Sure, she said. I’ll make some coffee.

Ithild thought about refusing, saying that she’d already had one, but it was a two-coffee sort of day.

Where are the boys? she asked as she followed Celes in. Usually, Celes’s sons rushed to the door to greet Ithild when she arrived.

Out with friends, Celes called back from the kitchen. Left mercifully early this morning.

She sat down at Celes’s lounge room table. Ette and Ithild had had the walls between their kitchen and lounge room knocked down, partly because they liked to be able to talk while one cooked and the other read or studied, but also partially it allowed them to put a study table and comfortable chairs halfway between the kitchen bench and the coffee table, so there was never far to walk before reaching a chair. But Celes’s house was much more traditional, with square rooms neatly divided into their uses, and runes branded into all of the skirting boards and doorways. The runes were mostly for temperature control — a bit more insulation so that the winters weren’t so unpleasant, and the summer sun didn’t heat the house up so fast. Although, the boys left doors open so much Ithild sometimes wondered how effective the runes were. The lounge room had one large bookshelf in the corner, but most of the walls were taken with storage space. Toy boxes, mostly, and a cabinet for the company crockery, all runed to keep the damp out. The coffee table was also runed against stains — quite a common rune, especially in households with children. Ithild sat on the couch in front of the table, careful not to disturb the little wooden pegs from where the children had left off a game of Blue Cannon, Red Cannon. On the corner of the table lay some discarded papers, too, from a game of Jolly Gaps, full of nonsensical sentences and crossed-out words.

Sorry about those, Celes said, handing Ithild a coffee mug and sitting down in the chair next to her.

Don’t worry, Ithild said, waving a hand. You know Ette and I are just as bad with our books.

I guess you haven’t changed since I was last at your house, then.

Ithild winced. It had been a long time since she and Ette had had guests. At first it had been difficult to invite people over, because Ette’s bad days were so frequent and unpredictable. Nowadays, Ette was always telling Ithild it would be alright as long as she had a little warning, but Ithild still avoided inviting anyone. She could never quite shake her discomfort, no matter what Ette said.

Sorry, Celes said softly, and sipped her coffee.

Ithild shook her head. No. It’s fine. How are you this morning? You look a bit tired.

Celes snorted into her coffee mug. You don’t look so great yourself, you know.

Ithild shrugged. I honestly … I’m not sure how much of a ‘big night’ last night was. It’s been a long time for me, and I wasn’t really paying attention to how much we were drinking.

I know, Celes said. I made sure we weren’t refilling too often.

Ithild smiled. Being a parent made you responsible, didn’t it?

Hangovers, Celes corrected. Hangovers made me responsible.

They sipped their coffee.

You needed to talk? Celes asked.

Ithild hesitated for a moment. How much should she say? She might have needed to talk her discovery through with someone, but Ette probably wouldn’t appreciate Celes knowing about it. After all, she had even tried to keep it from Ithild. Was there a way Ithild could ask for help without revealing any details?

I just … got home last night and it hit me that Ette hasn’t been telling me a lot, recently.

I got that impression while we were talking yesterday.

Well, that was true enough, though Ithild hadn’t realised just how much she had missed until she looked through the cupboard.

Well, we might have argued this morning. Not argued, exactly … Ithild hurried to correct herself. One of those … we both know something’s wrong but neither of us will mention anything so we both think the other is being unreasonable … sorts of incidents.

Celes nodded. Yes, she said. Ithild supposed it was a type of fight she was intimately familiar with, having the two boys.

Alright, so … let me start from the beginning. I came home last night, still a bit drunk, and I decided to have a cup of tea before bed. And I realised that, well … while I was thinking about things, I realised there has been a major change recently that Ette never told me anything about … Ithild trailed off. She didn’t know how to explain why it worried her, except that Ette had been hiding something, and that didn’t really seem like enough reason for her to be this upset.

Let me try, Celes said. You just worry that she felt she had to keep things from you? Maybe you’re worried that there was some reason she felt ashamed?

Yes, Ithild said. Sort of. Mostly. She sighed, and looked for a place to put her coffee mug down on the table, but it was too full of board games, so she just held it and fiddled with the handle instead. She used to tell me everything, especially when it came to her health.

Celes sipped her coffee. Did you come to me for advice, or just to talk it through?

Advice, Ithild said, though she had a sinking feeling that what Celes was about to say would make her feel worse.

Just ask her directly, Celes said, pushing her wild hair away from her face. I might be guessing, but you sort of have a habit of not saying what you mean, and then feeling angry or anxious when people misunderstand you.

Celes had pointed this out before, but it still stung every time Ithild heard it. Ithild buried her face in her mug. Maybe she should have waited until she wasn’t hung over, at least, before she tried asking for advice.

So first, you need to tell her what’s really bothering you. And … Ithild, you’re in a hard position. You feel like you should be caring for Ette, but you’re both adults and if she doesn’t feel like she needs to be cared for, you should respect that. Maybe she feels like you are caring for her too much, and she needs some privacy. That’s important too, and it’s easy to forget when you’re family living together. So talk it through with her, and really say what you mean.

It was that part about privacy that made Ithild cringe. It was true, she knew she sometimes felt entitled to Ette’s secrets, since they were sisters … but it was the part that she had sort of wanted to forget was true. She made a small, embarrassed noise of assent into her mug.

Celes got up and gave her a hug. It will work out in the end. Maybe you should spend more time outside the house, too. You should have other things in your life besides just work and looking after Ette. It will be healthier for both of you.

Ithild nodded unhappily into Celes’s shoulder and put the mug on the ground to hug her friend back.

We could have a board games night, Ithild suggested, picking up her mug again. Once a week.

Of course, Celes said, smiling and sitting back down in her own chair.

I’ll bring dinner every second week, Ithild said. And the boys can beat me at that word game you all play so much.

Celes smiled. I’m sure they’d be happy to have some different competition.

Thanks, Celes.

Any time. Provided you talk to Ette before you come for the first one. I’ll be asking you about it, so don’t you just hope I’ll forget.

Ithild nodded, and though it made her anxious, said, Alright, I promise. I’ll talk to her.

***

Ithild left Celes’s house feeling more calm, but less certain. She took the longer route home to let herself think.

She knew Celes was right about