Hearthender: Warhound Series, #1

By Catrina Prager

Hearthender tells the story of a demented Oracle, who preaches the destruction of Amagiraea at any cost. Of men desperate to protect their homes, as war slowly engulfs the entirety of the known world. Of women who, bereft of worthy idols, become gods to their own people. It is a story of war, quest, and political intrigue.


A hundred years ago, the Veshini Isles started sinking into the Long Sea, forcing their denizens to find new homes, and with them, a new identity.
Fast-forward four generations, the island-dwellers are no longer Veshini. They are no longer refugees. For a time, they were vassals of the ruling Mongolath, but the Lily Rebellion changed all that. Today, now, they are Amagiraeans. Their own people, with their own legends.

...and they are at war. Except this is unlike any war they've heard tell of. Protection by bow and blade is one thing, but Prince Adelras must protect his folk from the minds of their fellow men, and the Oracle's rotten zealots.

Far from this, in the nook of the mountain, at Arrowsfate, there are whispers of witchcraft.

Except Abiny is no witch. She just wants to find out what resides at the bottom of Mourner's Lake. She drowns, in her dreams, and each time, feels her sanity slip. Only her baby's cries manage to pull her back. But can she solve her dream riddle before the shadows of the mountain path catch up with her?

She's started hearing a voice, telling her she is destined for more than this. That there is something, a sleeper self inside her, that needs awakening. Except not everyone's destiny in life is to be the hero of their tale -- will Abiny throw in her lot with the war-mongers, or the Amagiraeans?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catrina Prager
• Release date: Sep 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223958239

Catrina Prager

Catrina Prager is a 25-year-old fantasy author, freelance journalist, and avid traveler. Her short stories have been published in journals and magazines, including Bridge: The Bluffton University Literary Journal, The Rush Magazine, Montana Mouthful, Coffin Bell Journal, and others. Hearthender is her first novel.

Book preview

Hearthender

By Catrina Prager

Warhound Trilogy

Book One

This novel’s story and characters are entirely fictitious. They are the creation of the author’s imagination. Any resemblence with real-life events, settings, or characters is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2023  Catrina Prager

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without prior written permission of the copyright owner, with the exception of brief quotations in book reviews.

To request permissions, contact the author:

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Paperback ISBN: 9798223168553

Paperback originally published September 2023

Table of Contents

Places Worth Knowing.....5

Part I.....................9

1. Adelras................10

2. Abiny..................37

3. Eryk...................50

4. Fyrsten................62

5. Abiny..................73

6. Adelras................84

7. Eryk / The Raconteur.....97

8. Abiny.................118

9. Adelras...............131

10. Eife.................146

11. Eryk / The Raconteur...159

12. Abiny................189

13. Adelras..............200

Part II..................217

14. Eife.................218

15. Theomas / Mei........237

16. Adelras..............266

17. Eryk / The Raconteur...290

18. Abiny................319

19. Fyrsten..............349

20. Mei.................369

21. Fyrsten / Eife.........390

22. Abiny................402

23. Adelras..............415

24. The Raconteur........429

25. Mei.................465

26. Theomas.............479

Part III..................505

27. Abiny................506

28. The Raconteur / Eryk...532

29. Fyrsten..............550

30. Theomas.............559

31. Abiny................585

32. Adelras..............613

33. The Raconteur........630

34. Mei.................654

Epilogue................674

Places Worth Knowing

AMAGIRAEA, ORIGINALLY the Protectorate when the settlers first came under Mongolath rule. During the Lily Rebellion,  some thirty years past, the Protectorate won its independence from its Mongolath oppressors. It came then under the tutelage of King Helling, first of his kind. Except the King has now grown old and frail. Governance falls to his children, Prince Adelras and Princess Mei.

Part I

1. Adelras

When the horn sounded , the city of Longshore froze into place. The girl-children who'd been running along the pebble beach down Locksmith Port stopped as if struck in place by a severe mothermaid. The young men, carelessly climbing the netting nigh lost their footing, plummeting and bashing their skulls on the rough ground of the shipyards.

Few had heard another in their lifetime, yet all knew what the mournful call meant. The war had come to pass. Yet, it wasn't happening in the green fields afar, on the borders of their kingdom, as everyone had feared. War had come to their door, with no word of warning or time to prepare. The young ones didn't know how to feel about that. Neither did the old, though it wasn’t their first time around.

The city that normally bubbled with shouts and brawls and ballads had been struck dumb. Many of them had only heard tell of war in the stories. They didn't know which way to run or whom they should warn. For the moment, they riled against their inward mounting fear that there was no one to warn.

ATOP THE GRAY HILL that both shadowed and shielded the port city, Prince Adelras woke to the unsettling knowledge that he was being watched. It took him back to his schooling days when Master Farhorn would sometimes tiptoe into his room to test his reflexes.

For a moment, before his eyes could adjust to the piercing light of midday, he thought he saw his old schoolmaster standing there. Except a long while had passed since he was a boy, and no one knew where Farhorn had vanished off to.

The silhouette beside his bed turned out to be Mink. There was no word for what Mink was, exactly. His secretary, his scribe, his groomsman, and sometimes his cupbearer. Mink took upon himself any and every job that needed doing.

The prince was just old enough to remember the Lily Rebellion, and in his mind, war had always been associated with shrill cries and terror. Yet, Mink stood still and silent like a ghoul.

Assemble the Council.

A nod. Mink had expected as much. Shouldn't we wait for your father?

Adelras gave his man a look to say they'd been waiting for his father for three full summers already. If somehow roused by the coming terror, the old man managed to return to them; it'd be nothing short of a miracle.

We should, Adelras agreed dourly. Then, Assemble the Council.

It was easier said than done. The Crown Council had last been fully assembled at the high seat six years previous. His father, the king, had presided. Hard to fathom now, but there was once a time when it seemed the only thing to pry the scepter from his strong hands would be the Rider himself.

Presently, the Crown Council was scattered across the land, each safeguarding their own personal domain. Weeks now, Adelras had reasoned and pleaded with them, but the Councilmen, safely ensconced in their old age, dismissed the coming war as no more than a boy trying to prove his mettle. Naturally, the Sun Duchies and the Mongolath would not attack, for that would break the Pact. None had considered a seaward threat. They would come, but it'd take more time than they presently had.

The prince had formed his own mirror council, initially as a jest. A way of proving to his childhood companions they would be his main support once crowned. Children, playing at grown-ups, now playing at war.

The first through his door was Theomas. The prince had only just laced up his breeches, and for a moment, Theo allowed himself a devious grin.

Must've been quite the ride that kept my prince in bed till such an hour.

Adelras returned the smile. If there had been a time for women and empty trysts in the young prince's life, it was long past. Presently, women had lost their attraction, as had all matters not directly tied to the border tensions.

Observing the grim shadow in Adelras's eyes, Theo put a hand on his shoulder.

Let us hope we can become the men our fathers hoped we would be.

He maintained a grin as he said it. Theo was a bastard. You wouldn't have thought it to look at him, but they both knew his father, the prince's great-uncle, had never nurtured much hope for the runty little halfling.

One by one, they began to assemble. The one to follow Theo was Fyrsten, his carefully braided reddish-gold beard turning the head of many a servant girl, even now, though Fyrsten, a good eight years the prince’s senior, was pushing his middle years.

As young men competing for ladies' attention, Adelras had envied Fyrsten. Jovial, charming, and without a single drop of royal blood in him. Now, both of them men grown; he wasn't sure he didn't envy him still.

Next came the Raconteur, spilling into the room, hot on Fyrsten's heels. Adelras allowed himself a moment of surprise. He wasn't sure the Raconteur would come, and he let as much show on his visage. Their last encounter had not been a pleasant one. While all his friends had, at one point or another, advised him on how to treat with the Duchies, only the Raconteur took offense when the prince did not heed his advice. The Raconteur, for all his banter about forsaking court life and giving himself to the simple life of a traveling bard, was a man keenly applied to courtly matters, and they both knew it.

Mei came last, dispelling any tension broiling between the men. She wore her hair in a complex braid to honor her husband, wrapped around her head so as not to cause distraction. She and Fyrsten obeyed the old laws, for theirs had been a marriage of love, and they claimed they knew no couples in the young faith that were truly happy.

Alright, then? she asked cheerfully. A stranger might've judged the prince’s sister trite, even foolish. Ultimately, they would do so at their peril.

How soon? inquired Theo.

No word yet. All we have to go by is the Warhound.

The old Warhound had guarded their shores for two score summers. A lone vessel, whose sailors must’ve long since given up hope of ever raising the alarm. Adelras tried to imagine the terror on that ship, for the Warhound was a mere sentinel, a scoutship manned by sailors and oarsmen, only a mimicry of war.

Fyrsten shook his head. It beggars understanding. The Veshini have always kept to their corner before.

So we thought of the Sun Duchies, Theo reminded. And yet, for months now, Amagiraean caravans had gone missing, and merchants been given unjust hardship by their southern neighbors.

If there was to be war, Adelras would’ve expected it to come from the Duchies, not their neighbors across the water. Amagiraea’s alliance with both the Sun Duchies and the Mongolath was an old one, yet not quite so old not to bear breaking.

In his corner, the Raconteur was shaking his head. Acid-tongued and quick-witted almost to a fault, the Raconteur thought himself a cut above the rest, when it came to matters of war. It didn’t smart any less that more often than not, he was.

That’s a different matter. Billum is a dull-witted, simple animal. He masquerades the fierce warrior quite well, but we all know who truly leads his leash.

It had been the Raconteur who first forwarded this theory. After all, the Sun Duchies and the Mongolath had once been indistinguishable. Was it so far-fetched, he’d argued, to assume that even now, the Mongolath Chieftain had the Sun Duchies under his command?

The prince grimaced but said nothing. Over the course of several, exhausting months, he’d simply run out of things to say. Instead, the Raconteur spoke for him.

The reason why we’ve so far managed to lie easy northwards is that the Veshini are too scatterbrained to even follow a common leash. Aside from the occasional raid, we never until now thought they knew how to mount an attack.

The Raconteur spoke with great authority, as the only one of their group to have actually crossed Veshna, and met with its tribes. If Amagiraean folk harbored any curiosity about the Old Tribes of Veshna, they hid it well, and they hid it deep. Worried, perhaps, that if they looked too close, their shared past might pull them back in.

They seem pretty united now, Mei’s voice rose over the grumbles and the tensions in the room. Ever the royal princess, she walked enveloped in the subtle dangerous edge of a warrior.

I never thought that alarm would sound. Theo voiced what they’d all been thinking.

All through their shared childhood, the Warhound had remained a comforting safeguard on the horizon, nothing more. Observing the goings-on of the sea, lest it rise up against them.

How many, d’you reckon?

A subtle hint of excitement marked Fyrsten’s voice. Almost two years had passed since he and Mei had returned from their time as sellswords in the untamed lands. Neither had planned to be away from conflict this long and even as his words died out, Fyrsten’s face darkened. For Mei would not join him on the battlefield now, and he’d be a poorer warrior for it.

Yet, it was his wife who answered, tone calm and regal. To the rest of the world, she was not warrior now, but royal staring out her people’s enemy with poise and flair. It must be a lot. Forty, maybe fifty ships. Were it me, I wouldn’t attack with any less.

Even undefended, Longshore was a fortress, and they’d have abundant time to prepare. Too much would be squirreled to safety before Veshini ships even docked. Besides, this could be no mere raid, but the beginning of war.

Forty ships would destroy much, Theo said, then stopped himself. He would not appear to criticize Adelras, not even before his own eyes.

We should’ve never stationed so many forces at the border, the Raconteur, however, spoke with more than a little disdain in his heart.

It would take weeks for their army to make the journey from the south.

At the time, it was plausible that the Duchies were a threat.

Even as children, the princess and the Raconteur had had an uneasy relationship, with him coveting the easy sway Mei had over her brother, and Mei, in turn, ruing the Raconteur’s own influence.

The Raconteur scoffed. It was never plausible. It was a ruse, it was the Mongolath leading us by the nose.

You can’t know that, Adelras thundered, voice suddenly sharp, and cautionary. Not even his prime adviser would be allowed to overstep the princess.

Even so, it’s obviously made us look weak, the Raconteur spat back. With half the army concentrated in the south, and the rest scattered with their respective lords, the Veshini have mistaken us for prey.

Neither Mei nor the Raconteur would look away from another, though, to meet the prince’s eye. It doesn’t matter, the princess finally said, breaking from his gaze. I assume we’ve sent word?

Yes, Adelras agreed. I’ve sent for the Councilmen to assemble their forces. We’ll hold Council as soon as they all arrive.

And our neighbors?

I’ve sent word to the Chieftain.

The Mongolath Chieftain, sly as a fox and honey-tongued, had so diligently argued for peace, it was at times hard to remember he’d started the tensions with the Duchies. The Raconteur said. Sometimes, Adelras worried he trusted too much in the Raconteur, though he shared this concern with no one, least of all his sister, who would’ve agreed in a heartbeat.

And if the Mongolath won’t honor the Pact, either? Mei’s voice was casual, though it was clear for all in the room what underlay her question.

Then, we defend our own, Adelras said sullenly. Until then, we wait for word from the Warhound.

I THOUGHT YOU WOULDN'T come.

It was the Raconteur's way to linger after a session. He seldom saw the sense in wasting his breath and dealing with interruptions when it wasn't paramount for the others to hear him. He much preferred addressing the prince in private.

It is a simple man who swells with pride when his home is in danger. Even if he did foresee the threat.

In all fairness, the Raconteur hadn’t predicted a Veshini attack, though he had warned that concentrating their forces southward was a mistake.

I should've listened, Adelras agreed quietly. His conversations with the Raconteur often put him in mind of the king. His father could not bear to be proven wrong, either.

Sometimes, he thought the Raconteur's greatest purpose was ensuring he did not become his father.

You should have. Then, seeing the opening, It’s a mistake.

What is? the prince feigned ignorance.

I know when you’re preoccupied, my prince. And I think I know what weighs on your mind now. It’s a mistake.

Adelras maintained a thoughtful silence. He was grasping hard to wrap around himself the tones and airs of war, so as to better conceal the frightened boy hiding within.

I know that, Adelras shot back.

That’s the charm of Sea’s Edge, it lures you in. Seems to offer a better deal than you could hope for, and then –

You don’t need to remind me. I said I know.

The Raconteur fell silent. The prince had cut him off, and no more would be heard on the subject. The two of them remained in silence for a while.

You think they’ll betray us.

The Sun Duchies and the Mongolath have been looking for a way to undermine us for generations.

And siding with the Veshini is their way of doing that? It was a premise Adelras hadn’t allowed himself to consider, with the others present. Yet, as both the Duchies and the Veshini now presented themselves as Amagiraea enemies, it seemed only natural.

As ever, the Raconteur's face remained unreadable. We don’t yet know why the Veshini are attacking. But no, they won’t side with Veshna. Breaking the Pact now would mean cutting themselves off from our trade routes, and right now, trade is more useful to them than an open attack. Cutting trade would mean we don't need to honor our obligations. They know we'll have trouble doing that under a Veshini attack. In turn, they'll cite our failings as reason to abandon the Pact when the time is right.

Meaning?

The Raconteur let out a long sigh. For once, he let his emotions show openly, as he traced the prince’s train of thought. Cornered, and seeing no allies at his side, Adelras would make a mistake, and this was his subtle way of letting the Raconteur know he’d expect obeisance.

Meaning they’ve spent too much time trying to avoid a war, only to rise to battle now. Why should they engage us now when they could just wait out the war with the Veshini and simply pick off the survivors? It’d be breaking the Pact, and so far, our army’s made that tricky. but if they were to break it while our army was otherwise engaged, who’d punish them?

The prince held the Raconteur’s gaze well. Only for one moment, did he allow the mask to slip, revealing the fear and uncertainty that had taken over him. It was a feeling the Raconteur knew well. One of such utter helplessness it could lead you to regrettable, panicked choices.

Let me go talk to them. The Veshini have no cause to attack us, not really, and whatever it is they think they want, I can work out a better deal with them. Seventy ships is much, but not even they could face our three armies back to back.

Adelras frowned. You want us to go begging to our attacker, to leave us be?

I want to prove to them there is a better choice for us. They have no reason to attack us specifically, if I could only work out their motive, I could –

No.

It was, the Raconteur saw, not the prince who’d spoken, but the son of the Old King. The Old King would’ve never gone begging, even if it was to his technical advantage.

I know how they think, Adelras, I could make them see sense before they even land.

Well, if you knew them so well, you should’ve foreseen they’d attack. Don’t raise the matter with me, again.

As much as he tried, the Raconteur could not prevent the prince from becoming his father.

THE ONLY TIME THE MEN ever saw the captain show emotion was when he spotted Eife waiting for him on the docks.

The crew had had their share of women, some beautiful, the others at least willing, but none compared to the captain's wife. Eife was a beam of concentrated light, and each time she glimpsed the Warhound, she radiated. Like a lighthouse, bringing them safely to dock, the men used to say.

Eife was waiting for him now, and in spite of everything, when she saw the ship, her face lit up. Like a girl-child, she waved to the docking vessel with feverish excitement. No one knew what was coming, but at least her husband was safe.

NOT FOR THE FIRST TIME, Eryk stepped off the boat with mixed feelings. There was always dread to docking, even when they were home, in Locksmith Port. Even when his heart trilled at the prospect of seeing Eife again. Now, there was more to it. He’d come home, bearing the somber tides of the sea onto the shore with him.

Their duty, however, had to overstep any ill omen. Even now, the Crown prince waited for them to give account of what they'd witnessed so that the town might prepare.

His men also needed to come off the boat, Eryk knew. Ever since they'd spotted the fleet on the horizon, an air of grim unease had taken hold of the ship. And it was that, more than the danger itself, perhaps, that set Eryk ill at ease. That the news was terrible was understood, but what unnerved him more was the feeling of unpreparedness in the men. Tragedy had come, and not only were they scared, but they were also unreliable, and that could only bring bad news. Eryk knew it to be an irrational worry, a superstition, nothing more. Yet, he couldn't help feeling there was more to it than the natural terror that accompanied war. Couldn't help feeling like maybe the gray feeling had come with the mist to poison them.

Eryk held her for a long moment. Through his clothes, he felt her ribcage and her hips jutting out.

Have you not been eating? he asked, knowing full well she had not. You need to keep your strength.

Normally, she would have argued. What's the point? she'd ask. She'd been keeping her strength for ten years, and this one also had died.

The twelfth they'd lost. And with each, Eife grew a little weaker, in body and more so in spirit. Eryk didn't know how many more she could lose before she too disappeared completely.

This, however, was not about that. Soon, food would become scarce. And the weak ones would be the first to perish.

It's best, Eife said what they'd both been thinking. She always did. It was a skill that had both charmed and frightened him when they'd first been courting.

It was. A baby would never survive through the coming war.

FROM THE DOCKS, ERYK went straight to the palace. He'd already amassed the accounts of all his men. There could be no time lost in warning the palace, for too much had been squandered on the slow docking already.

There, he was admitted without hesitancy and informed the Council waited for him. They must've had word the Warhound had docked. The Raconteur, more like, for he had eyes everywhere and long, winding tendrils like a seabeast.

My prince.

What news, Captain?

Prince Adelras was a woeful sight. His cheek unshaven, his eyes unslept several nights. And for all his efforts, he'd still failed to keep the enemy at bay.

They're rowing against the tide.

Fools, someone snorted. It was the one they called Fyrsten. A warrior, through and through. Heedless and quick to strike.

Normally, yes, sir. But the Veshini, as you know, are no regular fleet.

For the Veshini were, primarily, a wandering tribe, concentrating most of their naval actions into raids. They traveled in longboats that moved sly and quick against the tide.

At this, the prince grew visibly disheartened. How many?

The captain hesitated a moment, and a moment was all it took for morale to plunge.

Perhaps seventy ships, sir.

Adelras bowed his head. Behind him, Lord Fyrsten mouthed the word, while the princess wore a deep frown. How long?

The young prince’s voice was laden with emotion. His efforts to appear calm and composed could only unravel.

Three days if I'm any judge.

That's too soon.

The Council wouldn't get here in less than seven. Separating the army had been a mistake. But there was no time to dwell on bygone errors, either.

Even with seventy ships, they can’t afford a siege, Theo said quietly. They’d damage Longshore, yes, but we can rebuild.

It was never about the capital, though, Mei, on the other hand, had mastered in seconds an authority her brother still failed to grasp. The Veshini will ravage our coast before the army even arrives. Even then, seventy ships are more than we could’ve expected. Even now, there may be others moving in along the coast. Our army won’t be enough.

A moment of silence sunk its teeth into the hunched shoulders of the room.

We need to explore other options, Adelras agreed, quietly.

There was finality in Adelras’s voice, and the captain stifled a small smile. He knew it was not for men like him to meddle in matters of succession, but if he'd had to pick someone to succeed the old king, he could think of no better than Adelras.

He’d been a bosun on the Bellmast ten years ago when the prince and his companions had undertaken naval training. Adelras had been a fine boy, as keen to learn as any deckhand that Eryk had seen.

As if sharing in the reminiscence, the Crown prince met Eryk's eye just at that moment. He offered a tight, contained smile, but his expression was sorrowful, almost disheartened. It wasn’t difficult to gauge the fear that lurked behind the prince’s stalwart front, or how hard he was trying to keep it at bay. The prince, for all his resolve, appeared more like a man facing the execution block than one boldly manning the cannons.

Will you sail out again?

Eryk’s smile vanished as swiftly as it had come. He looked at his prince, horror dawning on his face, as he understood Adelras’s meaning.

We should send out word to Sea’s Edge. Adelras wouldn’t look at the Raconteur as he spoke, but then, he already knew what he’d see.

The Seadwellers of Sea’s Edge were berserk savages. Falling into bed with them could destroy Amagiraea as easily as save it. Many, like the Raconteur, reckoned it was better to take one’s chances fighting on one’s own.

We need to at least know what their price would be for helping us.

The prince turned to the Raconteur. You'll go with him. Then, as if to convince the Raconteur, he added, If there’s anyone who can drive the right bargain with those madmen, it’s you.

From the corner of his eye, the captain saw the Raconteur aching to argue. Eryk wished he would. Alas, he knew better than to contradict the heir to the throne in full view of a common shipmaster.

What of the Pact? demanded Princess Mei’s singsong voice. If our allies hear we’ve called to Sea’s Edge—

I need the Mongolath to see we don’t stand alone, precisely so that they feel bound to honor the Pact. Seadwellers have never observed banalities like borders, and if they decide to ravage Amagiraea, they might not stop there.

No one argued. There was no need. They were all far too busy wondering privately whether to hope the Seadwellers would accept a deal, or not.

I trust you’ll make a sensible choice in what you offer them, the prince said quietly to the Raconteur, though by then, the room had fallen in such absolute silence that the words echoed and bounced off every wall.

The Raconteur clapped a chummy hand on the captain's shoulder, though when he spoke, his tone was dry and seething.

Call back your men. We leave at once.

2. Abiny

Abiny opened her eyes to a mountain of fire. She felt the smoke cascading down her pale cheeks. Getting caught in her throat until she choked. Gasped, and suddenly, the mountain was gone, her mouth filling with the icy water of Mourner's Lake.

She'd drowned here several times until she'd learned the taste of the moss and reeds by heart.

She wasn't far gone. She knew if she called now, she might still attract the attention of one of the woodland creatures. Not big, just strong enough to pull her out. Half the time, it ended with both her and her wild rescuer drowning, but every now and again, it did not.

Except this time, Abiny didn't call and let the seconds trickle until she'd drifted past saving. Determined she would not drown. She'd long learned the uselessness of struggling against the water.

Not total uselessness, mind. The struggle helped her to a quicker death, and sometimes, that too could be a mercy.

She obviated herself of the fight to live and instead bid her spirit drift away from her.

Down. But not so low that there was no more life. Blindly, she felt around the murky waterbed. Had she misjudged the depth? If she had, it was lost. She'd have gone far too low to call for the forest's help. All that would remain for her would be tempting the Rider. Though she'd done it so often, you'd think he'd grown immune to her games.

Dim, very dim, a faint tremor by her left hand. On the brink of numbness, but she had little use for her hands down here anyway. She quested out with her spirit and grasped the little soul that had awoken her from her funerary slumber. So small and tender it might've been a crayfish. But it wasn’t.

THE LOUD CLATTER OF a falling pan woke her abruptly with no regard nor care for how close she'd been.

Abiny's eyes darted alive, and she sat up at once, shooting thunder at all who'd brave disturbing her. In that split moment of pre-consciousness, she'd known already that there was no real danger awaiting her. The noise had been too clumsy, and the house too still. She found Gerby a statue beside her bed. Yet, she knew the noise had been intentional.

Abiny looked out the window to find Bower still asleep soundly in his pen.

You were supposed to give me more time, she growled. Abiny was aware she was not pleasant, but then, she hadn't been bred to be.

I'm sorry, Gerby retorted, not making the faintest gesture of contrition.

I was so close.

The words hurt her so much she could've cried. She saw Gerby's gaze harden at this. Her sister had never understood where Abiny went when she slept and so had always resented this as nothing more than a snooty affectation.

I'm sorry, she said again, and Abiny grew darker still. Maybe next time, eh?

How could she explain there might not be a next time? Long ago, she'd tried, but Gerby lacked either the wit or the willingness to understand her sister's unusual grace.

A cry from the next room broke the sisters' venomous glares. Of course, she'd brought the baby with her. They must've been here a while, Gerby probably hoping Whit's cries would startle Abiny awake, so she wouldn’t have to.

Abiny sighed. She thought she saw her sister smirk as she struggled up off the bed, but didn't check. In her way, she'd always tried holding on to whatever remnant of sibling love she could muster.

You should take lunch to Da.

Why can't you do it?

Abiny sat down heavily beside the crib and began rocking the baby. With Gerby present, the two of them never found that easy understanding of when they were alone.

I can't do it while I have the baby.

It had grown into a common bait her sister used. And each time, Abiny swore she would turn up her nose the next time, except she never did. Already, she could see that if she stayed, she'd be stuck with the baby until nightfall. She needed to walk outside, and go past Mourner's Lake, even though she knew it would not bring her vision back.

Dreams didn't work like that, and besides, she wanted it too much. Nevertheless, in order to try, she needed silence. Reluctantly, she rose to the bait.

Thank you, she muttered, though she knew her sister would hold this over her head for a long time to come.

She set out, still shivering from the water. Outside, the middle of summer, when the sun would linger hot and long in the sky. She'd catch a chill, Abiny thought, walking out into the first world.

She was vaguely aware of the men in the fields who turned to stare at her. Abiny knew she was quite comely, all things considered. She was getting her shape back, due in part to her