CHAPTER 1
Iwas supposed to die the day I was born, and in moments like these, I wish I had.
My white undershirt was pulled up to the base of the band that pressed my breasts into my chest, as my cousin, Collum, leaned over me, a gleaming needle in her hand.
I pinched my eyes closed as the needle dug into the smooth, pristine skin on my ribs, biting my lip so the neighbors wouldn’t hear me scream.
“I’m about done with the outline. Then we need to do the, um . . . colors.” Collum hissed as I flinched, inevitably driving the needle deeper.
My twin, Milo, stood by the door, his eyes hidden by the palm of his hands, his long dark hair falling in front of his face, as he leaned his thin frame against the aging wood. How this house hadn’t fallen yet, I wasn’t sure.
“We are in this mess because of you, asshole,” I yelled at him before gritting my teeth once more. And I wasn’t exaggerating in the slightest. In Ralheim, twins were rumored to carry dark Seid magic, and thus, one of the babes was put to death the moment they entered the world—before even taking their first breath. Supposedly, this broke the bind of Hel on both twins, allowingthe remaining twin to live a normal life. To make matters worse, peasant families were forbidden to have more than one child at home. Any additional children were to be submitted to the Viscount upon birth, for servitude, military service . . . or worse.
But my parents had been unable to part with either of us.
Instead, they had hidden me away, raising us to look exactly alike, walk the same, and even talk the same—ever conscious of the viscount’s random home checks. My breasts were to be bound as they grew; our hair cut to the same length each week. Of course, height had become an issue, but luckily, I had been tall for a girl, and my father had fashioned wooden inserts for my shoes to make up for the remaining difference. Milo was also forbidden from performing too heavy of labor, lest his muscles grow too bulky and noticeable, while I had to work out extra to keep up. We were raised to share one life—his, to be exact.
And so, when Milo returned home from university with a snake tattoo on his ribs yesterday, my cousin had to recreate the same tattoo on my ribs—even though I would never allow myself to be seen shirtless. It didn’t matter though, we had to appearexactly the same,no matter what.
Just in case.
Collum dug the needle in once more, and a bead of sweat formed on my brow. The needle wasn’t meant for tattoos, but for sewing, and I didn’t even want to ask where she had found the ink. I truly didn’t know how much more pain I could take. How my brother had gotten this entire tattoo in one session yesterday was beyond me.
“I’m sorry,” he called out from behind his hands as he peered through their cracks. He didn’t like seeing me in pain, which was ironic, all things considered. “I wasn’t thinking!”
I shook my head, too angry to even formulate an answer as I tried to focus on my breathing. We had been on this earth for twenty-five years. How my brother still managed to forget that we shared one fucking life baffled me.
“Why did it have to be a snake?” I groaned into the pillow. I hated snakes.
“I know, I’m sorry.” He apologized for what had to be the hundredth time.
It must’ve been a cruel joke by the gods, the way our likes varied so differently. We were raised to share one life, but while he liked snakes and slithering creatures of all types, I preferred those that were found underwater. While he would spend the bulk of his days indoors studying, and didn’t mind keeping track of the household finances, I would much rather be running through the woods searching for potion ingredients or trying a new recipe for dinner while someone else took care of everything that happened between the pages of a book.
“Almost done!” Collum called out, wiping the sweat beading her brow. “Milo, show me the tattoo again so I can make sure I’m matching it exactly.”
Collum was a gift from the gods. No, really. Our parents had died while we were still in our teen years, but because she was a decade older, and had been raised alongside us, it had been a no-brainer that she would help us continue the deception my parents had brought on with our birth. Not that we had anywhere else to go anyway. What had happened to her own parents—my ever mysterious aunt and uncle—before she came to live with our parents at the age of six, I wasn’t certain. She had simply always been there for us, and I had never had the guts to pry into her past. Plus, I suspected it may be too painful for her to discuss.
No one talked about their missing parents in Ralheim. It was the unspoken rule whispered behind closed doors late at night.
Even though over a quarter of us were orphans.
“All right, that should about do it.” She rubbed a cloth cut from a worn shirt down my side, which felt like she was skimming my skin with a hot iron. I hissed through my teeth. “Milo, you’ll take tomorrow so she can have a day to heal. Then, Runa,you can have two days in a row again, like when Milo was sick last year.”
I groaned. Our façade had only grown more difficult to maintain over the years, and now that we had decided to attend university, it was nearly impossible. Not only did the twin who attended class must keep excellent notes so that the other could catch up that evening, but we also had to carefully curate our days to ensure it wasn’t the same one taking all the tests. Whenever we had to swap days, it always took a while for both of us to climb back on top of our studies. It would all be worth it when we became an engineer though.
If the war, which was brewing in Ralheim, held off long enough. I shook my head. If I let myself think about it too long, I would spiral.
Collum cleaned the needle, removing the rest of her supplies from our room, as Milo peered over me, his eyes narrowing on the tattoo. “I think yours almost looks better than mine.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew he was just lying to placate me. I hadn’t wanted a tattoo at all. And even if I did, a serpent on my ribs would have been my last choice. Today was one of the days I hated the deception my parents had bred us into.
“Do me a favor, and don’t do anything else to modify our body,” I grumbled at my brother as I gingerly touched my skin around the edges of the design. “And let me make a mistake for once because I’m getting really bitter always covering for yours.”
He sank down on the bed next to my head, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I know.” He sighed. “I just . . . I just really wish I could court Helene.”
“And you thought a tattoo might help?” The jab was mean, I knew that, but I couldn’t help myself. Milo just shrugged.
When my parents had planned for us to share a life, they had neglected to think of how complicated things would become during our adult years. Or if they’d had a plan, they hadn’t managed to share it with us before their untimely death. Now, at twenty-five, we both found ourselves romantically drawn to individuals in town. Him to Helene, one of our classmates at university, and me to Roger, the butcher’s son. Of course, neither of us could act on those urges lest we reveal far too much about ourselves. All we could do was push forward as things were. The good news was, twenty-five was already quite late to court and marry, so soon all the eligible individuals would be snatched up anyway and we would continue to be the town pariah forever, together. Hopefully, in a job designing machinery to make life easier for others while netting enough gold to keep ourselves afloat.
