I wanted to comfort my brother over the pain of having to watch Helene pine for him and not be able to do anything about it. After all, I was the one who had to see her pining half of the time and attempt to act as I would expect Milo to act. Though, in this moment, I was still far too angry about the tattoo to really feel true empathy.
“She said she got a proposal from Emmett.” He spat the name of one of our other university classmates. “And if she doesn’t receive any others soon, she will likely have to accept. Her parents . . .”
I rolled onto my back, wincing as the edges of the tattoo came in contact with the mattress. Our matching brown eyes connecting. “You know as well as I do that we can’t.”
“I know,” he replied, but I could almost hear the words he left unsaid.
I can’t while you are alive.
Forcing myself into a sitting position, I scooted closer to my brother, fighting a grimace as the true pain of the tattoo settled in. “Maybe I could . . .” I trailed off.
But he knew. This was the conversation we always had, and it always ended the same way.
“You know if you left, I would never be able to see you again,” he finished. “Not even for a visit—everyone would know.”
“Maybe you could visit me wherever I ended up? Outside of Ralheim, I mean,” I suggested.
“And where would that be?”
Silence settled between us. I didn’t have an answer for him. We had never been beyond the edges of town, not even when our parents were alive. We didn’t have any money to spare. If I left, I had no idea how to survive out there, much less how I would stay in contact with Milo and Collum when I arrived. If I did leave, it would be forever. No contact whatsoever.
And I might not survive.
“It’s okay,” he said with a sigh as he stood from the bed. “I’ll get over Helene. It’s just a passing fancy anyway.”
The problem was, we both knew that was a lie. Milo had been after Helene since we were sixteen, and though he often referred to it as a passing fancy, it hadn’t faded yet.
Little did I know that the tattoo I had just etched into my skin had started a chain of events I would be unable to stop. A chain of events, that would change my—our—life once and for all.
Forever.
CHAPTER 2
The next day, the first day of the dying season, I lay in my bed, tossing our ball up toward the ceiling before once again clasping it in my hands. A year in Ralheim was divided into four seasons, the warm season—arguably the best one—which was shouldered by both the breeding season and the dying season. Between both of those was the one I dreaded most, the dead season.
During the dead season, there were no blooms, no color, and very little warmth. I struggled with it every year, especially on the days when I had to remain inside and out of sight on my own, like I had to now, the ache in my side reminding me of how much I despised my twin sometimes.
The hiding was the hardest part about sharing a life—I couldn’t be seen while Milo was outside of the house. The last thing we wanted was to invite questions, which meant I had to stay out of sight for the entirety of the day, allowing Collum to run to the market or bakery as needed. Which made me feel even more guilty because she was our only source of income.
Except for the small bit of coin she earned by selling my potions.
Collum was forced to work nights at the textile factory onthe other side of town. It was hard work, stringing the spinning machines, but they paid handsomely for the night shift. It was enough for the three of us to live on, and paid our single tuition to the university.
It wasn’t enough to fix our deteriorating two-bedroom home, though. My parents had inherited it from their parents, and I assume my grandparents had inherited it from their parents. Though all previous generations of Poston’s had already passed on by the time our parents had birthed us.
Collum was the only one who could leave the house with ease. Milo and I spent our hiding days doing housework and staying out of sight. One glance at the clock told me that it was time to stop wallowing in the pain of my tattoo and get up and start dinner preparations.
Rising from the bed, I double-checked that my bind was still in place. Though we kept all the curtains closed, it was better to be safe than sorry.
In the kitchen, I pulled the vegetables from the basket Collum had harvested and chopped them for soup. They had come from our garden, and though they weren’t quite as nice as those from the market, they were free. Once chopped, I placed them in the large iron pot hanging over the fire before adding water and scouring the spice cupboard.
I loved cooking. I loved taking something, or multiple somethings, and transforming them into something new. It was similar to potion making, and I much preferred it to cleaning, which was Milo’s preferred chore. Whenever he had to cook, Collum and I held our breath hoping whatever would be on the table that evening would be edible. We didn’t really have money to waste, though that didn’t stop his horrid cooking experiences.
Next to cooking, my next passion was gardening—specifically, growing herbs both for cooking and my experiments. My parents had frowned when I had first begun to enjoy gardening as a child, something which they figured would lead to the teasing of Milo as a whole, but as my gifts continued to flourish,and I was soon making potions which could be sold and traded, they had swallowed their words and allowed me to pursue my passion, even if it meant the vegetable portion of our garden was smaller than it used to be.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
I froze.
