Still, Collin craned his neck. He had to see Dragonfly. She looked lost beneath her tangled golden hair. He wanted to call out, ask what had happened, why her eyes looked so sad.
The brothers huddled close, warming their chilled hands and rosy cheeks before the small, crackling hearth in the sitting room. Collin wrapped a soft, worn patchwork quilt—white, black, and blues—tightly around his narrow shoulders, its comforting weight pressing gently against his skin as golden sparks leapt eagerly from the blazing fire.
He slowly, almost reverently, turned the thick pages of a book he couldn’t yet read. His fingers moved with quiet awe, his breath catching slightly. In his vivid, restless mind, whole worlds swirled—miraculous and mysterious places that mightlie hidden within that book’s secret language, waiting to be discovered.
"Mam! You promised you'd read to me,” Collin called.
When his mother failed to reply, Collin looked to the dining room. Mother was fretting with the food items from the week's meal allowance. She searched through the cupboards, muttering anxiously under her breath.
Just then, the heavy front door swung open. A gust of wind swept through the cabin, sending the fire in the hearth into a wild flicker. Shadows leapt and twisted across the walls, dancing like monsters.
A hooded and cloaked man stepped hastily inside, shutting the door behind him with a loud slam.
Jiah’s long, dark green cloak was soaked through with spring rain. Mud clung to his boots and tracked across the freshly mopped floor. His thick, sandy hair was damp and tousled, but his ardent blue eyes shone brightly, catching the firelight with an eager, restless gleam.
“Jiah...” Ismene’s voice was low, frayed at the edges. “There was no meat in this week’s allowance. Not even a scrap. How are we to last? The garden’s still bare.”
Jiah’s eyes sparked. “I have a gift for you.” He turned, sharp with excitement. “Connor—put Lumen on the mantel.”
The boy sprang from his chair and set the longsword in its place of honor. Jiah’s fingers fumbled at his coat buttons as if racing the moment. From beneath the heavy fabric, he drew out a thick, crumpled parcel wrapped in butcher’s paper and tied with thongs.
“What is that?” Ismene asked, her voice cautious, eyes narrowing even as she reached for it.
“Go on, darling, open it,” Jiah said lightly, toweling dampness from his hair.
Her fingers worked through the knots—too slow for Jiah’s grin, too fast for her pounding heart. When the paper finally fell away, the air seemed to twist in her lungs.
“Jiah,” she hissed. “That’s venison.”
The boys rushed to the table, their faces lighting at the sight of the red meat, the thick marrow bone. Collin nearly asked for stew before Ismene snapped, “Back to the sitting room. Now.”
As their footsteps retreated, she turned to her husband, her voice razor-thin. “Where did you get it?”
His smile faltered. “Izin and I—we trapped two bucks early this morning. Turned in the bigger. Kept this one...”
“You what?” she whispered, horror blooming in her face. “You withheld it? Jiah, that’s a crime!”
He stepped forward to quiet her, but she backed away. “No one will know,” he said quickly. “It’s safe, Ismene.”
“Safe?” Her voice cracked. “If they find out, they’ll take you. And what then? What happens to us, to our boys? You think you’re providing, but you're putting a noose around your own neck!”
Jiah dropped the towel. “I’d never let anything happen to you, you know that.” He reached for her hands, too cold in his. “I do this for you. For them. I’m not letting Montigo starve us into obedience.”
Her shoulders trembled as she blinked back tears. “You and Izin... is it just the two of you?”
He looked down, the hesitation too long. He rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “Tomlyn, too. His wife’s due any week. And there’s the fellow from Black Timber forest. And—”
“Oh god, Jiah.” She stumbled back a step. “You’re not just reckless. You’re coordinated.”
“It’s survival,” he snapped, heat rising in his chest. “We bleed ourselves hunting for them, and when we ask for scraps, they tax us down to the marrow. What choice do we have?”
“Not this,” she moaned. “Not risking the gallows for stew bones.”
He encircled her within his arms, pulling her against him. “We have children, Ismene. That’swhywe do this. Not in spite of it.”
Jiah pulled out a chair and sat down with a weary sigh. He beckoned the boys closer and rested a hand on each of their small shoulders.
“You mustn’t tell anyone about the meat,” he said, his voice low and serious. His eyes settled on Collin’s. “Not your friends. Not anyone. Do you understand?”
