Essie took the responsibility of earning more seriously than Roa. She’d been in constant debate with their teachers these past few months over who had the right to earn a weapon. Several times Roa woke to find her sister pacing their room late at night. When she asked what was wrong, Essie would come back to bed and say strange things. Like “Define the term enemy,” and “What came first, do you think, the weapon or the adversary?”
Most of all, Essie studied harder and practiced more than Roa. She deserved to earn her weapon today.
Now, though, as they stood on the threshing floor, Essie’s jaw clenched. Her hands fiddled with the buttons down the front of her blue dress. Roa kept shooting her glances, agitated by her sister’s agitation.
“Stop fidgeting,” Roa hissed while keeping her eyes on their father.
The master of the House of Song towered over his daughters, gripping the head of his own earning: a staff carved by Roa’s grandmother. His skin glistened with rain and his purple cotton shirt was soaked through, making it look almost black. Beyond him stood the rest of the House of Song, gathered in a circle to bear witness.
Their father motioned to Lirabel, a girl Roa and Essie’s age and a ward in their house. The House of Song took in Lirabel and her sisters when the white harvest starved their family almost to death, forcing their mother to give them up.
Lirabel stepped forward now. She wore her hair in a thick braid over one shoulder, and the bow and arrows she’d earned the previous summer were strapped to her back. Inscribed into her bow’s leather were the words:Earned by Lirabel, ward of the House of Song.
Roa remembered the day of her friend’s earning. How Lirabel burst into tears when she read the inscription. Roa thought they were tears of gratitude, after everything the House of Song had done for her. It was only afterward that Essie corrected her.
It says ward,Essie explained.Not daughter.
But she is a ward,thought Roa at the time.
It would be years before Roa realized what it meant: that Lirabel could never be their equal. Never be theirsister. Only a recipient of their charity.
You gave us a place here so easily,Lirabel told her.You could take it away with just as little effort.
Now, pelted by rain, Lirabel handed their father the first of two bundles wrapped in silk.
He unwrapped the first and presented it to Roa.
It was a scythe—a favorite weapon of Song, hearkening to their agrarian roots. The steel had been skillfully hammered by blacksmiths from Sky. The hilt was fashioned out of wood, inlaid with alabaster, and engraved with the star she and Essie had been born under, as well as an inscription:Earned by Roa, daughter of the House of Song.
She looked from her father’s gentle gaze to her twin’s bright ebony eyes. The hum glowed warmly between them.
Essie smiled at her. Roa beamed back.
From the second bundle, their father drew out a knife. It was the length of Essie’s small forearm. The blade didn’t curve like Roa’s scythe, but narrowed to a needle-sharp point.
As he presented it to Essie, though, she stepped back, shaking her head.
Roa’s smile slid away.
What are you doing?she thought.
Essie wouldn’t look at her. So Roa glanced to Lirabel, as if she might hold the answer. But Lirabel’s eyes only widened.
“I’m sorry,” Essie said, staring at her sandaled feet—flecked with mud and chaff. She spoke loud enough for those gathered around the threshing floor to hear. “I can’t accept.”
Their father drew himself up, his grip tightening on the carved lion head of his staff. “Explain yourself, daughter.”
Essie looked up into his face.
“The old stories say we belong to each other,” she said quietly, as if she were afraid but was determined to speak the words anyway. “If that’s true, then our enemies are not our enemies but our brothers.” She looked to Roa. “And our sisters.”
Roa stared at Essie, her forehead crumpling into a frown.
She’d been planning this for a long time, Roa now realized, remembering the debates Essie engaged in with their teachers. Remembering the nights Roa woke to find her pacing.
But why didn’t she tell me?They told each other everything.
Their father stepped forward. Wiping the rain out of his eyes, he bent down so his face was level with Essie’s. “Do you realize what this will mean?”
