Warm light pooled in shallow, flickering rings across the wooden table, stretching shadows where the siblings sat; the entrance to their home, and their dining area.

  A faint shiver rustled the blanket draped over Maline’s shoulders, its corners shifting in the dim light. She sat curled across from her brother, knees drawn tight, chin resting atop them. The blanket swayed over her head in a futile attempt to remedy her trembling.

  Despite herself, she spoke in rapid succession, battering Gabe with a torrent of questions.

  “What happened? Did they hurt you again?” Her hand emerged from the folds, reaching for the blanket as if it were a binding she could undo. “I’ll take a look at you—let me find some bandages—”

  The words tumbled out, pitching higher with each word, slipping past her lips faster than she thought to contain them. If she didn't let them, she felt that the silence would keel her over.

  Gabe waited. His hands rested loosely in his lap, fingers barely moving except for the slow, absent tightening of one knuckle against another. The silence stretched, weighing into the darkness underneath the blanket's shadow until Maline’s voice stumbled to a halt, having ran their course.

  “Maline,” His voice settled into the void that Maline felt hers should have filled, “let’s worry about you for a moment, alright?”

  She flinched at the suggestion. The candle-cast shadows seemed to still, her wide, glassy eyes emerging, searching his face. By the look in them, he figured she’d agreed.

  He let out a slow, emptying breath. “How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, curious, as his eyes sifted through every expression cycling his sister’s face.

  A shift. Not in the air, but in the way Maline’s fingers curled over the woven threads. Such a question seemed heavier than she expected. Her gaze drifted downward, toward her knees, as if the answer might be hidden there.

  “I’ve been so tired…” she admitted at last. “More than ever, really. Today, after I woke up, it felt like... like something had drained all the strength out of me. Just… gone.”

  Her gaze drifted, unfocused, as if the memory were already fading. Lost in a place deep within the grain of the wood. “I was trying to check on you, and then... everything just blurred together. It’s all so—”

  Gabe’s jaw tensed, muscles feathering along his cheek. His fingers flexed once, twice against his knees, before stilling. He let his eyes drift to a candle flickering on the far side of the room.

  “What about earlier?” he asked after a pause, his voice low, mechanical. “That must’ve been… uncomfortable.”

  Maline scrunched her shoulders with a sharp inhale, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before opening them again, slower this time. Her thoughts wouldn’t move.

  “I don’t know." The answer fell from the her lips, landing like a loaf of bread upon the table. “It hurt. But not just pain. There was something else, too.” Her fingers tightened around the blanket, nails pressing into fabric. “I don’t even know what to call it.”

  Gabe watched, silent. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before his lips curled into a small, reassuring smile. The tension in the room eased just a little, and the tilt of Maline's eyes softened in response.

  “Tougher than I care to admit, you say…” he repeated, a teasing lilt in his voice that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Maline’s face darkened into a scowl. A slow tension winding back into her limbs served as warning enough. Sensing imminent danger, Gabe straightened, clearing his throat as he hurriedly adjusted into his seat. “Alright, alright. To answer your questions: Lord Marshall let me off since I managed to finish most of our workload. And with the Duke’s visit coming up, they’re being a bit more lenient. For now.”

  The faintest sigh escaped Maline's lips, her head lowering as her grip on the blanket loosened.

  Gabe seized the moment, his tone lightening. “I made you some tea this morning. It’s gone cold by, now, but… still interested?”

  She nodded, albeit tentatively. “Could you put some—”

  “Only a teaspoon,” he cut in, his look knowing, “you’re not feeling well.”

  Maline let out something between a breath and a reluctant laugh. Gabe rose, the chair creaking softly as he moved toward the hearth.

  “Fine,” she said softly.

  On the stone counter beside the stove, a wooden cup sat in waiting. Its light-birch surface, polished smooth, had long since vented out its last traces of warmth. Inside was a liquid, an emerald tinge peering over its edges.

  It was called Meadow Tea, distilled from auxiliary herbs commonly found in nearby plains. An affordable recipe; its aroma was pleasant––malty, but did not venture.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Beside it, a ceramic pot cradled thick, amber honey. Its surface had hardened slightly at the edges, where it had been left open too long. It was one of Maline’s rare indulgences, carefully saved for years before she could afford it. Gabe dipped a teaspoon into the golden liquid, watching as the thick amber thread caught the light and coiled around the spoon. Slightly more than a teaspoon, but he stirred it in anyway.

  He stirred, watching the color shift into something richer, hazel where the honey dissolved. He stood, as if the swirling liquid had more to offer, but only for a moment. Shaking his head, he tidied up, wiping the counter clean with the edge of his sleeve before returning with the cup in tow.

  ???

  When he set the cup beside her, Maline barely acknowledged it. Only a fleeting, distracted smile accompanied the turn of her head. Her attention was fixed on the blanket, now folded neatly in her lap. Her fingers traced its pull as if something were trapped in the threads.

  “I made this one for you,” she murmered, weight tapering her words. “You were so cold. I had to—“

  Gabe frowned slightly, the memory something he did not wish to return to. “I know. But we’ve got a closet full of them. Is it wrong to use one as a towel for my sister?”

  Maline shook her head, struggling to shape her thoughts. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… we never stop. We don't get to. You don't get to."

  "We’re always working, you’re always—always taking the brunt of everything.” She looked up at him then, her eyes lidding with unshed tears. “Every time, Gabe. Every time.”

  Her words held firm, familiar, even. Alike her brother’s response.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said simply. “Do you think I’d ever let you come to harm? I’ve felt this way since the day we got here, Mal.”

  “…You can’t really mean that—” she began, her voice cracking.

  She closed her eyes again, trying to—

  Gabe raised a hand to gently cut her off.

  —think.

  “Mal,” he said, his voice settling over hers. “I’d rather it be me than you. Every time.”

  The room shrank. Candlelight swayed, throwing long shadows against the walls. The yarn her fingers suddenly felt colder, tighter.

  "Gabe!" Maline’s voice broke in the quiet, sharp with anguish. The sound startled the quiet, allowing her room to order her words.

  “How do you think I feel?” Her voice shook, fighting to hold steady. “You go to work in pain. You take beatings. All because of me! How am I supposed to just accept that?”

  The fabric twisted in her grip, pulling taut. Her knuckles paled. “I want to protect you. You’re my brother.”

  The voice shattered entirely, breath marred by choking coughs, voice slipping into ragged sobs. The sound rattled her chest, her voice straining to a rasp as she doubled over, candlelight flickering along the sides of her face.

  The creak of a sliding chair drowned in her sobs; Gabe came closer, his sleeve rustling against the table, but no words came. He said nothing.

  Her shoulders felt too light, too cold. She shuddered once, then stilled.

  Gabe's fingers curled into a loose fist against the table.

  Maline let her eyes rest, laying her head in the cradle of her folded arms.

  Gabe waited until the trembling of her hands waned before gently nudging the cup closer to her.

  Maline sniffled, her head still buried in her arms.

  Minutes passed, and she rose, wiping her eyes. She sniffled, looking down at the tea, then back at Gabe. Her lips pressed into a line, but she pulled it closer. Though the tea was already prepared, she took the cup and began to swirl the amber liquid inside with a slow draw. She took a puff of air to it blowing at the cold liquid as if steam would soon warm her eyes. Shivers ran across its surface in delicate rings.

  She took a slow sip.

  It was bitter.

  Cold.

  Though, when she swallowed, something tickled at the back of her tongue—faint, buttery—almost warm. Honey.

  She could tell he’d added more than a teaspoon.

  Amidst the sounds of her stirring, she led on with a weak voice, “It’s just, you know how I feel. I don’t get how you can be so sure about this.” Her attention grew unfocused while stirring.

  A long silence passed as Gabe composed a response. When he managed it, his words weren’t as clear-cut as he would have liked. “There’s a lot I want to say,” he said, folding his hands atop the table. “I’m… I’m trying, Mal. We’re trying. None of this is your fault. It’s all my—”

  “Don’t you dare.” Maline interrupted, “Not again.”

  She pulled her gaze up to meet his, her expression softening as the firelight flickered between them. “I still don’t get it. I don’t get you,” the phrase was cut short by a deep inhale, her hand cupping her cheek, “but I can’t stomach any more crying.” She was almost finished with her tea.

  “That’s… thanks.” Gabe said, letting out a sigh as he pushed himself up, his hand briefly flicking across his face.

  Maline's sips grew shallow as Gabe stood, stretching. “Where are you going?” she asked, placing the cup down.

  “To bed,” he replied, pointing to his door, still ajar. “Market tomorrow. We need bread.”

  Maline’s gaze wandered down onto the blanket again, “Right, I woke you.”

  Scoffing and turning away, Gabe replied, “Tomorrow’s Barsiddi. I’ll get enough rest regardless.”

  The light click of her cup against the table reached his ears. “I’m coming with you!” she called after him.

  He paused, glancing back with a small smile.

  “Okay.”