The sun hung low on the horizon—a bright eye in a waltz of clouds. Kamani sat in the carriage as it rolled along a brick-paved road toward a cottage nestled in the countryside.
The carriage halted in front of the entrance. She peered through the window at the structure before her. It belonged to her sister, Alsheda—a modest home of weathered stone and climbing ivy, far from the gilded halls of the Matical house and all the drama that came with them. Alsheda had always preferred the quiet. Kamani understood that now more than ever.
A woman emerged from the door, her eyes radiating warmth as her lips stretched into a smile—honey in a cup of hot tea on a cold day. Alsheda had bright brown eyes, and her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. Her skin glowed with the same radiance Kimani remembered from childhood. She reminded Kamani so much of their father, who had passed years ago. The same gentle curve of the cheek. The same kindness that seemed to pour from her like light.
"Sister," Alsheda said, and her arms were around Kamani before she could speak.
Alsheda's hug was a blanket on a cold day. It was everything Kamani hadn't known she needed.
Kamani held on tightly, pressing her face into her sister's shoulder. Letting go felt like it would break her. So, she didn't. Not for a long moment.
When they finally pulled apart, Alsheda searched her sister's eyes. Whatever she saw there made her smile soften.
"Thank you for having me," Kamani said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alsheda squeezed her hand. "You don't have to thank me. You never do."
Behind them, a servant carried Kamani's bags into the cottage. But Kamani didn't move. She stood on the gravel path, her hand still in her sister's, and for the first time in years, she let herself believe she might be safe.
They walked into the cottage, hand in hand, as the driver rode away.
After a long, warm bath and a hearty meal, Kamani and her sister sat on the balcony that faced the large, well-planted vegetable garden. The smell of fresh earth mixed with the soft swish of the wind. Both women sat opposite each other, each cradling a cup of hot chocolate.
Kamani took a sip, and a low hum escaped her. She closed her eyes. The chocolate was just how she liked it—creamy and thick. For a moment, she let herself forget.
Alsheda lowered her cup. "How are the children?"
"They're doing wonderfully well." Kamani's face softened. "You need to see Sion. He's grown into quite the gentleman."
Alsheda smiled.
"And Harrieta," Kamani continued, "is a pearl among diamonds."
"That's good to hear." Alsheda set her cup down. Her gaze met Kamani's. "And you, sister? How are you?"
Kamani stretched into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Fantastic."
She looked down at her cup and began to twist a loose strand of hair around her finger—a habit she'd never been able to break. Alsheda reached across the table and touched her hand.
"Sister," Alsheda said softly, "how are you truly?"
The question cut through her like glass. Alsheda had always been able to see through her—right to the bone.
Kamani's composure cracked. "Honestly? I don't really know what to do anymore." Her voice trembled. "I thought he would change after the children came. I was wrong. He's grown colder with each passing day."
She remembered the way he used to look at her— during the courtship, before the bitterness. She had thought it was love. Now she knew it was all a mirage. She had loved him once. Or thought she had. He had been handsome and charming, and her family had been thrilled. It was only after the wedding that the mask had slipped. By then, it was too late.
She looked away, toward the garden, but she saw nothing.
"My heart goes out to the children—especially Sion. Poor boy."
"Where are they?" Alsheda asked.
"He sent them west." Kamani's hands tightened around her cup. "I feel like I'm cracking slowly, and any moment now, I'll break."
Alsheda squeezed her hand. Her gaze was soft but unyielding.
"Sister, it's high time you put yourself first. The children are your legacy. You have to protect them."
Kamani's vision blurred. "I don't know how." Her voice cracked. "I tried. I truly did. But he always seems to be one step ahead of me."
Alsheda's lips curved into a smile—warm, but with something sharper beneath it.
"That's because you never involved me." She leaned back, cradling her cup. "Father didn't nickname me a fox in a game of chess for nothing."
"I know people, sister. People who can make documents disappear. People who can make people disappear. If you want to leave, I can make it happen. But you have to be ready. And you have to trust me completely" she continued.
Kamani stared at her sister. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
She had always known she could rely on Alsheda. Her sister had a strange way of slipping out of tight corners, clean and untouched—and no one ever suspected a thing. Kamani remembered the summer when Alsheda had been eighteen. A neighbor had tried to cheat their father out of a parcel of land. Alsheda had simply smiled, asked a few innocent questions at a dinner party, and by morning the neighbor had withdrawn his claim. No one had ever known she was behind it
Kamani only hoped it would be enough.
For her children's sake.