The moon rose pale and full, washed clean of its red glow but still bright enough to turn the fields to silver.
It was the night of the blessing.
Outside the cottage, the air smelled of honey and herbs. Lanterns hung from branches, each one bearing the sigil of a different house—Redmoon on one side, Dravenmoor on the other. Together, their light looked like constellations lowered to earth.
Riven and Lyra slept peacefully in their twin cradles at the center of the circle, wrapped in soft cloth embroidered by grandma Therese and the twins.
Tara had stitched moons. Grandma Therese had added stars. Shayra and Shayri had argued so long about what to contribute that Eira gave them both a single needle and made them share the same thread as punishment.
It somehow ended in a beautiful pattern of tangled loops that everyone pretended was symbolic.
Eira, standing by the circle, took a deep breath. "Let us begin before anyone starts another craft debate."
