"Say it again."
Rowan's voice came from the branches above me. He was out of breath from climbing higher than he was supposed to. The leaves moved. Something made a soft thud as another mango fell near my feet.
"I already said it," I said, stretching my neck. "Come down before you fall."
He said, "I won't fall," with way too much confidence. "I never fall."
"That's what people say right before they fall."
He laughed, a loud, carefree sound that didn't fit in these days. Since my father died, the estate has been quieter. Not loud enough. Even the birds seemed to think twice before landing.
Rowan finally slid down the trunk, scraping his hands but smiling as if he had won something big. He jumped down next to me, so close that our shoulders touched.
"Say it," he said again and again.
I let out a sigh. "I told you I'd see you here every day."
He shook his head and said, "No." "That other thing."
I thought about it for a while. The mango tree towered over us, old and steady, with roots that looked like veins breaking through the ground. We always came here when the world felt too big—when his lessons were too much for him and my fears got stronger.
"I said..." I swallowed. "I said I wouldn't go away."
Rowan's smile got less bright. "Promise?"
Then I looked at him. Looked hard. At the dirt mark on his cheek. The way his eyes searched mine made me think he was afraid of losing something, not like a boy who owned everything.
"I promise," I said.
He reached out right away, with his pinky finger out. "Then swear it."
I hooked my finger with his. His skin was hot. Steady.
He said again, "Swear it," but this time more quietly.
"I swear," I said.
The wind changed, bringing with it the smell of the estate: polished stone, cut grass, and smoke from far away. A door slammed somewhere far away. My stomach got tight, but I made myself breathe.
Rowan let go of his hand and sat down against the trunk, pulling his knees up. I sat next to him, our shoulders touching. The touch was small but grounding.
He said, "My dad says promises are like contracts." "He says that if you break one, you get what you deserve."
With a stick, I drew lines in the dirt. "My dad says that promises are hope." And you shouldn't punish hope.
For a moment, Rowan was quiet. "Your dad says a lot of things that my dad doesn't."
"That doesn't mean he's wrong."
He nodded slowly, as if he were putting that thought away.
"Do you think," he started, but then he stopped. He pulled on a loose thread on his sleeve. "Do you think your dad will come back?"
The question hurt more than I thought it would. I pressed my lips together and tasted dust and fear.
"Honestly, I don't know," I said. "But he didn't do anything wrong."
Rowan's jaw got tight. "My dad wouldn't lie."
"I didn't say he was lying."
"You don't have to," Rowan said sharply, then looked guilty right away. "I just mean... he has a reason for what he believes."
I put my head back against the tree. "Belief is not the same as truth."
He looked at me with a stormy look in his eyes. "You say things like that all the time."
"Like what?"
"Like you're older than me."
I smiled a little. "I have to."
"Why?"
"Because someone needs to see when things aren't fair."
Rowan frowned. "Things are fair."
I looked at him. "Are they?"
He opened his mouth and then shut it again. He looked past me at the main house in the distance, which was tall, bright, and out of reach.
"I wish," he said slowly, "that you lived in the house."
I blinked. "Why?"
"So no one could take you away."
My chest hurt. "Anyone can take someone."
He shook his head. "Not from there." We never have anything bad happen to us.
I didn't fight back. I just saw a line of ants carrying crumbs twice their size disappear into the roots of the mango tree.
Without warning, clouds came in that afternoon. The sky got darker, heavier, and more bruised. There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance.
Rowan said, "You should go," but he didn't want to. "Your mom will worry if it rains."
"She always worries."
He said, "So does mine."
We stood still under the tree, not moving. The first drops fell slowly, thickly, and on purpose.
"Elara," Rowan said all of a sudden. "If something happens... if my dad does something wrong..."
I was surprised when I looked up at him. "Your dad doesn't do bad things."
He thought about it. "But what if he did? Would you hate me?
The question took my breath away.
"Why would I hate you for what he does?" I asked.
"People always hate what belongs to the person who hurt them," he said in a low voice.
I stepped closer, and the rain hit my hair. "You're not your dad."
He looked at my face like he was trying to remember the answer.
He asked, "Promise?"
I nodded. "I promise."
There was a loud, sharp crack of thunder above. We both leaped.
"I have to go," I told them. "Before the storm gets worse."
Rowan took my hand again. "See you here tomorrow."
"I always do."
"Say it."
"I'll be here."
He smiled, and his face relaxed.
As the rain got heavier, it soaked my dress and made everything look blurry. I ran back to the servants' quarters. When I got to our room, my mother was standing in the doorway with a pale face.
"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice tense.
I said, "With Rowan," and then I wished I hadn't.
She looked up at the sky and then back at me. "You need to be careful."
"I am."
She held my face in her shaking hands. "Elara, this house is changing. "You can feel it, right?"
I nodded.
I couldn't sleep that night. The storm was raging outside, and the rain hit the roof like fists. The walls were painted harsh white by the lightning.
A shout broke through the thunder.
I got up.
Another shout, this time closer. Footsteps that are heavy. Opening doors. Voices got louder, sharper, and more frantic.
I got out of bed quietly and went to the window.
The courtyard was a mess.
Men ran in the rain. The lights came on. I saw Rowan's dad walk across the stone with a look of rage on his face. I saw another servant pull my mother back, and her mouth was open in a silent scream.
Then I saw my dad.
On his knees.
All around.
The rain soaked him all the way through, sticking his hair to his forehead. He raised his empty hands, which were shaking, not out of fear but out of desperation.
Rowan stood barefoot on the porch across the courtyard, frozen, with his eyes locked on mine through the rain.
We looked at each other.
There was a crash of thunder.
And at that moment, under the same sky and with a promise we both didn't understand yet, I knew that something had started that couldn't be undone.