Elara’s POV
Vivian started smiling like her mouth was holding up a secret.
It wasn’t a different smile, not really. She still kissed my forehead when I rushed past her. She still hummed while she worked. But it looked careful, like she was measuring how wide she could stretch it without breaking.
“You’re staring,” she told me one morning, sliding a bowl of porridge across the table.
“I’m not,” I lied.
Dani tightened the strap on his training harness and grunted. “She’s staring.”
Vivian’s eyes softened. “Let her. It means she notices.”
“I notice everything,” I said, proud.
“Then notice this,” Dani replied. “Eat. You’ll need strength if you plan to argue with me.”
“I don’t argue,” I said. “I educate.”
Vivian laughed, light and warm. “You intimidate.”
Dani’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, and for a heartbeat the cottage felt easy again. Then Vivian’s hand went to the edge of the table, steadying herself so quickly I almost missed it.
“You’re pale,” I said.
“It’s the weather,” she answered too fast. “Go on. Festival day. You’ll be late.”
The village festival came with ribbons strung between rooftops and music spilling into the square. Children ran with sticks. My feet itched to move.
“Come with me,” I begged Vivian at the door. “Just for an hour.”
She smoothed my hair. “I’ll watch from here. Too many bodies. Too much noise.”
“You love noise.”
“I love you more,” she said, and her smile tightened again.
Dani stepped outside, already dressed for the yard. “After noon I’ll check the square,” he said, eyes narrowing at me. “No trouble.”
“I’m always trouble,” I replied, and darted away before he could catch me.
In the square, my friends were shouting my name. Lysa grabbed my hand. “Race us!”
I grinned. “Line up.”
We ran from the well to the oak tree and back, breath tearing from our throats. I won by a step, and the boys groaned like I’d committed a crime.
Harlan scowled. “You only win because you’re light.”
“I win because you’re slow,” I shot back, and the crowd laughed.
Old Bran waved a padded stick at me. “If you’ve got a mouth, you’ve got a match. Come on, girl.”
I stepped into the sparring ring, heart pounding with joy. Harlan stepped opposite me, still mad.
“Don’t cry when you lose,” he said.
“I’ll cry from boredom,” I replied.
He swung wide. I ducked, stepped in, and tapped his ribs. The crowd cheered. He rushed again, angry now, and I used his momentum, hooking his stick aside and tapping his wrist until he yelped and dropped it.
“Point!” Bran shouted.
I lifted my chin, smiling my cheeks hurt. Then the cheering dulled, like someone had thrown a blanket over sound.
Dani stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, eyes like winter.
“Enough,” he said.
Groans rose from the crowd. Bran spread his hands. “Festival day, Dani.”
Dani didn’t look at Bran. He looked at me. “Step out.”
I stepped out, still breathing fast. “Why? I won.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?” I demanded, joy turning sharp. “That I’m not allowed to be good at anything?”
His jaw flexed. “You’re showing off.”
“I’m competing,” I snapped. “It’s a game.”
“Games become habits,” he said. “Habits become choices.”
“And choices become life,” I fired back. “Yes. That’s what I want.”
He leaned closer, voice low. “This isn’t what you’re meant for.”
“I don’t care what I’m meant for,” I hissed. “I care what I can do.”
“You are not a soldier,” he said, the words cutting.
“I could be,” I argued. “You taught me to move. You taught me to watch.”
“I taught you to defend yourself,” he said. “Not to chase blood.”
“That’s a lie,” I spat. “You train boys who dream of war like it’s glory.”
“They’re not you,” Dani said.
“There it is again,” I snapped, shaking. “Not you. Not you. Tell me why.”
For a flicker, fear flashed in his eyes. Then it vanished.
“Go home,” he ordered.
I looked around at the watching faces, the whispers starting, the pity already forming. Shame burned hotter than anger.
I threw the padded stick to the ground. “Fine,” I said. “I’m going.”
I shoved through ribbons and bodies, my eyes stinging. Behind me I heard Bran mutter, “She’s got fire,” and Dani answer, “Fire burns.”
I didn’t go straight home. I went beyond the last cottage, along the stream. I kicked stones until my toe hurt, then sat on a rock and pressed my hands to my eyes.
I thought of Vivian’s careful smile. I thought of Dani’s fear. I told myself I’d go back and apologize, just to stop the heaviness in my chest.
When I hurried home, our cottage door stood open. Vivian always closed it.
“Mother?” I called, stepping inside.
Silence answered. The air smelled like broth forgotten on the fire. My foot caught on something, and I looked down.
Vivian lay on the floor near the table, her skirt twisted, her hair half fallen from its pins.
For one frozen heartbeat, my mind refused to understand. Then panic slammed into me.
“Mother!” I dropped beside her and grabbed her shoulders. “Vivian, wake up!”
Her eyelids fluttered. “Elara,” she breathed, faint as smoke.
“I’m here,” I said, voice cracking. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
She tried to smile. It trembled. “I sat down,” she whispered, like that explained everything.
“You’re cold,” I said, trapping her hand between mine. “You’re so cold.”
“It’s nothing,” she murmured.
“It’s not nothing!” I shouted, and the sound tore my throat.
I scrambled up and ran to the doorway, screaming for help until my lungs burned.
“Dani!” I screamed. “Dani!”
Footsteps thundered outside. Dani burst in, and when he saw her, his face drained of color.
“Vivian,” he breathed, dropping to his knees.
Her eyes found him. “I didn’t want to worry her,” she whispered.
Dani’s hands shook as he lifted her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she wanted one good day,” Vivian murmured, eyes slipping toward me.
Dani carried her to the bed with the care of a man holding glass. “Get the healer,” he barked at a neighbor who had followed the shouting. “Now.”
The neighbor ran. I hovered at the edge of the room, shaking.
Vivian reached toward me. I rushed in and took her hand.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I shouldn’t have left.”
“You’re allowed to be angry,” she whispered.
Dani turned his head away, jaw clenched like he couldn’t bear the sound of her voice thinning.
The healer arrived, smelling of herbs and fear. He pressed fingers to Vivian’s wrist, frowned, and muttered a prayer.
“What is it?” I demanded.
The healer glanced at Dani. Dani’s eyes went hard. “Outside,” he said to me.
“No,” I pleaded. “Tell me.”
Vivian squeezed my hand. “Love,” she whispered, “listen.”
I stumbled out to the steps, hugging my knees. Music still drifted from the square. Someone laughed, like nothing had changed.
Minutes crawled.
A shadow fell over me. I looked up to see a villager, breathless, face pale with urgency. “Elara,” he panted, “it’s your mother—come quickly.”