Shattered Glass #2
“Might not be?”
Aries hesitated. “She’s... seeing people. Courted, a lot, over the winter.”
Collin’s heart jumped into his throat, and then plunged into his stomach. “Maybe I should just start shopping for someone new, trade one heart for another like I’m replacing a cracked cup!”
“That’s not fair.”
“You know what’s not fair? Having the person I love walk out of my life without a real goodbye—and then hearing from you that she’s being courted by half of White Wood.”
Aries hesitated. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Why? So I could hurry up and stop embarrassing myself?”
“No!” Aries snapped. “Because I care about you. Because it’s hard to watch you stay stuck in the same place while the rest of us are moving forward.”
Collin laughed bitterly. “Oh, I see. I’m the broken one.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
The lake stretched before them, cold and wide. Collin stared out at it, throat tight, heart pounding. “You didn’t even ask how I feel,” he muttered. “You just assumed I was drowning.”
“Because you look like you’re drowning, Collin.” Aries’s voice was low now. “You go quiet when her name comes up. You act like you’re fine, but you’re not. You haven’t been since she left. We all see it.”
“We?” Collin repeated. “Again with this ‘we.’ You and Hadria, the wise and wonderful council.”
Aries turned to him. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me into some kind of traitor. I’m still your friend. I’m the one who’s always been your friend. But now you act like I’m some mouthpiece for Hadria just because I agree with her!”
“Maybe because you sound exactly like her!”
Aries stood abruptly, fists clenching. “I’m sorry I even brought it up.”
Collin stayed seated. “No. You’re not. You came out here waiting to say this.”
“I came because I thought maybe you’d listen. But clearly, you’d rather be angry than honest.”
“Honest?” Collin snapped, finally rising to his feet. “You want honesty? Fine. I don’t want your advice. I didn’t ask for it. And if Dragonfly is being courted, then I’ll hear it from her, not from you or your girlfriend.”
Aries looked at him—really looked—and his expression softened. “You really do love her—"
Collin didn’t answer. His silence said everything.
Aries nodded slowly. “Then go find out what’s true. But promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t let it destroy you if she doesn’t feel the same.”
Collin didn’t respond. He just pulled up his hood as the rain started again—soft and steady. “I’ll see you at home,” he said, and walked away.
Collin’s boots sank into soft mud as he trudged through the forest. Rain clung to the leaves, steady and relentless. He shoved his hood back and let the cold drizzle wash over him.
He didn’t want to go home. Not yet. His anger at Aries, thoughts of Dragonfly courting, twisted through his stomach. A long walk through the woods had always worked to clear out his mind.
A sudden clattering shattered the quiet. He paused, peering through the trees. Around the bend, a lumber-laden wagon creaked into view.
“Collin,” Clive hailed him with a wave.
Nic was behind the cart, tugging a mangled shrub free from the spokes. “Well, if it isn’t the mud-drenched schoolmaster himself.”
Collin tried to return the smile. “Doing some early spring landscaping?”
Nic tossed the shrub aside. “Something like that.” He nodded to the wagon. “We’re hauling the last of the lumber to Dragonfly’s build site.”
Collin froze. “Dragonfly’s... what?”
“House,” Nic said, flicking wet hair from his eyes with a lazy gesture. “Didn’t she mention? She’s putting up a place.”
A wild rush of heat filled Collin’s chest. “She’s building a house? Here?”
“Northwest side of the forest. Just past the grove,” Nic replied. “I handled her land paperwork myself. Very official. Stamped and everything.”
Collin gripped the sack of vegetables tighter. “Is she... is she moving back?”
“Eventually, yeah. She’s still tying things up in White Wood, but this isn’t a whim. I sent her drafts. She paid a deposit too—though I told her not to bother. Didn’t stop her.”
Collin barely heard the rest. She’s coming home. The words echoed through him like a prayer.
“She’ll be here tomorrow,” Nic added, his eyes sparkling. “We’re meeting at the site to go over details. You should swing by after—if you’re not too busy saving the village children from ignorance.”
“Where is the site?” Collin asked, trying to keep the hope from shaking his voice.
“West bank,” Nic said, brushing water off his brow. “A mile south of the sacred grove. There’s this little clearing tucked into the trees on the northwest edge.”
“That far out?”
“Mm-hmm.” Nic nodded. “I warned her it’s proper wolf country, but she waved me off. Said she’s been dreaming about that spot since she was a girl.”
Clive, who had been adjusting the wagon’s wheel, chimed in. “The borderlands aren’t that bad. My cousins live near the ridge. You just have to be used to quiet.”
“It’s not the quiet that worries me,” Nic muttered, almost to himself. “It’s the isolation. If something goes wrong out there, there’s no one close enough to help. And she’s planning to live alone. At least for now.”
Collin’s stomach turned. “Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Only if you’re careless,” Nic said. Then after a pause, “Still—there’s wildlife, and then there’s the old stories.”
“stories?”
Nic gave a lopsided shrug. “You know the ones. Flickering lights, strange sounds, trees that whisper your name if you’re out past dusk. Probably just bored shepherd talk. Still... she’s not exactly picking the safest patch of earth for her happy ending.”
“That sounds like her,” Collin murmured, mostly to himself.
“She’s determined, I’ll give her that,” Nic said. “Once her mind’s made up, good luck changing it.”
Collin looked out toward the trees, already picturing the little clearing she must have loved. Wild, remote, beautiful—just like her.
He’d visit. Every day, if she lets him.
Collin ran all the way home, the sack of vegetables slapping against his leg, rain forgotten. Aries wasn’t there, but it didn’t matter.
He threw himself into cooking—something warm, something indulgent. He pulled out spices he hadn’t touched in months and scattered herbs like they were free. He tasted every bite. For once, it wasn’t just to quiet hunger—it was joy on his tongue.
After dinner, he cleaned. Not out of duty, but because he needed to move, to do. He swept, wiped, polished, even weeded Aries’s side of the garden. The house sparkled. His heart practically glowed.
Everything reminded him of her. The blue trim on the dishes—like the ribbon she used to tie her hair. The way light pooled in the washbasin—it shimmered like her eyes when she laughed.
He couldn’t stop picturing the cabin she’d asked Nic to build. Nestled beneath the North Town trees, full of windows and wildflowers and warm candlelight. A place she might let him belong to. He’d bring her flowers and take her for lazy walks through summer starlight.
He tried to work on his winter glass project—a mosaic orb meant to catch sunlight like leaves do in spring—but his hands were too restless. He set it aside.
His eyes drifted to the journals on the table. He hesitated, then picked up where he left off.
April 29, 479
I sit with my arms wrapped around Zinnia, both of us huddled in her bed as she cries. This is the third baby she’s lost.
Jiah and I are to be married next month, but how can I feel any joy when my best friend is drowning in sorrow?
Zinnia and Izin want so badly to be parents.
They dream of it. But each time, the child is taken before it ever breathes the world.
I’ve known Izin my whole life, yet I have never seen him cry the way he did today.
The grief on his face pierced straight through me.
After their second loss, Jiah told me he didn’t want children. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of loving something only to lose it. I didn’t have the heart to argue.
Tonight, I can’t help but feel the world is cruel—and the gods, crueler still. If anyone deserves the gift of a child, it is Zinnia and Izin.
She weeps deep into the night, her grief bottomless, and I can only sit with her and absorb it. Izin and Jiah have disappeared into the woods, unable to face their pain. I don’t know when they’ll return. So I stay here, holding Zinnia as tightly as I can, hoping she won’t break.
—Ismene
May 26, 480
I held my son in my arms—my firstborn—and I never imagined I could love anything so fiercely.
Connor has already grown so much. I watch him as he sleeps, curled against my chest, and it takes my breath away.
He is perfect. I can already see the shape of who he might become, the promise in him.
There is so much I want to teach him, so many wonders I want him to see.
Across the room, Ismene sits in the old armchair, her hands busy with the knitting needles. She looks tired but content. Our family is coming together.
—Jiah
August 10, 482
I took part in the attack on Black Timber Forest. I killed a young man—no older than me. I remember the weight of my sword, the heat of his blood. I remember his eyes. He looked straight into mine as I drove the blade into his stomach.
I ran.
His blood is still on my hands. It soaked my clothes, clung to my skin. And still I see his face when I close my eyes. What have I done?
I lay beside Ismene in the dark, and I can’t bring myself to tell her. How do I speak it aloud? Izin, Tomlyn, and I—we did what we were told. They said it was the only way to keep our families safe. But I don’t know how to live with what I’ve done.
What was his name? Did he have a wife? Children? A mother waiting for him? How many lives did I break with that single blow?
His eyes won’t leave me. I fear they never will.
—Jiah
Collin slammed the journals closed. The echoes of his parent’s pain lingered, a stark reminder of life’s unpredictable cruelty. Yet, even that profound history couldn’t dampen the rising tide of his own hope.