Chapter 13 Sisters #2
The answer had been simple and unwavering: she had no hesitation, no doubt, and no desire to return.
Eira watched her sister lower her gaze to the snow gathered between the fallen stones.
For several moments, Maelin said nothing while the wind stirred the loose strands of pale hair that had escaped her braid.
One hand rested absently against the curve of her stomach while the other traced the weathered edge of the stone beside her as she thought, calculated, and worried exactly as Eira remembered.
Eventually Maelin lifted her head.
"Where were you planning to go?"
The question caught her off guard, and Eira blinked before answering.
"I don't know."
A faint crease appeared between Maelin's brows.
"You don't know."
"I knew where I needed to leave."
The answer sounded more reasonable in her head than it did aloud, and the expression on Maelin's face suggested she agreed.
"You crossed half the mountains alone."
Eira shrugged.
"I managed."
"That isn't the point."
For the first time, frustration slipped into her sister's voice, though it was rooted not in anger but in fear.
"You could have died."
The words landed harder than expected because Eira knew they were true. The storm, the fall, and the lonely roads winding through unfamiliar country had all presented dangers, and a dozen things could have gone wrong, some of which nearly had.
"I didn't."
Maelin stared at her before laughing softly, not because anything was amusing but because there seemed to be no other response.
"You sound exactly the same."
"And you sound exactly like yourself."
"Someone has to."
The reply came immediately, and although a trace of warmth lingered between them, concern quickly returned.
"Do you at least have money?"
Eira hesitated, and that hesitation was answer enough.
Gods.
Maelin closed her eyes briefly.
"Eira."
"I had enough."
"Had."
Eira looked away.
"It was a small piece."
"A piece of what?"
"A hair ornament."
The silence that followed carried unmistakable disapproval.
"From Frostvein."
"Eira."
"It paid for food."
"Eira."
"And paper."
Her sister looked as though she could not decide whether to laugh or despair. The expression was painfully familiar, and for a moment Eira almost smiled before the feeling faded.
Beneath the exasperation, she could see what truly troubled Maelin. It was not the ornament or the money but the fact that Eira had reached the point of trading pieces of her former life simply to continue moving forward.
The realization settled between them, and neither spoke for a while as the wind drifted through the ruins and the horses waited patiently below where they had been left.
Eventually Maelin broke the silence.
"If Father finds out..."
The sentence remained unfinished because it did not need completion. Both of them knew how it ended if Father discovered where Eira had gone or learned that Maelin had helped her. The possibilities stretched onward without limit.
Eira lowered her eyes.
"I know."
"No."
Maelin's voice was quiet and almost gentle.
"You don't."
The words held no cruelty, only the weight of experience and years spent living with its consequences.
"I have children."
Eira looked up.
For the first time since arriving, fear stood completely uncovered in her sister's face. It was not fear for herself but for the people she loved.
"My son follows me everywhere."
A faint smile appeared before fading almost immediately.
"My daughter believes I can fix every problem in the world."
The smile vanished entirely.
"And there is another on the way."
Her hand settled once more against her stomach in a gesture that was both protective and instinctive.
"I have spent years building a life that is safe."
The last word sounded strangely fragile. Safe did not mean happy or perfect, but it was still something precious, and the distinction mattered.
Eira understood it immediately.
For a moment guilt twisted through her chest. Perhaps she should never have sent the letter, or perhaps she should have continued west instead of reaching out.
"No."
The word interrupted her thoughts.
Maelin was watching her closely, as though she had guessed exactly where those thoughts had gone.
"You don't get to do that."
"What?"
"Decide for me."
The reply came instantly, and the firmness surprised both of them.
For a brief moment, Eira caught a glimpse of the younger woman hidden beneath years of caution and responsibility, the sister who had once stood between her and the consequences of every foolish decision.
A long, heavy silence followed.
Maelin looked away first, toward the hills, the distant road winding through the countryside, and the life waiting beyond it.
When she finally spoke again, the words emerged almost as a prayer.
"Gods help me."
A slow breath escaped her, followed by another, before she pushed herself to her feet.
Eira rose as well.
Neither woman spoke as they stood facing one another while the winter wind moved through the broken tower.
Finally Maelin squared her shoulders. The fear remained, as did the uncertainty, but something else had appeared beside them: resolve.
"You're coming home with me."
Eira blinked.
"Maelin—"
"No."
For the first time that day, her sister sounded every bit the older sibling Eira remembered.
"You can argue tomorrow, or the day after, but you are not spending another night alone in the mountains."
Emotion rose unexpectedly in Eira's throat, and she swallowed it before it could become something dangerous.
Maelin reached for her hand. The gesture was simple and familiar, a bridge thrown across years of distance.
"Come."
This time, Eira followed.
Together they descended the hill toward the waiting horses.
The sun had already begun its slow journey toward the horizon, bathing the snow-covered countryside in gold and amber light. Long shadows stretched across the fields, and for the first time in what felt like an age, Eira found herself walking beside someone rather than behind them or alone.
The road ahead remained uncertain, and so did tomorrow, but as they left the ruined tower behind, one thing no longer felt true.
She was no longer facing it by herself.
The road wound downward at first, threading between rocky outcroppings and clusters of wind-bent pines clinging stubbornly to the frozen earth before gradually descending into gentler country, where snow-covered fields stretched between dark forests and the mountains loosened their hold on the landscape.
For a while neither of them spoke. After everything that had been said among the ruins, the silence no longer felt heavy. If anything, it offered a welcome respite, allowing them to sit beside one another without the pressure of difficult questions or painful memories.
More than once, Eira caught herself glancing toward her sister. She had always known that Maelin would have changed—years had passed, after all—but seeing those changes with her own eyes was something entirely different.
The pregnancy was impossible to miss now.
When Maelin had mounted her horse near the tower, the movement had been slower and more deliberate than Eira remembered, and since then she had shifted carefully in the saddle whenever the road became uneven.
She looked older than Eira remembered, though not in any way that suggested age.
Rather, she carried the quiet confidence of someone who had spent years building a life of her own, and that transformation felt stranger to Eira than the pregnancy itself.
“You’re still staring as though you’re trying to decide whether I’m real,” Maelin remarked without looking at her.
“Maybe I am.”
“I assure you, I’m real.”
“I’m reserving judgment.”
“Wise.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Eira’s lips.
“You were always a terrible rider.”
Eira turned toward her in disbelief.
“What?”
“It’s true.”
“It absolutely is not.”
“Very much so.”
“I’ve been riding since I could walk.”
“Which makes it all the more impressive.”
The argument that followed was so absurdly familiar that it seemed to erase the distance between them for a little while.
Ironfang, Frostvein, the war, and everything that had happened since their last meeting receded into the background, leaving behind only two sisters arguing over an old memory neither of them was willing to surrender.
Eventually the conversation drifted elsewhere.
“My son is nine now.”
Eira frowned.
“Nine?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
“That’s exactly what I said when he turned eight.”
Eira shook her head.
“Nine years ago, we were practically children ourselves.”
“You see my problem.”
A soft laugh escaped her.
“And your daughter?”
Maelin's expression softened immediately.
“She’s six.”
“What’s she like?”
“Stubborn.”
“Clearly takes after someone else.”
“That’s what I keep telling everyone.”
“Without success?”
“Absolutely none.”
They both laughed.
The sound lingered between them as the road curved through a stretch of snow-covered fields, and for the first time since their reunion, the conversation began to feel natural rather than careful.
“Last week she decided all the birds must be cold.”
“That sounds sweet.”
“It would have been sweet if she hadn't tried to feed them inside the house.”
Eira turned toward her.
“Inside the house?”
“Inside the house.”
“How?”
“I still don't know.”
“And how many birds ended up inside?”
“More than I would have preferred.”
Eira laughed.
“You're joking.”
“I wish I were.”
Maelin adjusted the reins and smiled despite herself.
“Aldric thought it was hilarious.”
“That’s your husband?”
“Yes.”
“Then he’s clearly wiser than you.”
“Or perhaps he simply wasn't the one cleaning up afterward.”
The exchange earned another round of laughter, and Eira found herself studying her sister again.
Listening to her speak so casually about children, household disasters, and a husband she mentioned with easy familiarity felt oddly disorienting.
Letters and occasional messages had kept them from becoming complete strangers, but those fragments had never truly conveyed what Maelin's life had become.