Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The morning of the Winter Solstice, Palla woke up at the kitchen table.

She wished she could say this was unusual. It was unfair— she finally had hours that let her get a full night’s sleep at home, and yet she could never make herself stay asleep for longer than a few hours at a stretch, and when she did manage, her back ached so much she might as well have stood all night. Even the couch just felt too soft. More and more often, she found herself staying up, finding something to work on by lamplight.

Well, she might as well lean into it. Her new job was mostly desk work— Guard-Officer meant that she wasn’t the one immediately responding when someone called for a city guard, but she was the one whose job it was to take all the reports the rank-and-file made, turn them into something following formula, and then put them in with the rest of the incident reports, where anything solved or, for that matter, anything short of urgent would spend the rest of its life in a cabinet.

Palla only ever investigated the urgent cases anyway— things like murder and kidnapping and robbery (if the victim was rich)— but those just didn’t happen often, or if they did, they didn’t get reported, which seemed more likely. Her days were mostly spent filing the reports for the soldiers in her division— though lately she’d taken to filing reports for her desk neighbor, too, because otherwise nothing above the bare minimum would get done. Desk work, though, was easy to put into a folder and take home to file the next day.

It was mind-numbingly easy, but Palla had always had a head for numbers, and she needed something to occupy her time with now that the soil had frozen for the winter. In a way, it was ironic— Palla worked a human number of hours and got paid what her labor was worth, but she still found ways to fill her time with Macedon business.

It was the early morning, early enough that it was still dark. Est was asleep, sprawled out on the bedding in front of the hearth, but Catria’s side was empty. The floorboards overhead creaked— Catria was awake, then, probably getting changed. Palla must’ve fallen asleep over her reports.

She stretched, the joints in her back cracking loudly like they were complaining about being hunched over her arms at the table for so long, and grimaced at the pain that came with it. Maybe this was just her life now: back pain and no sleep. Catria climbed back down the ladder from the attic and lingered by the table, squinting at Palla’s reports.

“They’re just making stuff up,” she decided. “You can’t have all of that happen in a single day.”

“Macedon’s a big city,” Palla replied, leafing through the stack to see where she’d left off. “It’s mostly just citations, anyway— carts too close to a gutter, or merchants selling alcohol before six in the evening, or noise complaints for street bards.”

Catria made a face, starting the kitchen pump to wash her hands for breakfast. “What, the Macedon Guard doesn’t have any more important things to do?”

“Certainly not that they’ve told me.” Palla picked up her pen again and went back to forging her co-worker’s handwriting, which wasn’t difficult. “But I’m just a guard.”

“I thought you got a promotion,” Catria pointed out.

Palla grimaced. “Right, my mistake. I’m a guard with a desk.”

Catria crouched in front of the oven, grimacing at the soot buildup but ultimately deciding that cleaning it could wait for after breakfast. She chucked a few logs from the wood pile and crumpled newspapers into the fire chamber, then lit the flame with a piece of flint from one of the drawers. Palla watched idly as she turned the crank to open the stove grate, filled a kettle with water from the inside pump, and set it on the grate to heat up. The Skylark’s stove was a hulking creature all of cast iron, made thick and durable. It’d been there since the house was built when Palla’s grandfather was young, and Palla was pretty sure it’d be there long after the rest of the house had collapsed, like some kind of totem to modern manufacturing (and given what it’d cost to put in, Palla sure hoped it’d been made to last).

Catria pulled a loaf of bread from the bread box and started cutting it into slices. “Are you staying for breakfast, Palla?” she asked.

“Sure,” Palla shrugged. “I don’t have to leave until five.”

Catria squinted. “I thought your shift started at eight.”

“I like to get there early,” Palla replied. “That way I can turn in these reports for Commander Drakon before the day shift begins.”

“That just sounds like you’re making more work for yourself,” Catria said matter-of-factly, dropping a pad of butter in an iron skillet and setting it next to the kettle with a heavy clonk. “And you’re still doing your co-worker’s reports, too?”

“Nothing would get done otherwise,” Palla protested. The teapot started whistling, so Palla left her reports on the table to tend to it. She set three mugs on the countertop and rummaged through the cabinet for wherever it was she remembered the teabags being. “Catria, where are the teabags?”

Catria sighed. “Next cabinet over, bottom shelf. You are ridiculous ,” she decided, punctuating her statement by pulling out three stoneware plates from the cabinet and plunking them onto the countertop. “You’re overworking yourself because you think nobody’s going to do the work except you, so you might as well do it no matter how much work it actually is.”

Palla scoffed, stopping midway through pouring water over a teabag. “Pot, have you met kettle?” she said pointedly, gesturing to the teapot in her hands. “I could say the same about you.”

Catria opened her mouth in outrage and then shut it again, her cheeks pink. “Well— I— whatever, it doesn’t matter that much.”

Palla tried not to let her smirk show. “Whatever you say.”

As the sun started to poke its way over the dusty gray horizon in a late midwinter sunrise, Catria cracked eggs into the skillet and let them sizzle, and the living area of the Skylark home filled with the smells of toast and fried eggs. Palla went out to feed the pegasi, tend to the chickens, and saddle Bluebell for the ride into Macedon. She set the basket of fresh eggs on the counter for Catria.

In front of the fireplace, Est yawned, rubbing her eyes. “What time’s it?” she mumbled. “Breakfast?”

“In a bit,” Catria replied. “Go get dressed and wash your face. And make sure to get behind your ears!”

Est grunted acknowledgement, peeling herself off the bedding. Palla set coasters over the mugs of tea to let them steep and started to put her reports away, back into the folder for transport back to Macedon. Her new guard coat, its stitches still tight and the fabric not yet worn to familiar softness, hung with a new scarf, gray with a round bronze badge showing off her Guard-Officer status, on the back of her chair. A promotion had come with a new uniform, and while Palla was glad to have one fitted to her size at age twenty (as opposed to repeatedly letting out the seams in a uniform fitted to her when she was six years younger, five inches shorter, and a good bit chubbier), the crispness of it made her feel like she was back in that footman’s uniform she’d “secret-borrowed” from Drakon Manor.

Est thumped back down the ladder from the attic, fully dressed, though her shirt was buttoned wrong, so her collar was lopsided. Her sweater must’ve belonged to their father at some point, because it was big enough on Est (who was taller than Catria and rapidly catching up to Palla in size) that the sleeves reached her fingertips. She pushed back the sleeves to pick up one of the mugs of tea, remove the coaster, and reach across the countertop to grab the bowl of brown sugar. She dumped in a heaping spoonful, stirred until it dissolved, tasted it, and then added more.

“You’re going to make all your teeth fall out,” Catria scolded. “Did you remember to put on the long johns?”

Est groaned. “Do I have to?”

“Freeze, then.”

“I don’t know, I’m on Est’s side here,” Palla admitted. “It’s not that cold.”

Catria squinted at her. “You did just go outside to feed the pegasi, right? That involved leaving the house?”

“Yes,” Palla said. “What’s your point?”

“It’s freezing, Palla, that’s the point,” Catria replied. “You know Est, she’s gonna get her socks wet while fishing and end up catching her death of a cold if she doesn’t have an extra layer.”

“They’re itchy!” Est whined. “And too small, too! I can’t find any bigger ones than Palla’s.”

Palla went to the window and opened the shutters. She touched the windowpane and her nail beds immediately went blue. Okay, maybe it was kind of cold.

“There are probably some upstairs, in some old trunk we couldn’t sell,” Palla guessed. “And, okay, Catria’s right, it’s pretty chilly. So unless you want to stay inside all day…”

Est groaned dramatically, slumping over in her chair until her forehead hit the table with a thunk. “Fine, fine,” she sighed. “I’ll put on the stupid underwear.”

“You won’t think it’s stupid when it saves you from needing to get your fingers amputated,” Catria called as Est thumped up the staircase to the unused upstairs bedrooms in search of her prize. Honestly, Palla could no longer remember what was up there and what wasn’t. They’d had to get rid of most of the furniture to pay for funeral costs, so anything that was in a trunk or chest of drawers got stuffed somewhere else, and Palla hadn’t been able to make herself go through all that stuff before she started working. Est might have better luck searching in the attic.

“So, what time are you coming home tonight?” Catria asked, scooping the eggs off the skillet and dropping them onto the slabs of toast.

Palla shrugged. “Eight, nine,” she guessed. “Why?”

“Because it’s a holiday, duh,” Est chimed in, plunking her plate down on the table and plopping into the seat with enough force to make it tip back. “It’s the Solstice . Y’know, the one day of the year it’s socially acceptable to go through your dead relatives’ shit and watch it float down the river on a burning barge?”

“Oh, right.” That was today. “It must’ve slipped my mind.”

Which was kind of impressive, really, since the Solstice was a holiday everywhere. But as far as Palla knew, it wasn't a holiday-holiday anywhere but Annsbury. The universal traditions were exchanging gifts and spending time with family, because the winter solstice marks the midpoint of the coldest season, when you’re spending time cooped up inside with them anyway, so presumably the gift exchange breaks the monotony and makes it less likely you’ll end up killing each other.

But Annsbury mashed it with a different holiday from long and long ago, with a name and many other customs that’ve faded to obscurity. The one that’s survived is remembering your dead on the coldest, darkest day of the year by taking something old of theirs, if you have something you can part with, and chucking it onto a barge with the rest of the town. Then the whole town watches while the barge floats down the river, and someone lights the whole shebang on fire. It’s supposed to represent moving on from your loved ones’ deaths by severing physical connections to them, but Palla was pretty sure the only reason that tradition has survived so long was because people just like setting shit on fire.

“You missed last year,” Est said. “We burned a pair of Dad’s socks and one of Mother’s old aprons.” She paused. “Least I hope it was Mother’s. Unless Catria’s missing an ugly orange apron with yellow buttons.”

“I would not be caught dead in orange,” Catria said matter-of-factly, setting a plate in front of Palla. “That was definitely Mother’s.”

“Sounds like a great time,” Palla said, cutting into the yolk of her egg with her fork. The whites were firm, but the yolks were still runny— just the way she liked it. “Can’t believe I’ve been missing out. But I didn’t get days off until now.”

“You mean the Solstice ain’t a holiday in Macedon?” Est asked with her mouth full. Catria gave her a Look. Est rolled her eyes and washed her food down with a swig of illegally-sugary tea.

“Not as much. Just a day.” Palla shrugged. “They do go all out for the new year, though. They load boats full of fireworks and set them off on the lake. I’ve only ever watched from a distance, but it’s a pretty sight.”

Est’s face lit up. “ We should get fireworks,” she said. “Catria, can we—“

“No,” Catria cut her off.

Est pouted. “Palla, can—“

“Not a chance.”

“Aww.” Est groaned, slumping back in her chair. “You two never let me have any fun.”

“Est, you’ve managed to cause all kinds of mayhem with a wrench and an old clock,” Catria pointed out. “If we gave you fireworks, I’m not confident Annsbury would survive.”

Est rolled her eyes. Out of immature spite, she picked up one of her eggs and slurped it whole.

“I can probably convince Commander Drakon to let me off a little early,” Palla admitted. “What time’s the barge setting off?”

“At sundown,” Est said. “So, half-past-five-ish?”

Palla wanted to grimace, but didn’t. Three was earlier than she’d ever left work. But Commander Drakon would probably understand, and as much as she disliked the idea, they were stable enough that Palla could clock out a little early and take the hit to her daily pay. She didn’t want to miss another Solstice, not when she’d already missed so many.

“Yeah, I can manage that,” Palla nodded. “How about I meet you both at the river and we can go home together afterwards?”

Est’s face lit up. “Really, Palla?”

“You have my word,” Palla promised. “Though if that’s the case, I should really head out now rather than later…”

Catria rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine, sure,” she conceded. “Just finish breakfast first? I don’t want stuff going to waste ‘cause you’re in too much of a hurry to eat a real meal.”

Palla shrugged. “Fair enough.”

She finished breakfast quickly, washed her face, brushed her hair, and buttoned up her uniform. Catria and Est saw her off, watching from the warmth of inside the house and waving until she was out of sight.

Est’s breath steamed up the pockmarked glass of the window as she craned her neck, looking in vain for Palla’s pegasus. When she couldn’t find it, she switched to the other window to watch it soar into the sky, leaning over a table full of gardening supplies and kneeling on the armrest of the sofa in order to do so. Her face and hands smudged the window panes, and Catria gave her a whap with the end of her broom.

“Quit that, I just washed those,” she scolded.

“My hands aren’t that messy,” Est replied, sticking out her tongue. But she sat back on the couch anyway, the frame creaking with age under her weight. “Hey, Catria, do you have Palla’s Solstice present? What’re you getting her?”

“A scarf,” Catria replied. Catria got them both scarves every year. “Why do you ask? Did you forget to get her a present again?”

“No,” Est lied.

Catria raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe a little,” Est admitted. “But! I’ve got an idea.”

“I’m wary of your ideas,” Catria said. “The last time you had an idea, it ended with someone’s underwear hanging from the Mila statue in town.”

“It was an accident ,” Est mumbled. “Luke didn’t tell me he was bringing the goat.”

“I suppose it can’t be any worse,” Catria admitted. “So what’s your idea?”

Est grinned, bouncing on her seat on the couch. “So. I was talking with Luke the other day—“

“That’s not a promising start,” Catria said dryly.

“Shush, you.” Est stuck her tongue out. “Anyway, he said he’d heard about a dragon in the woods north of the river. A dragon with a hoard of treasure! I bet if I got just a little tiny piece, I could sell it’n find something really really nice for Palla in town.”

“Sure, but,” Catria said. “Dragons aren’t real. They’re stories.”

“Well, they used to live around here, in the mountains around the valley,” Est insisted, leaning forward. “Genny told me so. Genny knows a lot about history ‘cause she’s a chapel girl.”

“Oh, well, if that’s the case,” Catria rolled her eyes. “You know that stuff about dragons and heroes hasn’t existed for like… a hundred years, at least. It’s fun to think about them, sure, but now? It’s just stories.”

Est leaned on the couch armrest. “Well, alright, sure. But if they are still around—“

“Which they aren’t, because that’s a fairy tale,” Catria interrupted. “So there’s no point in the rest of whatever you’re saying.”

Est puffed out her cheeks. “Since when did you get so stuck-up about this kind of thing?” she asked. “You used to like fairy tales.”

Catria scoffed. “Yeah, when I was ten,” she said. “We’re not little kids anymore, Est. It’s the nineties. Grow up.” Seventeen-nineties, but who was counting?

“I feel like there’s some kind of middle ground between little kids and boring adults,” Est replied.

“You just don’t get it,” Catria said. “You’re just not grown yet, Est. One day you’ll understand that being grown means leaving fairy tales and things behind to get real things done.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Est said matter-of-factly. “That’s not what being grown is about. Being grown is eating chicken soup even when you’re not sick.”

“You’d have to make it yourself,” Catria replied.

Est nodded sagely. “That’s the grown part.”

“Well, when you’re really grown, you’ll see what I mean,” Catria insisted.

Est doubted that, but didn’t feel like arguing the point any longer. “Yeah, I guess,” she conceded. Then she swung her legs and hopped off the couch. “I’m gonna go tell Genny about my great idea. I bet she’ll think it’s cool.”

“Don’t get lost on your way back,” Catria called, as Est took her coat off the rack and laced up her boots, escaping into the cool winter evening.

Est’s breath steamed in the air and her boots crunched as she walked down the road, the fields— barley and wheat, sticking up from the snow— swaying in the breeze. Est’s boots kicked up a fine layer of dirt on the unpaved road, leaving a row of footprints. There was no real need to rush— Genny had told her that chores didn’t end until after sundown, and there was always work to be done. Whether or not Genny would let her help was kind of up in the air, but Est figured anything was better than sticking around and getting scolded by Catria because Catria didn’t get enough time to rest and was too stubborn to admit it.

Genny was putting out the lanterns on the front of the chapel when Est walked up. “Hey, stranger,” Est called, leaning on the front fence. Genny brightened visibly even in the still-growing morning light, and waved at Est, her other hand cinching close the fabric of her shawl.

“It’s so early,” she said to Est, jogging down to the front fence. Her hair floated around her head like spun sugar. “What are you doing all the way out here? You’ll catch cold.”

Est waved a hand. “I’ll be fine, I’ve got a coat,” she said. “Need any help?”

Genny looked back at the chapel. “No,” she admitted. “But-- you came all this way, so I guess I can’t just send you home…”

Est felt a little bad. “I guess it is kinda early to come over and chat,” she admitted. “Are you busy tomorrow? I can come back.”

“No,” Genny set her jaw. “No, it’s okay! We could… we could go up to my room for a bit. Father Nomah won’t mind.”

Or,” Est began, a grin spreading across her face. “We could do something risky.”

Genny hesitated. “I don’t know, Est…”

“It’s the perfect opportunity,” Est insisted. “Genny, get this. I heard tell that there’s a dragon that resides outside town, north of the big river. A real dragon!”

Genny’s eyes widened. “A real dragon?”

Hook, line, and sinker. “Yeah, I heard it from Luke Fairchester,” she said. “Would he lie?” The answer to that was yes, actually, Luke Fairchester was prone to lying to try and impress the girls in town, and it was him trying that on Est in the first place that made Est aware of the dragon rumor. Luke had been boasting about meeting it and beating it at arm-wrestling, which Est seriously doubted, but if anywhere in the area were going to host a dragon, it’d be the woods north of the river. But Genny didn’t need to know that, and Est was pretty sure that if Luke bothered to boast about it, it had to have some truth to it.

So Genny bundled up and Est waited outside. It was still cold, the winter solstice announcing the season with the full brunt of ice and snow, and the low gray clouds heralded more to come. Genny had the foresight to bring a lantern, lit with a tiny flame from her hand. The woods wouldn’t be as bright, she reasoned, and she didn’t much want to fall into the river because she couldn’t see. Which made perfect sense to Est— gosh, she wouldn’t have thought of that! Genny was so smart.

The wind whistled through the fields and snowy pastures, the grass tickling against Est’s overalls. She could still feel the cold despite having tucked the pant legs into her boots. She felt it as it toyed with the collar of her flannel shirt, tugged on the end of the lumpy scarf Catria had knit her for the solstice last year. She kind of wished she’d remembered her mittens, but it was a little late for that, so jamming her hands into the pockets of her coat would have to do.

Genny, like a smart person who thought things, had brought her mittens. Like Est’s, her outerwear was mismatched and either too big or too small— though in Genny’s case, it was all too big, which Est supposed was the price of being the smallest. Est was in the middle of a growth spurt and Catria guessed it’d end with her taller than Catria was now, since Catria was sixteen and probably about done growing. The sleeves of Genny’s sweater fell past her hands, but at least she looked awfully warm. Est kind of regretted not putting on an extra sweater before she left the house.

“So, you think we’ll find a dragon?” Est asked as they made their way through the day. Genny’s lantern dangled from her mittened hand, unlit but ready to house a flame when they reached the shade of the woods.

“Well, I know they did exist, and if anywhere is going to house a dragon, it’d be in the woods,” Genny said. “But they’re very tricky. You can’t just waltz up and expect to see one, you know.”

“I wonder if we’ll have to pass a test of riddles,” Est guessed. “In that case, we’re up the creek, ‘cause I’m too dumb for that kinda stuff.”

“I don’t think dragons are the riddle-y type,” Genny said. “In the stories I’ve read, though, you have to entertain them. And it’s pretty unlikely they’ll just let us leave.”

“Oh, well, good thing I brought my knife,” Est decided, pulling her hunting knife from her pocket. “I can totally bring down a dragon with this. Aim for the eyes, you know.”

Genny looked doubtful. “Getting to the eyes in the first place would be a problem.”

Est waved a hand. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

Genny hummed. “Alright, sure,” she ceded. “But you know how strong dragons are.”

“So I’ll be careful,” Est said, waving a hand. “Don’t worry. Careful is my middle name.” The fact that Est actually went by her middle name was beside the point.

Genny didn’t seem very assured. “One knife against a whole dragon?”

“I’m very good with it,” Est promised. “And if worst comes to worst, dragons are reptiles, right? So I bet they’re really slow in the winter, because they’re cold. We could outrun it and go back home and live to tell the tale, and then we’d know better than dumb ol’ Luke the truth of there being a dragon up north of the river. Whatever happens, we’ll be fine.”

“You’re always so confident,” Genny mumbled. “How do you even manage it?”

“I’m not smart enough to think things through,” Est replied.

Genny snorted. Her breath steamed in the cold winter air. “You’re plenty smart,” she said.

“You don’t have to pretend,” Est chuckled. “We can’t all be smart, you know? Catria says we’re all good at different things, and I’m okay with that.”

That was one way of thinking about it. Genny chewed on the corner of her lip in thought, and nodded. “That’s a good way to see it,” she decided.

The wind blew cold across the fields. Est shivered, feeling it muss her already-messy hair. Genny noticed, and frowned.

“Let’s hurry up and get to the woods,” she suggested. “The trees will break up the wind, so it’s less cold.”

“Sure,” Est agreed. “Yeah, I bet it’ll be easier to find signs of the dragon in there, too. Trampled branches, and such.”

Genny was right. It was easier to walk once they got into the woods, not having to worry about stepping on something in the tall grass. The river beside them rushed, not yet frozen in the cold winter. Est and Genny stayed clear of the bank and the mud, knowing that falling in would mean getting sick or dying, and that was probably a bad move. Of course, Est had been sick maybe three times in her life that she could remember, but wasn’t too keen to test her immune system and repeat the experience.

The woods were covered in a blanket of snow and frost, their branches bare in the winter, and they were quiet. If it were warmer out, she’d see chipmunks and skunks. As it was, Est would probably spot a few raccoons if they weren’t so tricky. Est liked to think that she and the raccoons had an accord— they didn’t eat what she hunted, and she didn’t bother hunting them. She was probably imagining it, but it was fun to be fanciful sometimes.

Even with Genny’s lantern to cut the gloom, it was slow going. Est stumbled over roots she didn’t notice and bumped her shoulders into tree trunks she didn’t know were in the way. At least twice, she lost sight of Genny, which startled her more than she wanted to admit.

“Let’s hold hands,” Genny suggested when they reunited, offering Est one of her hands. “That way we won’t get separated again.”

“Sounds like a solid plan,” Est agreed, taking Genny’s hand. Her mittens were fuzzy, and her hands underneath were small.

They passed Est’s favorite fishing spot, about a quarter of a mile from her house. Est almost wanted to suggest that they call it a day, because her hands were numb and she wanted to go inside, but she couldn’t just leave Genny to walk all the way back alone. Est hadn’t seen any wolves, but she didn’t want to take that risk. She did, however, notice something else.

“Hey, the raft’s still here,” Est pointed out, nodding to the little dock. “I know we’re pretty close to the delta, but since it’s downstream, I bet this’ll get us there faster.”

“I don’t know,” Genny said uncertainly. “It’s already cold. It’ll be even colder on the river.”

“It’ll be fine,” Est insisted. “Aren’t you tired of walking? We’ll at least be able to sit down for a bit.”

Sitting down did sound awfully nice, so Genny caved and Est carefully helped her onto the little raft. Est hadn’t built it— it was there when she found the fishing spot three years back, and she’d asked everyone in town, but nobody’d claimed it. But it was solid construction, thin logs lashed together set on top of empty barrels and waterproofed with tar, and Est had been out on it before. She took the oar from where it lay on the dock and untied the mooring, letting the current start them moving and pushing off the dock with the oar to get them moving a little faster. Genny squeaked in surprise, gripping the oiled ropes tying the logs together, but didn’t fall off, so that was a good sign.

Genny pulled off her mitten and pushed her sleeve back. She dipped her hand into the water as they slowly drifted downstream, then yanked them back. “It’s cold!” she yelped, shaking the water off her hand.

“I’d sure hope so,” Est chuckled. “It’s winter, and the only reason it ain’t frozen all the way through is ‘cuz it’s moving.”

Genny frowned. “What do you do for fish, when the river freezes?”

“Ice fishing on the lake,” Est replied. “It’s harder to come by food in winter, yeah, but we get by. Even if I get awful tired of pickles by spring.” She made a face. Catria’s pickles were tasty, but not when she had them with every meal.

Genny nodded. “Father Nomah really likes your sister’s jam,” she said. “Every time the fall festival rolls around, he always keeps his eyes peeled for your market stall. His favorite is the strawberry-rhubarb.”

“Probably ‘cause the strawberry-rhubarb jam is about the best kind of jam, ever,” Est snorted. “But if that’s so, maybe I’ll bring some by as the winter goes on. We’ve got more winter squash and sugar beets than we know what to do with.” Come to think of it, had Palla planted for the winter? Est figured she had; she usually did, even if she was busy with other things.

“Father Nomah would like that a lot,” Genny promised. She hesitated. “And, um, so would I! Your jam, I mean. The blackberry is my favorite.”

“I can make that happen,” Est promised. “Catria will be glad I’m doing something useful with my time even when she’s not there to tell me what to do.”

“How’s the job working out for your sister, anyway?” Genny asked. “Doesn’t that mean both your sisters are working?”

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Est admitted. “It’s going well for Catria, though, s’ far as I know. She’s good at cooking, so it’s good that she gets to cook for a whole bunch of people. And her working for the Fairchesters means they cover our share of what we have to send up to Macedon, because we don’t make that much.”

Genny hummed. She shifted a little, rubbing her hands together and pulling the hood of her cape further over her head. The cold breeze rustled Est’s hair; she tugged at the fleece collar of her coat and wished, again, she’d remembered a hat.

Genny lifted her lantern and pointed downstream. “There’s the delta, right?” she said? “We must be nearly there.”

Est squinted through the darkness. The moon was out and bright, and cast just enough light that Est could see if she squinted. “Yeah, we’re close,” she said. “I don’t know where the dragon is , but I know it’s north of the delta. Probably just north, since dragons need to drink, and they’re very big, so rivers are probably the best source of water, right?”

Genny frowned. Est rowed the raft through the slow current of the delta and the larger river, feeling the current push them downstream. But Est pushed them through it, coming to another deck on the other, unfamiliar side of the delta. Est tossed the loop of rope over the mooring post. She helped Genny off the boat and back onto dry land. The deep woods loomed dark in front of them. It almost felt like the trees were breathing.

Genny shivered. “Maybe we should go back,” she said hesitantly.

“It’ll be fine,” Est insisted. “I’m not scared.”

“I wish I weren’t,” Genny mumbled. “But if I’m with you, then it’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, of course,” Est agreed. She pushed the undergrowth aside, holding Genny’s hand tight.

The woods were thicker and darker north of the river, enough that even the winter-bare foliage blotted out quite a lot of the light. Est quickly realized that she had no idea where she was going. She had pretty good bearings, and knew she was going north, but anything aside from that was a mystery.

Genny tugged on her hand. “Est, let’s go back,” she said. “It’s cold and I think if the dragon were here, we’d have found it by now.”

Est sighed. “Yeah, I guess,” she said. “Come on, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a road to town that starts around… here?”

The instant the words left her mouth, Est stumbled nearly face-first into a large clearing of twisted firs. The area was nearly perfectly circular, and the trees bent as if some massive force had pushed them outwards. It was flat and clear, and covered in a coat of fresh snowfall. In the center, something stuck out of the ground— something that looked unmistakably like the bones of a gigantic creature that’d died a very, very long time ago, with ivy crawling up its ribs and every bit of meat picked away.

Genny sucked in a gasp. Her grip around Est’s hand tightened. “Est…”

“What’n hell is that thing?” Est mumbled. “I wanna take a closer look.”

“It’s a dead thing!” Genny whimpered. “I-it’s a sin to poke around old bones, don’t you know that?”

“It’s dead, so it’s not gonna hurt anything,” Est said. “You can wait there, then! But this thing looks like a dragon, and if this is the dragon Luke talked about, then his hoard’s gotta be around somewhere.”

Genny frowned. She pulled her hand from Est’s and held onto the trunk of a twisted fir instead. “You’re out here for the hoard?”

“Just a little bit,” Est called back, pushing through the snow and rubbing her hands together. They’d turned the funny shade of pink that meant you should probably go inside and warm up. “Just one gem would set me an’ my sisters up for life. Then Palla wouldn’t have to work through any more Solstices and Catria could go back to school and start drawing again.”

Genny didn’t hear the last part, because she mumbled it to herself through her chattering teeth. There’d better be something there, if she was freezing her scrawny ass off to get this close.

The creature’s skeleton was even bigger up close. Its ribcage could’ve held the entire Skylark house, and that was saying something, because the Skylark house was a pretty good size. Its skull looked covered in snow and ivy, but looking at it from behind made Est very, very sure that it was a skull, and a dragon skull at that. She saw spines, ridges, and magnificent horns. The bones were weather-beaten and many were broken, having caved in under their own weight and decay. The jawbone lay with most of its teeth still there, embedded in the bone, but parts had broken off.

Without really realizing what she was doing, Est reached into the jawbone and picked up a slender little shard of a tooth about the length of her forearm, cold and stern in its ivory hardness. It was sharp, too, which Est found out when she reached up to touch it and accidentally cut her hand.

“Shit!” Est hissed, dropping the tooth and holding her hand over her bleeding palm. It didn’t hurt much, given how much Est got banged up on a daily basis, but it was obviously no papercut.

“Est!” Genny called. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Est called back. “Only bleeding a little.”

Even from several yards away, Est saw Genny put her hands on her hips in indignation before hurrying over on her short little legs, pulling off one of her mittens and stuffing it in her coat pocket.

“Honestly,” she scolded, taking Est’s hand in her own. “You seem to get hurt whenever I see you. I can’t believe you— be careful for once!” Her bare palm glowed with a pale yellow light. Est bit down hard on the inside of her cheek as searing heat burned through the cut on her palm as well as most of her arm. When Genny let her go, the cut had healed into fresh scar tissue, still tender and pink.

Est chuckled abashedly, tucking her hands into her pockets. “It’s a talent,” she shrugged. “Guess I’m just clumsy. Palla says it’s ‘cause I haven’t grown into my limbs yet.”

“You could always try not picking up strange pieces of dragon tooth,” Genny suggested. “Why did you, anyway?”

“I dunno,” Est shrugged. “It was there and I wanted to see closer. It’s just a buncha teeth in there, though. I don’t see anything that valuable, unless the bone itself sells for something.”

Genny furrowed her brow. She shivered, stepping closer to Est. “This is creepy,” she said. “We’re standing inside a dead thing!”

“All the flesh is gone now, so it’s fine,” Est insisted. “C’mon, it’s not like this thing is using ‘em for anything.” She leaned back into the jawbone and picked up the tooth fragment again. “Maybe I could sell this to folks who need ivory and stuff. It’s solid.” She knocked on the tooth with her knuckles, careful to avoid the cutting edge.

Genny didn’t seem convinced. “I guess,” she mumbled. “I don’t know. I just… have a bad feeling.”

“Don’t worry,” Est promised. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll protect you. So if Father Nomah scolds you, tell him it was my idea.”

Genny swatted Est’s arm lightly. “That’s not what I mean and you know it,” she said. “It’s like… oh, I don’t know, but I think something might happen. Things happen on the Solstice! You know!”

Est scowled. “Well, we can walk home once I find something valuable. You think this thing’ll sell for anything?”

“I mean, I suppose?” Genny guessed. “I don’t know what it’d be for, but it’s kind of pretty.”

It was. Now that Est noticed, the bones seemed less like ivory and more pearlescent, especially when she wiped off some of the frozen dirt. They caught the light with a sheen of pastel colors. If nothing else, someone would probably buy it just for that.

“I’m gonna see if anyone in town wants to buy it from me, then,” Est decided, sticking it in one of the deep pockets of her overalls. “No treasure, I guess, but maybe I’ll find some if I come back out here once the snow’s melted.”

“We should go back home,” Genny suggested. “If only so you can warm up. Your hands are half-frozen. Why don’t you have gloves?”

“Forgot ‘em at home,” Est admitted.

Genny tsked. She pulled off one of her mittens and handed it to Est, stuffing her free hand in her pocket. “Here, then,” she said. “Borrow mine so at least one of your hands doesn’t get gangrene or something awful like that.”

Genny’s mittens were too big for her hands, and they were made from soft blue yarn with warm fleece lining, still warm from where they were on Genny’s hands. Est’s fingertips were numb, and they prickled uncomfortably at suddenly being warmed. Genny’s other mittened hand reached up and took Est’s, while she jammed her other hand in her pocket.

“Let’s go back to the chapel,” she suggested. “Alright?”

“Yeah, alright,” Est agreed. “I guess it’s a bit chilly.”

The snow crunched under their boots as they returned to the forest. Est sent a glance back at the skeleton over her shoulder. She couldn’t help but wonder what in the world it was— and what in the world had killed it.

The walk back to the chapel felt shorter than the walk there. They crossed a bridge over the river and watched, looking downstream from the delta at the townsfolk preparing the Solstice barge. Est must’ve looked pensive, because Genny nudged her.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked.

“Just thinking about the Solstice,” Est shrugged. “Since it’s today and all. Palla said she’ll ask to get off work early so she can be here.”

“Oh, that’s good, then!” Genny said. “Right?”

“Sure, assuming she actually, you know,” Est gestured vaguely. “ Does it.”

Genny frowned. “Why wouldn’t she?”

Est felt bad for even admitting it, and squirmed uncomfortably in her father’s orange sweater. “Well, she’s missed the Solstice for the past five years,” she said. “But it’s ‘cause she had to work so much ‘cause she didn’t get paid enough. She just recently got promoted and started working hours that let her sleep, but she still doesn’t, I know she doesn’t. And I know she does more work than she’s asked ‘cause the people around her don’t.”

Est sighed. “She’s always been like that. When Mother died, Dad didn’t really do much parenting and only barely kept the farm afloat, so Palla basically raised us herself. She’s done way way more than her share since I was like, two. And everyone says it’s ‘cause she’s hardworking, but I don’t know if they really get how hard it is. Like, why is it a good thing? It’s not fair and it’s why she’s missed so many Solstices. Which is stupid and selfish of me to say, but— I just want to have the whole family together for one dumb holiday.”

She leaned her arms on the bridge railing as the Annsbury River flowed below, deep green and murky and full of fish. Genny was quiet, and Est regretted ever opening her stupid mouth.

“Sorry for dropping all that on you,” Est mumbled. “S’just been on my mind.”

“No, it’s okay,” Genny promised. “Um— I’m sorry. I get it, though. Holidays are supposed to be with family, you know? And we’ve both got some. I love Father Nomah and Silque and Celica and Mae and Boey and his family. But sometimes I wish my parents were around, too. Even if I don’t remember them, and if they didn’t want me.”

“That’s stupid,” Est decided. “Who wouldn’t want you? You’re great. You’re sweet and nice and you’re really good at baking.”

Genny giggled. “It’s sweet of you to say so, Est.”

“Only ‘cause it’s true,” Est replied. She idly picked at the loose threads on her coat. Her father’s sweater itched even through her overalls and her flannel shirt and the long johns Catria had insisted on that Est was now really glad she’d worn. “It’s probably stupid to wish for Palla to show when I know she only works so hard for me and Catria.”

“Well,” Genny said. “She did promise this time. So at the very least it’s okay to feel slighted if she doesn’t show up.”

Est will admit that. “I guess so.”

Genny reached out and squeezed her hand. “Let’s go home.”

The Skylark farm was closer, but Est wasn’t raised to leave a girl to walk home by herself, so she went the extra literal mile and walked Genny back to the chapel. She hadn’t realized how long they’d been gone— the sun was at its peak, and Est’s stomach started to mumble and make Est aware that it was lunchtime. She waved goodbye to Genny and turned back to walk home, back through the snow.

She kicked it up as she went, sending fresh snowfall spraying over the ground. The walk home felt longer without having Genny to talk with as they walked. When she got back, she stomped the snow off her boots and shook it off her coat. She smelled food— something good. Her stomach growled again.

“You were out a while,” Catria noticed, from her position on the couch with a pile of stitching. “What did you even get up to?”

Est wiggled out of her coat and plopped onto the couch with enough force to jostle the mending pile. “Okay, get this. So Genny and I went to the woods because we wanted to see if the dragon rumor was true and we went downstream and north of the delta and we found this real big clearing with some real huge bones in it, and I think they have to be ancient dragon bones because what else is that big, right? And anyway so I didn’t find any remnants of its hoard but I did find a part of one of its teeth and I’m gonna sell it ‘cause I’m sure someone somewhere will want it.”

Catria hummed. “Well, that’s nice. I’m glad you had fun.”

Est loved her sister, really, but the phrase “that’s nice,” even from her sisters, generally fills her with ungodly amounts of rage. Est huffed and slugged Catria in the shoulder.

“Ow!” Catria yelped, dropping her mending. “What was that for?”

“You’re not listening to me,” Est said. “It’s all true. And I’ve got the tooth right here.” She wiggled it out of her pocket, careful of the sharp edges. It was as pearlescent as it had been in the clearing, and Est didn’t doubt that at one time it coursed with magic.

Catria blinked. “I thought you were making stuff up.”

Est put a hand to her chest in mock offense. “Me, make stuff up? When have I ever done that, Catria?”

“Well, you were real good at it last summer,” Catria mumbled.

“That was to your benefit!” Est protested. “If I hadn’t distracted Mr. Tyson when he almost caught you and his son fooling around behind the store, then both you and him would’ve been in big trouble. I did you a favor.”

Catria put her hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine,” she sighed. “What exactly is that thing?”

“Shard of a dragon tooth, I think,” Est said. “Either way, look how it’s sparkly! It’s gotta be some kind of quality ivory.”

“It’s really neat, sure,” Catria admitted, picking her mending back up. “Did you find Palla a present?”

Ah, right. Est knew she’d forgotten something.

It must’ve shown on her face, because Catria sighed. “Look, just carve her something and she’ll love it because it came from you.”

“Just carve something,” Est mocked. “Those things take weeks! It’s not like drawin’ a picture!”

“Well, it’s a better idea than any you’ve got, genius,” Catria shot back. “I don’t know, just take something done and put it in a bag.”

Est sighed. “I guess I’ll think of something,” she conceded. “What time’s it?”

“Just past one,” Catria said. “Did you eat lunch?”

“No,” Est admitted. “What’d you make?”

“I baked some potatoes,” Catria replied. “But you weren’t here, so I just made the one. You’re on your own for lunch.”

Est made a face. “You’re a horrible sister. You’re starving me, you know,” she said, while actively going to the kitchen and pulling a cured sausage and some cheese out of cold storage. “ Palla wouldn’t do this to me,” she added, with her mouth full.

Catria rolled her eyes. “Swallow your food first, Est.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

At five-ten, the snow had passed and the sky had cleared, and the sun was turning the sky brilliant colors. Est put the finishing touches on a carved figurine and then dropped it into a cloth bag with her present for Catria, if only so she’ll stop messing with it. Not that that’s stopped her at all— that was the sixth time she’d put on “the finishing touches.”

Catria thumped down the stairs with two moth-eaten handkerchiefs in her hands. “Get your coat on, Est,” she said. “We have to leave now if we’re gonna get there in time for the barge. And for the love of pete, stop messin’ with that carving.”

“I’m done, I promise,” Est insisted, pulling her coat on. Catria tossed a scarf at her, which hit her in the back of the head, and by the time Est had put it on, she had a hat ready to throw, too.

“And mittens,” Catria said pointedly, when Est took the hat. “They’re in your pockets.”

“O- kay , o- kay ,” Est groaned. “I’m all bundled up now. Happy?”

“Not as happy as you’ll be when you avoid getting frostbite,” Catria replied, wiggling her own mittens on and pulling the door open. “Palla would probably have my head if I let you go out at night, on the Solstice , without your mittens.”

“Mittens are stupid,” Est mumbled, shutting the front door behind her while Catria led Josephine out to the front. “I’m not a baby. I can put my fingers in the finger holes.”

“Hurry up,” Catria called from the saddle. “And try not to fall off this time.”

Est swung her leg onto the saddle behind her. “Not my fault saddles are made for one person, not two,” she said. “Ow. You know, this is really squishing my—“

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll shove you off the saddle,” Catria said venomously.

“Wow, way to get into the Solstice spirit,” Est drawled, gripping the sides of the saddle for any purchase at all as Catria prodded Josephine into a trot down the road.

“Gods, shut up,” Catria muttered.

By the time they reached the riverbank just outside of Annsbury proper, it was nearly five-thirty and the sun had almost set all the way. The entire rest of the town was gathered around a barge loaded with articles of clothing from dead relatives that nobody else was going to get any use out of. Catria and Est each took one handkerchief and set them on the barge with the rest. It was just like every other Solstice for the past five years, except—

“Oh, what a relief, I made it,” Palla breathed, pulling Bluebell into a stop beside Josephine and dismounting “I’m sorry, you two, I meant to be here a little earlier, but I had a lot of papers to collect, and Forsyth, bless him, kept trying to talk to me, and—“

Est crashed into her with a big hug. Palla, once she could breathe again, chuckled a little and mussed Est’s hair. Palla wasn’t taller by much, but it was enough. Even Catria couldn’t play it cool for very long. For a moment, everything felt, to Est, like things were as they should be.

“So,” Palla asked, once they’d let go. “What are we burning?”

“I found a couple of old handkerchiefs in the trunk of stuff upstairs, in one of the bedrooms,” Catria said. She hesitated. “You don’t have some sort of like, sentimental attachment to either of ‘em, right?”

Palla considered this. “Nah,” she decided. “No one was gonna use those anyway. That’d be kind of gross.”

“Good, ‘cause they’re going up in flames,” Est said. “Oh, look! They’re gonna set off!”

With a heave, the boat set off, drifting down the bank. From the Fairchester Bridge, Annsbury’s strongest and most accurate archer drew his bow, its arrowhead dipped in pitch and set alight. It burned bright in the dusk like someone had pulled down a star, and it soared like one when he loosed it, sending it in an arc, clear and true, to the barge. The flames spread, slowly consuming the old clothing and, eventually, it’d burn up the barge as well, but that was miles and miles downriver. For the moment the clothes burned turning into ash that scattered in the cold night breeze, symbolically severing another tie between the dead and the physical world.

Palla put one arm around Catria and one arm around Est. “Now how’s that for a good Solstice,” she said decisively. “Burning stuff never gets old.”

“I’d agree, but you two never let me burn stuff,” Est replied.

“For a reason , you doorknob,” Catria pointed out. “You’d set the whole town on fire!”

“Not on purpose!” Est insisted.

“Oh, like that makes it any better—“

Catria cut herself off when she heard Palla chuckling. She exchanged a quick glance with Est before looking back to Palla. She was smiling, the corners of her eyes scrunching and her cheeks dimpling, looking nineteen years old— for once in her life, she actually looked her age, eye bags and all.

“Come on, you two,” she said. “Let’s head home. I’ve got presents.”

“Presents!” Est cheered. “Oh, Palla, you wanna know what I got up to today?”

“What’d you get up to, Est?”

“Well, so, I went to the chapel to go see Genny— I’ve told you about Genny, right— anyway, so, my friend Luke told me a rumor about a dragon living in the woods and I wanted to go see if it was true…”

The night was dark and long and cold, the coldest night of the year. But part of the celebration of the Solstice is that, once you’ve gotten through it, the rest of the winter won’t be so bad. The Solstice was about surviving through the worst of the winter and coming out on the other side. More than that, it was about hope, and sticking with the people around you for the rest of the season, since you’ve already survived this far together.

That was what Palla felt; that the worst was over, that things would get better from here. And things would get better, both for her and for her sisters— she’d make sure of it, like she’d promised she would.