“Of course it’s true,” Laya said. Eti stuck her tongue out at her, and Laya stuck out her tongue back.

With Laya’s attention on her younger sister, Aki barreled toward her, catching her off guard. He hauled Laya over his shoulder like a sack of rice. “Does this count as cheating, my dear?” he asked.

Laya pounded his back while her sisters howled. “Let me down, Father! That’s not fair!” she cried. But Laya could never be angry with her father. Even as she protested, tears of laughter streamed down her cheeks.

“I thought you couldn’t cheat!” Aki teased.

“I’ll save you, Laya!” Eti ran for them, tackling their father at the knees. With a dramatic cry, he tumbled to the ground and Laya with him. Before they could get up, Bulan threw herself atop the pile. All four of them collapsed on the tiled ground, their shoulders shaking as they laughed.

Warmth burst inside Duja’s chest as she watched the scene unfold. She leaned against the glass, her joy numbing the stabs of pain shooting down her fingertips. “They’re happy,” she said, more to herself than to Ariel.

He gave her a shy smile. “A happy family indeed.”

Duja looked back at her children. It was so rare to see them like this, especially Laya. A broad, unguarded grin stretched across Laya’s face. She looked as young as Eti when she smiled like that. Duja saw bits of herself and Aki in Laya’s face; but, with her sharp gaze and delicate features, Laya looked most like her uncle.

Oh, Pangil. Lately, she saw her brother everywhere. Duja still pictured Pangil as a young man, lithe and handsome with skin the shade of narra wood. She remembered when they played in the courtyard as children. As she watched her daughters, another rare and tender memory struck her, of another sunny day, the day Imeria Kulaw challenged Duja to a race.

“First to the garden gate wins the loser’s yam cakes,” Imeria had said. She was smaller than Duja, and she ran on much shorter legs. That did not deter the Kulaw girl. She set her jaw as she tucked her hair into a neat plait that wound over Imeria’s shoulder like an eel. Imeria had thick, straight hair the shade of ink. For weeks, Duja had itched to touch those strands. Surely, they weren’t as silky as they looked.

Duja’s cheeks had heated at the mere thought. She tightened the straps of her sandals to distract herself from Imeria’s troublesome beauty. When Duja reached down, a shadow stretched across the tiles at her feet. She looked up.

Pangil stood before them, coconut flakes dusting the corners of his lips. He had been raiding the palace kitchen for sweets again. It was the first time in days she saw no contempt in his expression. He stared down at her and placed his hands on his hips.