“Ye couldn’t be ugly if ye wanted to,” Kernan said. It was very much the right thing to say, and Lana beamed from ear to ear.

They stood and then, together, hand in hand, walked back to the village.

Neither of them was aware of the twin spots of glowing gold on her ankles. Nor were they aware of the snakelike roots dripping golden liquid that slunk back beneath the ground under the very spot they’d been laying.

Nine months later

Last Dawn, Finfalla

They wouldn’t stop crying. One would’ve been hard enough, but the pair of them were relentless. The moment Lana fed and soothed one of her sons, the other would awaken, ravenous and angry at being awake, or being hungry, or at her for not having enough milk to go around, or perhaps angry at the world itself.

Her husband of only six months, Karnan, was gone from before first light to well after the gods had stretched their curtain of darkness from the edge of the ocean to the edge of the land. He tried to help, he really did, but he was dead on his feet after a long day of toiling under the sun on the pier. He’d once been a fisherman, as most residents of the small but bustling town were, but after Last Dawn had been recognized by King Artemus Vedran as a major port of call, Karnan had jumped at the opportunity to increase the consistency of his wages by the steady work offered to any dockhand willing to labor tirelessly.

Lana would rather he made half the coin if only he was around to hold one of the twins while she slept a wink or ten. Despite her efforts, her parents had never forgiven her for marrying a Finfallian, and had left to return to Crimea before the wedding. Thus, she had no family to speak of, at least none within reach. She had a few friends, of course, mostly other immigrants, but she didn’t want to be a burden; after all, they had their own growing families to look after, and she’d been taught to be self-sufficient, to support her husband, and, above all else, to be strong.

Sometimes she felt as though all her strength had been sucked right out of her by Ludo and Gado. Sometimes she cried, her tears wetting their hair. Sometimes she fell asleep in odd positions, not remembering having sat in that chair or on the floor against the wall. Whenever she awoke with a jerk, they were always crying, demanding to be heard.

Demanding, always demanding.

“When is ye next day off?” she said without preamble the moment Kernan stumbled through the door. There was something a bit crooked about his gait, and the pungent aroma of booze swept into her nostrils. “Ye’ve been drinkin’, haven’t ye? An’ me ’ere with these wee devils? Ye bastard.” They rarely fought, their relationship amicable and loving for the short time it had existed, and even now, as angry as she was, she didn’t raise her voice. Truth be told, she was too exhausted to shout.