My Twin Was Meant to Die at Sixteen, So They Spent Me novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Terms

Edwin calls the chain a Moon blessing and gives Brynn until dawn. Brynn sets her terms, and her mother cannot name one of her birthdays. In the blanket Lenore brought, Brynn finds a note from Clara telling her not to put the chain back on.

My father came in and sat on the end of the bunk.

Rowan stood against the wall with her arms crossed.

He did not tell her to leave.

"Clara collapsed at the table," he said. "Hester is with her. She's breathing, but she's very weak."

"I heard," I said.

"Then you know why I need the chain on you."

I stayed standing.

"Does the chain do something to Clara?" I asked.

His face stayed calm.

It was the face he used in the Gathering Hall, when somebody asked a hard question and he had already decided the answer.

"It's a Moon blessing," he said. "Hester forged it from silver the Goddess touched. It ties you and your sister together so that the prophecy can't take either of you alone."

"Then why did she faint when I took mine off?"

"Because the tie was cut."

"So it holds her up."

"It holds you both up," he said. "You're the strong one, Brynn. You always have been. You'd feel nothing at all if you'd just put it back on."

"I feel everything," I said. "That's the point. I'm warm."

He looked at my hands.

For a second something crossed his face and was gone.

"You're upset," he said. "Your mother and I handled tonight badly. I'll say it in front of the pack tomorrow."

"I don't want you to say it tomorrow."

"Then what do you want?"

Nobody had asked me that in nine years.

I had not planned an answer, and it came out plain.

"A birthday in the Gathering Hall with a cake that has my name on it," I said. "The same night as Clara's, and in front of the same people."

"Brynn."

"And I don't wear the chain."

"That's not possible."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so." He held up a hand before I could speak. "A birthday after the moon passes, I promise you. A good one. After your sister's night."

"After," I said.

"After."

"What if she's dead after?"

"Don't talk like that."

"You said it at supper," I said. "One of us dies. You said it like it was a weather report."

He stood.

He was a big man, and the cabin got smaller.

"You have until dawn," he said. "Come home and put it on, and we'll forget all of this."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I can't promise what happens to your sister."

Rowan made a small, furious noise.

I did not move.

"That sounds like a threat," I said.

"It's a fact," my father said, and he almost sounded sad.

The door opened again before I could answer.

My mother stood there in her cardigan with her hair half out of its braid.

She had run up the hill.

She was holding my old green blanket against her chest, the one from the foot of my bed.

"Edwin, give us a minute," she said.

He hesitated, then nodded and went out into the dark.

My mother came in and put the blanket around my shoulders.

Her hands were shaking.

"Brynn, please," she said. "Just one week. Put it on for one week and then I'll do anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

I looked at her.

My mother had soft hands and a soft voice and a way of saying "not now" that ended every conversation.

"What did I ask for on my twelfth birthday?" I said.

She opened her mouth.

"Or my ninth. Or last year. Pick one."

"Brynn, sweetheart, that isn't fair."

"Tell me one cake. One year. What flavor?"

My mother's eyes filled up.

"I was so scared for Clara," she whispered. "I'm still scared every day. I thought you understood."

"I understood," I said. "I understood for nine years."

That landed.

She flinched, and I felt a hot rush of satisfaction, and then something sour behind it.

Rowan said quietly, "Mrs. Ostler, she's cold in there. Every night. You know that, right?"

"Rowan," my mother said.

"She's been cold for ten years."

My mother turned and looked at Rowan, and then at me.

For the first time that night she looked at me for longer than a second.

"Brynn," she said. "Is that true?"

"Lenore," my father called from outside. "It's late."

She stood there with her hand still on my shoulder.

Then she took it away.

"Please come home," she said, and she went out after him.

I watched their two shapes cross the clearing and start down the hill.

Rowan let out a long breath.

"I hate that your mom's nice," she said. "It makes it so much harder."

"I know."

I sat down on the bunk and pulled the blanket around me.

It smelled like my own bed.

My hand went into the pocket of it, out of habit, looking for a hairpin.

My fingers found paper.

It was folded small, in a square no bigger than a matchbook.

I opened it by the stove.

It was Clara's handwriting, round and careful, and the ink was fresh.

Don't put it on. Come to my window tonight. Please. C.

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