Prim couldn’t sleep. It felt wrong being in someone else’s bed. Daks had left the room so suddenly after stepping on one of the many seashells in the room. Prim’s thoughts began to branch off until her unease seamlessly segued into thoughts of her guilt towards Aiglentine and Pepin. She curled up in a ball and held herself.

  Sleep was a vexing, teasing creature.

  She finally gave up and lit a candle. She reached for her sketchbook and charcoals. She scratched at the paper until a pair of eyes stared up at her from the paper. Wide and innocent. Pepin’s. The boy she had made into an orphan.

  The following morning as they were milking the cows, Prim asked Ora about all the seashells in her parents’ bedroom.

  “Oh, Mam and Daidi went to the beach a lot before we moved out here—but I was just a baby, so I don’t remember. Daidi liked to collect pretty shells for Mam. When I was older, I remember we used to go on picnics by the pond or the cliffs.”

  “He accidentally stepped on one of the shells last night and broke it. He seemed upset.”

  “Oh no! Mam loved those shells so much.”

  “I was thinking mayhaps we could collect the seashells and put them in a basket or box or something to give your Daidi, so they don’t break. Do you have any ideas?”

  Ora pondered for a moment, squeezing Clover’s teats with all her might. Milk spritzed into her bucket. Then, “Yes, yes! I have a box Liam gave me a long time ago! It’s in my drawer! It would be perfect!”

  “Yes! Then your Daidi could look at the seashells whenever he wanted. Let’s keep this a secret for now. I’ll surprise him when it’s time!”

  Ora giggled. “I love fun secrets!”

  Ora was right. The box was the perfect size to fit all the seashells they found in the bedroom.

  A few weeks later, Prim placed the box of seashells on Daks’ pillow on the couch while he was out in the fields. He never said anything about it.

  Life settled into a routine for Prim and Daks and Ora.

  There was a mirror in the bedroom Prim was staying in. She usually tried to avoid looking at it, but tonight she stared at herself. She looked into the eyes of this killer—this murderer. How was Daks so blind to her true nature? Why couldn’t he set her free to the reprobation she so clearly deserved?

  She threw a blanket over the mirror.

  Then she returned to drawing in the sketchbook. Another set of eyes. Aiglentine’s eyes this time. Those frozen, glossy, perplexed eyes. She added eyebrows to clarify the expression. Damn. Even Aiglentine’s eyebrows had been perfect. She slammed the sketchbook down on the nightstand.

  Prim stretched out on the bed and pulled the covers up. She gazed at the boards in the ceiling, her eyes following the grain in the wood. In some places the lines would trace around a small, central circle like water flowing around a pebble in a stream. In those places, the wood resembled an eye staring down at her, condemning her.

  She sat up. Mayhaps there was some water left in the pitcher downstairs.

  As Prim snuck down the stairs, one of the middle steps creaked, and she froze. A muffled sound caught her ear. She peered over the rails. The fire in the stove was dying. Daks sat on the sofa quietly sobbing. She continued descending the stairs.

  Prim sat down beside Daks. He flinched. Before he could speak, she wrapped her arms around him. He sat frozen, but he didn’t push her away.

  For the longest time, they were enveloped in silence but for the embers crackling in the stove. Finally, Daks whispered, “I miss her. So much.”

  “Of course you do.”

  He brought his arms out and placed them around her. Another interim of silence.

  Finally, Daks pulled away. He sniffed and wiped his nose. “I’m sorry.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Please don’t apologize. It’s the right thing to do when someone you love dies.”

  He went over to the stove, stoking it and adding new wood.

  Prim looked down and saw the box of seashells open on the floor.

  Daks lit his pipe. “I just can’t sleep tonight.”

  “Me neither.”

  He inhaled from the pipe and then watched the smoke leave his face. “Have you lost anyone? You’ve talked about living in an orphanage. Do you remember when your parents died?”

  “Well, I don’t remember my mother at all, so I don’t know if she’s alive. My father…I remember him dropping me off at the orphanage when I was little. I don’t know if mayhaps he’s died since.”

  Daks couldn’t imagine willingly abandoning Ora. Even with Quin gone. What a cruel thing to do.

  “But I did lose someone very dear to me. Her name was Jaila. I think she was a little older than me. We were always together and watched out for each other. Once she grew me a rose bush right before my very eyes—I’d never met a jensine before. It was the best rose I’ve ever tasted. But one spring, sickness spread through the orphanage, and Jaila died along with half the other children. I was sick for a bit, but I lived and she died. They wouldn’t let me keep her stuffed fox, Rags. I just wanted a piece of what was left of her. I cried for days. That was…8 years ago. She was the only real friend I’ve had. After that, I really was on my own.”

  “I’m so sorry—for all of it. That’s awful, Prim.”

  “That’s just life, I suppose.”

  Daks sighed. “Do you ever wonder if life is really worth it? All the ups and downs. The deaths, the pain, the hardships? It just seems like an endless drudgery sometimes.”

  Prim nodded, staring into the revived fire.

  “But then I look at Ora, and I think how incredible she is and how much I love her. If I can give her a life that’s even a little better than mine, it will be worth it. It helps keep me going in the dark moments.”

  A sniffle. Daks looked over, and Prim was crying.

  He sighed. “I’m sorry, Prim. I didn’t mean to cause you more pain.”

  Prim looked up at him. “No, no, you didn’t say anything wrong. I was just thinking—I did to Pepin what my father did to me. He didn’t have to be an orphan, but I made him one. His mother was just trying to give him a better life, and now she can’t do that. Mayhaps Scur adopted him or mayhaps he’s at an orphanage now or—or mayhaps he’s on the streets trying to survive! I didn’t just take his mother from him; I took from her the ability to help give him a good life. And there’s nothing I can do to change it now.”

  Daks turned to the fire. He thought silently, smoking.

  Prim needed to know the truth.

  He turned to face her. Eventually, she would find out one way or another. Better for him to tell her than her to find out from someone less friendly. “Prim.”

  She looked up, eyes red and glossy. She sniffed again. “Yes?”

  “I have to tell you something I learned when I was in the city. I wasn’t sure how to tell you or when, and I’m still not sure now, but I have to: Pepin died from illness not long after his mother died.”

  She just stared at him. “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s true? Daks! Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I heard it from Millard. He’s an unbearable gossip, but he has been a reliable source in the past.”

  Prim squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t think I can take much more. What have I done? What have I done?”

  Daks put out his pipe and sat down on the sofa next to her. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”

  “I want to die. It would be just. In the end, I stole two lives.”

  “Prim. Stop. Stop this. Look at me.”

  Her eyes were still shut.

  “Look at me.”

  She sighed and looked up. “What?”

  “There’s nothing you can do that will bring either of them back to life. They’re gone.”

  “You agree that I should die? I don’t understand.”

  “No. What I’m saying is you can’t undo what you’ve done, but you are still alive. You make the most of the life you have left. Learn from your mistakes. Realize that if you were to kill yourself, that would inflict even more harm—on me and Ora, for instance. But if you live—really live—you can do good with your life!”

  Prim looked down.

  “Their lives are over, and they should be honored and grieved. But your life is not over. Trust me, I’ve spent too much of my life reliving the pain I’ve caused. But it does no good. Changing and growing is the important thing. Make amends where you can, but don’t trap yourself in this.”

  She looked him in the eyes. “Thank you, Daks.”

  Daks placed an arm around her. “You are most welcome.”

  Prim pushed further into his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  Then they finally fell asleep.

  Winter had flown by. Spring followed in winter’s footsteps. Nothing notable happened. Prim, Daks, and Ora continued to grow even more accustomed to each other. Soon, it was time for the spring harvest. Alf and Sandy arrived at the beginning of the fifth month.

  The three met the boys outside in the afternoon when their cart pulled up to the gate. Ora was jumping up and down with her infectious exuberance. “Alf! Sandy! Alf! Sandyyyyy! You’re here, you’re here, you’re here!”

  “Atcha, Rae-Rae,” Daks said. “Yes, they are. Don’t scare them away.”

  Prim laughed. “We need them for the harvest, milysh!”

  Ora groaned. “Fine, fine. But I’m still excited!”

  “And that’s good,” Prim said. “Stay excited. Just a digit quieter.”

  When the boys were near, Sandy jumped out of the cart. His auburn hair had grown longer over his ears, and his body had grown long and lanky. He ran towards them and picked up Ora, swinging her around. “Rae-Rae!” His voice was deep and sharp like a razor—much deeper than last they saw him. He set Ora down.

  Alf drove the cart toward the barn, his blond curls glistening in the sunlight.

  Ora shouted, “Sandy! What’s wrong with your voice?”

  “He’s growing up,” Daks said. “Boys’ voices change when they’re becoming men.”

  “You’re a man?”

  “I think so, yes!”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to play with me anymore?”

  “Of course not! What was I just doing?”

  “Oh. Atcha. That’s good.”

  Prim sat on her bed as the sun was setting. She drew a pair of eyes, but they were kind, loving eyes void of disapproval. Daks’ eyes felt like home.