Content warning: This chapter features a very emotionally abusive mother-daughter relationship as well as Arctic and Foeslayer's toxic mess of a relationship. If that might be upsetting for you for whatever reason, feel free to skip this one. 

Foeslayer

"I still think this tastes weird," Arctic mutters, trying another piece of lamb. "I don't understand why you waste the time to cook it."

I roll my eyes. He makes the funniest faces trying new foods. Yesterday. I introduced him to apples, and I laughed so hard I almost cried.

And in moments like these, I can tell myself that it's all right.

If only it were like this all the time.

Mother glares at us from the other end of the table.  Every time I've looked at her the past few days, I fantasize about strangling her.

You're not supposed to be happy when your daughter's relationship is—going through a rough patch. You're supposed to HELP ME! That's what most mothers would do.... right?

I glance back at Arctic, brushing my wing against his. He doesn't smile back.

"I'm glad to know you're enjoying the cuisine," Mother says, fighting back a smile.

"The... hospitality is appreciated," Arctic says slowly, his voice like dripping ice.

"You two are... sweet," she says, making a face as though she's just swallowed a bucket of limes. "Arctic, have you ever had a relationship before? How old are you again?"

"I just turned eight last week," Arctic says quietly.

I turn to him. "Wait, just?"

"My gifting ceremony was supposed to be on my hatching day. When I came of age. I was going to marry Snowflake a week later." He makes a face at me, as though I was somehow supposed to just telepathically absorb this information.

"So your hatching day was last week? You could have said something! I would have made you a cake!" I smile, expression not matching the tone of my voice.

"Made me a what?" Arctic snaps.

"Did you say you were supposed to marry someone named Snowflake?" Mother asks. "So Foeslayer isn't your first love, I take it. What was she like? Was she beautiful? You know, I always hoped that Foeslayer would inherit some of my genes, but she's the spitting image of her father. I always felt so bad for her--before you, not a single other dragon has shown her any interest. When I was her age, suitors were lined up for miles to marry me. It breaks my heart. You're so strong, Foeslayer, dear--if I were you, I don't think I'd be able to bear having so few talents."

My face burns. I grit my teeth. I've heard this one before--but it never loses its sting.

It's just her mind games, I remind myself. This is what she does--tears you down in a thousand ways so subtle, you only realize it hours after the fact--then builds herself up by comparison. But she's my mother, and I've resigned myself to the fact that some part of me is always going to care what she thinks. Is always going to feel two years old whenever she uses that tone of voice with me.

Why is she doing this to me? What does she think is going to come of it?

"Well, Snowflake--" Arctic starts.

"Snowflake and Arctic hated each other," I butt in. "So you can stop right there, Mother."

"Don't talk over me," Arctic snaps.

"Don't talk to your Mother that way. dear--what's wrong with you? I was being nice. I feel for you, darling. When I was your age, I was taking a full courseload at the university--they actually say I set a record--but your life has been so hard."

It's not true, it's not true, it's not true. Don't beleive a word she says--don't let her in. When I was little, I used to imagine she was speaking another language, tried to exorcise meaning from every syllable she spoke. It never worked. 

Dragons love me. I'm good at plenty of things, and she's not the stars' gift to dragonkind by any measure. She's just twisting things, she's just--

Oh, by all the moons. I can't take this anymore. I'm gonna lose it.

I stand up. "I'm not hungry," I announce. "I'm going to sleep." I hesitate, then nuzzle my snout against Arctic's, just to make a point. "I'll see you in the evening." 

I hesitate, something lingering on the tip of my tongue.

I thought you were supposed to be on my side. But all that time while she was tearing me down, you didn't even look bothered.

I don't say it. I won't give Mother the satisfaction. I turn away, and walk back up the stairs. 

***

It's been raining for weeks now, and it's barely let up for longer than a few hours here and a few hours there. The daylight filters in grey through the windows. I have to admit, this weather has even been getting me down, especially since Mother hasn't been letting Arctic leave the house. It's for his own safety, or that's what she says–our dragons might not react well to an IceWing strolling through the market, or reading at the library.

And I feel bad about going out without him. So I haven't been going out at all. I don't know what I'd even do if I could. After everything that's happened in the past few months, the concept of hanging out with friends feels strange. Surreal. They're all going to think I'm insane.

But they don't matter. Nothing matters except for him, and making this work.

I clamber up into bed, and shift around, trying to get comfortable. I hate to say it. but it's kind of nice to have it to myself again, after weeks of getting cold wings poked in my face in the middle of the day, and constantly being told how annoying my snoring is. I shift around, trying to get comfortable, when something pokes into my back. It takes me a moment to realize that there's something hidden in Arctic's pillowcase–a scroll.

Oh, by all the three moons. Is he writing Snowflake letters about how much he misses her? Is he cheating on me with one of the guards? Is he–

I squint, struggling to read for a moment in the low light. I don't recognize the delicate cursive.

My dearest Arctic, the letter starts in an elegant, regal cursive. My heart sinks.

I don't even need to read the signature to know who this letter is from.

Mother was right, a small voice whispers at the back of my skull.

***

Arctic comes back from dinner hours later, by which point pride is the only thing keeping me from running downstairs and shoving the letter in his stupid, secret-keeping face.

I thought it was us against the world!

Where does keeping secrets from Foeslayer about VERY IMPORTANT THINGS come into that?

If I can't trust him to tell me this–how do I know I can trust him at all?

As soon as the door opens, I thrust the letter in his face. "What is this?" I snap. Maybe this is a strong reaction–it's not like he was actually going take his mother up on the offer, right? If he were, he'd be done already.

But he didn't immediately dismiss the option. Why else would he keep it?

He's going to leave me here to clean up his mess. I just know it.

Arctic blinks. He snatches it back. "Thanks for abandoning me there, by the way," he snaps. "I really enjoyed being alone with your mother for two hours."

"I'm sorry, what?" I scoff. "I had to find a letter from your mother in your pillowcase asking you to return home, out of nowhere, as a surprise, and you're upset because–you could have left! You could have just come up here, tell her you're tired or something! You could have told me this kind of crucial information!" I point at the letter again. "And thanks so much, by the way, for backing me up down there while she was telling me all the reasons I'm a worthless waste of space!"

"Oh, so I don't get to have privacy?" he shouts. "You think you just get to control every single aspect of my life?!"

I feel like I'm going crazy. I touch my forehead, my head spinning. "No! No, I don't think that, Arctic, I just–this is kind of important. How did you even get this?"

"Vigilance gave it to me. Mother managed to get it through the border," Arctic says reluctantly.

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were in this together! How am I supposed to trust you when you hide things like that from me?" I know the walls are thin, know Mother will be listening, but I don't care right now.

"I was going to," Arctic hisses. "I just knew you'd react like this!"

"I am not the one who's being irrational here! You promised, Arctic—it's you and me against the world. And you're already keeping secrets?! I mean, you just turned eight?" I soften for a moment. "We could have–done a little party. Had a really nice dinner–I don't get why you wouldn't tell me that?" I look up to meet his eyes. I love you. I'm mad because I love you. Why can't you understand that?

He looks away.

"I wasn't going to leave," he mutters. "Do you have any faith in me?"

"I feel like I barely know you!" Tears sting at my eyes. He's never seen me cry before. "Look at this—is this what you wanted?! Is this what you thought our happy ending would look like?!"

"You are so melodramatic!" he exclaims. "I don't understand you."

"I don't understand you!" I pick up a scroll off my desk and throw it at him.

"Maybe I should have gone, if I knew you'd be like this!" he roars.

"I can't do this." I try to stop crying, try to pull myself together.

Come on. You're too old for this, Foeslayer.

***

Mother finds me crying in the garden, not long after. This house is massive, but no matter how far I run, there seems to be nowhere that this dragon is not capable of finding me.

The rain rolls off my back. It's so dark out, the moon barely visible through the clouds. But I don't feel cold, at least, I think, touching my protection earring. I can thank Arctic for that.

"You're going to catch your death out here," Mother calls from the door.

I close my eyes, hoping if I just stay still and don't say anything, she'll get bored and leave me alone. 

Just play dead, Foeslayer, I tell myself, like I have for years. Imagine my soul drifting away, leaving behind nothing but a body. 

She sighs, storming out the door and grabbing me by the wing. "Get back inside, Foeslayer. You're making a fool of yourself."

"Don't touch me." I push her talon away. "I came out here to be alone." I can't do it. I can't stop caring, not even for a moment. Three moons, I wish I could.

Mother looks at me with that tired, disdainful look that says oh, Foeslayer, you're never going to be happy, are you? like it's my fault. Like I chose this. 

"This is what it's like," she says. "This is all you're going to get, Foeslayer. So you'd better get used to it."

She goes back inside.

***

I can hear Arctic crying through the door. I wince, pushing it open gently.

"Arctic?"

Nothing.

"Arctic, I'm sorry." I'm not, but I need to know we're okay. I need to know that we're not fighting anymore.

"Arctic, I'm sorry," I say, louder. "I just... look, maybe... maybe we don't know each other too well. And we can work on that, okay. We're got lots of time. I love you." I love you, I love you, I love you. I say it like I'm laying a bandage over an open wound.

He turns to me. "Dragons have been killed for this, Foeslayer. I killed them, I watched them fall from the sky–I broke the rules and that's what it cost me. My mother is going to cause a war over this." His eyes are narrowed, and  I can tell he's trying so hard not to cry. "Maybe this was all a mistake."

My heart sinks. "No, no," I say frantically. "Arctic, we're miserable without each other. We deserve to be happy. We're just–we're in love. How can that be wrong? How can that be bad, Arctic?"

I try to rest a talon on his back. He shoves it away. "I can't believe this is all I have to look forward to. For the rest of my life. Your queen, using me as her puppet. Your mother, leering over us–did you know she already has rooms in this house for our future dragonets?"

I'm too focused on calming him down to be shocked by that. "It's–it's not going to be like that," I plead. "It's not. I promise, Arctic–I'm gonna figure this out. I can get a position in the army; we're not going to live here for the rest of our lives. We can be happy. We can be normal."

He looks away.

"Stay with me." I tilt his chin up to meet my eyes. "Don't lose sight of what we're fighting for." I  force myself to smile, as tears roll down my cheeks.

"Stay with me, Arctic," I plead.