Íde paged through her book, seeking the folded-over corner of the page she’d left off on. She hadn’t planned on getting much reading done over this holiday, considering who her companions were and what they were like, but she’d found morning was a good time for it. Maebhe still slept and Kieran was out for his morning walk— if Íde pretended to sleep until he left, she could avoid being dragged along.

She shifted so her weight wasn’t distributed entirely on her tail and looked up when a movement across the room caught her attention. Their hotel room was small for three adults, and painfully garish with velvet sofas, bold rugs, and striped wallpaper. The movement came from the further of the two beds, where Maebhe, hidden under a mountain of tangled sheets, stirred in her sleep. Íde smiled and returned to her book, barely finishing a page before the door to their room flew open with a bang.

Kieran stood in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth set in a way that had Íde bracing herself for a storm. He marched over to the table, pressed his palms flat against it, and leaned in toward her. “We need to leave.”

This was something Kieran had brought up a few times in the last week, ever since rumors of missing kings and murderous orinians started circulating. Ever since they’d started getting the looks, since they’d been refused service in a small corner shop, since a man spat at their feet as they walked by. The message was clear: Kieran, Íde, and Maebhe didn’t belong in Gallontea, not with times as they were.

Secretly, Íde was beginning to agree with Kieran. Still, she said, “But we—,”

“Spent so much money on this trip, I know. That’s what you keep saying. But it’s just money, Íde. Who cares?” Kieran pulled a rolled up newspaper out of an inner coat pocket. The paper was hot off the presses, if the ink smudging his fingers was any indication. He held it out, his tail whipping back and forth in agitation until Íde took the newspaper from him. She didn’t read it, though, instead regarding Kieran with concern.

“If we have to leave, we’ll leave,” she said softly. Then she looked down at the newspaper, the headline making her eyebrows climb up toward her hairline.

“What does it say?” Maebhe asked from her bed, having woken when Kieran first burst in. She blinked at Íde, her angular features scrunched up in concern. Her blonde hair was piled atop her head, its ends sticking out in every direction; she looked about as hungover as she no doubt felt, and in any other situation, Íde might have laughed. Instead, she held the paper up, its headline reading: “An Act of War? What Does Orean’s Attack on Illyon Mean for the two Cities?”

“What,” Maebhe said, voice falling flat. She jumped out of bed and snatched the paper from Íde’s hands. Out loud, she read, “Long-standing rivalries between Illyon and Orean came to a head last week when King Nochdvor of Alfheim was abducted by Orinian soldiers. The King’s nephew, Leandros Nochdvor, reported the event to Unity and remains in the city for reasons yet unknown. Mr. Nochdvor was unavailable for comment. You may remember Mr. Nochdvor from his father’s scandal…blah, blah…” Maebhe skimmed through the article. “Many believe that the kidnapping was perpetuated by Orean as an act of defiance— oh, come on! Illyon’s got all of Unity behind it. Why would we be so stupid—,”

“It’s just nobodies conjecturing, Maebhe. Sensationalist garbage,” Íde reasoned. “It doesn’t mean a thing, and I’d wager none of it’s true.”

“But it’s possible, isn’t it?” Maebhe asked, looking first at Íde, then Kieran. “What if Orean really did—,”

“Why would we be so stupid? Isn’t that what you just said?” Kieran said. “But whether it’s true or not, it’s what everyone in Gallontea is thinking.”

While Maebhe and Íde frowned at the paper, Kieran dropped into an open chair and rested the soles of his boots on the table. Íde batted at him with her tail.

“We eat there, Kieran!"

“On plates! It’s not like you lick the table.”

“Now you finally see what I’ve had to live with,” Maebhe told Íde. “He’ll be your problem, soon.”

“As if you won’t be over every day, raiding our kitchen and dirtying up our house,” Kieran countered.

Maebhe smiled and shrugged.

“Really, you two,” Íde said. “Is now the time?”

“Íde, love, Gallontea’s talking about war and you’re mad about my boots,” Kieran said.

“Yeah, Íde,” Maebhe joined in. “Don’t you think we’ve got bigger things to worry about?”

Íde huffed and frowned at Kieran. He still looked pale from his news, the thick black markings that stretched and swirled across his face bringing his pallor into sharper contrast. The design of them was concentrated on the left side of his face, but a small swirl curling around his right ear trailed down his neck like a creeping vine, or a bolt of lightning— not really like either, but similar to both. The mark disappeared underneath his shirt collar, but Íde knew how it continued down his entire body.

Maebhe’s markings were exactly the same as Kieran’s, only focused on the right half of her face instead of the left. Íde bore entirely different marks. Hers were thinner, lighter, barely visible against the planes of her face. From a distance, her silver-patterned marks looked like old scars instead of bold tattoos.

These marks were the birthright of anyone with orinian blood. Superstitious orinians believed an orinian’s marks reflected their soul.

“So?” Kieran asked. “Can we leave? I feel like someone should tell Orean about—,” he gestured at the newspaper, “All of this.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Maebhe whined. “We just got here.”

Íde stood and stretched, flattened the folds of her skirts, and looked up to find two identical pairs of gray eyes on her, waiting. Her vote would decide it, then, and whichever way she chose, the reaction wouldn’t be pretty.

Apart from their eyes and their birthmarks, despite being “identical” twins, the Cairns were far from identical. The idea of them was much the same: white-blonde curls, bold dirin layered over ochre skin, angular features, loud voices. Seeing them side-by-side, the differences were clear. Maebhe was sharper— nose, jaw, cheekbones. Kieran was sturdier, with larger eyes and a rounder face.

But then, Íde knew these two better than anyone else, and the differences weren’t obvious to an untrained eye. Right now, their emotions further alienated the similarities between them: while Kieran waited patiently, Maebhe looked angry. She’d already guessed Íde’s answer, then.

“I’m sorry, Maebhe. It’s getting too dangerous to stay.”

Maebhe’s nostrils flared, the only warning Íde and Kieran got before she was yelling. “Of course you’d take his side! Typical.” Then, she was throwing open the door and storming out of the room, barefoot and still in her dressing gown. Íde and Kieran both cringed when the door struck the wall.

“You and your sister,” Íde marveled. “How is your house still standing?”

“What do you mean?” Kieran asked, staring after Maebhe, absently twining his tail with Íde’s.

“You both run around throwing doors open with enough force to knock them off their hinges.”

“There’s not actually any force behind it. We’re just dramatic,” Kieran admitted.

Íde laughed. “I’ve known you both for years. You don’t have to tell me that.”

Kieran pressed a hand to his heart. “You’re not supposed to agree! You’re supposed to say, ‘No, Kieran, Maebhe has many flaws, but you don’t have any.’”

“I’m never going to say that,” Íde tells him, deadpan.

Kieran pouted.

“You know I love your dramatics, most of the time,” Íde said, winding her arms around Kieran’s waist. “You should go talk to Maebhe; calm her down. I’ll start packing.”

Kieran made a face. “Must I?”

Íde ruffled Kieran’s hair and shoved him toward the door. Kieran tried to scowl back at her but left to find his sister.

Maebhe hadn’t made it far. She stood at the end of the hallway, leaning out an open window. The window was the only source of light in the hallway, and Maebhe was barely more than a shadow outlined against it. She stood still, arms hugged close to her body, and didn’t turn to look when Kieran joined her.

Kieran stood beside her at the window and stared out across Gallontea. He was again struck by how different the buildings here were from Orean, tall and new and strange. Their hotel floor was high enough up that he could see over them to the gray outline of Unity Island, its silhouette seeming to reach like a clawed hand, the clock tower a long finger pointing toward the sky.

“We barely got to see the city,” Maebhe said, winding her arms more tightly across her chest.

“You should put on something warmer, Mae,” Kieran said in reply. Even fully dressed, the morning chill that seeped in through the window had goosebumps raising on his skin.

Maebhe let out a biting laugh and finally looked at her twin. Kieran looked back, and it was like a mirror image, their asymmetrical, swirling markings refracted back on the other’s face. “That’s all you have to say?” Maebhe asked.

“We barely got to see the city,” Kieran echoed back, the words visible on the air in a small cloud, dissipating as another gust of morning wind hit. “The people here are talking about bringing war, and that’s all you have to say?”

Maebhe looked back out at the city. “Yes. Selfish, isn’t it?”

“No,” Kieran said quietly. “It’s fair. This is our first holiday since…since mother and father, and now it’s being cut short by something like this.”

“Yeah,” Maebhe sighed. She turned suddenly to Kieran and pinched him. “This is your fault, you know.”

“Ow! What? How?”

“You’re the one who chose Gallontea. We should’ve gone to the coast, like I wanted.”

“And why is it not your fault for losing the coin flip?”

“Maybe it’s Íde’s fault for suggesting the coin flip in the first place,” Maebhe said.

Kieran considered this. “Fine. Truce. This is all Íde’s fault.”

Maebhe grinned, and they both glanced back to ensure the door to their room remained shut.

“I suppose I’ll have to actually listen to you both this time,” Maebhe sighed. “We really should leave.”

“Maebhe Cairn,” Kieran marveled, “I have never known you to agree to an idea of mine so quickly.”

Maebhe laughed, her bad mood vanishing like their breath on the cold air. “Don’t get used to it. I’m only agreeing to this if you promise to take Íde and me on another trip once this all blows over. This time to the coast. And you’re paying.”

Kieran made a face. “As if you could afford to pay even if you wanted to. But speaking of payments, I should go see if we can get a refund on our room.”

“I’ll come with you.”