The first person Mila tells about her new brother and her new problems is Ovi.

She forced herself to eat through dinner, cursing the suffocating silence despite the revelation that she’s being replaced. After Vineil’s brief introduction, Andreis managed a hello, but silence quickly took over again. Some small part of her brain registers a thick accent, something foreign she hasn’t heard before, but she’s far too caught up in her own turmoil to pay it much heed.

She’d just wanted one time for her father to want to be with her. Even that seems to be too much for him, having to announce to her that she means less than ever in the face of a sudden adoption. He couldn’t make it clearer how little he considers her. She may as well be another vase in the house, walked by, and unnecessary.

She escaped eagerly, offering a mechanical, jerky curtsy with no thought for grace. Shoulders hunched and smile tight, she was sure she looked more like she was grimacing. Her father didn’t notice; his eyes were elsewhere, unfocused. Andreis watched her leave, brows furrowed and hands clutching his thighs.

Her feet fall in a run the moment the door is closed behind her. She ignores Clainon’s call for her, ignores the annoyed glares she receives from the maids she bulldozes past. She has to get to her room. Now.

Mila drops into her desk chair with a thump, her hands digging through her piles of books, her study papers, scrabbling to find what she needs. Her quill scratched violently at the clear paper she’d recovered. It’s replaced twice when her nib tore through with too much force.

A brother. An adopted brother. Out of nowhere, and now-

Now he’s heir, and she’s left to figure out what that makes her. She’s lost position in a family she’s not welcome in, her last foothold in whatever joke this family is. She imagines being told to handle things with grace in a voice that makes her think of her childhood, glancing back at her nightstand where her Sienne doll sits.

Mila walks over and turns her away, not wanting to imagine disdain in her knitted blue eyes.

She scrubs at her face, breath coming in sharp gasps after flopping back into her desk, the walls feeling as though they’re closing in around her.

She can’t help but wonder; is she so easy to replace? He couldn’t have at least sent Clainon to give her a fair warning? They’re not close, never have been, likely never will be, but to have such little regard...

He would have warned Mom. He wouldn’t have left her hanging on threads, left to have it crash down on her in a surprise.

What now? What is she now, if she’s not the heir? Just the curse?

It’s not that she doesn’t want a brother. It’s not even that she doesn’t want him around. She doesn’t know what to make of him yet. She’s terrified of what he represents, what her future means now that he’s here.

The taste in her mouth is sour. She sends her letter off, using one of her mother’s old carrier pigeons that she’d been allowed to keep, only to dive for the bathroom, throwing up what little she’d managed to eat that night.

Sneaking out might be what most nobles would call what she’s doing, but she hasn’t had anyone to worry about where she is since Kayra had passed. The night after that horrible dinner, she got a response from Ovina, who had declared it was time to meet up and brainstorm. They’re not small enough to hide in the flower bushes at the local gardens anymore, but Ovi had informed her of a plum tree thicket not too far away. No maids this time, though that didn’t change anything for Mila.

Mila sputters out a leaf when she is smacked by one of the wiry branches as she kneels to crawl under the low-hanging trees. They grew more like bushes, in truth. Holding the branch away hadn’t worked so well for her. They had been planted some years ago, mostly due to high demand. A dessert had been made using plum jelly for the center, a treat she recalls her mother and aunt had been fond of. Nobles and commoners alike kept an eye on the trees for the fruit. The gardens had been maintained, but the trees had mostly been allowed to grow thick and close, leading to a perfect little jungle for children.

The thicket had small paths twisting underneath. The rush of the wind whooshing through the foliage sounded like the crash of a waterfall to her.

Mila settles under the trees on one of the thicker pathways while she waits for Ovi to arrive. The plums above aren’t in season yet, small and green, swaying in the breeze.

Ovi arrives perhaps ten minutes later with grumbling and snapping twigs, her hands flailing when her bright hair gets snagged in a branch. Mila tries not to laugh, crawling over to help her before she jerks her hair out. The girls share a look.

A smile breaks out on Ovi’s face, one Mila can’t help but return.

“Shut in. I don’t see you anymore,” they crawl back to the open path to sit with each other. Her observation is followed by a sharp jab to Mila’s side.

It’s deserved. She knows there’s no point in retaliation.

Mila keeps a small distance between them, resisting the urge to hug the other girl. She’s gotten taller, more wiry. Mila can’t help herself, eyes drifting to the soft white daisies.

She still has a ton of petals. She barely stops herself from trying to obsessively count how many, now that she knows having a large amount means so little. Her eyes shoot back up, refusing to be caught or be called weird. Ovi didn’t notice, pulling leaves out of her orange hair aggressively.

“I know. Sorry,” Mila says it awkwardly, playing with her pink strands, rubbing them between her fingers. “Just... there’s been a lot.”

Ovi nods, wincing a bit.

“Yeah, a lot. Sorry about Kayra...”

The silence that follows is long. The children hardly know how to comfort each other, and Ovi is clearly left uncertain how to approach. Mila’s throat could be a desert with how dry it feels, a sting in her eyes. She blinks rapidly.

Honestly, her awkward silence is preferable to being utterly alone.

Ovi doesn’t bring up the rumors. Mila is grateful. She's not fool enough to believe Ovi doesn't know by now.

“Me too.”

Ovi busies herself with digging in her dress. Her maids had a habit of sewing in pockets, a trend that had become popular recently. Young ladies often misplaced items, and it was too inconvenient to carry things or purses that usually ended up lost. Mila is a little jealous, but she won’t say it. It’s not Ovi’s fault that she has nice maids. She’s glad for her. She wouldn’t wish her own viperous maids on anyone, much less her friend.

The orange-haired girl waved the letter Mila had sent as though it were a grand prize.

“So, a brother. Unlucky. They’re the worst. Ivan started with his swordplay instruction lately, you know?” Ovi rushes on, hands floating about in demonstration, noting the way Mila’s expression darkened at the mention of the addition to her family. “He keeps playing with his rapier in the house. The maids were screaming, he got all excited- and stupid- and he ripped the new curtains,” Ovi sniffs, affronted. “Brothers are super dumb.”

Mila nods once. It’s unenthusiastic.

Ovi leans in, nudging her with her shoulder.

“C’mon. Let’s plan. If your dad realizes how much better you are than Andros-”

“Andreis,” Mila can’t help but correct.

“Andrust, then we’ll just show your crappy dad that you’re the better heir.”

Ovi drops Mila’s letter on her lap, flips it over.

“Don’t just mope, Mila. Help me plan. Let’s start with showing off, Andies-” “Andreis-” “can’t be that smart since you said he hardly talks.”

Mila snickers a bit, peering over, leaning on her arm to move close enough to see. Ovi rants about all sorts of ways Mila can showcase her ‘greatness.’

Ovi taps her pen against the paper. The words are messy, having only had her lap to write against. Mila tilts her head, trying to read the scribbles.

“Show off in front of all those fancy tutors. You’ll probably both be put into the same room once he’s a little caught up. Once the tutors report you’re way smarter, even your hardheaded dad has to notice, right?” She keeps scribbling. At some point, plans had turned into doodles, mostly of what looked to be a stick girl trying to fight a larger stickman. She can’t help but laugh.

She’s not really sure why. It’s not an inspired plan; Mila had been sort of trying that avenue (sans a brother) for years. Still, something about Ovi’s cheeky grin made her have a little hope that it would finally work.

Maybe it’s juvenile. Maybe it won’t work yet again. Maybe it’s just another foolish endeavor-

At least she has one person rooting for her.

Maybe that could be enough. The plum trees whisper above with a new breeze, joined with the giggles of two girls. It’s one of the most normal days she has had in a long while.