and at the end of the day, when the party has all been swept away and most of his siblings have retired to their beds, the magician lays down his magic hat and goes to find his sister. a tray balances precariously in hand, rosseland weaving between his legs with every step no aid to the matter, but before long he is setting it down on a table and announcing, “i made tea.” a quiet laugh. “not as good as yours, of course, but...”
but...he's not sure. after so many birthdays spent with just he and lynette, large parties and family gathered around cake is the odd thing. the greatest gift he could ask for, when so rarely could he ask for gifts at all. but the secret he can never reveal is that lyney needs to recharge just as often as his sister does, weariness long since worn into his bones. and he does it faster—better—when lynette is here. as he does most things.
lyney shakes his head and sinks into a seat, reaching for a conch madeline to chew on. “...nothing. i just thought we could have some tea and snacks together before the day is officially over.” he cracks a small smile, faint, but more genuinely lyney than any other that has graced his lips today. “why don't we just rest tomorrow? we've been working hard, after all. we can get some fried fish from a street vendor—i'll eat just as much as you do, so it should be fine.”
one day, will these quiet, normal birthdays be just out of reach too? another thing lost to the flames of a hearth and the crown he must bear?
that is for the heir to wonder. just for today, a brother simply leans back in his seat and closes his eyes with a content hum, listening to the clockwork count down the minutes until the day ends. “happy birthday, lynette.” i hope all your future birthdays will be happy.
and lynette knows.
when does she not? she knows it is lyney before he even arrives, and alongside the conch madelines she knows exactly which snacks to set out that pair best with the blend he brings—even if, of course, her pate de fruit is not nearly as good as his. his beckon is met with a flick of ears and a drone that nobody but her other half himself could know the fondness in.
“welcome back, lyney.” silly lyney. big brother lyney. spreads himself thin and thinks he can fool her lyney. lyney, whom she holds most dear—her only truth in a life of falsehoods, even if he vies to leave her behind a little further and further each year. lynette acknowledges his humble offering with a hum, gloved fingers pinching the handle of her prepared cup. it may not be her tea, but it is lyney's. after exhausting himself on his own birthday, he still makes time for this.
lyney is the only one in this world who understands her without a single uttered word; in turn, she is the only one in this world who sees through him every time. all the time. (“of course i can, but this matter is top secret.”) and this time, too.
there is no use in lecturing him. she is not keen on doing it, besides. because lyney is no longer her brother alone, and beyond all of the hearth’s dealings, this is the true price of ‘home’. the world they live in is give and take: when you gain something, you also lose something. you gain food in your stomach and a soldier’s itinerary. you gain a crown of flames and lose a piece of your sister trying to protect her with it; you burn her, the embers dust her cheeks like stars, like teardrops. (and still, she returns to him like the wind that stokes fire. she will return to him every time.)
lynette does not announce herself. soundless, her movements, but that should not startle lyney except when she means to. a quiet snap of her fingers—his hat, wherever he might have laid it, vanishes in a plume of smoke and reappears on her head. she steps before him, arms unfurling like two wings, and leans forward to fold her weary brother within their embrace. no matter how high the tower, no matter how high the throne, she will catch him just like this. this time, too. every time, too.
“i want two skewers.” you need to recharge, right?
“and then some lakkaberry cake...” it’s alright. rest here.
“for that place we’re headed to next, i hear there’s a local specialty called ‘sweet bun trio’. let’s bring one back to share with freminet.”
as long as i’m with you, they'll always be happy.
lynette’s chin rests atop his head in lieu of any crown. in this moment, at least, they can just be. and before she forgets:
“... happy birthday, big brother.”


















