dads and sister. I missed home. Pinemist. Most of all, I missed the sound of Zelie’s voice. I missed her smile and her smell and her skin. I missed her so much I felt like my heart had been punctured and I needed to freeze it in order to preserve the fragile organ during these long weeks apart.
I wouldn’t admit it to anyone other than my twin. At least I had him. But I wasn’t about to complain in any of the correspondence we sent back home. I definitely didn’t want Sana catching wind of any whining. In some ways, we were constantly putting on a show for her. She was Zelie’s mom. We needed to impress her.
I closed my eyes, but sleep eluded me. As much as my brother liked to joke, I’d had a rough time snoozing in Elkcan. A village at the bottom of an active ogre mountain wasn’t exactly calming for the mind and body.
“Ronin, are you sleeping now?” Reed whispered.
“Nope.”
“Sheesh. There must be something really off about this place.”
I snorted. “You think?”
Reed turned onto his side, facing me. “Too bad there weren’t any portal access points located in these backwoods. We could create a giant portal and herd the ogres through—one-way passage to Swampia.”
“They’d probably like it there.” I rolled my eyes. “Too bad we couldn’t shrink them until they were six inches tall.”
“Then stomp on them,” Reed said gleefully.
“You’re disturbed.”
“Whatever. It’s what they do. Would serve them right to be flattened into gray piles of goo.” Reed huffed. “Too bad this lame-ass town is located at the base of Ogre Mountain.”
“Too bad there isn’t a moat around it,” I threw in with a chuckle.
Reed’s eyes expanded. “That’s brilliant!”
“Um?”
Reed sat up. He splayed his fingers and spread his arms in front of himself. “If there was a moat, we could freeze it.”
I blinked several times as I caught up to his thoughts, then I sat up, feeling suddenly animated. “If we could freeze it, the ogres would slip and fall trying to get across to Elkcan.”
Reed nodded enthusiastically. “They might break through the ice or break their necks—either scenario works.”
“This could really help stop them from entering the village,” I said.
Had I really come up with a viable idea? Would Sana like it?
“Prevention rather than panic,” Reed said.
My twin would back me up. We were in this together. In all things, we were an unbreakable team. But we had a new member. Without Zelie we were incomplete. Getting back to our future mate was motivation enough to pick up a shovel and start digging the second Sana approved our plan.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Zelie
Blistering heat had left my lawn yellow and crisp. I had to water my flowers daily, refusing to let them wilt or die. It was hard to believe fall wasn’t far off. The sun appeared reluctant to let go. Usually, blue skies cheered me up, but week after week of the same weather had grown tedious. I felt trapped in time. Frozen in place while burning to a crisp in the process.
Despite my shaded spot beneath an elm tree, seated on a blanket in my yard, sweat dampened the back of my neck. I’d brushed my hair into a high ponytail and wore a stretchy orange dress with a flowy bottom half. A pair of large sunglasses covered my eyes. Melody had traded them for a crocheted purse I’d made using three different shades of pink wool.
“I actually made the purse for you,” I’d said. “I would give it to you anyway.”
“Well, I bought the sunglasses for you and would have done the same,” she’d countered.
On the blanket, I had a special carved wood box filled with correspondence from the twins. I set my tall glass of chilled lemonade on my opposite side, safely away from accidently knocking it over near the letters.
Summer had passed, as I knew it would, without any resolution to the ogre invasion in sight. My mom had known exactly what she was doing when she appealed to the twins’ sense of duty. She knew the battle would rage on and that once Reed and Ronin joined, their sense of honor would keep them in Elkcan rather than abandon the fight before it was finished.
True to their word, the twins wrote to me every day. I could feel the emotion in their correspondence—all the excitement and homesickness scribbled over parchment. Distance could never destroy the love we shared.
Nice try, Mom.
I did not write every day, nor did I share the news