Page 3 of Split or Swallow

“She’s like a gnat. Gnats are hard to ignore.”

Tem’s mother sighed, wiping her hands on her apron.

“You must learn to shut out the noise, Tem.”

“Like you do?”

It was a low blow, and Tem knew it. Her mother was the only person more affected by the town gossip than Tem was. Raising a child on her own in a village that revered fatherhood and idolized male heirs hadn’t been easy. Add to that her occupation as a chicken farmer, and Tem’s mother was a pariah. Which made Tem the daughter of one.

“I’m sorry, mother,” Tem said preemptively.

Her mother pursed her lips, clearly suppressing her hurt.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. I know you’re nervous for tomorrow.”

Nervous didn’t even begin to cover it.

Before she could put her foot in her mouth again, Tem retreated to her bedroom. It was her sanctuary in more ways than one: every time the world seemed too large, she knew she could end the day alone in her bed.

Tem hung her cloak in her wardrobe before laying down and staring blankly at the ceiling. She felt endlessly tired, like the weight of the entire world was on her shoulders. And it might as well have been. If she didn’t do well tomorrow, she would let her mother down. They were humble farmers—people like Vera looked down on them—they had nothing. If Tem were to win the prince’s hand in marriage, their entire reputation could change.

Tem wanted nothing more than to make her mother proud, which entailed getting as far along in the training process as possible. She stood no chance of winning. But if she could make it past the first elimination round at least—maybe even the second, Kora willing—then maybe her mother would forgive her when the prince didn’t choose her. There were matches available for girls who ranked highly in the training, but didn’t marry the prince. She could marry a duke, or a lord of some sort. But even if the prince was impressed with her—an impossibility—she wouldn’t have a true chance with him unless she was one of the final three girls. Those three girls would sleep with the prince, showing off everything they’d learned during the training. The prince would choose his wife after that.

Tem rolled onto her side with a sigh. She stared at the palms of her hands, which were sprinkled with freckles. The tiny dots of pigment trailed from the end of one palm to the other, forming a pattern across her skin, not unlike a constellation.

“You hold the stars in your hands,” her mother had always said, rubbing Tem’s fingers between hers. “Just like your father.”

But when Tem had asked to know more, her mother had grown quiet, and Tem had learned quickly not to dig any deeper. She knew her father was a sore subject. Her mother had left him before she was born, and that was the extent of her knowledge. Tem had often wondered what he could have done to make her mother leave, especially given how difficult it was to run the farm without a man shouldering some of the burden. But it was useless to wonder. And Tem didn’t care to know anyway. It wouldn’t change the way the villagers whispered about them, or the way Vera looked at her like she was some disgusting bug she needed to squash. Things were never to be fair for them. Tem had accepted that long ago.

The only thing that mattered was what would happen in the caves tomorrow.

Vera’s words replayed themselves in her mind: Get some rest, Tem. You’re going to need it. Tem closed her eyes. By the time she woke, it was dinnertime.

Her mother was at the stove, tending a pot of stew. Tem pulled a loaf of bread from the cupboard and had barely begun to slice it when there was a knock on the door. Tem knew from the sound of it—five short, sharp braps—that it was Gabriel.

Her mother’s head popped up from the pot.

“Don’t let that infernal boy in.”

Tem rolled her eyes. The last time Gabriel came in, he’d accidentally knocked over the drying rack, shattering several of her mother’s favorite serving platters. Tem had spent hours trying to glue the ceramic back together, to no avail. Gabriel couldn’t help it; his limbs moved almost on their own accord, with utter disregard for inanimate objects. Or people, for that matter.

“I won’t,” Tem said, already gathering her cloak. She’d forgotten Gabriel had wanted to drink tonight, and now that she had remembered, it sounded like the best thing in the world.

“And don’t stay out too late,” her mother insisted.

“I won’t.”

“And don’t—”

“I won’t,” Tem placed her hands on her mother’s shoulders.

Her mother looked up at her.

“Tomorrow is important, Tem. I just want you to—”

“Make an impression. I know. And I will.”

“I want you to make a good impression.”