Divine Rivals

Just in case you didn’t know … you are by far the best sister I’ve ever had. I’m so proud of you.

And I’ll be home before you know it, Little Flower.

I wonder if you’re lying in an unmarked grave, covered in blood-soaked earth that I will never be able to kneel at, no matter how desperate my soul is to find you.

I hate you for leaving me like this.

I hate you, and yet I love you even more, because you are brave and full of a light that I don’t think I will ever find or understand. The call to fight for something so fervently that death holds no sting over you.

Just in case you didn’t know … you are by far the best sister I’ve ever had. I’m so proud of you.

And I’ll be home before you know it, Little Flower.

I grew something living in a season of death.

“Tell me, Winnow,” he said. “Have you ever run a kilometer before?”

“No.” She began to keenly regret her decision to join him; she realized he was bound to run her ragged, to gloat with his stamina. She could already taste the dust he would kick up in her face, leaving her far behind. Perhaps this was some sort of twisted payback, for making him work to become columnist when the position would have been given to him on a silver platter if she hadn’t been at the Gazette. A column that he surrendered almost as swiftly as he had earned it, which continued to puzzle her.

“Good,” he said as she followed him through the gate. “We’ll start simple and work our way up every morning.”

“Every morning?” she cried.

“We need to be consistent if you want to make any sort of progress,” he said, beginning a brisk walk up the street. “Is there a problem with that?”

Iris sighed, keeping pace with him. “No. But if you’re a sorry coach, then don’t expect me to return tomorrow morning.”

“Fair enough.”

They walked for several minutes, Roman keeping an eye on his wristwatch. The silence was soft between them, the chilled morning air sharp as a blade down her throat. Soon, Iris felt her blood warm, and when Roman said it was time to run, she fell into a slow jog at his side.

“We’ll run for a minute, walk for two, and repeat that cycle until we need to return to Marisol’s,” he explained.

“Iris,” said Roman, “you are worthy of love. You are worthy to feel joy right now, even in the darkness. And just in case you’re wondering … I’m not going anywhere, unless you tell me to leave, and even then, we might need to negotiate.”

“Are you sure about that, Kitt? What if I want you to wash my laundry for the rest of the war? What if I want you to massage my feet every night? What if I want you to make me a cup of tea every hour?”

“I can do all of that and more if you like,” he said, deadly serious. “Simply tell me what you want.”

“I want to spend all my days and all my nights with you. Marry me.”

“Marry me, Iris Elizabeth Winnow,”

Roman Kitt wants to marry me.