Warren holds his hands out, smiling as honeybees dance on his palms. He giggles.
“It tickles,” he says.
“Keep still!” Yennevieve scolds, but she’s grinning too.
She cups Warren’s hands in her own, the sun shining off her blue-purple robe. Solma watches them Whisper with their heads together, eyes closed, as Yenn’s bees dance across her brother’s hands. For the first time in months, Warren’s cheeks glow with a sun-blush. Though his eyes are closed, Solma knows that there’ll be a shine in them when they open, the kind of light she’s hoped, all winter, she’d see when she looked at him.
And it’s strange how broken she feels, watching him. Isn’t this what she’d wanted? The way he smiles as the insects waggle and scurry across his skin, drawing goose bumps in their wake, the way he gazes at
