“Papa’s called a meeting today,” he said. I closed my eyes. “He wants us to be with him. He’s meeting with the men from Kutaisi. They’re all coming here.”
A shiver ran down my spine. “I don’t want to go.” I thought of the head of that clan. “The man, the leader always stares at us. He makes me feel strange. I hate him.”
My brother was silent for a moment, then said, “I feel like that around him, too.”
I snapped my eyes open and turned to my side. My brother did the same, the two of us lying on our sides so we could talk. “You do?” I whispered.
“Yes. He … he makes shivers go down my spine.”
I took a deep breath and looked into my brother’s brown eyes. “I think Papa likes him.”
My brother’s eyes narrowed. “I think he does, too.”
“I don’t trust him,” I admitted. My brother reached out and laid his hand over mine.
“Nor do I.” I took a deep breath and I could feel my cheek twitch in nerves. “But we have to go. We have to become strong men to lead our clan.”
My brother released his hand and I stared at his face. “You’ll lead. You’re the oldest. You’re the heir.”
He laughed, and it made me smile. “By four minutes.”
I shrugged, but his hand squeezed mine. “No, brother. You’re my twin. Grandmama says we share strength. We’ll lead together. We will always be together. We’re stronger together. You know this.”
Losing my smile, I nodded my head. “I know. But you’ll always be my older brother to me.” My brother smiled. We both lay down on our backs.
“Papa wants us to cut our hair,” my brother said. I turned my head to face his. “I told him we liked it long. Grandmama agreed. I think we’ll be able to keep it long.” He looked over at me and smiled. “It’s long and black, like Georgian warriors of old used to wear.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “we’ll never cut it and we will always be warriors.”
“You and me,” my brother said.
“You and me,” I agreed.
“And me!” a little voice called from behind us. I smiled and rolled onto my knees. A little girl was hiding in the grass. Her long black hair stood out against the tall green grass.
My brother rolled his eyes, then closed his eyes, his face soaking in the hot sun. But I stretched up, smiled at my little sister hiding in the field.
“Mmm … did you hear something, brother?” I said, and heard my sister’s giggle from a few feet away.
My brother grunted, too busy falling asleep.
I crept forward and said aloud, “It sounded like Zoya. Didn’t you think it sounded like Zoya?” I played along.
More laughter came from just in front of me. Two brown eyes appeared in the grass, so dark they looked like darkness itself.
“Mmm … I wonder where she could be?” I said, and pretended to search the grass. When her giggles became too loud to ignore, I couldn’t help but smile. In seconds, my five-year-old sister jumped from the grass and ran straight at me. Her laughing face was the last thing I saw before she launched into my arms, knocking me back, near my brother.
My brother cracked one eye and, smirking, shook his head at my sister. Then he went back to sleep.
Zoya pulled back and her little hands pressed against my cheeks as she sat on my lap. “Sykhaara,” she said to me, using Grandmama’s pet name for me, “my sweetness,” “I came to get you. Papa wants you both home ‘now’!” I laughed as she imitated our papa’s deep voice. She laughed when I laughed. “He said some men are coming and you have to dress up and meet them. ‘You have to learn the family business’!” she imitated again, her little hands on her hips.
My brother laughed at our little sister as he stayed in his position beside us and Zoya nodded her head meaningfully. Her eyebrows pulled together and she asked, “Who are the men?”
I tapped the end of her nose. “Papa’s friends.”
“Ohhh,” she replied, “so they’re my friends, too?”