Chapter 1


He was tired—extremely tired.

It had been another of those long, uneventful days during which he did little else besides stare out the window and observe his countrymen and women from the top story of his villa. He never admitted to himself that he was lonely; he did have periodic visits from time to time, but mostly he preferred peace and quiet. Growing up on a small island, often isolated from the rest of the world, had taught him that much.

But peace and quiet were becoming more difficult to attain these days.

Cyprus would know, because his was a nation that was never long in responding to change. Unlike most other countries with numerous states and provinces to attend to, he found himself more subject to the whims and desires of his people. That in itself was not a bad thing, but it did make him more keenly aware of everything that went on in his country.

And now he was feeling not only tired, but sad. Cyprus knew very well what was happening.

The Day had rolled around again.

Of course, he himself had chosen to call it The Day, in a halfhearted attempt to lessen its impact. But it did no good; the mere thought and the simple name only served to worsen the pain he now felt. And the memories came rushing back with an almost merciless intensity: the rioting, the fighting, the continuous shouts of Enosis, enosis!

Cyprus shut his eyes and tried in vain to push it all away.

He knew he still had difficulty accepting that things had changed. But it truly had all changed—changed to the point that he couldn't recognize what kind of world he lived in anymore. Almost everyone he knew had begun to slip away, not all physically, but in spirit.

His brother had been the first to go.

Oh, it had been so long ago since he had truly felt like Greece's younger brother. That had been before Greece had gone to war—and returned, never to be the same again. He had grown battle-hardened, grim, a ghost of what he had once been; his former kindness and gentleness, that Cyprus had associated so closely with him, had almost completely vanished.

Those first few years since his return had been torture, Cyprus was sure, for both of them—endeavoring, and failing, to return to those past days of happiness and brotherhood. Over the years they had mostly managed to forget and move on. But (and Cyprus privately blamed this on a certain Turk) the distance between them had never been closed—in fact, it had grown ever wider.

Greece . . . even their referring to each other by country name was painful proof of their separation.

If it hadn't been for a certain little Cypriot he'd discovered on the other side of the island, he didn't know who, or what, would have kept him together.

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"Big brother!" came a voice from the doorway, followed by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Cyprus recognized that voice all too well, and the warm feeling that accompanied it.

He shot out of his couch, where he'd been sitting and scrolling listlessly through Greek TV channels (never Turkish), and ran to the door. Sure enough, the one person he'd most wanted to see was there—his younger brother, the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus, a would-be nation, according to a certain older Turk. But since the two brothers had vowed never to let any conflict get in their way, between the two of them the young Cypriot became North.

The boy broke into a rare grin upon seeing Cyprus, and immediately leapt into his arms.

"Big brother, I missed you!"

Cyprus felt a responding smile stretch across his face as he caught North and held him tightly.

"I missed you too, little one," he said softly. "Where have you been all this time?"

"Oh, here and there," replied North cheerfully, which Cyprus was happy to see. "They're building a national park now, and I went to visit with Sadik. It's a sight, you should really come to see it sometime . . ."

His voice trailed off. Suddenly the cheerful atmosphere seemed strained. Both knew quite well that they were unwelcome in each other's countries, for a variety of reasons.

Cyprus forced another smile.

"I'll be sure to stop by when I can," he said as optimistically as he could, although he very much doubted the possibilities. How odd—they had only seen each other but a moment, and already the family feuds were getting in their way. It was time to change the subject, and Cyprus knew of one absolutely guilt-proof subject to change it to.

"I made food," he said, and that was all there was to it.

In moments North was sampling the Greek dishes that Cyprus had made for him, all tensions forgotten. It seemed that food was the one means by which they were not divided—he could tell by the expression on North's face. Sitting across the table, he watched the young Cypriot enjoy himself, with a sort of vicarious contentment.

"Why aren't you eating, Cyprus?" asked North, looking up at him suddenly. Cyprus was jolted out of his reverie.

"It's for you," he said plainly. North wasn't satisfied, however.

"No, no. That would be too lonely . . . Let's enjoy it together," North decided, although his eyes were now rather saddened, as though he'd sensed Cyprus's mood. "Togetherness is great, don't you agree?"

Cyprus did. He agreed wholeheartedly.

After all, peace and unity were his ideals. It was because of that, that he'd spent so much of his life trying to patch up broken relationships and realize that 'togetherness' again. But he'd mostly failed—and the sad thing was, North was probably the only one who understood.