My father leaves the room, and I need to tell them that it doesn’t matter what they do. If I stay, it will only be a matter of time before I’m dead.
But I’m frozen.
Glued to the ground, unable to move, unable to speak.
My mother kneels beside me.
“It’s going to be okay, Sera. You’ll make it to trial day. We’ll inform the Enforcers. We’ll let them know what’s happened. We’ll get them to station someone outside of our home. They are not allowed to harm you.” She gives me a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and I know she doesn’t believe the words she’s saying.
The Enforcers don’t care about us. They don’t care aboutme,and they especially won’t care if I really did murder that man back in thatalley.
They’ll either come for me themselves, or simply allow Norin to take care of me for them.
And Norin won’t stop until I’m dead.
In his eyes, I’m his greatest competition, even more so than Char.
Essentari always win the trials.
Always.
Which is why the smart ones keep their abilities hidden until the last possible moment. Until the final trial has officially begun.
Essentari may be strong, they may be powerful, but that doesn’t mean they’re invincible.
There are stories of Essentari who have been murdered before trial day, and I know my mother has heard them.
Seven years ago, a water wielder from Village 32 was ambushed six months before her final trial. She died. And not a single person was arrested for the brutal crime.
I will not become her. Another story. Another cautionary tale.
“Mama,” I say softly. “I need to leave. If I stay here, they’ll find me. They’ll kill me. I have to go.”
She shakes her head because she knows if I leave, I can never return.
I’ll be marked as an evader.
Killed on sight.
So I’ll have to stay gone, and she’ll never see me again.
“She’s right, Cresla.” I didn’t hear my father enter the room, but he’s here now, stroking my mother’s hair.
“No. There has to be another way,” she whispers, eyes filling with tears.
“I have to go, Mama,” I say again because I need her to tell me the same thing. I need her to tell me that I do in fact have to leave;otherwise, I never will.
She grabs my fingers with her own. “I will not lose another daughter.”
“If I stay, you will lose me.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, and I think she’s going to try to convince me. I think she’ll never actually let me leave, but then she whispers, “Okay.” And my heart throbs.
Once again, she wraps me in her arms, and together we cry.
We cry until I know my eyes are red and swollen.
We cry until I’m not sure if I have any tears left to fall.
