3
Kess
Sunset arrives too quicklyand not fast enough.
I don't find anything meaningful to do with the last of my time, don't manage to do much besides make sure everything in the cottage is in place in the very slim chance that I come back. The truth is, though, I have so few possessions that I run out of things to oil or clean or organize quickly.
My hand keeps going to my aunt's ring on my finger—checking it's there, spinning it around, feeling the worn silver warm against my skin. Then my hand drifts lower, to the red bracelet Yaern made me, and a lump forms in my throat.
She wants so badly for me to live that I can't help but worry what she'll do when I simply... don't come back. Because let's face it: this isn't like one of my heats. I won't wake up with blood in my mouth.
A soft knock at the door makes me sit up.
Yaern stands on my threshold, eyes red from crying she's been doing alone. She's holding something wrapped in cloth.
"I came early like I said I would," she says. "Before they take you."
I step aside and she enters, closing the door behind her. For a moment we just stand there in my small cottage, breathing the same air, existing in the same space one last time.
Then she unwraps the cloth.
The knife is perfect. Small, barely longer than her palm, the blade thin and wickedly sharp. The handle is wrapped in dark leather, worn smooth like it's been held many times before. Light enough to hide. Sharp enough to kill.
"It was my brother's," she says quietly. "Hunting knife. He used it for the killing stroke when we were children, before he left for the coast. I kept it, and spent the past few hours sharpening it and replacing the handle so it fits a woman's grip."
I take it from her hands. The weight is negligible. The balance is perfect. I test the edge with my thumb and blood wells immediately—razor sharp.
"Hide it in your hair," Yaern whispers. "They'll check your dress, your hands, but they won't think to search your hair properly. Work it deep. Don't let them see."
I thread it into my hair now, practicing, feeling where it sits best. Deep in the dark strands, close to my scalp where my fingers can reach even with my wrists chained.
"Thank you," I manage past the tightness in my throat.
"Don't thank me." Her voice breaks. "Kill him. Kill him for your aunt. For the forty-seven before her. For every omega who died screaming in that grove."
"I'll try."
"No." She grabs my shoulders, fierce. "Don't just try. Succeed. Put that blade through his throat and watch him bleed. Then come back here and tell me how it felt to spill his gods-damned guts."
It's the most violent thing I've ever heard her say.
I love her for it.
"If I survive," I say carefully, "I'll come back. I promise."
"When you survive." She pulls me into a hug, crushing me against her. "When, Kess. Not if."
We stand there while the sky outside slowly darkens, holding each other, neither wanting to be the first to let go.
Finally, she pulls back.
"They'll be here soon," she says, swiping at her eyes. "Get dressed. I'll see you at the square."
She slips out into the golden light of a sky approaching sunset.
I'm alone again. Like I will be at the end. Hopefullyafterhe breathes his last breath, so I know he's dying too.
I touch the knife in my hair, taking courage from its weight, the promise of its blade.
