The unease I’ve tried to stymie revives at full force. I knew informing the abbess of my decision would not be easy, but I underestimated how powerful an influence she has been in my life. A small part of me still craves her approval.
“No, Mother Mabel. I’ve only realized that my views of the faith no longer align with those of Thornbrook.”
Her eyebrows snap together over her hawkish nose. “I see.” She takes me in, seeking out any crack or fault or doubt. “When did you decide this?”
I do not make this decision lightly. Since my recovery, I have questioned my place at Thornbrook. I’ve asked myself those trying questions. Who am I? What, above all else, do I want? Learning of the abbess’ betrayal solidifies this choice.
“When I decided does not matter,” I say. “My mind will not change.”
“What will you do out there? Where will you go?” Tension pulls her voice taut, and the skin around her mouth whitens. “The world is not kind to women.”
Does she think so little of me and my accomplishments? “It will take time to get my bearings,” I say, the words edged, “but I’m not without a plan.”
The journey to Kilkare will take the day. I’ll then contact my old swordsmithing mentor. I’ve no doubt he will hire me. After a year or two, hopefully my wages will enable me to open my own shop.
“Do you hear yourself?” she argues. “You have no money, no means to build a life. Once you leave Thornbrook, I will no longer be able to protect you.”
I lift my chin. “Is it my protection you care for, or control?”
Her nostrils flare. Her spine straightens. It is answer enough.
Blowing out a breath, I unclench my fists at my side. Perhaps that was unfair. I believe Mother Mabel cares for her charges. I was given a home and a purpose when I had none. “You do not need to worry about me.”
“Brielle—”
“Thank you,” I say, “for putting a sword into my hand. That is something I will never be able to repay you for.”
“You can repay me,” she grinds out, “by remaining here, where I can keep you safe.”
Keep me safe. Keep me small. There is no difference in my eyes.
“I am going out into the world, Mother Mabel,” I state, heading for the door. “It’s past time that my life begins.”
43
“YOU’RE SURE OF THIS?” HARPERasks, watching as I store the last of my belongings.
It’s not much. A handful of clothes and two pairs of shoes—slippers for service, boots for work. My journal, my most beloved possession, every word of heartbreak, self-consciousness, fear. The small woven basket containing my mother’s poultices. Lastly, the Text, its pages worn thin. There is still much I can learn from its teachings.
“I am sure.” My pack, which sits at the foot of my cot, is only half full. The sight saddens me. Ten years I’ve lived here, yet there is so little that is truly mine.
“Aren’t you afraid?”
I turn to Harper. Arms crossed, she perches on the windowsill, the green wellspring of Carterhaugh framed at her back. I have misunderstood her. I recognize that now.
“Yes, I’m afraid.” The thought of stepping beyond Thornbrook’s gates, never to return, kicks my pulse into a mad dash. “But the fear reminds me I still have miles to go on this journey.”
“To Kilkare?”
My mouth quirks, and I rest a palm over my sternum. “In here.” Perhaps this journey will help me come to terms with my abandonment. The pain of losing my mother might always linger, but that doesn’t mean I cannot grow from it. It doesn’t mean I am in any way at fault.
Harper frowns dubiously—an expression I know well. “I always knew there was something strange about you.”
I bite back a smile. It wouldn’t be a proper farewell without Harper’s uninvited snark.
“I’ll write you,” I say, securing my bag once the Text is nestled safely inside. “And you’re always welcome to stay with me once I find permanent housing.”
She hesitates, then seems to come to a decision. “It will not be the same with you gone.”
