“Yes. Leave.” His voice is firm. “Someone...” He glances around. “Something has happened that makes me believe we are being watched. Besides, you did not think you could stay around in Bronich, did you?” He lifts his bushy eyebrows. “I doubt Master Coperie will take kindly to losing you.”
“I...” I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve been so fixated on reaching that goal that whatever came after was a problem for thefuture. Except now that future is here. But to risk my life by leaving? That’s not what I want. What I want is to be free to make my own choices. Use my spare coin to find housing, find some decent work, or live off the grid. I’m decent at both foraging and setting up snares—one of the few useful things I learned at the orphanage. Evan, the old groundskeeper, used to sneak us into the woods when the matron weren’t looking, teaching us a few “useful skills,” as he called them. I shake my head, ridding myself of the hopeless dreams of a peaceful, quiet future where I’m never bothered again.
“And where do you propose we go, precisely?” It’s well-known that leaving Bronich is a near-impossible feat unless one has a death wish.
“We will traverse the pass.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. The way he says it, you would believe people were running through there on a daily basis.
“But... I mean... The pass?” My eyes search his stoic features for any hint of jest, but he looks deadly serious. He doesn’t even blink. “And you think we’ll be safe on the other side?” I furrow my brow. “What about the East?” I sign. “I’ve heard there are other towns like Bronich behind the mountains, on the Eastern Plains. Isn’t that where you were all those weeks?”
There’s something about the idea of moving deeper into the plains that gives me pause—a lingering unease, as if the path to the east is cloaked in an even deeper darkness than the one I’m currently in.
“Trust me, Laïna. That isnotsomewhere you want to go,” he says, confirming my suspicion, his voice grim.
I purse my lips behind the veil. “But the other side of the pass... Isn’t that where all evil resides?” I sign, quoting the minister. “Are you sure that’s a better option than staying here?”
He huffs. “You still believe the minister?”
Do I? I stare at the cracks in the stone behind him, barely visible in the dim light. He has a valid point. “No.” I shake my head. Llyr’s warnings aside, the minister’s involvement with the shadow creaturehas made his untrustworthiness obvious. “But I’ve noticed you don’t deny the danger of the pass itself.”
“That would be futile. It is a risk. I cannot deny that.”
“Then you can go on your own,” I sign. “Give me the freedom you promised me, and I will be out of your way.” A thought occurs to me. “Unless you plan tobuyme and force me to come with you?”
I can practically feel the tension in the air as he considers his options, his jaw working.
“No,” he finally says.
“So, you’re planning tostealme?” I sign, sharp and angry. “Do I have to remind you it’s impossible for me to go very far as long as I’m wearing the brace?” I wave my arm in front of his face. “Or do you have some other great plan?” I arch an eyebrow.
My aggressive behavior is wildly inappropriate, yet I can’t help it. Despite having learned the cost of misbehaving early on, my insides constantly want to rebel. Now my years of practice is the only thing that keeps me appropriately submissive. Most of the time. This is not one of those.
Llyr growls. “You shouldn’t be anyone’s property—that is what I plan. No one should.”
I blink. “How about this?” I sign. “You secure my freedom, and I choose if I want to go with you. As a free person.”
He rubs his brow as if he wants to ward off a headache. “Yes, let us do it that way.”
“Really?” My heart rate picks up.
“I would much prefer you come willingly”—he holds my gaze firmly—“so can you at least promise me you will consider it?” There’s a desperation in his voice I haven’t heard before.
“I promise,” I sign. Although I have no desire to leave, especially not by traversing the mountain pass—I will not gain my freedom only to die—I will give it some thought, if only to please him.
“I’m not playing games with you, Laïna. Times are changing, and not in our favor.” The unexpected weight of a firm hand on my shoulderjolts me, and I have to fight the instinct to pull away. It’s not often people touch me—and even rarer that the touch is kind. “Come by here tomorrow at first light.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “And if Mah wills, you will have changed your mind.”
IT IS LATE IN THE day by the time I reach the woods. At least First Day means I don’t have to serve. I slow my pace and gaze up at the tall pine trees. They resemble a cluster of guardians with their towering treetops reaching toward the heavens. The forest is my sanctuary. It feels like...home.There’s a kinship with the trees that I’ve yet to experience with any human, as if their roots are entwined with my own.
Walking amongst the towering trees, I relish the soft scent of pine needles and the earthy aroma of damp soil. It stirs something deep within, like fragments of a forgotten dream. I grasp for the memory, eager to bring it to the surface, but I may as well try grasping air. Pausing, I gaze up between the tall trees, their tops vanishing into the thick blanket of gray clouds. How would it feel to never walk through this forest again? To start over somewhere new? Would I even survive the journey? I purse my lips, considering the options. Although Bronich is miserable, these woods are not, and I don’t want to risk my life for a place I have no knowledge about. After inhaling another deep breath, I let out a sigh of contentment.
Soon, I spot the old pine I use as my hiding place. Its long branches brush the ground like a wide skirt, hiding the large roots covering the ground beneath it. I duck under the branches and retrieve my satchel from where I hid it. And although I don’t really believe the tree can hear me, I whisper a quiet thank-you.
My most precious possessions are nestled within the worn-out satchel: a leather-bound journal, its pages filled with stories and sketches of possible futures; a piece of coal to write with; flint for fire;my coin purse; and a couple spare snares. I add my black dagger to the collection, then let my fingers trace the smooth cover of the journal. Even now, several years later, the gift given to me by Llyr evokes a deep sense of gratitude whenever I bring it out—although I know he only gave me the gift to inspire more stories for himself. Considering my dreams are coming true, I’m pondering the idea of gifting the old man the whole collection. The thought of freedom elicits a rush of butterflies, but I push them back down. I don’t want to get my hopes up before the brace is officially off.
Counting the iron pennies, I drop them back into the small purse one by one. I guess I don’t have to spend any of them now that Llyr has agreed to secure my freedom. I could find some cheap housing, offering to help out, or, with summer approaching, I could live out here in the woods, far away from people.
Noticing the characteristic footprints of a hare in the thin layer of snow, I throw the satchel across my shoulder and follow the trail deeper into the woods, praying it ends at one of my snares. It doesn’t take long before the burn of the brace becomes noticeable. Grinding my teeth, I deepen my breathing as I push forward, determined to make it to my snares, cursing the restrictions of my brace with every step farther into the woods.
