Damn it.Now he has me.
Roburn clears his throat. “Listen. I can see that you’re afraid. But to be perfectly frank, if we were here to hurt you, we would have done so already.”
His eyes flit to my hands, and I realize I’ve crumpled Finn’s letter by gripping it so hard. I need to refuse quickly, or else I might not be able to. Already my heart is doing backflips. So I say forcefully, “My mother is away, and I don’t know when she will be returning. I can’t leave without her. Please send the prince my apologies.”
The captain is quiet as we appraise each other. I see no calculation or distrust in his face, just concern and perhaps some pity. Maybe I look as lonely and desperate as I feel. “This invitation doesn’t have to be permanent,” he says quietly, after a while. “You’ve been summoned as a guest, not a prisoner. You’d be welcome to leave at your leisure.”
My brow knits. “What are you saying?”
“Come with us. Report for your duties, rendezvous with Finneas, and do whatever it is he’s summoned you to do. You could leave a note for your mother explaining your whereabouts, and you’d always be welcome to return and retrieve her.”
“She wouldn’t want that,” I mumble.
The captain cocks his head. His voice drops, and his tone softens, like I’m a wounded animal. “And what is ityouwant, Lyria?”
What do I want?
The question is so foreign, he might as well have asked it in a different language. Cold sweeps through me as I take a long beat to consider, a thousand options bubbling up my throat.Safety. Control. A father. To be someone different. To make Mother proud. Finn.
But one word rises above all others.
Freedom.
I break Roburn’s gaze, looking out toward the crimson sky. Mother was seventeen when she first left the Ironwoods. A year younger than I am now. I’ve sworn up and down for years that I’m ready for the real world, begging her for the opportunity to prove myself.
Isn’t this my chance?
I imagine myself riding up to the gates of the palace, becoming a royal apothecary as she once did. I see myself working alongside the other Healers, shoulder to shoulder with the greatest minds in the Midlands, engaged in a vital mission. And I envision our reunion, with a cure in my hand…and the look on Mother’s face as she realizes how wrong she’s been about my capabilities. I could prove that I’m more than a monster. If I can pull this off—travel to Crown City, successfully conceal my identity, and find a cure—she can never again claim that I don’t have what it takes to survive in the real world.
No more wardlines.
No more cages.
“All right,” I say finally. “I’ll do it. I’ll go with you.”
t’s a three-day ride to Crown City.
I don’t bring much: just my satchel, my dagger, some spare clothes, and an old apothecary belt I dug out of the back of a closet.
I equipped it with the six most useful potions in my arsenal: grizzlefoot for pain, nocturn for sleep, all’s-cure for wounds, everhart for courage, jacksbane for strength, and silvertongue to elicit the truth.
Our first day of travel takes us to the Ironwood foothills, which is the farthest west I’ve ever ventured. We reach Rodrick’s Wall by midday on the second. I’ve heard Mother describe the hateful landmark many times. The books say the wall took a century to build after the war. The royal family claims theyraised it to protect the Hartlands from monsters, but its true purpose is clear—to keep the Elves from ever returning to our homeland. Although Elves are legally permitted to reside in outwall regions of Verdinae—often facing human prejudice and oppression—they are not allowed to enter inwall cities. The wall juts abruptly from the landscape, its edges as smooth and unnatural as a sword plunged into the earth. It’s made of massive blocks of stone and rises a hundred feet tall or more, crowned with jutting spikes.
Our party rides toward a lone gate, which from a distance appears to be a small, rounded hole in the base of the structure. As we approach, I make out what I think at first are birds perched at intervals along the top of the wall until I realize my mistake and have to hold in the rising vomit.
They’re not birds. They’re heads.
I shouldn’t be here.
Panic floods me, though I battle to keep it from my expression. I glance around for the reactions of the soldiers, but no one seems the slightest bit fazed. Roburn’s eyes stay fixed ahead, his expression stoic as usual. I see one soldier glance up grimly but then quickly avert her eyes.
I can almost hear Mother beside me.This is who they are. This is what they do.
“You ever seen it before?” I turn to see the guard who spoke. He’s pale with jet-black hair and acne scars. He follows my gaze to the top of the wall. “They’re Elves who tried to climb the wall. Bunch of idiots, in my view. No one makes it over.”
I grip the pommel until my knuckles go white.
When we near the gate, I’m terrified that they’re going to stop us and interrogate me about my citizenship. But to my relief, the VIA guards just wave us through. The wall is so thick that it takes several minutes to pass through the tunnel. We do so in darkness, with the sounds of our horses’ hooves echoingin cacophony. When we emerge on the opposite side, the sun is blinding. I blink, trying to regain my vision. But something’s wrong. The colors look too bright. I rub my eyes, squinting…
