The metal sword flinched, the blade chipping. So she stabbed down again, growing wilder with each swing. For every time the blades met with a clang, she missed and stabbed into the wood planks of the floor. But each chip was like a door being ripped open in her chest, one she had kept locked for years.
She screamed, staring down at the mangled mess of steel.
After all those years of taking care of him, living with him, Iryana finally realized she had never forgiven him. She knew she hadn’t at first, even though her mother constantly reminded her it wasn’t his fault he was injured. He had saved so many lives, but Iryana had still hated him. Her mother had begged her to behave, but Iryana had refused.
Iryana thought eventually she had put aside that hurt, perhaps not forgiving him but accepting what he became. She hadn’t.
She struggled to calm her shaking breath. Now that she acknowledged it, the pain was overwhelming.
Why did she always have to make things worse? It was so unfair. Her family couldn’t rely on her, couldn’t trust her. And yet, had she been the only person who could save them? Had she pushed and run and hid for too long, dooming them? Had there ever truly been a chance of saving them, if she was the only chance they had? That wasn’t really a chance at all.
But if she hadn’t been so afraid of failing them, of losing them when they saw how broken she was, there might have been a chance. It was still her fault.
Iryana screamed, her back arching and neck straining. The sound echoed painfully against the wooden walls and floors, but she couldn’t stop. She screamed and screamed until she collapsed in the middle of the kitchen, banging her fists against the cold floor.
Hadima might die, and it was all her fault. Iryana should have done it herself, should have at least tried.
She drove everyone away. Her mother, her family, Vaneshta, Pyetar.
Why was she sobroken?
It didn’t matter anymore. Iryana couldn’t help them. She couldn’t help anyone.
Standing, stepping around the chaos of ash from the oven, trunks, and the mangled sword, Iryana looked at her stash on the top shelf. Most of the little jars and bottles of herbs and other supplies would still be good. Some she would have to replace.
Her eyes fell on her market basket, full of jars stuffed with extra supplies she’d intended for the clan, and she thought of running into Pyetar at the market.
Iryana threw the basket against the farthest wall, glass shattering and scattering across the floor. There was no peace here, not anymore. She didn’t fit in the solitude, the loneliness.
A strangled laugh escaped her. It was fitting. Her time with the 18th had robbed her of her home more than she had ever expected. She didn’t fit here anymore, she couldn’t stay.
It was time for Iryana to leave. For good.
The decision settled in her calmly. It wasn’t peaceful, but it was a numb sort of relief.
There was time to go back to the fort if that was what she wanted—where she wanted to be. Her mission with Vaneshta wouldn’t be over yet; she could get back before they’d expect her. But she couldn’t bear to be so close, to have the constant reminder of her failures. Couldn’t face Pyetar again. Couldn’t pretend with the man who might have killed her sister. She’d have to go far away.
Iryana started packing her things back up and paused.
How could she leave without knowing if Hadima had made it through the night? If she would survive, if Misha would be all alone. Could Iryana truly live her life without knowing?
It was the memory of Hadima in the days after their mother left that decided it for Iryana.
Hadima had been so hurt when she’d found out months later. So confused. Their mother had never said goodbye, and that had left wounds on her sisters that Iryana could not rip back open. She had to at least say goodbye, make sure Hadima knew it wasn’t her fault.
After packing the few things she couldn’t bear to never see again, Iryana left the bundled sack by the door to retrieve later, and headed back toward the main house.
It was before dawn, far too early for anyone to be awake in the house. Yet the windows around the main hall and kitchen glowed with the soft yellow of candlelight, and Iryana could hear voices arguing within.
The thought of the family in there—the ones she would likely never see again—hurt.
She snuck around to the other entrance, avoiding the part of the courtyard bathed in light. Her leg was doing better now that it had been re-wrapped tighter, but it still ached with every step she took.
The door opened with a moaning creak as she pushed it open with shaking hands. The back of house was quiet, Hadima’s workshop empty, and Iryana hada safe shot up to the second floor. There could always be someone up and about, but Iryana must have found some rare luck because the halls were empty.
She paused when she reached the door to Hadima’s room. If Hadima hadn’t made it, would they have put her body in her room? The thought of walking in and seeing her older sister’s corpse nearly sent Iryana retching.
But she needed to know, and there was only one way to find out.
