The coin led down a path she could never—would never—take.
Iryana had wanted to drop off the cudweed she’d gathered first thing, but she’d barely had time to get four hours of sleep in her cottage before she had to take over the southern watchtower.
Feeling groggy, stomach unsettled, Iryana carefully watched the trees. Morning sun reflected harshly against the lingering snow.
The southern watchtower was newer and smaller, nothing more than a wooden platform with half-walls and a thatched roof built onto a protected ledge. There was a small wooden stool in the corner and just enough space to take a few steps in either direction as she paced.
She could never fully relax out there, though the tower was carefully disguised. The trunks of old pines were secured to the front of the tower, and fresh pine branches were added every few weeks to obscure the structure from the ground.
Iryana kept finding herself looking down at the worn coin as she twirled it between her fingers.
She hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind.
It was exactly what Hadima had falsely claimed Iryana had before: a way into the brigade. A shot at finding one of their wells.
There was a part of her that wondered if using the coin would really be so bad. It was hope at least, and didn’t she owe it to her family to try?
It would be dangerous. The brigades were viper pits, and if she were found out, they would undoubtedly kill her. Even though she’d risked her life for her family countless times, this felt different.
If she walked into the main hall and showed her family that coin, showed the First, it would be telling them that she was stepping up, ready to take herplace again. They would look at her with hope and acceptance, rely on her to save them—at least until she messed up. And then they would look at her like an outsider again, send her away. And that would hurt even more.
They didn’t realize how much she still cared, how much she would do for them. If they did, they would use it to bring her back, lay on the guilt so thick it would strangle her.
Just because she could risk her life for them, would do anything else for them, it didn’t mean she could handle being around them. Even after three years on her own, it was hard to explain the exact feelings that drove her away. The anxiety and claustrophobia around them were only part of it. The shame and guilt from how she’d failed them ate away at her, the anger at how they looked at her when she did, even though she understood why.
Iryana lowered herself onto the stool, rubbing her thighs with her palms.
Once, she’d thought family meant unconditional love and unending forgiveness, but she’d learned that wasn’t the case. Her life seemed like it was an endless series of failings.
If she had been a better kid, her mother wouldn’t have left her to care for her father alone. If she were a better guardian, Marisha would still be alive. If she were justbetter, less broken, she would have been able to fit back into the family.
Iryana shook the thoughts away as her eyes began to burn. It wasn’t worth wondering about what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.
Looking at the coin again, Iryana tried to imagine what would happen if she actually succeeded. If she infiltrated the brigade and found a metal well. The vision of happy, grateful family members instantly soured. Any pride or love they felt for her was fleeting, conditional. Gone again as easily as it arrived.
Her stomach clenched so tight at the ridiculousness of it, and her head swayed.
Iryana leaned over the back wall of the watchtower and heaved, trying to keep her breakfast down. Lights danced across her eyes, and she worried she might pass out.
They’d blamed her for Marisha, for her mother, for everything else, even if they wouldn’t outright admit it.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sighed.
The coin was a curse, not an opportunity.
She drew her arm back, ready to chuck it into the forest where it would no longer be a temptation, but she hesitated.
“Come on, you coward,” she growled at herself, lips pulled back into a grimace.
But still, she didn’t throw the coin.
With a frustrated grunt, Iryana shoved it back in her pocket where it stayed through the rest of her shift.
Afterwards, she spent the rest of the day distracting herself with chores. By dinnertime, she was already sore from cleaning up the barn and pens on the bottom floor of her house, and lugging water from the valley stream for clothes washing.
Exhausted, she carefully stepped through the floor of her cottage’s main living space. Dirt-covered tubers were evenly spread across the worn wooden planks where she’d rolled them out a few days prior. Little pale shoots were just sprouting in clusters around the potatoes’ eyes.
It wasn’t a large house. The bottom floor was the now-tidy pens and barn for the animals, rooms for storage, and the cellar. The back half of the second floor was the hayloft, separated from the living space by a narrow corridor. Then she had a small bedroom with a bed barely big enough for two to crowd in, but the quilts and wall hangings gave it a cozy feeling. It was too far from the stove to be slept in during the long winter, but during summer it offered some privacy. Not that she needed it, living by herself. The main room was larger, with benches and shelves built into the exterior walls, and a few tables pushed up next to them for eating or working. Decorative designs of all colors had been painted along the furniture and walls, but now it was mostly faded and peeling. The large stove dominated the inside corner of the room—the most important thing in the entire cottage.
