The best she could promise was to give her sister hope for a while. Long enough that Hadima could find some other solution. And if she could do it… find the metal well? It would change everything for her family. But then the small place she’d carved out at the post would slip away from her; it would be all or nothing with the First. And Iryana would have to choose nothing.
Was that better than dooming her clan? It was a noose around her neck either way.
“Okay,” she said. The word felt like giving up. Like letting go of the small hold she still had on her family.
Hadima visibly deflated with relief. “Okay?”
“But no one can know. Just you and me. And you can’t count on this working; look for other ways too. I will try, but no promises.”
“What are we supposed to do?”
“Keep the unforged from leaving. Hunt the dakii. Do whatever you can.” That would be something, and even if Iryana failed, it might be enough.
Hadima took a steadying breath. “How will this work? If you’re gone, the family will notice eventually. And what about your shifts?”
“You’ll have to cover for me.” Iryana took a shaking breath. “Tell them I am helping at another post, seeing if I want to move there after the summer. The family will have to give out my shifts. And take care of my animals.”
Hadima winced, and Iryana knew it would hurt. The family was already pulled too thin. But they’d be pulled even thinner if the other unforged left. It went against the agreement she’d made with the First, would seem to go against her guardian vows. She didn’t envy her sister’s having to explain it. Iryana was a coward for making her sister do it.
“Okay.” Hadima looked carefully at Iryana and held out the aged coin. Guilt swam in her eyes. “Thank you.”
Iryana stared at it, hoping it would grow wings and take off into the sky, saving her from the pain it would bring. But it stayed where it was between Hadima’s pinched fingers until Iryana slowly took it with her own.
“We are already running out of time. If this is to work, we need to start immediately.” Hadima gestured toward the house, and Iryana hesitated. “We should make some plans to stay in touch.”
Then she would need to pack. And hunt down the brigade’s liaison to take her to their base.
A shiver went up her spine. It already felt like a mistake.
Iryana’s hands shook as she unclipped the patchy gray scarves from the drying line strung across her yard. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers. It was stiff from drip-drying, and she could still make out hints of the patterns that had decorated the scarves before she’d soaked them in baths of mordant and dye.
They really needed another round in the bath, but there wasn’t time.
She was leaving the only place she could really call home. No matter how hard she tried to wrap her head around it, it didn’t feel real.
Her cottage was quiet when she slipped back inside, the stove already cooling from the lack of careful tending through the night. She had spent hours digging in the dark, burying the seed potatoes that had sprouted just in time. A show of faith that she would return by autumn and the post would still be here.
She tried not to think about where she was going, the people she would live with: drug dealers, murderers, and leeches. Tried not to think about what she’d have to do for them.
It had been a week since the First had revealed the duchess’s ultimatum, a few wild days of preparation culminating the morning before by asking the liaison for an escort. Everything about her was numb.
After carefully tucking her new headscarves into her bag, Iryana kneeled at the foot of her bed. The corners of the trunk scratched against the wood floor as she dragged it out, and the hinges squeaked when she forced the lid open.
Once, it had been beautiful; the inside made of fine wood and papered with soft purple flowers and yellow-green vines now faded with age. Her mother had brought it all the way from Klees and it was still full of clothes that there’d been no occasion for. Her mother hadn’t bothered to take any of it with her when she left, and Iryana felt the loss with each garment she had to remake for her own needs.
Iryana reached inside, fingers dancing across light green fabric. The color of fresh shoots in spring. It was earth-imbued, the fibers barely showing their age. As if it hadn’t been sitting in the trunk for years.
A shuddering breath forced Iryana to curl over the trunk, clutching at her chest.
The dresses were for walking along tidy streets, sitting in lavish rooms, dancing at festivals. There wasn’t a place anymore for bright whites, colorful embroidery, and delicate beading, but Iryana still wished she could see her mother wear them again. Back in Klees, her mother had thrived. Moving around gracefully and elegantly, seeing to her guardian duties like one of the noble-born.
She had loved being a Kleesold.
Until Iryana drove her away.
If only Iryana had been able to behave, to leash her frustration at being separated from the rest of the family. If only she could have been helpful like Hadima would have been, making things easier for their mother. But no, Iryana had been a wild disaster that fought her chores, practiced her fighting forms instead of tending the garden, and argued with both her parents constantly.
Her eyes burned, and Iryana threw her head back, blinking away the emotions.
