Page 27
The ache in my chest deepens, because for so long, I’ve been scared of losing Kazak when I had so little to lose. More recently, he’s been sinking into my heart too, giving me a sense of belonging. Now I’m at a war with myself about him. And part of me can’t help but believe he’s placating me about his safety so I don’t worry.
I slip my hands into my pockets as my heart shatters at how much I still care for him.
My fingers close around the small fruit. I’d almost forgotten it was there, and its faint hum travels up my arm. Some of the tension in my muscles eases, and I enjoy the calmness washing over me. It’s soft beneath my touch, and for a moment, I recall the last plum I ate months ago, how sugary sweet it had been. My mouth waters at the thought as my thumb strokes the smooth skin. Would a golden plum taste even better?
The first drop of rain kisses my face, thunder growling in the distance, and we move quickly. We reach the village as gusts of wind whip at my hair and clothes. People are scattered everywhere, as the Day of the Choosing would be completed by now, and those selected are saying farewell to their families.
I can’t seem to catch my breath, thinking my situation isn’t any different. I’m losing my family, and monsters are claiming me.
A few voices rise around us, and some of the locals are staring at the two strangers, then at Kazak and me, pointing, gossiping. To most, it likely appears as though I was in some kind of trouble. Or had rumors spread about me being dragged out of the square? And do they pity me now?
Kazak’s hand still holds my arm firmly. While the stares we pass are sharp, no one speaks loudly. They’re too terrified.
We reach the front of my family’s cottage, a white building with a slate roof. The overgrown lavender bush beneath the window sways in the wind, and I picture my parents, the only ones I’ve known, crying when I tell them I have to leave.
I break from Kazak’s hold, rushing for the front door, my heart beating rapidly.
A guard calls out after me, but Kazak answers and I don’t stop. I push inside, where the house still smells of this morning’s porridge. “Nilly, Pell,” I call out, moving through the living room and into the small kitchen. But it’s empty and the back door remains locked, meaning they’re still working at the bakery. When they’re home, they always leave the back door open for the breeze. Otherwise, the small cottage grows stuffy.
Kazak enters the house.
“They’re not home,” I say, rushing past him and down the hall. “I’m going to freshen up, then I’m going to the bakery.”
“Of course,” he says. “We should have over an hour before the train arrives for those selected for the Choosing.”
I glance back down the hall to where he stands, hands deep into his pockets, staring my way, and I remember all the times he’d visit and how excited I’d been. Now, we’re alone in the cottage, and all I want to do is lock myself up in my room and hope today has been a horrible nightmare.
I enter the bathroom, needing to wash the acrid smell of smoke off me and ignore that those assholes tried to kill me today. It’s a fast wash, as we don’t have hot water to spare, but it’s enough time for my nerves to knot up because after today, my life will never be the same.
But thinking about it threatens to ruin me, so I focus on something else.
Once washed, I wrap myself in a towel and dart across the hallway to my room, noticing that Kazak no longer lingers there.
Quickly, I drag on my undergarments, then choose my best dress because it’s not every day I get to travel to the Elite Mountain.
A sky-blue dress that cinches at the waist with a thin belt, a square neckline, long sleeves, and a skirt that tumbles to my knees. The fabric has tiny yellow flowers sewn onto it. Mary from down the road made it for me for the festive dances.
I find my Sunday sandals, the same blue shade, and step into them. Standing in front of the mirror, I brush my wet hair. It falls down to my stomach, chestnut brown and in a desperate need of a trim, as the ends are frayed.
Violet eyes glance back at me, and that’s another thing that makes me different in this village. Nilly used to say my mother must have been beautiful just like me, but when I look at myself, I only see someone with too many faults.
Though, I’ve seen the way Kazak stares at me, so maybe the rest of me is normal, if a bit too curvy in the chest and hips.
Wasting too much time in the mirror, I begin to pack a bag of clothes and toiletries.
The pain in my stomach churns, but I press whatever I own into the bag , including books, hair ribbons, and my diary. Nilly bought it for my birthday, to write in it whenever someone upsets me, but the pages remain blank. It has a lavender cover with tiny, pressed dried flowers glued across the surface. I push that into my bag as well, and for a long moment, I stand in my room, stunned.
Will this be the last time I’m here?
A loud thunder growls outside. I flinch back and notice the golden plum peeking out from under the towel I’d thrown on the bed.
I reach over and pick it up, then I move to stand in front of the window for light. It hums at my touch, and the sensation settles my nerves. “Why do you look so delicious?”
Turning it in my fingers, I lift it to my nose and inhale. The scent is like the sweetest nectar. My mouth salivates as I stare at it in my palm. It’s hard to explain, but something about this golden plum and its scent spreads warmth through me, and I smile. Everything just feels lighter for a change.
A memory of the last sweet plum I ate comes to mind again, but this craving I’m experiencing is beyond hunger. It’s starvation and a yearning to taste it.
I bite down on my lower lip, questioning my sudden appetite, until it hurts. Part of me knows I should leave it alone.
