TWENTY
The next two nights of travel are blissfully uneventful—other than having to evade spring rain. Our second detour from the storm takes us further off course than either of us would prefer, but villages are plentiful in the area before the final stretch to the supposed location of Callistia’s Grove.
Once we reach the rugged wilderness, I am wholly unsure what to expect, but I can be certain there will be no couriers at that point.
I send an update to Mother Superior well before then, explaining that Dante and I are on a trip—something of a honeymoon.
The location I provide is just far enough to throw any scouts off that might be sent to trail after the oh-so-romantic escape I’ve kept them abreast on.
My heart flutters uneasily as the letter slips from my hand to the courier’s.
I am still trying to learn about my new husband, dear aunt. Despite his eccentricities, intimacy has been delayed, and he’s made no effort to indulge any temptations. I am certain our future will become clearer after our travels, and will reunite with you then.
It has been nearly four weeks now since Catarina left me at the D’Agonisto villa.
All that time and no certain answer about Dante’s alleged vampirism cannot look good on me, but it will surely be worth it in the end.
Either I will find a cure, or… Or I will do away with yet another vampire in the name of the Order—and on my own, at that.
Surely, my results will justify my unusual strategy.
The night is still young when we reach a quaint agricultural hamlet on our northward journey.
I fidget with the map, trying to make sense of where exactly we are after our latest detour to avoid the rain.
As I’m deciding which nearby town is worth aiming to reach before sunrise, I do a double take, glancing between the yellowed paper and the slow start of farmland buildings.
A little gasp escapes me. “This place…”
Dante scoffs. “You’re enthralled by a dingy little village?”
Ignoring him, I twist my head side to side, searching the shadowy buildings as the road smooths and the buildings multiply.
“I… I believe this is my childhood home. I grew up here.”
His pause is heavy, reading far too deeply into my stunned realization. “We’re halfway to town center. How are you only just now remembering that?”
“I haven’t seen it in over ten years.” I should be more hesitant to give away so much, but shock loosens my tongue.
“We must purge ourselves of our pasts after we are welcomed into the Order. It’s forbidden to make contact with our former families—forbidden for me to even cross into this place.
Anything that could detract from our training. ”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to spiral over breaking the sanctity of your oath,” he snorts, glancing back over his shoulder at me. “You should be well-acquainted with the forbidden by now.”
I shift on the saddle, catching glimpses of firelight in several small homes. I remember this place.
I barely hear Dante’s voice rising in protest as I jump off the horse and slip between two familiar buildings—the blacksmith’s forge and the material storage structure beside it. Against all odds, I recall this shortcut and emerge onto the path that will take me to my family’s cottage.
My breath sharpens. The dusty path is as rugged as ever. Faint memories surge into hazy focus—trodding amongst these buildings to reach the market, winding my way to neighbors to ask for favors or trade supplies.
There is hardly a soul outside, but I feel a few gazes upon me as I hurry up the road.
When my eyes land upon the cracked walls of my home, I falter. It is so much smaller than I remember.
Smoke is rising from the chimney. The front garden is tidy, bearing small rows of sprouts.
My mother and I had tended to it regularly, strong seeds becoming sparser each year.
There had once been a dappled horse tied in the flat patch of grass beside the cottage, but it had been sold before I was ten years old.
And inside… There had been warm nights by the fire and tales of monsters and the heroes who slayed them.
When had they begun telling me those stories? Before or after they decided I should be molded into one of those fierce warriors?
I waver outside the cottage, swallowing hard. This should be enough—more than enough—just to see it from the outside. There are faces in the neighbors’ windows, observing me curiously. I shouldn’t be here. But now that I’ve gotten this close, perhaps it won’t hurt to peer through the window.
As I ease closer, and a flicker of movement inside makes me freeze.
Hoofbeats approach behind me. I spare a glance, finding Dante riding up with a scowl. “If I’d run off like that, you’d have driven a stake through my back,” he complains. But he pauses when he catches a good look at my face. Dismounting, he comes up beside me and peers at the cottage.
“I’m assuming this is it?” he murmurs.
When I nod, he gives me a long look, then sighs.
“Well, get on with it, if you must.” He sounds as uncertain as I feel. Perhaps he’s expecting a happy reunion. A delay in our journey. I should scoff that he is sorely mistaken, and yet… A traitorous leap of hope seizes my heart when the front door begins to swing open.
A little boy exits the cottage with a pail, his attention set upon the well in at the nearby crossroads. He stops short when he sees us haunting the path just steps from the garden.
He can’t be more than eight years old, sporting a mop of dark hair. A lump rises in my throat as I desperately search his features in the darkness for familiarity. Could this be my little brother?
I shuffle forward tentatively. “Hello,” I say as gently as my trembling voice will allow. “Are you… That is… Are your parents inside?”
The boy looks between me and Dante, then nods shyly. He flees back into the house, and soon after, two adult figures emerge. My held breath hisses out when I see that the young couple are utterly unfamiliar.
“Travelers,” the bearded man says firmly. “I’m afraid we have no lodgings here.” His son peeks out curiously from behind him.
I bow my head. “My apologies for the intrusion. We are not seeking lodgings. I… I was only curious. Cosme and Lorenza lived here once, didn’t they? Do they still reside in this village?”
The couple share a startled look.
Placing a gentle hand on the boy’s head, the woman leans down and whispers to him. Although hesitant, the boy nods and enters the cottage.
“You knew Cosme and Lorenza?” the woman asks.
Knew. I suddenly feel lightheaded. “I… Yes. A bit.” Despite everything, my instinct is to conceal my identity. But I cannot stop the tremor in my voice. “Where are they?”
“They have not been seen for many years,” the man says.
“What happened?” As I speak, I feel Dante’s hand upon my shoulder.
“They were struggling to keep themselves and their daughter fed over a decade ago,” the woman says, looking me up and down slowly.
“The Corvus Order came through the village and offered compensation in exchange for their daughter—payment to comfortably sustain them for a year, and a promise that their girl would never go hungry within their walls.”
I stare blankly. “What then? Didn’t they receive their payment?”
“They did, but… Months later, they changed their minds. They wanted their daughter. Forbidden, of course, but they wouldn’t listen to reason.
For over a year, they sent letters demanding for Ariya to be returned home.
They would give everything back—the money and years of crops if that was the cost. The Order gave no response.
Finally, they went in person to retrieve her. ”
The woman trails off and looks down. The man clears his throat and says, “They were never heard from again. Their home stood empty for a year.”
And you took it from them, I think viciously, though I know it isn’t fair.
I am silent, never taking my eyes from them.
Dante squeezes my shoulder. The two of them stare with unguarded sympathy.
The door cracks open again, and the boy returns with a small bundle in his arms. He passes it to his mother, who then approaches me slowly, like I am a frightened wild animal that may strike.
“We stored some of their belongings,” she says, holding the bundle out to me. “Letters, a few pieces of jewelry.” I catch a glimpse of aged paper—a childhood art piece of mine. The curled wings of a lovingly-crafted butterfly.
When I make no move to accept the offering, Dante steps in and takes it. He stores it in one of the saddlebags, then returns to my side. I hear him say goodbye to the couple, who murmur apologetic words that fall upon me without any meaning.
I barely notice as Dante takes my shoulders and steers me to the other side of the street, into the shadow of a building where I can get a hold of myself. One of the neighbors emerges and tries to approach.
“Shall I take your horse into the stable, sir?”
Dante shoves him aside without stopping. “Fuck off.”
“Stop,” I mutter to Dante. “Stop. I’m fine.”
He stands before me, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a whisper. “You’re shaking.”
I step back, glaring at him. “I know what you’re thinking,” I hiss. “And you’re wrong. They… They probably ran into a predator on the way to the abbey. Or were killed by highwaymen. Maybe they found a more prosperous village along the way and decided to live there instead, or—or—”
Dante is silent, giving me an opportunity to go on. But I can’t. He squeezes my hand. “Or they marched up to the abbey, made their demands, and were quietly eliminated so the Order could keep its lethal weapon-in-training.” His tone is far too gentle for the words riding upon it.
A choked noise escapes me. And suddenly, I can’t draw enough breath. I snatch my hand away from Dante and start to move past him, nearly losing my footing from my weak knees.
But he insistently blocks my path, shushing me as I give a whimper of protest and try to sidestep him a second time.
I give up, sinking to my knees and burying my face in my hands. I hear his knees hit the ground in front of me, feel his hand slide up my arm and rest upon my shoulder. His grip solidifies, and he pulls me in. The embrace is awkward at first—a halting, timid thing.
And though I want to resist, I sink against him. All at once, he is around me, the sturdiness of his body grounding me as I crumble and come undone.
As a heavy sob rattles me, he rests his chin on my head and strokes my hair.