13. Weston
Chapter 13
“It should be you who is riding with her,” my animal accused, my heart still racing as I swung my foot up and over the saddle. “It should be you she is clinging onto. You who teaches her to ride. It’s your duty.”
“This is my duty,” I said, getting underway and flipping open the third journal so far. I was flying through them, finding most of the entries about her life, her day, the people around her.
“Trespassing in her thoughts?”
“Skimming these pages and finding out what she knows.”
“Skimming.” His laugh held no humor. “Is that what it’s called when you go back and read a passage for the third time?”
I flexed and unflexed my fingers before opening to the page I’d left off on. Instead of reading right away, though, I looked out to the side. He was right, of course. I wasn’t skimming, not even hardly. I’d meant to, I’d tried to... but I just couldn’t stop myself from reading every single word, sometimes two and three times, feeling the moment through her thoughts, feeling rage well up at each slight she’d endured. If I’d known how her co-worker had treated her, I would’ve killed him when I’d had the chance. Alexander was a fucking dead man. I’d make it slow, too. He’d feel every ounce of fear he’d caused her. He’d feel more pain than he could believe was possible. And then I’d throw him to the dragons to drop his broken carcass from a great height, filling his final moments with terror. That childhood sweetheart turned almost-friend would’ve been chased away easily, Aurelia clearly too naive to realize he was looking for the courage to make her his sidepiece. And Granny...
Rage tinted the edges of my vision red. There were no words.
It was clear Aurelia had held her up on some sort of pedestal. Granny had taken her in at the tender age of twelve and apparently saved her life. Aurelia had been on the run. From what, I didn’t know. She’d been starved, though, that much I’d gathered. Scared, near death. No one would open their home to a dirty, magic-less shifter, not even a child. Or so Aurelia had thought. I couldn’t believe that was the case, but that was the reality as she’d known it. It was the reality Granny had certainly allowed the girl to believe. Manipulating her must’ve been a cinch, especially with the way the village of small-minded people stuck in their ways treated her.
The journal held my focus. My gaze swung downward helplessly, picking up the next entry.
July 9
I talked to Granny about the rancid food order last week. She promised to talk to the suppliers.
She’s usually so good about looking after the village but this is the third time this has happened, and her response was exactly the same as the last two times. I get that I’m supposed to stay healthy because the village relies on my ability to make product, but several families didn’t get enough. Little Maggie was crying at market a couple days ago because she was hungry. I can’t, in good conscience, get my fill while others go hungry. If more doesn’t come as Granny promised, they could be in trouble.
The day ended as all the others had, with a memory of her mother. This one was of a rare feast they’d enjoyed like kings after her mother had found a gold coin in the street. I got the impression Aurelia hadn’t had constant and plentiful meals when in her mother’s care. They seemed to move around a lot, their homes never consistent. Had they been on the run, even then? Had whatever killed the mother then followed little Aurelia?
Curiosity ate at me.
I flipped another page, desperate to find answers to this enigma.
August 11
Alexander paid me a visit today. My ribs hurt from where he repeatedly punched me. I don’t think anything is broken, but it hurts to breathe. I guess it’s a good thing no one talks to me because I won’t be surprised by any jokes. Laughing would hurt like hell.
I shouldn’t have told Granny that I’ve been giving some of my rations away when the food comes in rotten. I wasn’t prepared to lie, though. I hadn’t realized I’d lost weight.
I get why I was punished, because yes, I know I need to make the product, but honestly, this situation cannot go on. It can’t!
Granny got all stony when I told her that. She doesn’t like when I get angry and likes it even less when I push back. But it had to be said. Everyone else in the village is too scared to say anything.
What’s really frustrating is they won’t take my rations if I hand it to them. If I take what’s mine and then distribute, they won’t accept the food they need. They’d rather let it go off than take it for their children from a “magic-less cur.” So I have to just take what I need to keep most of my weight on and let them have the extra.
At least they are distributing it how I most likely would have. The end result is the same, I guess, but come on, really?! No thank you? No acknowledgement? They won’t even take the fucking food because it was me who gave it? It’s such bullshit.
Sometimes this village just seems like a soulless, unforgiving place. A hollow place, filled with empty smiles and passionless chatter. People seemed really happy when Granny first started her business and was fixing things. There was a lot of food and new products and stuff for everyone then. Now, though, people don’t seem as thrilled. I guess hunger will do that to a person.
Granny needs to fix this food issue. It’s the main reason people were excited for this new setup. I remember that. Until then, I guess I’ll get really good at stretching food resources.
There wasn’t a memory that time. Just a simple and heartbreaking: I miss you, Mom. I miss our happy home, wherever it was. I miss your cuddles and your stories. I’m lonely. Maybe someday soon I’ll see you again. More and more, I think I’d like that better than this.
I flipped the page, oblivious to my surroundings. Trees passed, scents floated by, but I didn’t notice any of them, so intent I was on the next passage.
September 20
I guess it wasn’t just me that got punished this time.
I’ve lost more weight and Granny was concerned. Alexander really took to me today. I have two black eyes, definitely a broken rib, and bruises all over my body. Xarion came and visited. He brought me some broth.
Five other people got a visit from Alexander. All women—the mothers of the families that often got the extra rations. I guess they said they didn’t get it from me, that it was just what was left over and the kids needed it, but Granny didn’t believe them.
Plus side: this was why they wouldn’t take the food from me directly. They didn’t want Granny to find out they were taking what was mine. I don’t know why they couldn’t just tell me that instead of calling me a slur, but whatever. At least it isn’t me. Not totally, at any rate.
Bad news: I’m getting preferential treatment over children. I can’t accept that. I won’t.
I see a lot more punishments in my future because fuck Granny. I won’t take the food. If she doesn’t send enough, she’ll lose her prized drug maker. I made that very clear to her. I shouted at her, actually. She can have her dog punish me as much as she wants, it won’t change my mind.
Mama, I’ll probably join you shortly. I will not yield in this.
December 19
Not dead yet.
Plus: I don’t feel pain like I used to. Alexander has to really work for a reaction, and often that gets too close to killing me.
Bad: It’s taken a lot of beatings to get to this stage.
Fuck them both.
January 1
New day.
New year.
I won.
Granny fixed the food situation. She needs me working and when I’m all busted up, I can’t work. She’s also agreed to go back to how things started—fixing up the village and keeping people happy.
I’m pretty well-hated. For a while, she thought punishing villagers, including children, would make me come around. I held firm for the greater good. Even Granny has limits, it seems. Alexander never worked over the children much at all. Spankings and a few bruises. That helped me stay strong. Everyone else has accelerated healing. It helped them to hold out until we got what we needed to live.
I wish I could just leave, but I have nowhere to go. Beatings are still living. Life means mama keeps living through my memories. If I leave, I’ll be killed and so will she. Hopefully it’ll get better.
Her handwriting was hardly legible by the end, simply ending it with “love you Mama.” She must’ve been deeply in pain, broken nearly beyond repair.
My entire body coiled as I struggled with a rush of rage so extreme I could hardly think. My wolf prowled within me, desperate to go back to that village and level it, kill them all. She was so young. Seventeen, judging by the date. Alone. Hated because of how Granny had singled her out and focused on her. Hated even though she was sacrificing herself—her body and her dignity—for that village. It was disgusting. Heart-wrenching.
The lengths she went to push back against the alpha of the village, to her detriment, was awe-inspiring. Her courage was incredible, her morals noble. She was willing to be beat to death to ensure the people and children—children who weren’t even hers—had what they needed to survive. More, she held strong even when others were dragged into the beatings with her, knowing they all had to stand united, unbending, unyielding, against the tyrant in order to claim their victory. Battle commanders hardly had that clear a purpose, nor leaders of great packs, of kingdoms. And she’d been only seventeen with no experience and no training, just her conscience.
Everything in me wanted to go to her now, pull her from her horse and wrap her in my arms. I wanted to ensure she would never, not ever, be harmed like that again. I would protect her, mind, body, and wolf. I would hunt for her and feed her, tend to all her needs, worship her body, make sure she never wanted for another thing as long as she lived.
But that was impossible. I was doing exactly the opposite, now delivering her to a punishment she likely wouldn’t walk away from. Granny had cultivated the problem, and to fix it I had to damn my true mate.
My thoughts and feelings were so fucking conflicted. I hated that I could see both sides of this, not sure which tugged at me more. I had to remember that she’d killed people. She’d saved her village but damned many others. She’d gone through hell—I couldn’t even think about it without the uncontrollable rage—but put many others through hell at the same time and for years to come. She was not innocent. There was a reason I’d been sent to find her.
But gods help me, reading her words, walking in her shoes... I didn’t fucking care. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t even understand it. Beating children so Granny could get her way? Serving people rotten food? Incomprehensible. What kind of monster ran that village?
Also incomprehensible was the change in Aurelia’s outlook. She’d seemed to hate Granny in these passages. It didn’t seem like the same woman who had burst into Granny’s cottage with an axe and faced four powerful shifters without flinching. To know her now, one would assume she had a great love for her benefactor. If nothing else, then loyalty and pride in her job. What had changed? How had Granny worked her back around?
I reached for the next page, waiting to hear my wolf grumble. Instead, he was silent. He wanted to know, too. He wanted to piece all of this together, because right now, my heart went out to young Aurelia. She’d had nobody on her side, but she still held firm for the greater good. She believed that their happiness was a direct result of her performance.
I shook my head, sweating a little, knowing I wouldn’t be delving this deeply into her past if it didn’t affect me directly. Fuck it, though, I had to know. I had to know if she’d been corrupted in the end, or if she’d been maneuvered so thoroughly that she honestly believed the things she had been telling me. It mattered. To me, it mattered. Her life ending might happen all the same, but at least I’d know my true mate wasn’t evil to the core. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle the knowledge that my supposed mirror was as rotten as I’d once feared myself to be.