Chapter 4 #2
He wrenches the door closed behind him. My breath catches in my throat, and I struggle to get a good inhale. Hot, salty tears fall from my eyes. I try to rub them away with the back of my hand, but they keep coming.
Father didn’t want me to fail. This isn’t what he spent years envisioning, but now he’s doing damage control. He’s trying to pick up the broken pieces of my life without asking me how I want to put them back together.
For a moment, I wonder what it’s like to live in the closest neighboring realms beyond Tamarynth.
The ones without trials. In Correndra, they still burn witches at the stake.
No Morphics live freely there. Father has been urging the council to provide aid, but he can’t push too hard if he wants to keep favor with the other members.
On the island of Gryndar, rogue Morphics aren’t controlled.
Power changes hands every couple of years, and people constantly flee its lawlessness.
Even losing Morphia is better than living in Gryndar. I should be grateful I live here, where people are protected.
Protected from people like me.
My fingers trail downward to the corset of my dress. I claw at the fabric, ripping it from my skin. The sharp tear is satisfying. I slash at the gown until I’m sitting in my shift with my knees pulled to my chest.
I sit motionless until my limbs are stiff.
The sun’s peeking through the heavy green curtains, highlighting the freckles on my legs and arms. I stand and walk gingerly to the windows, throwing open the drapes.
I’ve got a nice view of the stables from my room.
Lysandra gifted me a white stallion, Specter, for my fourteenth birthday.
He’s the fastest steed in our stables. The inkling of an idea takes root.
The Celestial ’s port is just a two-day ride south of Credence.
I don’t need anyone’s permission to try for a retrial on the Celestial.
Not technically now that I’m of age. As long as I can slip away from Mother and Father, they won’t be around to overrule my decision.
The judges won’t have to worry about ignoring the wishes of Lord Damarcus in favor of his teenaged daughter.
I’d still have to sneak out of the house.
But it wouldn’t technically be against the law because I wouldn’t be running from my trial.
I’d be running to the only legal option left to me.
And if I take Specter, I’ll outrun anyone who’s chasing me.
Father gave me an hour. Forty minutes left.
I leap to my wardrobe and toss on a pair of brown riding pants, a tunic, and a dark green riding cloak.
After shoving my feet into riding boots, I grab my comb and tease out the forced ringlets in my hair.
Once I’m dressed, I snatch up a burlap sack and my treasured white bow and arrows.
I pack a journal, quill, and purse of gemstones for payment, though I have no idea what to expect.
I fasten the cloak around my neck and ease my bedroom door open. It creaks, and I stop short. No one’s coming.
I throw one more glance over my shoulder. It may be a while before I’m allowed to come back. If I can come back. My gaze locks on the small book of sketches from Lysandra nestled beside my bed, but I turn away.
No time to rethink. I swallow the lump in my throat and make my way down the hall past Eliza’s room. The floor groans under my feet, and I hold my breath. No footsteps.
I follow the hallway to the entry room and sneak past the grand staircase. I dart behind a large marble sculpture of a dragon bursting from a flower and wait for two servants with a tea cart to pass. I thank the Riveners Mother and I share a love for large, elegant statues of dangerous creatures.
When they’re gone, I run on tiptoes to the kitchen, sliding open the pantry door. With all the excitement from my trial, the area’s deserted. I seize a few apples, a block of cheese, and a bread loaf. As I’m filling my canteen with water from the spigot, the door groans open.
I whirl around, not sure if I should duck behind one of the wine barrels or string an arrow. My throat constricts.
Eliza stands in the doorway—and my only way out—with her arms crossed over the bodice of her aquamarine dress. “I thought I heard someone trying to sneak past my door.” She gestures to the knapsack slung over my shoulder. “Going somewhere?”
The words catch in my throat, and for a fleeting second, I want to seize my bow and shoot an arrow through her leg. But she’s my sister, and no matter how much we fight, Leith always said we should take care of each other.
So I do the next best thing.
I lunge forward and plow into her. Taking advantage of the couple of inches of height I have on her, I reach over her head and slide the door the rest of the way open.
Weighed down by her heavy dress, Eliza struggles to a sitting position.
I crawl over her and push to my feet, but she catches my ankle.
She clings to my leg and screams for help. “She’s trying to run!”
Panic seizes me, and I kick hard with my riding boot. I hit her face with my heel, cracking her nose. Blood spatters the floor, and I’m free of her grip. Guilt urges me to pause, but desperation wins out, and I don’t look back.
I bolt through the entry room, pushing open the doors of the estate. Servants shout behind me, and I hear Hawks yelling for me to stop, but I don’t. Even if they pursue me, I still have to run. I have to try.
I make a beeline for the stables, kicking up stones as I run along the path. Father’s voice is louder than the rest. “Roe, don’t do this!”
The solemn voice of the bespectacled judge reaches my ears. “We’ll have to send your hunters after her.”
My heart sinks, but I still have a chance. I won’t have time for Specter’s saddle. Just the bit and a blanket. I’ll—
Someone’s waiting for me in the barn.
Lysandra leans against Specter’s stall, clutching reins in her hand. The roaring of blood in my ears makes her words sound like distant echoes.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, but it’s your choice.” She leads the great white stallion out of his stall. He’s fully saddled and wearing his ceremonial bridle. “Thought I’d at least give you a chance.”
There’s no time to thank her, but the sting behind my eyes says it all. She gives me a leg up and dips into a low curtsy. “My lady,” she says, nudging Specter’s hindquarters. He takes off.
I don’t look back. I don’t want to see Father’s shame, Mother’s disapproval, or the legion of Hawks chasing after me. We fly over the hills of Damarcus Estate like spirits passing to the next world. A world still within my reach.
Guilt makes my shoulders heavy, but Lysandra is right.
This is my choice, and no one else should get to make it for me.
I ride hard for Carodmoor Forest, the pounding hooves of hunters in pursuit behind me.
The adrenaline makes it easy for me to dip into the well of power in the spirit world.
Wispy silver spirits fly out behind me, obscuring the Hawks’ view as I weave between trees.
My breaths come in fast, anxious gasps. I can’t ride like this all the way to the port. They’ll catch me. If they catch me, this will have been for nothing.
As we breach the trees and are no longer visible from the estate, a strong, calm voice sounds behind me. At first I think he’s shouting for me to stop like the others, but then I hear him.
“Let her go.” Gray must pull back on the reins because hooves squelch in the dirt as a horse skids to a stop. “Let her go,” he repeats. “She’s heading for the port, anyway.”
I turn over my shoulder to look at him, but I can’t make out his expression. The Hawks have all stopped at his command, but they’re sweaty and panting.
“She’s a fugitive, Gray!” one yells.
“No,” Gray answers as I turn back around to face the path ahead of me. “She’s a prisoner of the Celestial now.”