Chapter 33
When I ran from the mill, I neglected to consider the fact that I actually had nowhere to run. Gone were the days when I had a home. No one here really knew me—not even the slightest bit. They only knew me as a portion of Milo.
Milo, who wasn’t going to do anything for the war until the fight was at his doorstep and his perfect little life was threatened.
The perfect little life he had thanks to me.
Out of habit, or perhaps because I still had unrequited feelings for his son, I ended up leaning against the outside wall of the butcher’s.
When I had first arrived, I had placed my hand on the door, intending to push it open, just to peruse, just for a glimpse of Roger.
But then I realized it would be more embarrassing than anything else, to speak to him without a glance of recognition in his gaze.
And it wasn’t like I had actual feelings for him—no, I just missed my old life.
The simplicity of having a crush on the butcher’s son that I knew would go nowhere.
But those days were gone, and it was time I accepted that my life had changed.
So instead, I turned the corner, sliding down until my ass hit the cold ground, pulling the corners of the cloak around me as if it could protect me from the lies and rejection of men.
“That was something.” Friar’s voice broke my self-pity party as she slid down next to me, matching my posture. “And I thought my brothers were bad.”
I arched an eyebrow. “You come from a big family?”
She shook her head. “Well, not really. I know in Ralheim most families don’t pass the one-child policy. But in Salheim, three is a common enough number.”
“But then their parents have to send away their children . . .”
Friar shrugged, not appearing upset in the least. “My brothers turned out okay, I think.”
I sighed, leaning my head back against the wall as I pinched my eyes shut.
“So . . . what are we doing here?” She craned her neck, taking in the alley next to the butcher’s.
It was clean for an alley, surprisingly—not that I had spent much time in them prior to this moment.
I’d gone to the market just to get what we couldn’t grow in our garden, then maybe take a quick peek at Roger before heading home. Nothing more.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, wrapping my arms around my knees and drawing them to my chest. “I don’t really have friends here.
Well, not anymore.” I motioned to my body.
“One of them works here. I thought maybe he could . . . then I thought better of it.” I sighed, acknowledging my own naivete.
“I’d really thought Milo would join us and he could direct us to other friends who would want to help us. ”
Friar pushed away from the wall, moving into a standing position before holding her hand out to me. “Well, you’re lucky I’m in the mood for something to eat. Come.”
My eyes widened as they settled on her outstretched hand. “You can’t mean . . .”
“I do. If he was really your friend, he would recognize you even now. Even if he doesn’t, he’s a man, and I’m sure he would give a pretty woman a minute.”
I grimaced. Growing up practically raised as a boy, I had never considered myself to be pretty, or even attractive. I had been so focused on hiding who I was I had never given it a thought as to whether or not I was—
“I can hear you overthinking. You’re beautiful. Now, come on before my stomach consumes itself.”
I had to hand it to Friar, she certainly knew how to play on my tendency to feel guilty for making others wait on me. I rose from my seated position, much less smoothly than Friar had, taking a moment to brush the dirt from my pants before following her from the alleyway.
The street was busy, as the butcher was located in the central market, with the fruit seller stationed just next door, and the baker another door down from that.
Across the way, were the clothing shops, their windows decked out in beautiful dresses and skirts that I had never let myself gaze at too long as a child.
In the center of the two lines of shops was a sitting area surrounding a fountain.
The fountain had long run dry—or perhaps it had stopped being repaired—and birds had made their nests on the top and middle bowls, which were out of reach of young children.
The bottom level was filled with dirt and debris that seemed to only accumulate more each year.
The sun reflected off the light buildings at the same time a chill blew through. Ralheim was known for its cold, yet bright, dead seasons.
There wasn’t much more time to observe how things had changed in the few months I had been away, though, as Friar was already pushing open the door to the butcher.
“Hello,” she called out in greeting as she entered. From my position at her back, I observed that the shop was empty, other than for Roger, who was behind the counter, the sound of a knife being sharpened drifting from the back room.
Once upon a time, I had thought Roger hung one of the moons, but now that I’d had .
. . experience . . . with Leif, I was quick to notice that he was on the thin side for a man, his face pale and slightly sickly looking from spending his hours inside the shop rather than outdoors with the other boys as a child.
His dark hair was askew and falling in front of his dark eyes as he explained the specials to Friar.
She bypassed all the raw meats, moving to the section of the counter that held sandwich supplies. She ordered one before turning to me, a question in her gaze.
“I’m fine,” I replied, putting my hand on my stomach as if it could explain the sudden sick feeling that had been there since my brother, my only remaining family, had basically turned me away.
Of course, that drew Roger’s gaze to me, his neck dipping as he gave me a once-over. I immediately felt uncomfortable, looking to Friar for help, but she just shook her head.
Roger’s gaze didn’t linger, and soon I was watching as Friar passed some coins over the counter before heading for the door.
He either didn’t recognize me or was distracted by work.
Once we were in the square, the door to the butcher closed behind us, Friar bit into her sandwich as she moved toward the waterless fountain.
“See? That wasn’t a big deal.” She lowered her voice for the second part.
“You’ve basically been given a whole new life, Runa.
Don’t let fear of who you used to be hold you back, okay? ”
I nodded my agreement, content to watch villagers rush from shop to shop, various items tucked beneath their arms as Friar unceremoniously stuffed bite after bite of the sandwich into her mouth. When she finished, she brushed her fingers off.
“So, who else in your class grew up without parents?”
“Huh?” I was confused.
“Think about it. The Purge was ten years ago, meaning there must be other students in your class who were also parentless. That boy in there, his father was alive and in the back carving a steer. He wouldn’t be part of the coven.”
My mouth went dry. “But his mother . . .” The words wouldn’t come, but Friar was able to discern where I was headed.
“Shit. So, your friend in there is probably at least half.”
I nodded. “But I’m not sure he would know anything,” I surmised. “I didn’t.”
“Yeah, well.” She smirked. “Your parents were more secretive than most. Come on.” She turned back toward the butcher. “I bet Roger knows at least something about who his mother associated with before her death.”
Friar was right. Though Roger hadn’t recognized me, he had known some of the people his mother had been friends with before her death.
Not only that, but, in hushed whispers, he was able to give us the name of the current coven leader his mom had been known to associate with.
And to my surprise, she had managed to avoid the Purge and was alive and well.
At least, she had been when Roger had gone to see her a few months back.
I wanted to ask why he had gone to see her, but I knew that would take the conversation down a path I didn’t want it to go. Instead, I memorized the directions he gave to her home on the edge of Ralheim, and we were currently headed there.
We’d also asked Roger if he’d be willing to join us, but he had shaken his head sadly with a glance at his father.
He couldn’t leave him.
This whole trip was turning out to be a waste of time, and I just hoped the coven matriarch would be able to do something more than shake her head and turn us away.
Signa (Roger didn’t know her family name) lived in a small home on the very edge of town, past the nicer homes that surrounded the square, and even past where the more modest ones—like the home I had grown up in—resided.
She was so far on the edge that, had the old city wall remained, she likely would have been on the outside of it.
But as we approached, I immediately knew why she was there and not in the city center. She had a massive vegetable and herb garden which stretched from the edge of her home into the woods. There was even a small pond nearby, the surface dotted with ripples as fish searched the surface for food.
If I’d gotten to pick where in Ralheim I had grown up, it would have definitely been here.
Friar didn’t seem as distracted as I was by the beautiful surroundings. She was a woman with a goal in mind, and growing up in Salheim, she likely was more used to nature being this close than I was. She was already at the door when I stooped down to smell a pink flower I didn’t recognize.
Before she could reach the door, it swung open, revealing a small elderly woman, who’s head barely came to my waist. At first, I thought that she had spotted us approaching, but as we drew closer, it became apparent something else was at play here, as the woman’s eyes swam in a milky whiteness. She was blind.