Chapter 9
“It is wise to question,
for nothing is granted freely.”
- The Old Book
We rode until nightfall, taking breaks only for occasional nourishment and allowing the horses to rest. Each time we stopped, I became more and more aware of just how far from home I was.
The wind blew strands of onyx hair over my eyes, casting everything in shadow.
When I could see clearly, it was always the grasslands below.
They stretched for hundreds of miles. It was simple, yet utterly foreign.
I could see how the prairie might feel like home to some, but I was not one of them.
I was used to trees, tall and reaching. The prairie was quiet, and I missed the sound of birds and rustling branches.
Even the stars looked different in the Sky. One particularly shone brighter than all the rest. I admired it reverently, wondering if maybe that was Our Lady shining down upon us.
That, maybe, I wasn’t as alone as I had originally thought.
Rowan and I rode in silence, neither of us saying a word since our tense confrontation earlier.
I was grateful we didn’t talk—he seldom said anything useful. He liked to answer my questions with vague comments or deflect them altogether.
Once we made camp, he vanished. His absence was grating for two reasons: I wanted it and loathed it.
Our journey had just begun, and I was already becoming annoyingly familiar with his presence. We’d spent so long pressed together that I’d grown accustomed to his warmth. Without him, I felt colder.
I despised that fact and tried my best to ignore it.
To no one’s surprise, we feasted on stew for dinner. It was squirrel stew again, but this time with fewer vegetables in the stock. I preferred it to rat, so I wasn’t entirely complaining. However, one would assume that a team of skilled Veilers could hunt animals other than just rodents.
Perhaps they were just better at killing people.
The Veilers said their prayers before eating, making me think about whether the gods listened to such mundane whispers.
I also wondered why the gods would allow such cruelty to be carried out in their name.
They were supposed to protect the balance of life, but the scales felt rather tilted.
How closely did they watch us? When would they intervene?
I knew gods liked to meddle, but they also liked to sit back and watch.
The silence of the gods felt heartless. As if all we endured was torture. Judgment was supposed to come after death—life was the test.
But what kind of test was this cruel?
Maybe the gods didn’t have souls like mortals did. Perhaps that was why they stood above humanity—by existing beneath it.
I sounded like a heretic. Grandmother Alma would be so disappointed.
The night air thickened, full of whispers and unease. Fires crackled low, and though I stared into the flames until my eyes stung, sleep would not come easily.
Not because I was afraid—though maybe I should have been—but because something was wrong.
I felt it in my bones.
When I finally lay back, I didn’t fall asleep. Not really.
It felt more like being pulled downward into a waiting void.