He saw the miniature his father had done of his mother with Deevana in her arms. His chest ached as he looked at their father’s best shirt that still hung on a peg behind the door.
Taking a deep breath, Graylem lowered the torch to the bed and watched the fire take hold. He kicked over the small night table. The candles Deevana had lit toppled.
Coughing, he backed up as the flames began to consume the things his mother had tended and the bits his father had stolen. He stepped back and touched the torch to his father’s shirt. Then he turned and walked out to set the rest of his life on fire.
He left the front door open and threw his manufactured torch into the opening. Then, heart racing, he set off toward Cartrace Mound. Cries rose up from the village behind him. The tolling of bells filled his ears as he darted through pine trees and wintergreen bushes to the hill where he and his sister and the rest of the Blackthorn village children had spent countless hours sledding in the snow.
He was thankful there was no snow now, though he could smell it in the air. There were no white prints in the ground to give evidence that the cottage fire was not from a clumsily overturned candle. The barn was far enough from the cottage that it would not catch fire—at least not before those in the village came to rescue the panicking horses—horses that anyone attempting to flee Blackthorn out of guilt would certainly take.
Standing next to a pine at the foot of Cartrace Mound, he turned and looked back at the glow of the fire in the distance and the smoke rising against the backdrop of the night. The bells still tolled. The light of the fire was brighter than before. The fire burned hotter. Graylem could almost see Goodman Bryant running from the smithy toward the fire, trying to get it under control. He could imagine the faces of those who brought food after their parents’ deaths whispering in the smoke of the curse the house was under—that while terrible for the children, it was right that all traces be burned away. The curse would be rendered to ashes, just like the life he had been hoping to build for himself.
“You burned it.” Deevana appeared next to him. Her hands, free of their burden, rested on her hips as her eyes reflected the flames.
“There was no other choice, Deevana. Not unless—”
“Brilliant!” His sister’s lips bloomed into a smile. “The best way to not be caught is for no one to be looking for you in the first place. Father always thought you weren’t paying attention to his lessons.”
“I paid attention well enough.”
“And now we are no longer tied to this place or what we were here. We can go anywhere and be anyone we wish.” She looked back at the smoke circling up to the heavens. No sorrow or regret. Only joy as she said, “Everyone who ever knew us or our parents will think we are dead.”
No. Not everyone.
Graylem slid his hand under the cloak and felt for the leather pouch and the letter. “We need to get going.”
“Where—”
“At the moment where is less important than when. And when we are finally safe, we are going to talk about the why,” Graylem said.
“Of course.” Deevana’s eyes lowered, but not before he saw the flash of resentment at the reminder of her part in this.
To lighten the mood, he added, “I’m still not going to help you carry all the stuff you brought with you, no matter how much you beg.” His sister’s head snapped up, and he turned on his heel and headed around the hill to the road that would take them south.
They would get away and then they would have the talk he had been planning before her arrival and their dramatic departure. Because there was one person who would know them and would not have heard of their death. Their mother’s friend would never know about the fire. No one would remember the connection or think to contact a lady from a southern district about the death of an accused thief and her brother. To her, they were still alive and there was an agreement in place. He would see to it that their mother’s wishes were honored and that his sister would get what she claimed to have always wanted. Then he’d worry about what to do with his own life.
Glancing over his shoulder, he took one last look at the place where he had learned to be who he was, then turned back to his sister who was struggling to balance all of her packages in her arms.
With a smile, he walked toward the road and called back, “I really hope you wore comfortable boots.”
2
“We need to talk,” Graylem said as he placed the pot back into his travel bag and fastened the bag shut. They had walked for hours last night—Graylem carefully listening for sounds of rock wolves or any Xhelozi that might not have gone into hibernation yet.
The monsters of the mountain rarely ventured this far west. There were enough villages and keeps between this part of the district and the mountains to entertain the Xhelozi until the creatures retreated to their caves for the warmer months, but he had heard stories of them roaming farther afield as of late. While he didn’t often believe stories, he wasn’t about to discount them. So he had chosen where they made camp with care—in the center of a grove of pine trees—and had been equally careful to bank their fire so they had protection from the cold and whatever animals might be prowling the night.
Both he and Deevana had been too tired from their flight to do more than curl up next to the warmth of the flames and sleep. He’d awakened first. Not a surprise. So he’d found water and made tea and was well aware of his sister’s eyes following him even when she continued to feign sleep. Now that she was officially awake and they had eaten, it was time to discuss the future as well as what they had just left behind.
“Deevana,” he said louder as his sister busied herself with her bundles. “Did you hear me? We have to talk.”
She flashed him the overly delighted smile that had never failed to make their father laugh and their mother sigh. Her bright hair shone in the morning sunshine, making her look as if she were surrounded by a cascade of copper. They both had been born with their mother’s red hair and their father’s reflexes, but that was where the similarity ended.
“You’re right,” Deevana said breezily. “We can’t just wander around aimlessly waiting for a new life to find us. I vote we acquire some horses and ride to the northern mountain pass. I’ve always wanted to see the kingdoms Father told us about. Now is our chance!”
“Snow will still be falling in the mountains for at least another month. Maybe more,” he said. “If you had listened to Father as well as you often claim, you would know it is still too dangerous to pass even if the Xhelozi stay in their caves.”
Deevana shrugged, but he saw the insult in her eyes as she asked, “Then where do you think we should go? Is this the part where you tell me that you have come up with a better plan?”
“No,” Graylem said, careful to keep his voice level even as he felt the flush that was always so quick to color his face. “This is the part where you tell me why I was forced to burn our home in order to keep you out of the guards’ hands.”
“I didn’t tell you to burn anything,” Deevana shot back. She paused, waiting for him to speak, but he forced himself to stay quiet. Finally, her shoulders slumped as the defiance Deevana always led with was chipped away by the lack of resistance, and she reluctantly said, “I guess I should say thank you.”
“You guess?”
She swallowed hard. Her chin lifted, and her brilliant blue eyes met his. “I am grateful. It’s just hard for me to admit that I needed help. I still don’t know what I did wrong. No one was around. I did everything right.”
“What did you steal?”
His sister flipped her hair behind her shoulders. “Nothing important. Things they didn’t care about.”
“We wouldn’t be here if they didn’t care about what you took from them.”
“I liberated a few things.”
Liberated. “What things?”
“A few odds and ends Lady Blackthorn disliked. A pair of boots she said pinched her toes. Nothing she appreciated. She has so much. They all do. None of
them cared about the things that I took.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” he said with a sigh. His sister straightened her shoulders, as if daring him to tell her she didn’t deserve the things she had taken. The things that others always had and their father had constantly spoken of and that she desperately believed was her due. Maybe this blow to her pride and the loss of their home would make her understand there was another way. Their mother’s way.
“Deevana . . .”
“I know,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You’re disappointed in me. We were doing fine. We didn’t need what I took.”
How many times had they heard those muted words coming from underneath the bedchamber door of the home they no longer had? How many arguments had been had when their mother and father had thought he and Deevana were asleep? He didn’t want to argue now. Deevana was the one who liked to slash away with words. Was it any wonder he preferred a sword? The damage done with steel was cleaner and in his mind far less painful.
“I know you hated working in the Blackthorn kitchens,” he said quietly. “You have always dreamed of a kitchen in a keep of your own.”
Deevana turned away and shrugged. “It’s stupid to dream of things bigger than what you can slip in your pocket and smuggle away. Even the smallest keep is too big for my pocket.”
“Perhaps, then, it is time for you to get bigger pockets.”
His sister turned. “Is that your idea of a joke? Because it’s better than your normal fare.”
He shook his head, reached into his cloak, and pulled out the letter. “There is the son of a lord in the District of Irae who is interested in getting married. His mother was friends with ours back when they were girls. After Mother died, a letter arrived from Lady Venia saying that she would be delighted to have you as a daughter.”
“There is a noblewoman who actually wants me to marry her son?” Deevana asked. Then her eyes narrowed. “Is there something wrong with him?”
“It’s a minor noble house.” Blackthorn’s chancellor had been able to look up their lineage and give him an idea of their lands. They weren’t one of the great houses of Irae. They weren’t even one of the medium power bases. But they were steady. “And he’s the youngest of three sons,” Graylem said, careful not to look his sister in the eye. Hoping the heat of the lie didn’t show on his face.
“Third sons, even those of minor lords and ladies, don’t have to look to a far northern district to find a bride.” She took a step forward. “What’s wrong with him, Graylem? If this is something you wish me to agree to, I deserve to know. Because there is something you’re hiding.”
“There might be, but I don’t know what it is,” Graylem admitted, knowing his face would give away any lie he told. “When Lady Venia’s letter arrived, I looked for others she had sent Mother. From the sounds of this one, they had been exchanging letters for months. Mother must have worried that you would find them before she had gotten Lady Venia to agree to the match. She either hid them extremely well or destroyed them.”
His mother knew his sister well.
“But there is something in the letter you hold that makes you think there is more than a possible match Mother was hiding.”
He sighed. “Lady Venia mentions being glad that you were willing to become her son’s wife.” He opened the letter and scanned it until he found the words. “She said ‘Deevana clearly has the same heart as you, my dear friend. I am grateful to hear you say she has your ability to see beauty in places others might not. It will not be easy for Deevana to leave all she knows behind for something so different from what maidens dream, but I promise she will never regret the choice or her kindness in joining your family with mine.’”
Deevana pursed her lips and nodded. “So he could be a monster.”
“Mother would never suggest you marry a monster.”
“Mother wanted to be free of the problems I caused.”
“She knew you wanted to be a lady and that there was little chance of that ever happening.” He held up the letter. “This is your chance, Deevana. Mother found you a way to get everything you wanted.”
“By marrying a man that I have never met and might find repulsive?” Deevana bit her lip and looked down at the ground. “What about love? Does that not matter?”
She looked so vulnerable in that moment. Her eyes shone with tears. Her shoulders slumped, making her look small and fragile. His heart tightened even as he put his hands together and applauded her performance.
Four long, slow claps, each louder than the next.
Deevana gasped. “You’re mocking me?”
Then he smiled. “I know you. You don’t care about falling in love.”
She lifted her chin and her lip quavered. “All young maids care about love.”
“And after all these years you want me to believe that you are like all young maids? That as long as a handsome man came along and won your heart you would happily scrub pots and wash linens for the rest of your life?” Graylem shrugged. “Very well. At the next town, I will send a message telling Lady Venia you have changed your mind about being the next Lady of Green Valley.”
He made a move to rip the parchment in half, and Deevana’s hand snatched the letter from his hands.
“Don’t.” His sister blinked the tears away until her eyes were sharp with purpose. “You’re right.” She shrugged. “I don’t care about love. Love ties a person down. It clouds the brain and limits what can be achieved. It makes you forget what you want.”
“And you want to be a lady.”
She smiled. “It is a step up from being a kitchen maid.” Deevana looked down at the parchment in her hand, and the smile faded. “Mother did this without telling either of us. And you kept her secret after she died.”
“Mother wanted you to be happy, Dee,” he said quietly. “I want you to be happy. I was going to tell you over supper last night. I was making soup.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to have missed your cooking.” She laughed. Then the laughter faded and her eyes grew serious. “And I am sorry. The house. Your apprenticeship. You liked life in Blackthorn.”
Graylem thought about Goodman Bryant, the others in the smithy, and the friends he held dear. He would miss them. They had made his life better. He would have been content to someday, perhaps, have his own family in the cottage.
Only, the cottage no longer existed.
Pushing aside the disappointment, he grabbed his travel bag off the ground, shrugged it onto his shoulder, and said, “I guess it is lucky I like you better. But still not enough to help you carry those bags.”
Later in the day, Deevana pointed to the horses near a rundown farm. “Brother, our journey on foot appears to be over.”
The horses in the still-brown pasture looked tired, and with no one in sight it would have been no work at all to lead them away without raising an alarm. Their father had always said it was easier to steal from those who had the least because they assumed the worst would happen and accepted it. They never called for the guards because the guards had no reason to care about their loss. They were not important enough to warrant care.
He shook his head. “Those horses will give out in a matter of hours.”
“We can steal others when they do.”
“And risk being caught with each attempt.”
“I won’t get caught.”
“I’m sure you said the same yesterday. Let’s go.”
A light, chilly mist began to fall as they trudged up the next hill. They used the river to guide them south. As they traveled, he could feel his sister brooding behind him. He knew with each glance over her shoulder she was regretting leaving the nags with the family who would certainly have suffered greater hardship with the loss.
Deevana wouldn’t have noticed the smoke coming out of the crumbling cottage chimney or the rock wolf pelt drying on a porch support peg because neither of those things were items she wanted. But he noticed. Whoever owned the horses
had had a hard winter. They had suffered at least one animal attack already. He would not add to their troubles even if it meant walking for another day. But the two men he spotted in the distance an hour later, framed by the light of the almost-set sun, well, they were a different story.
He turned to Deevana and hooked a finger toward the men who had turned off the road and were headed west. “Follow me.”
Soundlessly, he hurried toward the trees. Despite the bundles weighing her down, Deevana’s tread was light and fast and she kept pace behind him as they moved through the shadows of the early night toward the men, who had dismounted at the bank of the river. The horses lowered their heads to drink while the men took the packs off their mounts’ backs and set them on the damp ground.
“See those trees over there?” he asked, pointing to two large oaks that were to the south not far from the road. “That’s where I’ll meet you. Be ready to ride.”
“Gray . . .”
He didn’t wait. Deevana could argue with him later if she liked. But for now he kept on the balls of his feet and carefully stepped around twigs and leaves as he hurried through the shadows toward the river where the two riders were setting up camp for the night. Their laughter was ruckus and their steps just uncertain enough to suggest they were slightly impaired by drink. Their inattention, combined with the damp ground, made it easier than it otherwise would have been to slip behind a large oak tree not far from where they sat on a fallen log. From here, Graylem could see the men weren’t much older than he was. Perhaps three or four years. They passed a skin between them as one lamented traveling in the damp cold.