“Don’t,” pleaded Tesali, as another voice cut through the house, unencumbered by walls and doors.
“Serival!” called their father.
Her sister hesitated, but even she knew better than to ignore a summons. Slowly, almost gently, she returned the owl to the floor between them, and rose to her feet.
“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” she said, as if this were just a bedtime story or a bit of gossip, something that would keep. “Sleep well, little rabbit.”
Tesali swept the owl into her arms, and pressed it to her front. She sat, shaking, on her bedroom floor as the door swung shut. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the little owl. “I’m sorry.”
She knelt there, mind spinning over what she’d done, what she’d said, as she listened to the sound of her sister’s retreating steps, heard her father’s join them, followed by the creak of stairs as they went down into the shop below.
And then she was on her feet, sprinting into the hall.
Tesali had always been mature for her age. Independent to a fault. But in that moment, she wanted her mother. Wanted to feel her soothing touch, and hear her say that it would be all right. That it was bound to come out sooner or later, that she had only needed to hide the talent when she was little.
But as she stood in her mother’s room, and showed her the owl, and told her what Serival had seen, her mother’s face lost all its color. And when Tesali was done, she did not tell her daughter it would be all right, did not say they’d find a way, that Serival would never do her youngest sister harm. No, she turned, and went to her dresser.
“Where is Serival now?”
“In the shop, with Father.”
Her mother nodded and pulled out a pouch. “Good,” she said, pressing the pouch into her hands. It was heavy with coins. “You must go.”
Tesali stared down at the money. She didn’t understand. Go? She was twelve years old. This was her home. A cloak settled over her shoulders. Quick fingers tied the laces at her throat. She found herself saying all the things she’d come to hear.
“It will be all right.”
“I’ll say I stole the bird.”
“We will think of something.”
“Look at me,” said her mother, gripping her arms, and when she did, there was fear in her mother’s eyes. Her mother, who mourned each daughter’s absence like a death, who longed to have them all home. Her mother, who often joked that at least she had Tesali. Would always have Tesali.
“I won’t do it again,” she said, but it was a lie, and they both knew it. When you had a power, not using it was like trying to hold your breath underwater. Sooner or later, something made you come up for air.
Tesali didn’t know she’d been crying until her mother smoothed the tears from her cheeks.
There was pain in her mother’s face, but not surprise, and Tesali realized she’d been waiting for this day, had known it would come. Her mother kissed her forehead, and pulled her close, and whispered into the wild of her hair.
“Your power is yours. Let no one else claim it.”
And then she pulled back, taking the warmth with her. “Now go.”
For once, Tesali did as she was told.
The house was quiet, save for Esna, humming softly in the kitchen. Tesali crept past, down the stairs to the front door, where the shoes were left.
She started for her soft-soled slippers, then stopped, and changed course. She almost took Serival’s—they were leather with laces that wound like corset bindings up the front, and toes capped in silver—but didn’t, in case her sister might use the boots to track her. In the end, Tesali reached for Esna’s sturdy boots instead, peeled off her socks and pushed them down into the toes to make them fit.
Then she opened the door and crept out, past the house, and the windows of her father’s shop, before taking off down the street.
V
Go, her mother had said.
Perhaps she should have asked, How far?
Perhaps she should have asked, How long should I hide? But she hadn’t, afraid the answers would be like rocks in her pockets, weighing her down until she couldn’t move.
Tesali kept the owl pressed to her chest as her stolen boots sounded on the stone road.
It was almost dark when she reached the docks. The sun was gone, but not gone out, the waning light hugging the horizon, turning the ships there to shadows. But in Tesali’s eyes, the world was always bright.
The dock market was shuttered for the day, the stalls collapsed, sailors now loading whatever they’d failed to sell back onto their ships. The vessels looked like birds, some readying for flight, others pulling in their wings, bedding down for the night.