“I’ll walk you home,” Asinia said. “Just let me tell my mother.”
She walked away and my gaze met Thol’s. He stood near Abus’s family, looking ruggedly handsome as always. He smiled at me, and despite the roiling in my stomach, my cheeks heated. I’d never been this self-conscious with a man before, but wings fluttered in my chest each time I looked at Thol. His sister Chista leaned over and murmured something to him, and I turned away, forcing myself to stop staring.
Nearby, Kreilor was practically shouting as he talked to a group of his friends, ensuring everyone in the vicinity could hear his conversation.
Tibris shook his head and stalked away, likely to get a drink of his own. He’d never liked Kreilor. I couldn’t blame him.
All the men in our village were required to learn how to fight—ready to be called to march on the fae if our borders failed. The boys were trained from a young age, and the only way they could be excused from training was if they chose the path to the gods. Kreilor had done exactly that and was studying as an acolyte to our village’s priestess.
“And then the priestess showed me the inner sanctum,” Kreilor announced, a smug little smile on his face.
I went completely, utterly still.
If Kreilor could get into the inner sanctum, he’d have access to the empty oceartus stones. Maybe I could follow him and…borrow one.
I’d memorized the priestess’s chants. What if I could make the stones work for me? My pulse thumped faster, my mind racing in a hundred different directions.
One of his friends snorted. “You were allowed into such a holy space?”
Kreilor’s chest puffed up. “Of course I was. I will, after all, be performing ceremonies within the next three years.”
I shuddered at the thought. Kreilor had been a bully since we were children. He smirked at beggars, chose the only position that would allow him to skip training with those he considered beneath him, and used his family’s wealth and reputation to get whatever he wanted.
Thol walked past, easily drawing attention from Kreilor.
The two men loathed each other. Their fathers were good friends, and both had been given every privilege found in this village as they’d grown up. But while Thol had remained kindhearted, Kreilor had become obsessed with proving himself.
Asinia stepped up next to me, winding her arm through mine. “This is awkward,” she murmured as Thol ignored Kreilor completely. “Let’s get you back to your mother.” She tugged me, and we walked toward my house. My boots scuffed on the cobblestones, but all I could see was Lina’s grandparents’ blood, pooled on the stones in the square.
What would Asinia say if I told her that unless I managed to get out of this village, it would be me on that platform one day, watching Tibris and Mama be slaughtered—their bodies dragged away as if they were nothing?
If she kept my secret, and the assessor found out, Asinia would die too.
We walked in silence for most of the way home. Finally, Asinia took a deep breath.
“That was some moment with you and Thol,” she said.
She was attempting to cheer me up. I could do the same for her. “It was just a smile. I lose the ability to speak around him.”
“You forget, you may be terrible at flirting, but it’s one of my best skills. And I know when a man is interested.”
“Don’t placate me. It’s even more depressing.”
She squeezed my arm. “I’m not. You’ll see.”
We took our usual route home from this side of the village, walking past the large, spacious, warm homes behind the thick metal gate separating them from the rest of the village. What must it be like to live in those homes? Not to have to watch every coin or huddle next to the fire in winter because the glass in the bedroom windows was broken?
“Prisca?”
“Sorry. Daydreaming. What will you do after the feast?”
“I’m helping my mother with some work.”
Asinia’s mother was a seamstress, and her daughter came by her talent naturally.
I glanced at Asinia. We had different dreams. I wanted nothing more than to be able to stay right here, while she longed for a life in the city. Regardless of how much magic Asinia received back when she finally came of age in two winters, she hoped the reputation of her work would spread, until the news reached someone in the city who would come and hire her.
It would happen. No one sewed or designed like Asinia.
Wherever I ended up, I’d find a way to let her know I was safe. Maybe, if she could forgive me, we’d even be able to exchange a letter or two. My chest ached at the thought of not seeing Asinia every day. Would she ever be able to forgive me for such dishonesty?