“What are you doing here, Da?” It’s not much of a greeting but it’s not even dawn, which means he’s been walking all night. There’s no mule team, no horse pawing the path behind him. Snow sputters down, diamond bright against the dark boughs of firs that line the path.
As ever, the man smells of ale and woodsmoke. Once, I found those smells comforting. He grips the black iron bars between us, eyes wide and fearful in the dark.
“Come with me, Amarrah. Tillie’s down with fever again. All she does is weep. She takes no water and won’t have a bite if it’s not the special soup you make when she’s sick.”
I’m well, thank you for asking. I’m safe and happy, good of you to be concerned.
Of course Da hasn’t come to check on me. His new family’s at risk, and I’m supposed to run, like I’ve always done. Down the years I hear him shouting “sing for me, darling” and I despise him more with each beat of my heart. I don’t want to care about any of them. Not when they have so little regard for me.
Moreover, I hate the guilt that swells within me when I consider refusing. I’m not her mother. Why, why should I—
Tillie . . . is only a little girl. None of this is her fault.
I’ve tested it and I can leave. I just don’t want to, especially not now. What will Njål think if he wakes to find me gone? It would be polite to rouse him and let him know personally, but I can’t bear to look him in the face and say I’m leaving, fresh from his bed.
This probably won’t take long, just a day or two of making possets and herbal soup, bathing her brow and doing what I’ve always done. Then I can return. As Njål has said, he’s patient. He’ll understand why I went and he’ll trust me to come home as soon as I can.
You’ll regret it if you leave, the voice whispers, touching my mind with a wintry chill.
“Why aren’t you answering, daughter? You should already be packing!” Da snaps.
I step toward the portcullis so suddenly that he draws back. “Don’t call me that. You gave up any claim on me when you stepped back from the miller’s cart and held quiet when Catherine said I’m just another mouth to feed. I’ll come for Tillie this once, but I suggest you and my stepmother learn how to look after your own child henceforth.”
“How dare you speak to me like that!”
“And how dare you steal my childhood and make me feel like I didn’t deserve to be protected and cared for as much as my sisters. I’m not packing because this is my home now, but I’ll fetch a few things and be back shortly.”
Without waiting for a reply, I march off, my breath visible in the frosty air. I’m a damned witch with a mythical “beast” as my lover, I’m a goat-talker and a dream-walker, and I’ll be damned if my own family makes me feel small ever again. Agatha doesn’t traipse after me; instead she heads for the stables, presumably to bed down with Bart.
I stuff a few things into my portmanteau, noting that I have much more now than I did before I arrived, and put my shoes on and wrap up in my gray cloak. That quickly, I’m ready to go, but I still don’t want to. The terrible presence scrabbles at the edges of my mind like a rat in the walls, murmuring of dire consequences that I can’t entirely block out.
Agitated, I rush to the library to write a note. I’m conscious of the vast gulf in the quality of our penmanship, as mine makes it clear that I’m unpracticed, better at reading than I am writing my own words. No time for perfection, I need to get my message across.
Dear Njål,
My father came last night. My sister is sick. I don’t want to leave you, but she’s asking for me. Crying. And I couldn’t stand it if something happened to her because I refused to help. She’s always been a bit frail. I’ll come home as soon as she rallies. Wait for me. I’ll miss you.
Love always,
Amarrah
This isn’t as good as I wish it was, but it’s the best I can do in a hurry. I leave the page beneath a plate of cold fry bread that I pull from the pantry, figuring that Njål will look for me in the kitchen first. I try not to imagine how he’ll feel once he knows I’ve gone. I feel like a philanderer from the troubadour songs, the ones that extol how “she took her pleasure and then moved on.”
But I’m coming back; of course I am.
With everything sorted as best I can manage on short notice, I run to the gate and test my power over the keep. Instead of touching the lever, I silently ask the portcullis to open, tugging lightly at the connection I created with the ward.
The black iron teeth slowly grind upward allowing me to pass. And once I’ve exited, it seals in response to my silent command. “Let’s go,” I say coldly.
While I’m in town, I need to be so careful with what I reveal. Or everything may go terribly wrong.
23.
The snow falls in delicate flurries, swirling around us as we walk.
Now that Da has what he wants, he has nothing more to say. Or perhaps it’s because I spoke my mind for the first time, and he’s angry that I’ve developed a spine since I’ve been away. Then it occurs to me that he’s probably worried about Tillie and he’s not thinking about me at all. That’s more plausible, all things considered.
With Da leading the way, we walk through the night. I follow his back, all hunched shoulders and patched coat, until light brightens the edges of the sky. The town is
