Fiora departed the castle and headed toward the rear wall, where a small window sat well above her head. She couldn’t reach the window on her own, so she climbed up the jagged stones of the wall. When she was high enough, she perched on the squared-off end of one stone and angled her body toward the window. The indistinct murmur of voices crept up toward her. She couldn’t quite hear them at first, but they made more sense after a while.
“… know where to go. No one is going to accept us. Not after everything. Not after what I’ve done.”
Her father’s voice. The words came out broken and strained, but at least he was speaking.
“Do not blame yourself, Master Silas. You made the choice that you believed to be correct. This journey is bound to be difficult, but I will remain with you.”
“No! You can’t! This… only I was exiled. Only me and those related. You don’t have to come.”
“And my choice is to remain with you. Both you and young Miss Fiora are family to me. I will not abandon you when you need help. Besides, I have a plan that may only work if you allow me to accompany you.”
Fiora held her breath and swayed on the stone ledge. Exile? Why? Her father was a battle mage and had done a lot for the country. Terrible things, but still the country had called him a hero. Why change their minds and punish him instead? It made no sense. And what had she done wrong?
Part of the conversation passed while she sat in thought. The next phrase came like a ghost slamming into her from behind. A cold shudder went through her.
“…to Mistlemere,” Reynard said.
Mistlemere. People wouldn’t find much about that country in history books. Called cursed or haunted, no one could live there. Her own country of Iletsia had conquered Mistlemere long ago, but something strange happened after that. Was Reynard suggesting that they go there? Fiora shook herself as Silas’s voice responded to Reynard.
“That’s impossible.”
“My blood may be the key you need.”
Silas’s sigh drifted out of the window.
“Are you sure about…”
A faint light glimmered around the corner of the castle. Darkness had surrounded her at some point, and now someone was approaching. The light grew brighter and swayed, splashing the stones with a yellow-orange hue. She couldn’t stay here and get caught.
She scrambled down from her perch, her hands stinging as the rough stone scraped her palms in her hurry. The light was getting brighter, and a voice muttered in a low tone. Fiora darted around the opposite way before the person could find her.
…
Only a small shaft of grayish moonlight struggled through the window when she returned to her room. Without bothering to light a candle, she threw herself onto the bottom of her bed, then rolled over to stare into the blank shadow of her ceiling. She’d received the answer to one question, but she still had more.
Fiora lay still, her limbs heavy weights that held her down. She needed to pack, but she didn’t. Voices echoed outside her room. Footsteps passed by. The wind whistled and moaned from outside the windows, making the shutters rattle. Then a gentle knock broke into her thoughts. She closed her eyes and answered.
“I’m here.”
A sigh of oiled hinges and a puff of air from the doorway. Fiora didn’t look at her visitor. Reynard had already promised to talk to her after he was done with her father.
“Why did you not light a lamp, Miss?”
Fiora rolled her head to look at him but didn’t respond. Instead of waiting for an answer, he went to retrieve a candle sconce from the hall. After her lamp was lit, he stood looking into Fiora’s face. His expression softened, and he kneeled next to where she was lying on the bed. The bronze shimmer of his skin in the lamplight reminded her of his words during the earlier conversation. What was special about his blood? Sure, he looked different from everyone else, but what did that mean?
“Miss Fiora. I imagine you’re feeling quite confused and distressed at present. I understand, but please forgive your father. He is struggling. Having to leave is not his choice. It must be done.”
Fiora closed her eyes, her heartbeat throwing itself against the back of her eyes as if trying to escape. She groaned and rubbed her face. “Forgive him? Really? He wasn’t even talking to me! He wouldn’t answer anything either! This affects my life too!”
Reynard let out a heavy sigh, then grasped her hands. Though his long fingers felt warm against her skin, their hold was light. “Please try to understand, Miss. This is difficult for all of us. We must learn to work together going forward. I promise to do everything in my power to assist, but I will need your help.”
The bed creaked as Fiora sat up. Reynard stared into her face; his eyebrows lifted in a question. Unable to look away, Fiora hunched her shoulders.
“I’m not afraid of hard work, but I can’t pretend everything is okay. It’s not okay!”
Reynard dipped his head in a slow nod, then released her hands and rose to his feet.
“Regardless of that, we cannot remain here. I will prepare everything necessary so that we may leave first thing in the morning. Please have yourself packed and ready before that. Tonight, I will have your dinner brought to your room… Rest well, Miss Fiora.”
The door closed with a deep thud, but she didn’t move. Despite being capable of rising, she couldn’t bring herself to. Tomorrow was daunting, and she didn’t want to face it.
Fiora shook herself. She wasn’t making any progress by staying there. Even if she couldn’t change anything that mattered, she would not leave without saying goodbye.
Behind the castle, a little distance off, was her mother’s tomb. The little structure used the same dark stone as the castle walls. Unlike the castle, the walls of the tomb were smooth. The shiny surface reflected every speck of light. One door stood in the front wall, placed in the exact center. Matching the building’s material, it stood tall, secured by an enormous iron lock. Two alcoves flanked the door, with hand-carved vines twisting around to frame the openings. During the year, Fiora often brought flowers from her garden to place in the alcoves as offerings. Regrettably, she had no flowers to give her during her last visit.
As Fiora approached, a person’s silhouette broke from the shadows. She hesitated. Who was this person? She had planned to be alone with her mother. The silhouette was tall with drooping shoulders. He stood hunched, as if in pain. Low tones, broken and difficult to hear, intruded on the silence. The voice was her father’s. The same voice she’d heard coming from the study window earlier.
“Aya, I failed. I couldn’t… be like him. I tried. No matter what I did… it wasn’t enough.”
What did that mean? Fiora edged closer, trying to get a glimpse of his face. Was he crying?
“Our precious flower… I failed.”
A hint of moonlight washed across his face. The grayish light absorbed the colors, making smaller details fade. No telltale glitter showed on his cheeks, but the area around his eyes seemed puffy. The figure moved; he staggered toward the front of the tomb and slumped against the door. His body slid down until he sat in a heap on the ground. One of his hands stretched out and settled palm-first on the wall.
How dare he? It was his fault that her mother died. Now he sat there, blocking her from saying her own goodbyes. Her hands clenched at her sides, and tears burned in her eyes. Fiora took a step forward. She wouldn’t leave. Not yet. The world blurred in front of her, and she scrubbed her face. Then, a strange sound captured her attention.
A rasp echoed through the air, then a sigh. It repeated several times before Fiora realized what the noise was. Silas had fallen asleep and was snoring. The temperature was dropping. Fiora shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, glaring at the figure of her father.
The snoring heap of her father didn’t move. It would serve him right if she just left him there. It would be his own fault if he got sick. Fiora dropped into a crouch where she was. She still hadn’t said goodbye to her mother, nor had she been able to yell at her father. Despite the cold, Fiora couldn’t leave just yet.
Once, a servant had fallen asleep in the kitchen. The servant had been a soldier before he’d gotten too old to continue. Despite his presence being in the way, everyone tiptoed around him rather than wake him up. They had explained to a young Fiora that it posed a danger to wake a person who had just returned from war. She would need to be careful about waking her father up.
Finally, she picked up a small shard of stone that had come loose from the pavement. Staying hidden, she flicked the piece in her father’s direction. With a small thump, the shard bounced off his shoulder. In an instant, Silas was on his feet with his blade in his hands. The pupils of his eyes shrank, but he swung his head around, peering into the shadows. Fiora ducked back behind a pillar and waited, her breath trapped in her lungs.
After a few moments, the hollow echo of a metallic scrape and a sharp clink emanated from the tomb. Footsteps came next, dragging along the floor as they faded. He was gone. Fiora remained silent behind the pillar for a little longer. The silence stretched, giving her father enough time to return to the castle before she finally came out.
Fiora walked toward the tomb, her eyes locked on the large door.
“Mother, I… need to leave. I don’t think I’ll be able to come back. It’s not fair! I’m going to miss you so much. This is all my father’s fault. Everything is because of him. I don’t want to leave you.”
Tears slid down Fiora’s face. She ran her fingers over the door of the tomb, a hollow feeling inside her that wouldn’t go away.
“I just wish I could be more like you. I don’t know how, but I’ll keep trying. Please watch over me. I love you so very much. Goodbye.”
Nothing answered Fiora. Her words fell into the silence, along with her tears. The cold numbed her hands and feet, but she continued to stand for just a little longer. When her teeth began to chatter, she finally turned away. It took longer to reach her room this time, but she couldn’t stay. She had more work left before tomorrow.