“Home.”
My feet instinctively took a treacherous step toward the little cottage behind me that had never been mine. My pulse felt funny in my veins, racing in thready tempos, and I suddenly feared I could not draw breath.
“Our home,” he clarified.
I looked over his broad shoulders as if I might somehow spot it behind him. “Is it far?”
“You could say that,” he said, his tone gentling. “And yet the trip won’t take but a second.”
His hand raised and I stepped toward him, frightened he’d snap those terrible fingers before I could stop him.
“Wait! I…I’ll need to pack,” I said, nearly shouting in my haste.
His gaze drifted—not to the house behind me, but to the barn. He knew my possessions were there. He knew that was where I slept. Shame burned hot.
“Anything you require can be replaced once we’re away,” he said, offering his hand once more.
Away.
The word scared me in ways I’d never known before.
I’d never been away. Not anywhere farther than the village market. Not anywhere past Celeste Alarie’s cottage, deep in the Gravia.
I’d spent years imagining lifeaway,but faced with the very real threat of it now, I’d never felt more rooted to our little patch of land. Never felt more pulled to the tiny little cabin, never so longed for the family who alternatively ignored and despised me.
“My quilt,” I said, grasping on to the flimsy excuse. I needed time, time to think, time to worry through my doubts. Black dots danced over my vision and I felt as though I might throw up. “The one you gave me. I don’t…I don’t want to leave that behind.”
His fingers did snap then, and in an instant, the tattered velvet quilt was in his hands. He looked over the worn fabric, undoubtedly taking note of the tears I’d tried to mend, the stains I couldn’t remove. It showed its age, showed its use. It was shabby and small, all traces of its sacred luster long gone.
My godfather traced a line of my clumsy stitching, his two-toned eyes inscrutable.
“Anything else?” he finally asked.
I could feel my control of the situation slipping away from me, like grains of sand pulled back into the sea by relentless waves.
“Can’t I…can’t I at least say goodbye?” My throat felt tight, swollen with painful burrs closing off my air supply. I couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t breathe. My lower lip trembled with the force of any attempt.
“Say goodbye, Hazel,” he instructed, nodding toward Mama.
“And to everyone else! Papa and Remy are out hunting. Am I not allowed to say goodbye to them?”
His brow furrowed as he pondered my distress. “You’ll see them again,” he finally said, deciding on a way to comfort me.
“I will?”
It had never occurred to me that I would.
It had never occurred to me that I would want to.
Not really.
But now, when offered a promise to return, I felt my heart thud with bright hope, and my departure didn’t seem nearly as forbidding.
My godfather smiled again, sunlight catching on those strange teeth, making them seem sharper. “I’m not spiriting you away forever.” He let out a sound that was almost a laugh. “That was never part of the plan.”
“The plan,” I echoed. “No one has ever told me the plan.”
“That changes today,” he promised, and offered his elbow, as if he were a gallant gentleman at court and I a lady in a fine gown. “Shall we, then?”
