At least the stew smelled good. Rich, warm, heavy with pork and herbs. But no one was eating. My father just pushed his potatoes around his plate, even Einar wasn’t finishing his, and he usually devoured his plate. I ate in silence for a few minutes, then I couldn’t hold it anymore.
“Okay, what’s going on?” I asked. “What’sactuallygoing on?”
My mother’s gaze faltered, and Einar reached across the table and took her hand.
“We should tell her,” he said.
Her nod came slowly, like it hurt.
“They’ve been rounding people up all day, Kera,” she said. “Innocent people. With false accusations.”
“They took Selma Vandel this afternoon.” Einar blurted.
Stillness wrapped around me like ice.
Selma.
What in Hel had happened? Was Will okay? Aran? The others?
So much had changed in just a few days. I was losing my footing, slipping into something I didn’t recognize.
“What do you mean, taken?” I choked. “Taken where?”
“No one knows,” my father said. “The Eredians arrested her, accusing her of breaking the law.”
“Gods be with that girl,” mother added, closing her eyes in what looked like prayer.
“Kera has promised to do as they say,” Einar added quickly, like obedience still meant anything.
My mother reached across the table, reached for me with trembling hands. I knew what was coming before she even spoke.
“We want you to stay home,” she said. “Please, Kera. Just for a little while.”
I thought of the dough I’d left rising in the bakery. Imagined Mrs. Holt walking in, finding the mess I’d made. Maybe she’d think I’d just been trying to help, to keep up with demand. But that bread would never reach Jorek and the rest without me.
They needed me.
“No,” I said. “Mrs. Holt needs my help. She can’t do this alone, we can barely keep up with deman—”
“It’s not safe anymore!” Father cut me off.
“And where is safe?” I retorted. “Tell me, really. Whereissafe now?”
I pushed back my chair and stood.
“I love you,” I said. “But I’m not quitting my job.”
And then I left. I didn’t slam the door behind me, even though I wanted to. I wanted to scream, to run, to rip something apart. But instead, I stepped out into the dark and let the silence cool the fire inside me.
The wind hit, sharp and cold against my skin, tugging at my dress as if it was trying to drag me somewhere I didn’t want to go. I walked fast. My boots pounding against the dirt, loud in the quiet night. I passed the gate. The ditch. The crooked fencepost. The neighbor’s land lay ahead, nothing more than a sloped field of wheat and a house that hadn’t lit a lamp in days. That’s where I stopped.
At the crossroads.
One path led into town, where the lights still burned, where soldiers marched and barked orders, and where people were dragged from their homes. The other path disappeared into the trees. Out of Novil. Away.
I stood there, staring down both roads, as if they might open up and give me an answer. I could have left. Just kept walking. Disappear the way Selma did. The way Licia did. The way the old world I used to know did. No one would have stopped me.
And for a heartbeat, I wanted to.
