“It’s my decision, yes. But as I say, it’s been made with a heavy heart.” Her hands settle over her lower abdomen again. “I’m seven weeks pregnant. Although the thought of raising our young without the support of my mother is daunting ... the thought of staying in Grafton isfrightening.”
The last word cracks out of her, and I lean closer to the wall, pressing my face against the cold stone.
“Frightening?” Rhordyn asks, tone even.
Too even.
There’s murder in his voice.
“Y-yes, sire. After the attack on Kriesh a week ago, I had to feed liquid bane to any who were left breathing. A short while back, a bard passing through Grafton sang of other incidents very close to home. Sang of the Vruks growing in numbers and strength. Ofchildrendisappearing.”
Children ...
I taste bile, and even from here I can feel the air chill.
“Go on.”
The ball in Mishka’s throat bobs.
“My male says the attacks haven’t yet hit the South, so with great respect, we feel this move is the safest choice for our swelling family.”
Rhordyn shifts forward on his throne, hands steepled, eyes like chips of ice illuminated beneath a full-bellied moon.
There’s a waiting sort of stillness about the room—a silence stretched too thin.
It’s Rhordyn’s job to keep his people safe, and right now ... they’re not.
His hands fall and he straightens. “Another medis will be found to fill your absence. Do what is right for your family.”
Though the words sound genuine, it’s like they’ve been bitten from a slice of slate.
Mishka bows so low her hair brushes the ground, then rises and slips into the murmuring crowd.
I pull back and spin, spine hitting rock.
Children are missing. Vruk numbers are swelling. People aren’t feelingsafeanymore ...
I close my eyes, picturing my invisible line of protection hard like a diamond. Hard enough to keep me in. Keep the monstersout.
But it’s all a pretty lie I tell myself, because they’re already here ... in my head.
They already got me.
Still no bluebells. Still just withered stems that bear no bursts of that deep ocean blue I desperately need.
With my knapsack slung over my shoulder, I slip out of Sprouts and dart behind a thick shrub. My hands squeeze into tight fists, fingernails almost gouging the flesh of my palms as I mull over the little bunch of blooms I spotted past my Safety Line—so close, yet so far away.
My bag squeaks, and I lift my gaze to the sky packed with dense clouds threatening to spill again. I frown, scanning the border where tailored, lime-green grass meets the sheer rise of bedraggled trees ...
Perhaps it’s just overcast enough that my friend will come out and play.
Mindful of the many strangers visiting the castle, I dash between well-trimmed shrubs, rose bushes, and moss-covered boulders. I’d never usually attempt such a risky maneuver on a busy day like this, and it’s something I’ll absolutely pin to my lapel next time Rhordyn pecks at me abouteffort.
Merging with the shadow of a large oak tree just shy of my Safety Line, I look left and right, checking nothing has scattered my border of irregular sized stones before I scan the world beyond.
The forest is gloomy beneath the canopy, its floor a canvas of mossy trunks and rebellious roots that twine out of the ground like tentacles, illuminated by the odd shaft of light.
Those little blue buds are staring at the ground, hanging off hunched stems.
