Page 64 of A Betrothal So Bloody

“Don’t tell me you’re going to spiral over breaking the sanctity of your oath,” he snorts, glancing back over his shoulder at me. “You should be well-acquainted with the forbidden by now.”

I shift on the saddle, catching glimpses of firelight in several small homes. I remember this place.

I barely hear Dante’s voice rising in protest as I jump off the horse and slip between two familiar buildings—the blacksmith’s forge and the material storage structure beside it. Against all odds, I recall this shortcut and emerge onto the path that will take me to my family’s cottage.

My breath sharpens. The dusty path is as rugged as ever. Faint memories surge into hazy focus—trodding amongst these buildings to reach the market, winding my way to neighbors to ask for favors or trade supplies.

There is hardly a soul outside, but I feel a few gazes upon me as I hurry up the road.

When my eyes land upon the cracked walls of my home, I falter. It is so much smaller than I remember.

Smoke is rising from the chimney. The front garden is tidy, bearing small rows of sprouts. My mother and I had tended to it regularly, strong seeds becoming sparser each year. There had once been a dappled horse tied in the flat patch of grass beside the cottage, but it had been sold before I was ten years old. And inside… There had been warm nights by the fire and tales of monsters and the heroes who slayed them.

When had they begun telling me those stories? Before or after they decided I should be molded into one of those fierce warriors?

I waver outside the cottage, swallowing hard. This should be enough—more than enough—just to see it from the outside. There are faces in the neighbors’ windows, observing me curiously. I shouldn’t be here. But now that I’ve gotten this close, perhaps it won’t hurt to peer through the window.

As I ease closer, and a flicker of movement inside makes me freeze.

Hoofbeats approach behind me. I spare a glance, finding Dante riding up with a scowl. “If I’d run off like that, you’d have driven a stake through my back,” he complains. But he pauses when he catches a good look at my face. Dismounting, he comes up beside me and peers at the cottage.

“I’m assuming this is it?” he murmurs.

When I nod, he gives me a long look, then sighs.

“Well, get on with it, if you must.” He sounds as uncertain as I feel. Perhaps he’s expecting a happy reunion. A delay in our journey. I should scoff that he is sorely mistaken, and yet… A traitorous leap of hope seizes my heart when the front door begins to swing open.

A little boy exits the cottage with a pail, his attention set upon the well in at the nearby crossroads. He stops short when he sees us haunting the path just steps from the garden.

He can’t be more than eight years old, sporting a mop of dark hair. A lump rises in my throat as I desperately search his features in the darkness for familiarity. Could this be my little brother?

I shuffle forward tentatively. “Hello,” I say as gently as my trembling voice will allow. “Are you… That is… Are your parents inside?”

The boy looks between me and Dante, then nods shyly. He flees back into the house, and soon after, two adult figures emerge. My held breath hisses out when I see that the young couple are utterly unfamiliar.

“Travelers,” the bearded man says firmly. “I’m afraid we have no lodgings here.” His son peeks out curiously from behind him.

I bow my head. “My apologies for the intrusion. We are not seeking lodgings. I… I was only curious. Cosme and Lorenza lived here once, didn’t they? Do they still reside in this village?”

The couple share a startled look.

Placing a gentle hand on the boy’s head, the woman leans down and whispers to him. Although hesitant, the boy nods and enters the cottage.

“You knew Cosme and Lorenza?” the woman asks.

Knew. I suddenly feel lightheaded. “I… Yes. A bit.” Despite everything, my instinct is to conceal my identity. But I cannot stop the tremor in my voice. “Where are they?”

“They have not been seen for many years,” the man says.

“What happened?” As I speak, I feel Dante’s hand upon my shoulder.

“They were struggling to keep themselves and their daughter fed over a decade ago,” the woman says, looking me up and down slowly. “The Corvus Order came through the village and offered compensation in exchange for their daughter—payment to comfortably sustain them for a year, and a promise that their girl would never go hungry within their walls.”

I stare blankly. “What then? Didn’t they receive their payment?”

“They did, but… Months later, they changed their minds. They wanted their daughter. Forbidden, of course, but they wouldn’t listen to reason. For over a year, they sent letters demanding for Ariya to be returned home. They would give everything back—the money and years of crops if that was the cost. The Order gave no response. Finally, they went in person to retrieve her.”

The woman trails off and looks down. The man clears his throat and says, “They were never heard from again. Their home stood empty for a year.”