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“Well.” Lasta’s tone of voice is short. He sighs and sits down at his desk, which is a haphazard mess of books and papers. “I got you the maps you wanted. Not that they’ll do you any good. I doubt you’ll make it very far before they realize that you’re a spy.”
I sit down in the chair opposite Lasta and take the maps he hands me.
“It’s always good to have your ringing endorsement, Lasta,” I say absentmindedly.
“You know I like being honest,” he says with a sharp grin. “Just don’t die while you’re there. I don’t want to be stuck with this lot. None of them know their ass from their elbow, and I don’t want to be left cleaning up after Zalith.”
“Your request is noted,” I say with a smile as I stand up. “Now, I am already packed. I just need to stop by the armory and pick up my weapons.”
“How much did you pack?” Lasta asks me, and his tone is almost curious, which is a shock to anyone who knows him.
“Not a lot.” I pause in the doorway.Does he actually want to have a conversation?“Enough to get me by for a few months. I don’t dare pack more, because I don’t want to be weighed down.”
Lasta grunts and looks away from me. He focuses on the paperwork in front of him.
“Well. It was nice knowing you.”
3
LORELAI
“This has to work,” I mutter quietly under my breath.“Because if it doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
My skin is cold. I would light a fire using my magic, but considering that I am creeping through one of the human farms and about to steal a shit ton of their belongings, I don’t think that would be very wise.
My mother has been haunting me more and more lately. It’s like she’s come to life. Like she has risen and is with me at every turn, with every move I make.
She is there in the whisper of the trees and in the air that shifts around me when I inhale and exhale. She is there in the click and sputter of my magic, and she is there in my dreams.
Always in my dreams.
I have never been afraid of meeting my mother in my sleep. Why should I be? She loved me desperately. She loved me enough to sacrifice herself for me to live.
But lately, I am afraid.
I don’t want to see her in my dreams, and I don’t want to see her in the shapes carved into the tree trunks. Because I have finally come up with a plan to get my revenge, and I know she’d disapprove.
My mother, while she was alive, raised me to be brave and strong. But she also raised me to keep my head down.
She would not have gone along with this plan.
Even though this plan is the only thing I have to hold onto right now. Even though this plan is the only thing keeping me going.
I stumble in the darkness and let out a choking gasp of air as something in my chest twists painfully.
It is true. This plan to overthrow the naga, to burn them all to the ground, is the only thing keeping me going.
Without it, I don’t know what I’d do.
I find the clothesline before I know it, and I strip it bare, bundling the clothes under my arm before I run back into the forest.
I hate this. I shouldn’t be stealing from other humans. But they’ll thank me when we’re finally all free.
At sunrise, I go bathe in the nearby river. I have a small block of soap and a piece of hessian cloth, and I scrub my skin until my body is raw and rough to the touch.
I dry off quickly, using a larger hessian cloth before I sort through the bundle of clothing that I stole off the clothesline.
Most of it is useless, but I find a pair of trousers and a shirt that should fit.
