Page 57 of The Enemy's Daughter

“Promise?”

After loading up a plate of food and making an extra-large tea, I return to my room to rest in a hot, soothing bath. With a flick of my wrist, water fills the tub. Steam gently mists from the flow. I sigh and slip into the water, only to find the joy of it grow limp like a rotten leaf. This will be my last bath with water I didn’t have to boil and carry myself.

Thanks to Kingsland.

Or vagabonds, as Tristan likes to blame.

I roll my eyes. I don’t believe that Kingsland has only raided our traders of weapons and not supplies. But whatever the reason we’re living with so much less than they are, I think we could learn from Kingsland how to be better at trading and being moreresourceful.Even if all we secure is a source of power and an electric fence. Our children deserve a life where they don’t have to live in constant fear.

I’ll have to speak to Father about this when I get home.

I adjust my position in the tub, suddenly too hot. Uncomfortable. I know I have to leave. That’s always been the plan. But now that it’s so close, I wonder what Tristan will do when he hears that I’m gone. Will he come after me and try to change my mind? Or will he stay and curse the day we met? I’m not a fan of either of those options. Especially since Tristan coming after me risks him being caught, tortured, and killed by Father, and there’d be nothing I could do to save him.

But selfishly, I don’t like the alternative either. I don’t want him to hate me for returning home to wed another man.

Another man I haven’t thought about in a while.

A man I can’t imagine begging to touch me the way I nearly did with Tristan last night.

With a groan, I dunk my head under the water until the burn in my lungs is all-consuming, stealing every thought.

Once out of the tub and dressed, I take my time collecting each precious tablet of pain reliever hidden around the room. I swallow one, then carefully select my lightweight layers of clothes to wear on the ride home.

My last task is to write a letter—the only suitable goodbye since I don’t dare say it in person. After retrieving Tristan’s notebook from under the drawer of his bedside table, I open it and the middle section falls open with use. More of Tristan’s drawings span the page. Some are shapes and numbers; others appear to be outlines of buildings with measurements. I pause on one that’s a detailed picture of a tram that runs on a track. That’s the second time I’vecome across him drawing this old-world machine. The sketches are sure and come from a skilled hand. It’s better than anything I could draw.

What are these for?

Infuriatingly, there’s nothing to explain them. I keep turning the pages until I get to the second to last page. There’s a sketch of a girl picking flowers. I bring the book closer to study the drawing. The girl is thin and appears young. Her lips and hair are out of proportion, like Tristan drew this before he developed his eye for drawing.

Is that Annette?

The thought burrows painfully through my chest, even though it has no right to.

I flip back to a blank page and steel my heart. The only thing Tristan needs to read is whatever it will take for him to move on and keep his distance from the clans.

Tristan,

By the time you find this, I’ll be gone. Don’t come after me because there’s nothing you could say to bring me back. My future is with my betrothed. But I want to make you a promise: I will spend the rest of my days trying to bring lasting change between us and Kingsland. I want peace. When we spoke in your kitchen about how this conflict comes to an end, you said there is no end without justice. But I think you’re wrong. The end comes when we decide enough is enough and simply choose to stop fighting. So I’m writing to ask one thing of you: If you ever cared for me, please don’t take any hasty action against my father or the clans. I know the price of what I ask, and I ask itanyway. Time, not more death, will heal our wounds. We can be the change our fathers couldn’t bring.

Isadora

I tear the paper from Tristan’s notebook and stuff it between the pages of the novel I won’t be able to finish. A deep sadness slips over me at the thought of leaving. Yes, there is a part of me that wants to stay to study their old-world medicine and read all their books. But if I’m honest, too much of my heartache has to do with Tristan. I think I’m afraid. I fear that even years with Liam wouldn’t develop into a fraction of the passion Tristan and I had in his kitchen. Will time ease the burn in my chest for him? The ache? Or will it haunt me with the ghost of what could have been?

That’s not a gift you walk away from.What if Enola’s right?

What if Ididn’tleave?

Indulgently, I allow a moment to consider what a life here with Tristan would be like. For us to cave in to our attraction. For us to try to make it work, and to truly fall in love. Only it wouldn’t be love, would it? Not fully. I may trust Tristan not to eradicate the clans, but I will always be the enemy’s daughter.

I could never trust him fully with my heart.

A tear rolls down my cheek, and I brush it away. The choices in my life have always been made for me, and this one feels no different. I take the book with the note in it and lay it on the pillow.

19

Enola guides the horses pulling the motor vehicle to the side of the road, and I follow her lead by nervously managing the driver’s wheel. She slows, and I push on the foot pedal so I don’t run her over. The vehicle jerks to a stop. Sun above—it worked!

In front of us is a massive mansion of a house, which is beautiful but still only a house. I stick my head out the missing side window. “I thought we were going to the hospital.”

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