Page 56 of Cinder
Except Emma.
And Lorenz.
Somehow, he seemed doomed to lose one for the other.
By the time he’d finished his rounds, the supply pack he’d mounted on the horse was barely any heavier. A little flour, a block of cheese, a few of the vegetables he’d traded for their potatoes, a couple of jars of jam that would have to last them half the winter if Father’s next venture didn’t bring in something more substantial, and an embroidery needle for Floy, to replace the one Manfred had broken earlier that week—whether by accident or purposefully, Cin still wasn’t sure.
The only reason Cin was picking up the new one at all was because Floy had insisted there was no way they could go without the needle for another Sunday. Which made Cin particularly confused when, on his way through the main square, he spotted Floy across the street. Confused, thenannoyed,then confused again as Floy glanced both ways before slipping down the alley past the town’s main chapel, the buildings now constructed so tightly around it that its little graveyard out back barely saw the sun.
Cin had meant to pause in the square’s high place for his usual glimpse at the castle’s towers—even having visited them couldn’t remove the superstition—but he sent up a hasty prayer for God not to frown on him as he redirected toward the chapel instead.
He kept his distance as he followed Floy around the far side of the chapel, turning right, then left, then right again. When he came back out onto the next main road though, they had vanished. Into a house? Down a side street? He couldn’t know for certain.
Why Floy had come to town in the first place… Cin wasn’t sure what to make of it. He didn’t have much time to dwell on that, though, as someone barged out of the house around the corner in front of him.
He recognized her instantly, tears streaming down her cheeks with the same ferocity as they had on all the days she’d hid behind her well. Her husband stormed after her. Cin’s hand went to the knife at his back, instinct driving the motion before he could even piece together a useful thought, and he shifted his mount into the shadows of the home’s outer wall where it met the empty city street.
Before Cin could act, a second woman stormed after them both.
The husband turned to her, his voice low and sharp. “Olinda has had enough of your cruelty.”
“She was our sister before she was ever your wife!” the new woman snapped back. She shoved around him and grabbed onto Olinda, her hand clamping onto her sister’s wrist. “Do not listen to him. We told you not to marry a damned Falchovarian! Can’t you see how he’s trying to turn you against us—against your ownfamily.”
The words seemed so tender, so caring, but Cin could see the way they tore into Olinda, just as the woman’s fingernails tore into Olinda’s wrist—tore the same cruel lines Cin had attributed to her husband.
Cin’s understanding of the situation shifted rapidly, recounting everything he’d seen in a new light. The man he’d assumed was the villain stood to one side awkwardly, anxiously, looking like he wanted to pull his wife and her sister apart, but didn’t think he had the right. He’d already said all he could to try to convince Olinda not to keep coming back here—perhaps too loudly and messily, but out of love nonetheless. The way hewas watching Olinda then, Cin could see that affection coursing through his being.
“Linny,” he begged, offering her a hand, as though by taking it, he could finally free her from this burden.
Olinda’s fingers twitched toward his, but her sister grabbed her other hand too, yanking at her.
“You cannot leave me here to care for Father alone,” she hissed. “We are yourblood.”
She had barely spoken when Olinda jerked back, tearing her wrists free. “No!”
By the shock on her sister’s face, it seemed it was the first time she’d ever done so. “No..?”
“I don’tcarewhat you say.” Olinda took a step back, then away, gripping onto her husband’s hands, but her ire stayed fixed on her sister. “You and Father have needed too much of me, for too long, and I— I need Theobold now. He built me a garden, he gives me space to read, he leaves me be when I need it. He did not turn me against you. You did that all yourself.”
Her sister sputtered, her cheeks reddening, but Olinda finally turned her attention to her husband as he whispered, “Can we go home?”
“Please,” she replied.
Together, they turned away from the fuming sister.
Her face contorted. She spun and stormed back into the house. But she didn’t close the door.
Cin’s gut twisted. He dismounted, one hand still on the hilt of his blade, and when the woman barreled back out of her home with a butcher’s knife in hand, he was already there, slipping in behind her. But for once, he couldn’t bring himself to drive metal into flesh, couldn’t bear to watch the blood pool over his hands.
His mind rang with a voice, calling him to begood.This time it wasn’t his mother’s, though; it was Prince Lorenz, cupping the side of his face, telling him he already was. Cin still couldn’tbelieve that, but he knew what he did believe: that sometimes the victims weren’t good or gentle and their villains were complicated. And that meant so too was their justice.
A blade speared deep in this villain—hisvictim’s—throat would be too simple.
Cin pressed it there heavily instead, holding her from behind.
“I would not do that if I were you,” he hissed. “You are not worthy to be her sister. Forget about her. Or I will not forget about you.”
Olinda and her husband did not once look back.
