Page 23 of A Crown of Tears and Treason
“For who?” I roared, throwing the book to the ground. “There’s nobody here! There’snothinghere.”
In that moment, I felt nothing but bitterness from them and for them. It was weird, to have someone cleave your soul in two almost every day, despise them for it, and still crave their affection. Hoping this was the day they’d stare at you with more than disappointment or say one kind word that wasn’t followed by a long exhale that diluted it and somehow made you feel like more of an inconvenience than when you were ignored.
In the silence that followed, my mother let out one of those sighs that made me believe she regretted that she’d been burdened with me, her daughter.
“You haven’t changed,” she said. “You’re still Constantine’s precious granddaughter, thinking you’re owed a life of luxury and wanting shiny little trinkets.”
I’d given up on luxury the first time I’d had to unravel the hem of my pants to use the threads to tie my shoes. I wanted the barrest of necessities and was chided for it.
My mother came to stand next to my father, grabbing his hand. He squeezed it back, as if on instinct. That small gesture broke me more than all the warnings and threats they’d thrown at me over the years.
They could never understand my loneliness. They would never live it, as long as they had each other.
All the fight left me and I did the only thing I could.
I ran.
“Don’t go past the wards!” my mother cried out after me. I heard the panic in her voice.
I didn’t care.
I ran and I ran and I ran, past the trees I’d feared in my childhood, past the spot where I’d killed my first deer, right to the ridge of the hill, the barrier for the protective wards.
Beyond it was a beautiful meadow I’d watch from behind the transparent barrier, wistful and frightened to take one more step. Small purple flowers were struggling to open after the chilly spring, and the grass was green, beckoning me to break the rules. To be adventurous. To have courage, for once in my life.
That day, I only hesitated for a second before taking a step.
Then another.
One more.
Soon enough, I’d found myself in the middle of the meadow.
Nothing happened.
The sky didn’t fall, the ground didn’t split to swallow me whole, and grandpa Constantine didn’t come blazing out of the sky to save me.
I didn’t feel…anything.
No zing of power, no warning hum.
My knees had given out and I’d crumpled to the soggy ground, releasing more than a decade’s worth of tears. I’d sobbed, I’d trembled, I’d cursed the gods with one breath and pleaded for their mercy in the next.
By the time Zorin’s hooves thumped behind me, I was exhausted.
He’d nudged me with his muzzle until I stood up. Then he escorted me back home without a sound.
Only there wasn’t a home there anymore–only fire, ash, and the smell of burning flesh.
I’d walked past the wards and they’d found us.
The cabin was ablaze and my parents…their eyes. Lifeless. I’d shaken them madly, as if I could bring them back to life, begging for their forgiveness.
I knew, without a doubt, that if there was an afterlife like the vestals and priests preached, my parents would never forgive me.
The carriage jolted, bringing me back to reality.
I closed my eyes, willing the bloody image away. But it only came more into focus, hooking itself in my mind, burrowing deeper and deeper.
