Shadowguard

Cian never came back. Everna didn't expect him to. He'd never make it through the door; her mother made certain her father, brother, and at least half of the town knew what had happened.

In the days following, Lisette threw her several smug looks that reeked of "I told you so". Even Cedric, who was often out on missions, stopped by to harass her as well. Everna took it all in stride, even when her father kept eying her stomach, as if he expected it to swell before his eyes. She almost slapped him when he suggested she ask Leah after a certain bunch of herbs and potions. At least her mother finally stopped harassing her about marriage and men, though she questioned her taste when possible.

"I guess I get it from Dad," she'd said, to which her mother responded by flinging a wooden spoon at her.

Only the announcement of Leah and Corden's wedding date took their attention off of her. They would wed in the late spring when the snow cleared and the roads were no longer blocked. Corden had several friends in the capital he wanted present and Leah's family planned to travel from the Old Capital for the occasion. When they asked her to take part in the ceremony, Everna begrudgingly informed them of her plans.

It came as a surprise to neither of them, though Corden wasn't sure how he felt. As her brother, he disagreed with the idea, but as a High Knight, he knew it was for the best. She needed proper training under the guidance of those who wouldn't coddle her for the sake of their own conscious. Corden agreed that when the time came, he'd distract her parents so she could slip off, and once they realized she was gone, he and Leah would break the news to them.

It saved her the trouble writing a letter that sounded neither too bitter nor too much like a last farewell; those attempts sat in a heap of crumpled pages stashed inside her vanity.

Muted conversation rose from the other side of her door, the talk of wedding plans and her mother's list of names for their first seven children (gods help Leah, one or two would be enough), as she shuffled about her room in preparation. Leah had taken care of the most troublesome part of the packing, which was liberating her mother's armor without her notice. It sat tight on Everna’s frame, just as it had the first time she put it on, the boots snug on her feet and the cloak draped over her shoulder.

Her mother had most of the damage repaired in the days following the fight with Godwin, and if Everna had more time, she'd have seen the leatherworker about a set of her own. But, it would take weeks, if not months, to have the set made, and many more to have the enchantments woven into it. She would have to make do with what she had.

Her sword hung from her hip, the dagger tucked into a sheath at her thigh. Cian's ring sat on her finger, warm with magic; she forgot she had it until she found it buried in her bedside drawer, hidden beneath her weapons. She'd have to give it back to him the if their paths crossed. The badge liberated from the stronghold sat beneath the left breast of her armor.

Inside the full bag perched on her bed were several changes of clothes, a few potions Leah brewed in the weeks before her brush with death, an assortment of necessities, and the full pardon. There was no reason to take it beyond sentimental value, but it was tangible proof of what she accomplished. The empty rod was the last of the items to be stuffed inside.

Shouldering the pack, she paused at the door to listen. Her mother laughed, her father grumbling under his breath. Leah mentioned something about a wyvern and her brother fell into a slew of curses and frantic denials. Guilt stabbed at her heart, but she forced it aside. They might not understand at first, but perhaps someday they would.

With a slow breath to calm her nerves, Everna carefully opened her window, her skin prickling beneath the chill of winter's breath. She swung her legs over the sill, balancing precariously on the edge. Ignoring the drop as best she could, her fingers closed around the metal downspout that ran vertically beside the window. A pair of gloves kept her fingers from freezing to the metal. The rough brick of the wall provided her with several, though tedious, footholds.

How Cian and her mother flung themselves onto the lower roof, nearly fifteen feet below, without injury or concern, was beyond her.

Snow and ice cracked underfoot as she found the roof and then slid over the edge and into the street. A horse, the same one she rode during her trip to Windhollow, stood tied to a hitching post half a block down the street. She climbed into the saddle, and with one last look at the tavern parked on the corner, alight and bustling as always, she steered the horse to the south gate.

The guards nodded as she passed.

Smaller homes cluttered the countryside just past the gates. Unlike the row houses and town homes inside the gates, these had small yards marked with wooden fences and hedgerows. Swings of rope and old wooden planks hung from trees. Toys and other sorts of childish entertainment peeked out from beneath the snow. A shepherd dog lay curled into a ball atop a swinging bench, sleeping soundly despite the snow flakes cluttering its black and white coat.

The houses gave way to small corrals and wide pastures tucked between empty fields. Windmills turned in the breeze; if it weren't for the cold, there'd be grain to grind into flour in their grindstones. Come spring, this portion of the town would be green with a sea of rolling hills that rose and fell over the horizon before halting at the Scintillating Peaks in the far south. Horses equipped with plows would prepare the fields while farmers and their hands planted seeds and tended to the animals.

Everna passed Lyra's mother's farm, and a pit opened in her stomach. The upper floor window, which was always illuminated as Lyra hated the dark, sat cold and empty. They buried her family in the graveyard on the east side of town three days prior, the headstones fresh and well-guarded by their loyal shepherd, Brandy. Gyles took their goats and sheep to his parents' farm so they wouldn't die of neglect, but Brandy refused to leave the stones. Adela, thinking she was a stray, kept taking her food and blankets.

Last she heard, her parents were considering luring the dog to the tavern and having her guard the entrance.

The countryside shifted to a swath of barren trees burdened with snow. She allowed the horse to follow the buried path, which took them a small ways to the north then due west. A small pile of stones, painted with a faded red "x" on the uppermost rock, marked the border. From there, it was four miles to the northwest before the clearing came into sight.