“Leave me alone!” she screamed.
“Laurel. . ”
She couldn’t describe what she was feeling. All the struggle, the misery, the fear-everything paled now. She shoved away from the table as hard as she could, knocking her chair over in the process. Voices called out to her, but she couldn’t hear them. The deafening clamor in her head dominated all else.
Into an adjacent tunnel she fled, the shouting growing quiet behind her. She ran blindly, not paying attention to the directional arrows, simply moving wherever her feet chose to carry her. Her mother and father dead, her older sisters. . it was too much to bear. Their names rolled through her mind: Lorna, Isla, Rose, Jasmine, Hyacinth. They’d all had families, and those families were gone now as well, the men forced by their god to fight a war, the children butchered along with their mothers by some damned power-mad merchant. None of her cousins, nieces, or nephews would grow old and have children of their own; none would play again in the shimmering lake behind her parents’ home, and her sisters would never again lie in their husbands’ arms and whisper sweet nothings. And she was the last. Orphaned. Alone. . alone. . alone. Laurel lashed out and punched the wall as she fled, bloodying her knuckles.
She descended through sloping tunnel after sloping tunnel, passing the numerous alcoves where almost eight hundred men and women, nearly half of whom she had helped to save, rested their heads. She ran even when bedraggled people emerged from their nooks, looks of concern painting their faces as they backed away from the whirling demon in their midst. She ran ever downward until she left them all behind, until there was little to no light, and the air around her grew thick with moisture, dripping water the only noise other than her footsteps echoing off wide chamber walls.
She paused, placing her hand on a slick boulder and panting. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her thoughts waged war between acceptance and disbelief. She cried for her family, for their friends, for the entire township of Omnmount, all those frightened children who were now left rudderless. Alone. All alone. “What’s it all been for?” she cried out, hoping a god, any god, would answer her.
None did.
Taking a deep breath, she moved toward a point of light in the near distance. She passed through a low hanging, natural archway, and suddenly there were three shimmering blue pools before her, lit by the flames from the torches embedded in the far wall. A laugh left her throat, the most miserable sound she could ever remember. She had run with abandon, hoping to get lost, hoping to lose her footing and plummet into the depths of some great pit and feel no pain ever again, and yet she’d come here, to the underground bathhouse, a place of cleanliness and rejuvenation. Laurel sank into a corner, hidden by a pair of outcroppings, drew her knees to her chest, and sobbed.
She didn’t know how long she cried, but by the time she was finished, she felt numb inside. Her tears had scoured her soul and burned away her emotions, leaving behind a useless shell of meat, blood, and bone. Without her family to protect, what reason did she have to go on? She considered jumping into one of the pools and holding herself underwater until she breathed no more.
That thought was ripped from her with the sound of shuffling footsteps. Laurel remained still, not wanting to be found, and peered through the darkness at the lone, slender figure that approached. It was Lyana Mori, stepping gingerly, wincing each time one of her feet touched the ground.
The girl was eighteen, and her hair had grown out now that she no longer wore the wrappings of the Sisters. The dark curls bounced above her shoulders, light as a feather, and her bright blue eyes shone with the same color as the water in the shimmering pools. The girl shrugged out of her frock and stood naked before the water. Cuts and scrapes covered Lyana’s arms and legs, and there was a nasty purple splotch above her small left breast. The girl’s feet were also bloodied, and when she sat on the edge of the center pool and dipped her toes in, she winced.
Laurel watched as the girl slipped fully into the water. Though the caverns were muggy, the pools were almost freezing, and Lyana wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. Yet she persevered, forcing her hands to dip into the water, cupping it with her palms and rubbing it over her skin. She looked so young then, so innocent. Laurel was mesmerized at the purity of the vision. . until Lyana turned away.
Laurel had never seen Lyana Mori’s back before. It was covered with a mess of scars, like worms racing across her flesh from one shoulder blade to the other, from her hips to the base of her neck. The skin appeared red and raw, looking even more so in the torchlight. Horror filled Laurel’s gut. Not only had this girl been stripped of her freedom and forced to serve the most powerful men in the land, but she had been mercilessly beaten and whipped as well. That horror was soon replaced by hatred, and she remembered the smug look on Quester Billings’s face when he passed Lyana and Harmony off to her. “Take care of my pets,” he’d said. Only Lyana Mori wasn’t someone’s pet. She was a living, breathing girl, with dreams of her own and a soul just as worthy as that of any man who might claim her.
But Lyana had believed otherwise. It was only with Laurel’s help that she’d cast aside the wrappings, the first of many to abandon the Sisters of the Cloth. With Laurel’s help, she’d begun to smile again, to live for herself, to believe her life meant something more than insult and servitude.
Laurel’s help. .
She swallowed down the last of her grief and stood, walking slowly across the rutted, rocky ground. She shrugged out of her clothes as she moved, until she stood just as naked as Lyana. The girl in the pool turned around at the sound of her approach, covering her small breasts with her arms. Lyana saw who she was, and a relieved smile came over her.
“Laurel?” she said. “You frightened me.”
Laurel sat down on the stone, slid her legs into the cold water.
“I didn’t mean to.”
Lyana’s head cocked to the side. “Laurel, what’s wrong?” she asked, voice like a babe.
Laurel couldn’t think where to start, how to reveal the annihilation of her family line. The words died in her throat, and she felt her tears swell anew. She’d thought her soul emptied, but her grief was not yet done. When she opened her mouth, only a soft sob came forth, and then Lyana was there, arms about her, holding her as she broke.
“I’m so sorry,” Laurel said, holding her tight.
“You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Not that,” she said, her fingers tracing the scars marring the girl’s back. If only she could take them, make them her own. But girls like Lyana, they were legion. And despite their sorrow, their humiliation, they endured. They survived. Laurel drew back, wiped the tears from her eyes, and stared at the girl with her head inclined.
No more tears. Never again. If they endure, so will I. My family may be dead, but I have another, and right now, they are all in chains.
“Laurel?” Lyana asked, clearly worried. “Are you all right?”
“I am now,” Laurel said, and despite her sorrow, she smiled.
CHAPTER 17
When the first snowflakes fell, the barrage began. As had happened the past twenty-three nights, boulders pounded Mordeina’s walls as arrows sailed over the parapets. Only this time, the thousands lurking inside the settlement were ready. Ashhur had helped erect a massive stone bunker fifty yards from the walls, proclaiming the land between the bunker and the wall a dead zone. None but those assigned as watchmen were allowed to climb the stairs. All the rest were put to work crafting weapons and raising countless domiciles with the last of their timber. It was arduous work, but none complained, not when Ashhur marched among them, an expression of icy determination burning in his glowing yellow stare.