Reprise
But in the moments she’d taken to write it, she’d felt as though she were making a grave decision. There had been many like this before, in her life, so she was keenly aware of one when she saw it.
As she looked upon the familiar landscape of Castien beneath the sheets, restful if not entirely peaceful at that moment, she knew she’d chosen right.
Running had gotten her into this mess, after all. Gotten all of them into it, really. It was a foolish attempt at self-preservation, a habit developed over years of misfortune. Besides, where would she go?
She supposed she could have hopped aboard the Escape Artist, her crude little boat- not much more than a dinghy- that she’d picked up in Uldum. It was, after all, all she really had to her name. But where would that leave her? More importantly, where would that leave her mother and sister?
Another letter, tucked with care into her shirt, chafed lightly against her skin as she passed through the streets in her cloak of shadow. She’d been hearing more from Grecia lately. More, and more frequently.
Things had gone considerably downhill in the years she’d been gone. The River’s Edge Players hadn't done a show in months, though they continued their other, less respectable operations with less and less subtlety. They’d gotten a name for themselves, and not in the way anyone wanted publicly. Names were currency in the seedier parts of the world and 'reputational bankruptcy' often meant it was the end of you.
Still they travelled in their caravan of tired, young women and the odd grim-faced husband. Children were few, of course, but those who travelled with their little family were dirty, ragged little urchins without even the streets to play in. Their games bordered far too early on violence and cunning. There was no place for innocence as soon as you were old enough to know the difference.
Grecia’s letters had grown longer and longer as she’d sought to know the sister who’d gone when she was still so young. Who’d left her behind when things had gotten too tough. And who she’d effectively been forced to replace as time wore on.
Barathon Greymist still headed up the rag-tag family, as he always had, of course. His self-loathing had long since swallowed him whole, and rather than simply climb inside the bottle where he spent most of his time, he’d decided to try to drown them all in there. They’d long since fallen for his offer of self-sufficiency and a new life. Hook, line, and sinker.
The truth was he’d never forgiven his traveller wife who’d betrayed him, in his mind, in the most insidious fashion. Grecia had grown up in the shadow of his disdain at best. Nevermind that their mother had done what she’d done to keep his daughter from a fate worse than either were prepared to face at the time.
Men could be so decidedly blind. The irony, of course, was almost funny.
Mum’s eyes are failing her now. Barathon barely even looks at her except to rub more salt in her wounds. Especially now.
Yes, especially now that he’s taken up with this other woman.
Ylaise hadn't known her very well when they’d all served at the Crimsondawn estate. Camellia Pyremourn- the ‘Camel’ as Grecia referred to her- was a hard-faced woman of middle years with thick, blonde hair and a sour disposition. Cruel, entitled, and the kind of woman who was everything Ylaise and Grecia’s own mother was not.
Still their mother was not allowed to go. The King and his new Queen reigned supreme in River’s Edge and their subjects had long since grown wearily resigned to their role. For Jaella, it had become some kind of atonement. Her burden to bear for her so-called failings as a wife and mother.
Ylaise had gotten away though. She alone had been allowed to leave, and she was sure, in that moment when he’d chosen not to pursue his daughter, she had stolen the last shred of decency her father had left. Plucked it from his heart like a particularly heavy coinpurse. No blood spilled. She’d gotten good at not spilling, after all.
The mage-lights flickered overhead as she crept from the city towards the more thorough cover of night and forest song. Like the lynx stalks the rabbit. She couldn’t be sure how long she’d need, what sort of outcome she could reliably expect. But it was time to end this, one way or another.
