When is it Enough

Chapter 3 - A Kiss of Letting Go

Alina shot to her feet. "MAL!" she screamed, forgetting to use his fake name. She ran into the house, nearly knocking one of the maids to the ground.

"Where's my husband?" Alina demanded, wild-eyed and frantic.

"H-he went into town," the alarmed maid said, "About an hour ago. I think he was headed to the tavern."

"Shit," Alina cursed. She ran out the front door, barely stopping to pull on some sturdy work boots.

She ran down the path to the town, dread coiling in her stomach. The nightmares from her past would not return. They couldn't. She would find Mal and he would pat her on the head and tell her she worried for nothing. See? He'd say, I'm still all in one piece. No one's stabbed me through the heart once today. Then he'd laugh and it would make her chest ache.

Everything would be alright.

To get to the tavern, Alina needed to pass through the densely packed camp that now completely separated her orphanage from the town. Cookfires released aromas from every herb and spice from here to the Wandering Isle spiraling in the air, entangled with tendrils of blue smoke. the narrow passages between caravans and tents were trampled and thick with mud. Barefoot children splashed through shallow, murky pools as they ran and danced among the makeshift homes. People sat around telling each other stories and jokes. A Suli girl and her pet monkey were practicing tricks for spare change. Four Kerch boys were playing poker while several others were putting money on the outcome. A tall Kaelish woman with the brightest red hair you've ever seen was telling faerie stories to a gaggle of children. A large group of Shu were building some indiscernible structure. Small pickup bands strummed or beat or whistled through their instruments. Dogs, goats, and chickens mingled unbound amongst the people.

These people had turned the burnt, broken, haunted husk of land into a place brimming with life. Wonder almost overwhelmed Alina's panic.

The mud forced her to slow considerably. As she picked her way around thick mudpuddles and rogue hens, someone called out to her. "Beautiful hair, my Sankta!"

Alina's hands flew to her head. She hadn't thought to tie up her hair in a scarf or obscure her face in any way. In her desperation to make sure Mal was alright, it hadn't even occurred to her, an oversight that was now going to bring down hell on her carefully constructed home.

She connected the voice to a boy no older than fifteen sitting amongst a group of friends when he shouted again. "Allow me to fall on my knees to praise you like the Saints!" The group sniggered in barely controlled laughter. The boy continued, "I can show you how practiced my tongue is at its prayers!"

Alina realized she wasn't in danger. She was being catcalled.

She gave a short, unbelieving laugh. She shouted back, "grow a beard first and then we can talk!"

The boy's friends broke out in peals laughter, shoving their audacious compatriot. She hurriedly carried on.

Alina had almost reached the edge of the camp when someone grabbed her arm and she was yanked backwards, her own forward momentum working against her. She stumbled, barely avoiding tipping into the mud. The hem of her once white dress could not be saved that fate.

"S-sankta?" the man holding her arm breathed.

Alina shook her head and laughed nervously, looking down and away just in case. "Unfortunately not, sir."

His grip tightened, "No, no it is you! Saints be praised! I have carried your mark all these years, Sol Koroleva, I would be ashamed if I didn't know your voice!"