Cloud Piercer

Fourteen

Anton follows me home.

Even within the safety of the cabin, his presence weighs heavy on our minds. We barely spoke on the walk home, as the descending sun welcomed a bitterly cold night. In the cabin, we sit on the wooden bench curled in front of the fire, side by side.

Flames lick the walls of the fireplace, embers burning red.

"Do you think it was true?" I whisper. Casimir looks at me, eyes a navy blue. "Do you think Anton was a deserter?"

"I don't know. I... I never would've expected him to be."

"Me either." I tug my knees to my chest, but it does little to fight the chill in my veins. "But they must've had proof, right?"

"They must've."

He sounds as doubtful as I feel. It's a terrifying thought—that they could murder someone based on accusations alone. If they didn't care about proof, what's stopping people from reporting someone solely because they don't like them? I shudder. There are people in Veymaw who think little of me.

I rest my head against Casimir's shoulder. A weight presses down on my chest, words that won't come out. I'm desperate to tell him that I've been searching for the deserters, but the words won't form. It isn't that I don't trust him, it's that if Casimir knew, he'd convince me to stop. And despite what I saw today, I can't risk that happening.

"Do you remember that game we used to play?" he asks. "As kids, outside the bakery."

I smile, staring at the flames. "He'd always try to shoe us away. Anton never liked you."

"Thought I was a dirty orphan." The left side of his mouth tugs up. "Didn't stop him from sneaking me bread scraps at the end of the day, though."

"He was kind."

"When he wasn't being such a judgemental asshole, yeah." He nudges my shoulder. "You think you'll sleep okay tonight?"

I turn to look up at him. The tender look on his face makes my chest warm. Staring at him, I feel a range of things—from warmth, to comfort, to betrayal, but most of all, I feel at home.

"Yeah," I say. "I'll be alright."

No matter what lies either of us have told, I don't think that feeling will ever go away.

***

The sky is dark when I wake, the half-moon casting light across my bedroom floor. It's not a nightmare that woke me; there's a tapping at the window.

I sit up, sheet falling to my waist as I press my hands to the windowsill. The space beyond the edge of the trees is impenetrable, but a figure moves in the night. I narrow my eyes as they walk from the treeline and into the stream of moonlight.

Killian. He's dressed in all black, a hood thrown over his head. There's no way he could see me in the window, but he stands there, looking in as if he knows I'm looking back.

I should lie back down and fall back to sleep. Instead, I find myself throwing on the same dress I wore today and creeping through the kitchen, past Casimir's room, to the front door. I wrap my arms around myself as I exit, the cold biting at the bare skin of my arms.

"What're you doing here?" I hiss, staying by the door.

Killian takes a few steps closer. His hand brushes his cape aside to reveal a pile of folded clothing, my clothing. Atop the pile is my dagger. I take them, tucking them under my arm and holding the dagger in my left hand. The hilt provides comfort I didn't realise I'd been missing.

"You couldn't wait till morning?"

"It could've, but that isn't the only reason I'm here."

I pause, holding the clothes to my chest. "What's the other reason?"