The Rogue

XXVIII

*Rian*

Everyone slept the day away. Between the actual fighting and the traveling, not one of us escaped exhaustion. My mother came to wake me at two that afternoon, the waft of bacon and eggs following her into my room. My fatigue had led me to the bed in my parents' home rather than my bed at the Alpha house.

"You need to eat," she told me in a cheery voice that failed to mask her worry.

"I just need sleep," I replied sullenly. My eyes were still closed.

"You can go back to sleep when you finish eating."

"Mother..." I didn't want to rise yet. My body was still so tired.

"Rian, please. You need to get up."

This time her urgency rang loud and clear in my sleep-hazy mind. Lifting my head, I opened my eyes. She was standing beside the bed, thin brows drawn together.

"What's wrong?" I croaked.

"You just need to get up," she said, shaking her head, "and get some nutrients into your body."

Something was wrong. I forced myself out of the bed before realizing how badly I reeked. I'd been far too tired this morning to shower off the dirt and sweat prior to collapsing on my bed.

"Can I clean up first?" I asked my mother, who was already halfway through the bedroom door.

"Do what you need to." Her arcane words left me confused and unsure of what I should do.

I rolled some deodorant on and slipped into a t-shirt and shorts, deciding whatever my mother deemed urgent was more important than a shower. The scent of breakfast food led me into the kitchen. My mother was already making me a plate of eggs, bacon, and a croissant.

As I took a seat at the kitchen table, I said, "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," she murmured, keeping her back to me.

"Terrific." My strike at sarcasm fell flat.

She handed over the plate of food and watched from the stove while I inhaled it. Truth be told, I was a little hungry. It wasn't like I'd had much time to eat in the last twenty-four hours. Once the last piece of bacon was gone, she scooped up the plate and put it in the sink.

"Go to the Pit," my mother ordered.

"The Pit? Why?"

"Just do it, Rian."

Sighing, I got to my feet and started for the front door. She grabbed my elbow before I could leave and spun me around for a hug. Her grip was so tight it was difficult to breathe.

"I love you," she told me, voice trembling. "You have struggled so much in the past few weeks, but I know every decision you made was in your better judgment. I know you've tried so hard to hold everything together."

"Mother, what is this ab—"

"Now, go."

Releasing her grip, she shoved me towards the door. The gesture was angry. I stared back at her, completely confused. Her body language and words weren't matching up. Then her eyes were begging me to stay, in spite of the finger she was still training in the direction of the door.

"The Pit," she said again. "Go to the Pit."

I shook my head and left. Women were so perplexing. The village was oddly quiet as I walked. Overhead, a storm brewed in bruised clouds and a black horizon. The sound of impassioned, low voices reached my ears when I was still ten yards from the Pit.