Light and Shadow✔️

The perfect Escape

My hands were deep into the mud, my fingernails scraping stones and roots. Sweat was oozing out of my every pore, into my navy blue, ankle-length dress, dirt coating the formerly white apron. I had rolled up the embroidered sleeves and allowed myself to open the first button of its neck-tight collar so a cool breeze could kiss my damp skin when finally, a raindrop fell onto me. Cool and slick it seeped into the dark fabric. I had been so deep in thought that I hadn't noticed the storm clouds gathering around me, even though they were what I had been waiting for.

I straightened up, stretching my wings. Standing in one position for hours on end to dig out roots and plants had made my back muscles lock up. Working in the garden wasn't something my mother usually had me doing, but since my brother's Blood Rite was coming up she and I had relocated to our house at the campgrounds, where I was maid, gardener, housekeeper and charity worker in one. So now my feet, back, and arms were hurting like hell.

I took a calculating look at the frostflowers in the pot at the forefront of the house my father had acquired for my brother to be used while he trained to be a warrior. It was made of wood, two stories, spacious, almost regal for most families living here. But we weren't most families. My bloodline had been reigning in this camp since we had made these mountains our home. I had heard the story of the glorious bloodshed to acquire this hateful place on Prythian more than enough and it wasn't even very imaginative. At the beginning of time, the Illyrians had fought the monsters of this place to secure a home for their families. The strongest were made the counsel of the Lords, over the years five families presided: Fortis, Prundens, Audax, Dolsus, and Nihil. Altogether they were strong enough to hold the territory and reign for prosperous years blah blah blah. Other than my fellow Illyrians I had never been very proud of the fact that we were living on stolen land, paid for in the blood of my ancestors and innocent animals. I had never been proud of the steely, cruel way Illyrians were treating each other and everything around them. There seemed to be nothing more important but their pride. And pride is a dangerous motivator for anything.

Still, I very much loved the way Illyrians went after what they wanted and was proud to count myself among their ranks. Though they weren't without fault, not everything was bad about my kin.

I hadn't looked up, but I could feel the wind calling my name, I shifted my wings again into the tickling breeze.

A short glance confirmed, my mother was relaxing inside, a cup of tea steaming in her hands. My mother held herself like a proper lady, her violet wings tidily tugged behind the armchair in front of the mantlepiece, her legs crossed, no strand of hair out of place. But I knew the reason she held her wings so stiff was the purple mark hidden cleverly by layers of clothing. I had never seen my father beat her, but I had always known. The way she flinched when he lifted his hand next to her, the way she made herself small whenever he was raising his voice. My brother had never bothered to look for the signs.

Ethinius was training, like all the other proper Illyrian boys. I had seen him at lunch when I gave out the meat-stew they ate while training. His brown locks had been sticking to his face, the strong smell of sweat surrounded him. He had slipped me a bit of money to buy myself a treat on the way home... What would he do when he realized I was gone?

I looked up at the clouds, they were already stretching to the horizon. Still, I would have to wait until the pour down was strong enough to worsen the visibility around the camp, but not strong enough to call me back in again. There would be precious few minutes to realize the plan so carefully laid out over the past few weeks.

My clipping was set for the Summer Solstice, five weeks from now. For normal Illyrian daughters, the clipping was set the day their first bleeding came, but for my family, there were other traditions. Mine would be an engagement party at the same time and marriage was only to be proposed after the age of eighteen, which meant at least I had been spared for a few years. There was no risk for me to run anyway, I had never been taught or allowed to fly, so how would I leave a camp set in the middle of the mountains? Why rush it?