Tressa backed away, fumbling for the door. “I must attend to Granna’s body now. Make sure everything is done properly.”
“Of course, of course. I will call a council meeting before sunset to determine the new course of our village.” His caterpillar eyebrows came together and his eyes narrowed. “Our fates have all changed this day.”
Tressa nodded, then let herself out. She slammed the door behind her. Leaning up against it, her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. She dropped her head, rested her face in her hands, and let the tears fall unbidden.
“Are you okay,” a tender voice asked.
Tressa looked up, her hair covering her soaked cheeks. “Bastian.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath, attempting to calm herself. He’d already reached out to her once, and she’d shrugged him away. He shouldn’t be following her. Not today. Not ever. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Granna just died…”
“Don’t call her that.” Tressa shot an irritated look at Bastian. “She wasn’t your family. She was mine. Like everyone else in this rat-infested village, you can refer to her as Sophia.”
“Tressa, don’t do this. Not now.” He reached out, but fell short of actually touching her arm.
She glanced at his fingers. Dirt was embedded under the nails of his strong hand. She knew without looking how muscular his arms were. Following the contours of his limbs would only remind her of what she could never have again. She hadn’t just coupled with Bastian. She had loved him deeply since she was just a little girl. As children, he’d brought her daises from the meadow, promising her that someday they’d be married. All he had to do was get her with child.
But he hadn’t. Vinya had been the willing recipient of his seed. The bearer of his daughter. His bond-mate for life. Tressa’s barren womb had sealed their fate a few years ago when she didn’t get pregnant during their sanctioned time together. Granna had comforted her through it. Every morning, they drank tea, laughing at first about how lucky Tressa had been to pull Bastian’s ribbon from the basket. As time went on, and Tressa showed no sign of pregnancy, their morning ritual turned to one of quiet sadness. Then acceptance when their three months together expired. That was when Vinya pulled his ribbon. Within a month, her courses had stopped and she was successful at what Tressa could never do.
Tressa had somehow skipped over the part where she felt anger. There was only a deep, abiding sadness. One she couldn’t stomach in Bastian’s presence.
“I have to take care of Granna’s body.” Tressa moved to the side. Granna’s death, Udor’s advances, and now Bastian’s concern. She needed to get away, but living in a trapped village, there was nowhere she could go to be alone.
“Uncle Adam is already there. One of the children was sent to fetch him after you emerged from the cottage. He will care for Sophia, just as he’s cared for all of our dead since you and I were just children.” Bastian’s eyes softened. They’d always reminded Tressa of the meadow in spring. The same meadow where he’d picked flowers for her. The meadow where she shared her first kiss. Not just with Bastian, but with anyone. His eyes held too many memories for her.
“Still, she is my only kin. I should be there. Watch over her. If you’ll excuse me.” Tressa picked up her dress a little to keep it away from her feet, then took off in a run. Away from Bastian and Udor. Toward the only person who’d so intimately shared her past and future, and now had left Tressa alone and adrift.
Arriving outside her cottage in a cloud of dust and dirt, Tressa was glad to see the crowd had dispersed. The shock of Granna’s death would wear off quickly. It was expected, had been for many years now. Yet she’d managed to hang on. Many whispered it was her will to raise Tressa that kept her alive. But Tressa knew different. It was Granna’s heart’s desire to see them escape from their village. Deep in her soul, she believed they’d find a way out. She wanted to live to see it with her own eyes.
Whether it was for vindication for all of the people she’d sent to their deaths beyond the fog, or because her fighting spirit wouldn’t give up until she’d reunited her people with those who’d left them behind, Tressa wasn’t sure. Granna never expressed her feelings on those she sent into the fog. She refused to speak of it and Tressa had stopped asking many years ago. While Granna’s joy was infectious, and Tressa loved reveling in it, her silence carried the weight of the world, a weight Tressa knew she wasn’t strong enough to bear.
And now that she was alone, she had a choice to make. Allow Udor to influence the council and cancel the yearly trek into the fog or believe in Granna’s deathbed ramblings, that somehow Tressa was destined to leave and, perhaps, to survive?