Chapter 20: Everly

Chapter

Twenty

EVERLY

After Cenric left me in my tent, I didn't stay there long. I needed to do something with my hands—anything to distract myself.

So, I joined Morwen in her tent, helping her cook. She hums as I stand over one of the pots bubbling with beef stew, the rich aroma of herbs, onions, and spices wafting up to tickle my nose.

"Everly, could you pass me the thyme?" Morwen asks, holding out her weathered hand.

I reach for the bundle of dried thyme and place it in her outstretched palm. As I do, my mind drifts back to the crowded market square. Could Hawke and his band of smelly brutes be behind the attack?

Morwen's voice breaks through my swirling thoughts. "Is there something weighing on your mind, child? "

"I can't stop thinking about what happened at the market today."

What would have happened had we not grabbed fruit and fought back? Would those masked men have killed our guards?

It's a sobering thought to think of what might have happened, to worry that the next time I step into the city, someone else will attack me.

The old woman continues chopping the thyme, the blade making a rhythmic tap-tap-tap on the cutting board. "I've been traveling to Karra's market for many summers, and that has never happened before."

Morwen's keen eyes flick to my surcoat, lingering on the red circle that marks me as an outsider. My stomach clenches, and I shift, angling my body away from her. It's an instinctive move, one I've perfected over the summers.

Morwen clicks her tongue. "You've nothing to be ashamed of."

I force a smile, but it feels brittle on my face. "I'm not ashamed." My fingers tighten around the spoon as I scrape the bottom of the pot with unnecessary vigor.

Morwen's eyebrow arches. She doesn't push, though. Instead, she turns back to her herbs, giving me space to wrestle with my thoughts.

Am I ashamed?

The question niggles at the back of my mind like a splinter. I want to dismiss it, to believe my words. After all, I've spent summers building my independence and wearing my outsider status like armor.

It's just a stupid circle .

But as I stir the stew, I can't shake the uncomfortable truth settling in my gut. Maybe, just maybe, there's a part of me that wishes I could scrub that red mark away. A part that longs to belong.

I clear my throat, desperate to change the subject. "So, how many portions do you think we'll need for tonight?"

Morwen's knowing smile tells me she's not fooled by my clumsy deflection. Still, she plays along, launching into a detailed breakdown of the camp's appetites. I listen, grateful for the distraction, even as that nagging question lingers: What would it feel like to truly belong? To not be shunned?

"Those three masked men at the market," she says as she pauses her chopping. "What do you make of them?"

Tension ripples through me as I tighten my grip on the spoon. "I'm not sure."

"Some of the people in Karra want things to be different. Do you want that, Everly?"

It's a loaded question, one that could brand me a rebel if answered carelessly. "I do. But I don't condone violence as a way to change things."

Morwen nods, encouraging me to continue.

The steam from the stew warms my face as I draw in a quick breath. "Change should come from the top. When it's forced from the bottom, it's like an earthquake that happens underground. It topples every foundation, leaving destruction in its wake."

The old woman smiles, her face brightening and her eyes sparkling. "You are wise, child."

Am I ?

I haven't felt very wise lately. More like weak and biddable.

My love for my family has always been my strength, but now it feels like my greatest weakness. Hawke knows how to play on my devotion to them, using it to control me. Now, I'm a ship without a rudder, allowing the currents to push and pull me wherever they wish.

And Hawke is the current, steering me wherever he pleases. I thought I was guiding my family toward a better life, but he's taken away my oars.

Damn him!