If she had known there was some sort of choice, if she had known the criteria for the choosing, she would have known she belonged here. In the trash. She'd say it felt like home but she hadn't had anything that felt like a home in almost a year. Or maybe more than a year. She had lost all track of time. That happened when you worked for Barren. You lost track of anything other than not getting him angry with you again. She had stopped asking why he wanted people killed. She killed who she was told to kill.
Paul Mores had taught her that lesson, hadn't he? He judgment didn't matter. Morse was right. Her heart didn't matter. She couldn't be a weakling. She had to just do as she was told.
And what she had been told was to cross the dratted bridge, climb the dratted tower and murder the dratted harpy of a man who lorded over the city, over the part where people were actually safe and happy and wanted. A place where law mattered, where people had clothes that fit and enough to eat.
How much of her life had been spent dreaming of crossing the dratted bridge? How many days had she spent begging on the banks of the river wishing she could leave the fiefs? So sure that she'd go there and suddenly be beautiful and loved and well fed and wanted.
And now that she had crossed the dratted bridge? She expected people to realize that she didn't belong. To point and stare. To kill her.
But what really happened was nothing. People were people on either dratted side. They didn't care about her so long as she wasn't in the way. So she made her preparations. She spent a few days on the Elantra side of the bridge, in a room that had an actual door. But she hadn't been able to enjoy it. She had a job to do. She had to kill the Hawklord.
She made her preparations, she learned to hide in plain sight, and then she made the climb. She climbed his dratted tower, slipped inside and woke up.... Here.
She should have realized. A girl from the fiefs never got to leave them. Not in any way that left enough of the girl after to be worth saving. At least she'd never been too pretty, so she never faced that fate. But she still knew how to be careful to avoid it all the same.
Severn had taught her tha....
She doubled over in the graveyard, retching. She hadn't thought of him in over a month. But now that she had she couldn't keep down the meager contents of her shriveled stomach. She wretched for several minutes then shoved herself away from the mess. Never fall into it. That;s how you got sicker.
She pulled herself up on a Doom Stone, shaky. She had lost her climbing gear. She was dressed in all black, including cloth over all of her face but her eyes. Her dagger was gone.
Where was she? She looked around. Took in the trash, the weeds struggling to grow, the desolation of the place. Okay, so she was back in the fiefs. But which fief?
She looked up at the sky, at how dark it was getting. Storm dark or night dark? She wasn't sure. But either way getting inside somewhere was a hope of a lot more important than figuring out which fief this was.
There was only one building she saw. It looked large enough to hold a lot of squatters, she should be able to find a space. And if she couldn't.... well... she wasn't twelve anymore. Morse had taught her how to make someone give her theirs if she needed it. She didn't have her dagger. Didn't matter. Couldn't matter.
She rushed in to the mausoleum, pulling on her long sleeves to make sure they stayed down as she ran. Her eyes were alert for movement, her ears straining for the sound of hunting ferals.
Re: Elianne/Kaylin Neya - Chronicles of Elantra (Spoilers for Cast in Conflict 2021 potentially)
If she had known there was some sort of choice, if she had known the criteria for the choosing, she would have known she belonged here. In the trash. She'd say it felt like home but she hadn't had anything that felt like a home in almost a year. Or maybe more than a year. She had lost all track of time. That happened when you worked for Barren. You lost track of anything other than not getting him angry with you again. She had stopped asking why he wanted people killed. She killed who she was told to kill.
Paul Mores had taught her that lesson, hadn't he? He judgment didn't matter. Morse was right. Her heart didn't matter. She couldn't be a weakling. She had to just do as she was told.
And what she had been told was to cross the dratted bridge, climb the dratted tower and murder the dratted harpy of a man who lorded over the city, over the part where people were actually safe and happy and wanted. A place where law mattered, where people had clothes that fit and enough to eat.
How much of her life had been spent dreaming of crossing the dratted bridge? How many days had she spent begging on the banks of the river wishing she could leave the fiefs? So sure that she'd go there and suddenly be beautiful and loved and well fed and wanted.
And now that she had crossed the dratted bridge? She expected people to realize that she didn't belong. To point and stare. To kill her.
But what really happened was nothing. People were people on either dratted side. They didn't care about her so long as she wasn't in the way. So she made her preparations. She spent a few days on the Elantra side of the bridge, in a room that had an actual door. But she hadn't been able to enjoy it. She had a job to do. She had to kill the Hawklord.
She made her preparations, she learned to hide in plain sight, and then she made the climb. She climbed his dratted tower, slipped inside and woke up.... Here.
She should have realized. A girl from the fiefs never got to leave them. Not in any way that left enough of the girl after to be worth saving. At least she'd never been too pretty, so she never faced that fate. But she still knew how to be careful to avoid it all the same.
Severn had taught her tha....
She doubled over in the graveyard, retching. She hadn't thought of him in over a month. But now that she had she couldn't keep down the meager contents of her shriveled stomach. She wretched for several minutes then shoved herself away from the mess. Never fall into it. That;s how you got sicker.
She pulled herself up on a Doom Stone, shaky. She had lost her climbing gear. She was dressed in all black, including cloth over all of her face but her eyes. Her dagger was gone.
Where was she? She looked around. Took in the trash, the weeds struggling to grow, the desolation of the place. Okay, so she was back in the fiefs. But which fief?
She looked up at the sky, at how dark it was getting. Storm dark or night dark? She wasn't sure. But either way getting inside somewhere was a hope of a lot more important than figuring out which fief this was.
There was only one building she saw. It looked large enough to hold a lot of squatters, she should be able to find a space. And if she couldn't.... well... she wasn't twelve anymore. Morse had taught her how to make someone give her theirs if she needed it. She didn't have her dagger. Didn't matter. Couldn't matter.
She rushed in to the mausoleum, pulling on her long sleeves to make sure they stayed down as she ran. Her eyes were alert for movement, her ears straining for the sound of hunting ferals.