5 #4

The sergeant struck once. Isolde felt her knife handle against her thigh and searched for the seam she would exit through. Behind the men stood the stairs to Lera. Opening the wall would give the Guard a direct line to her. She drew her fingers from the stone.

Heat slipped down her back. She needed to stretch her knee, cough, hear the collector move away. The man struck again, and the blanket stopped insulating her shoulder. Isolde kept her mouth open to release her breath silently.

Upstairs, Lera screamed.

Enna had begun removing the bandage. The healer’s voice came down the stairs.

“Look at it opening. If you want to carry her, see what you’re going to tear first.”

The sergeant went upstairs. The collector took his hand from the fireplace and followed.

Isolde let her breath out over five counts.

The inspection lasted an hour. Enna kept the men around the wound until two turned pale. Lera’s fever had risen. The sergeant agreed to delay the transfer another forty-eight hours, threatening to imprison everyone if the girl disappeared.

Before leaving, the collector posted a notice bearing Iria Thennar’s name and a reward of five crowns.

Kaoran opened the wall when the horses reached the woods.

Isolde emerged with a numb leg and a red burn along her shoulder. She leaned against the table until her foot responded.

“Nine crowns,” she said.

“The collector is offering five. You should appreciate my valuation.”

“Next time I invent your story.”

“That’s why I keep the keys.”

Lera’s fever broke the next day. Copies of the lists appeared nailed to the mill, the smithy, and the toll post. Every family learned its original debt, the surcharges, and where the workers were being sent.

Two office clerks left Nydel before dark.

The sergeant assigned his men to tearing down papers, hunting Iria, and watching the storehouse.

That dispersal opened a route for the siblings.

Doven brought a coal cart to the edge of the woods. He had built a false bottom with planks and placed sacks of grain around it. Teren would drive south, cross the river at a shepherds’ ford, and deliver Lera and Oren to their aunt.

“I can go with them as far as the ford,” Isolde said.

Kaoran examined the burn on her shoulder.

“The patrol is looking for your face.”

“They know Iria’s face.”

“They’ve seen how she walks too.”

Lera made the decision for both of them.

“Stay,” she said from the cart. “If you come, they’ll look here.”

She could sit with her leg extended. Color had returned to her lips. Oren stayed beside her, hugging the bag of flour.

Isolde gave her a copy of the list and three coins from the chest.

“Teren will check the ford before bringing the cart close,” she explained. “Doven knows a stone with two white lines. If the water covers the lower one, you’ll follow the watercourse to the old bridge.”

“And the soldiers?”

“You’ll wait among the willows while Teren checks the other bank. If he takes too long, Doven will take you to the shepherds’ track.”

Lera looked at the driver. She waited for him to confirm the plan before putting the paper away.

Lera turned to Isolde.

“When you can say your name, I want to know it.”

“If you find me again, ask for the house of wind.”

“This house barely has a name.”

“That’s why it works.”

Oren took a wooden figure from his pocket. It was a small dragon with one wing shorter than the other.

“For your birthday,” he said.

Isolde accepted it. The carving was rough, and one foot had no claws.

“Who told you?”

The boy pointed to Kaoran.

“The old man talks too much.”

The cart descended among the birches. Doven walked ahead, and Teren held the reins. Isolde listened to the wheels until the wind covered the sound.

Isolde left the dragon figure on the windowsill. Oren had smoothed the wood where fingers would rest. She wanted to tell Aelyn how the boy had brought flour to his sister’s rescue and turned toward the table before remembering her friend was missing from it.

She found the bell on the empty bed. She carried it downstairs, cleaned it, and left it beside Enna’s bandages.

Kaoran took a leather-wrapped parcel from the cupboard.

“This may help.”

Inside was a short knife with a pale wooden grip. The guard protected the fingers without enclosing the hand. Its weight lay close to the handle.

“It belonged to someone who knew how to use an injured leg,” Kaoran said.

“Who?”

“I’ll tell you when you can make me let go of it.”

Isolde took the weapon. Her left hand held the grip with the help of a thin strap he had prepared.

“Is it a birthday present?”

“I had the fastening made for your hand,” Kaoran said. “You can call it a present if that helps you keep it sharp.”

Isolde tested the strap’s fastening. He left an iron key beside the knife. It opened the chest of maps, money, and hidden routes.

“The winter stores are in the little book. We’ll have to count what we give and what we have left. I want to do it with you.”

She took the key. On the morning of her birthday, she had wanted someone to remember it. The knife bore the fresh marks of a hand that had quietly adapted it.

She opened the chest, took out the book, and left a place for Kaoran at the table.