I decided to spend the night in the temple, even though having Nyoraia watching me sleep was both comforting and unnerving. I told myself that if I slept in the Chief's Villa for one more night, I would fall asleep and choose to never leave. I could imagine Aithnaton and Alderhawke peering over my shoulder, both observing the girl they chose to Gift.
Girl. I was only a girl.
Scared, terrified, lost. Yet they had chosen to give me such immeasurable power—placed it in my trembling hands.
I rummaged through the pack, opening all the tiny pockets to make sure everything was there. Something glittered in the musty folds of canvas. Frowning, I pulled it out and held it up to the disappearing light. It was several things. The earrings and headchain from the ceremony, the cuffs Coralia had so carefully fitted onto my arms.
Thank you, Father. A gift from a father who knew that some part of his daughter would always yearn for pretty things. Carefully, I slipped them back into the pocket.
"Amita!" A light voice called. I could imagine the tiny fingers pushing through the trees that went with that voice, the hopeful blue eyes.
"Narreta?"
She appeared before me, twin braids bouncing. "Why are you here?"
"I'm leaving tomorrow."
"Yes, I see that. Is it because you're going to marry the prince in the East?" her tone was almost careful.
The words jolted me. This was the lie my father was going to feed to the public? I tried to compose myself. But after all, I was a daughter, a cousin...some years ago even a sister. Above all, though, I was a Chieftess, an heiress of this land...in some words, an asset. A bargaining chip. "Uh, who told you that?"
"Nobody. I heard your daddy telling my daddy. A suggestion, they said."
I pinched her cheek, my face a careful mask of stone. "You cheeky panda."
"What about Amon then?"
I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd completely forgotten about Amon. As long as he was there, there was no way that lie would ever work. And he was, aah, 'out of the way,' so I wouldn't have to worry about him either.
When I didn't answer, she went on. "Why are you sleeping in the temple?"
"Because. If I sleep here, I will be blessed on the journey."
She looked at me disbelievingly, bending forward and putting her hands on her hips. "Really?"
My expression was distant as I held her hands in mine. There was no use lying to a kid. "No."
A little silence. "Why would you leave without telling me? What about Amon? Is he nothing anymore?" Something cracked in my heart as I heard the undertones of hurt and accusation in her voice. Tears pooled in her eyes and traced their ways slowly down her smooth cheek. She knew when I was lying, but I don't think anyone knew that I only ever saw Amon as a friend—however un-friend-like his role in my life was meant to be.
"No." I sighed vaguely.
"Then why are you leaving?"
I looked towards the sea. Its dark waves were barely visible through the thicket.
"Because I must."
"Will you still bring me presents?"
"Maybe. I will try." My voice was distant, like I couldn't bring myself to feel. I was numb.
"Do you even love him?"
There was no answer to that one.
A pause. Then—
"Will you come back?"
"Maybe. I'm not sure, Narreta."
It troubled me, how much this would affect my family, affect me, how Narreta would be forced to switch to my lifestyle, to grow up far too fast. I never wanted that life—now I had been removed from it. And found that I didn't like this new one either. Narreta had never been in the spotlight before, too young for the attention and scrutiny and too young for the burdens that came with leadership. Now, with me out of the picture, what would happen?
My new heart, a beating shard of stone I was unused to, didn't answer me.
"I'm sorry, Narreta. I am."
"Don't leave."
"I have to."
"I need you here."
I remembered my mother's voice, from a memory long ago. I kneeled, pulling her to my chest. There was so much I went through life thinking I needed. Yet now, my mother and grandmother gone, I was leaving with nothing more than the supplies in the pack and the clothes on my back. Nothing more than a suitcase of memories. "It will be alright. Keep going, and one day you'll forget me."
"What if I keep going, only to more loss and sorrow? What if I never forget you, and your face will haunt me forever?"
I smiled sadly down at her, her pleading, wide eyes. In an instant, she had changed and with the finger that brushed under her eyelids, a scrap of innocence was wiped from her mind. I didn't remember my little cousin ever being so grown-up. "Then you have not kept going long enough. Life will push you down, but you must rise, again and again. You will rise, again and again." Words I had stolen, words that tumbled off my tongue, needing an escape, unbeknownst to Narreta who clung to me, who loved the aunt, my mama who would never come back. "Promise me. Okay?"
"Okay," she mumbled.
We sat in silence for a long time, the adult and the child, the woman and the girl, and sometime during the early hours of the night, I keeled over with pure exhaustion and she snuggled up beside me. We drew off each other's warmth, and I stroked her hair, already missing the feel of her silky locks. Trying to memorise her carefree laugh, her addiction to presents, the childlike delight on her face when she received one.
"Why?" Narreta murmured. "Why leave me for him?"
I stroked her head, thoughts she could not possibly understand filling my head. This was finding security for me, the greatest betrayal for her. And nothing I did could change that.
Tomorrow, I'd be gone.