This time, even before the guard could say, "You may see her now," Sally rushed into the hallway, arrived at the door, and took out the key. She had once wondered why Ethenrion gave her the key to Demitria's room, but now wasn't the time to think about it. She inserted the key into the lock, only to find the door was already unlocked, which somehow ignited a sudden surge of anger. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Demitria was still seated by the window, facing the vanity mirror, her entire figure radiating an incredible stillness. Sally wanted to shatter that stillness; the news she received that morning made it impossible for her to sit idly by and let things continue. She gripped Demitria's shoulder and turned her around.
Contrary to Sally's expectations, Demitria's eyes held neither sorrow nor anger. Despite the long confinement and despair, there was still life in her gaze. Sally was relieved, yet dissatisfied with that excessive calm. You may be about to die! Why can't you realize that? Why won't you show me your fear?
"You're leaving tomorrow?" Sally asked, her fingers tightening.
"Yes."
Sally remained silent for a long time. Demitria was about to leave with Ethenrion to Sodoril Bridge to bring Jemar back. Although the higher-ups had yet to finalize how they would handle the situation, Sally couldn't think of any reason why they'd let Jemire—or Demitia—live. The mere thought of their reunion under Ethenrion's watch sent a shiver through her.
She crouched down and buried her head in Demitria's folded knees.
"You'll die. Don't go," she said.
Demitria placed a hand on Sally's silver hair. "It's not my choice to make."
Sally looked up. Before her was Demitria's abdomen; it was hard to imagine that it was nurturing a life. If it never saw the light of day, could it still be called a life? Sally stared into Demitria's clear eyes, trying to discern what part of her held the glow of a future mother. For a long time, she had thought of the unborn child as a mistake, and Ethenrion had blamed her for delaying the situation and causing the mistake. But at that moment, she regretted ever having such thoughts. Demitria wasn't at fault. Jemar wasn't at fault. I... wasn't at fault either.
Sally stood up. "Let's go."
"Go? Where?"
"I'll take you away. It's easy; I'll just tell the guards Ethenrion sent me to fetch you, after all, he gave me the key. Once we're out of this house..."
"If you do that, you'll..."
"I'll take care of my own matters," Sally interrupted, pulling Demitria to her feet, "Hurry up."
"Don't be foolish."
"I can't let you die."
Reporting you was already an unforgivable mistake. I can't make another one.
"This won't work, Sally," Demitria forcefully pulled her hand back.
"If we can't fool the guards, we'll find another way," Sally placed her other hand on her sword's hilt, "I'll take you hostage. They wouldn't dare attack. Once we get a horse... I'll never come back."
"You're mad!"
Demitria slapped Sally across the face. Sally froze, not understanding what the slap meant. Demitria's nails left a scratch below her right eye.
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here," Demitria said, her body trembling, her voice like broken leaves rustling in the wind after a storm.
"You don't have to worry about dragging me into this. I've already..."
"This has nothing to do with you!" Demitria suddenly shoved Sally. "Stop flattering yourself! I'm not doing this for you... I want to see him, can't you understand that?"
Sally fell silent. She saw Demitria frown deeply, and the usually calm gaze was now turbulent, like waves about to crash against the rocks in a storm. That tempest stirred up stones that struck Sally's heart; she had mustered the last of her courage to betray the Scarlet Cross and save Demitria, but now, she was lost. Even a novice sailor facing a storm for the first time was more composed than she was now. Flattering myself? Was all my effort in vain? Demitria, do you hate me so much that you'd rather sever my chance at redemption without hesitation? Or has the thought of seeing Jemar one last time driven you mad?
"What will seeing him do?" she asked, "You're both going to die. If you escape now, at least..."
"Oh, stop it. Just stop meddling in our affairs, alright? Sally, you've pushed me too far. I'm not leaving with you. Get out. I never want to see you again."
Sally slowly backed away. No. You won't see me again—
With her head lowered, she left the house, disregarding her status as the deputy chief prosecutor, her steps unsteady, like a new recruit fleeing a brutal battlefield. As she descended the last step, she put too much weight on her left foot and nearly stumbled forward. A sharp pain pricked at her eyes as if small needles were stabbing her; she closed them and rubbed them with the back of her hand, but the needles only burrowed deeper, colliding in her brain, sending waves of throbbing. The night wind slashed across the square like a blade, and the dust helplessly swirled at everyone's feet.
Sally had never imagined things would turn out this way. When she first met Demitria as a prepubescent girl, not only had it come too soon, but the intense rebelliousness had made her suspicious of and childish in her hostility toward the revered Scarlet Saint. That day, after listening to Demitria's speech to the children, Sally ran past her and pretended to accidentally spill a pitcher of water on the windowsill, drenching nearly Demitria's entire outfit. The guards had brought her before Demitria.
"I'm fine, let her go."
"Saint, this is a very disrespectful act. You should punish her."
"It was just a child's game, nothing more."
Back then, Sally had no idea that Demitria had once been burdened by such a heavy load because of a child's game. This Scarlet Saint, whom she held in such contempt, had a gentle gaze like a veil of silk; Sally could sense this gentleness, but she refused to acknowledge it. It's just an act, she thought. I won't be fooled that easily.
"Really," Sally said, "Aren't Scarlet Saints supposed to be able to predict things? How could you not foresee a little pitcher of water spilling on you?"
"Rude!" The guard raised his hand.
"Don't hit her." Demitria placed her palm on the guard's hand and slowly pressed it down, then looked at Sally.
"Yes," she said, "It's just a small matter. But I couldn't foresee it."
From that moment on, until the two of them gradually became close friends, Sally was haunted by that statement. In her original image of the Scarlet Saint, she was someone who took pride, perhaps even arrogance, in her achievements. But Demitria seemed to always prefer not to have others mention her prophecy abilities, which had brought her unparalleled glory. It was this trait that made Sally want to know her better. She had once doubted whether the so-called prophetic abilities even existed, but as time passed, this question became less important to her. In front of others, Demitria was the revered Scarlet Saint, with every move watched, but in front of Sally, she was just a kind, gentle, and occasionally as fragile as a leaf on water—an older sister.
This final impression was fading from Sally's mind. In the face of her reckless actions, Demitria had responded with rejection and a slap, all because of a man who was certain to die, and whose death might also lead to her own. A few days ago, Ethenrion had declared, "You bear significant responsibility for the situation reaching this point." Today, Sally had hoped to nullify that judgment by helping Demitria escape, but Demitria had said:
"I never want to see you again."
She thinks I'm guilty, too.
Sally lifted her head. On the lookout tower, the black bird had returned to its nest. Demitria, why didn't you foresee this day?