There was an eruption of discussion in my wake, and I hated that they were arguing because of me.

I was proud of myself for not crying until I got to my room. I just couldn’t understand his anger, as if I’d done something to him with my own two hands. I hadn’t.

I sat there for a long time with my frustrations and rage and sorrow, and I came to a simple conclusion: I’d made a mistake.

I never should have come to Isolte.

In three short days, my presence had torn holes in what was left of a great family. I had exhausted what little I could contribute to their planning. I was not welcome by the staff, would surely be judged to my family’s detriment by any neighbors, and, after so many years of being talked down to, I couldn’t take another word from Etan’s mouth.

I needed to leave.

There was no way they would let me go if I asked, so I had to run. It was easy enough to get my things together and into the bags I’d brought them in; I had so little that was truly my own.

I penned a quick letter of apology and left it on my bed. Once it was late enough that everyone would certainly be asleep or at least in their quarters, I padded downstairs, heading to the kitchen using the servants’ stairs.

I waited at the door, looking to make sure the room was empty. Once satisfied, I started walking through, only to hear a gasp behind me. I turned, seeing there was a girl against the wall by the door I’d missed in my search.

“Oh. It’s you, miss. Can I help you?”

“You did not see me. Do you understand?”

I didn’t wait for her to agree but moved to the back door, taking a direct path to the stables I’d seen on the tour Aunt Jovana had given me. But was she my aunt anymore? If I left? I shook the thought away. Madge was in there, resting, but she perked up the moment she smelled me.

“Hey, girl. Want to see Coroa again? Let me find a saddle.”

It took a little hunting to find where everything was kept, but Madge was ready when I placed the saddle and bags across her back. I pulled the hood of my cape up and slid on gloves, hoping to be as anonymous as possible; I didn’t know how I’d be received on either side of the border.

We quietly trotted around the front of the house to head to the road that was the only link I knew to get to the border. On the long path to the manor, I paused, looking back. It felt like I was driving a spike down the center of my heart. And then, because I couldn’t help the sorrow, I cried. I’d lost too many people against my will, and it was a different pain entirely to lose them because I was choosing to walk away. I cupped my hand across my mouth and stared at the house for a minute, tears running down my face.