I hoisted myself out of the carriage and stood up on my own shaky feet. I took the pyre’s hand and placed it back at his side. I would not steal his assistance. For I knew he was not compensated for his service, if only because the collar of his coat was raised high in an attempt to cover the bruises around his neck. Results of restraints used to keep pyres still when they were feeding on their masters, lest they cause those hosts undesired pain.

I was sure I did not appear to be the sort of person often welcomed to Rennington Estate. My hair was under duress, my dress askew. I was sure I looked as if I had suffered many deaths, for indeed I had.

The pyre led the way to the doors of the estate, and I looked behind me, wondering what the woods surrounding the grand house held and if I fared better being eaten among the trees or devoured in the ballrooms of the Northern Lykke elite.

The pyre paused, observing me in my inner debate. I sensed worry from him. <<If you do not come, I will be made to pay>>.

I sighed and hoisted my skirts too high, turning to follow him.

He glanced at me fleetingly, intending to himself, <<Did this human understand my meaning>>?

I stared at him, too tired to display a more elaborate sign of confirmation.

<<How can this be? Who has given you this gift>>?

I took a deep breath. A pyre I met in a dungeon for whom no one had yet chosen a name and who I would never see again. The thought of this—that I would never see him again, never unlock the mystery of him—though I attempted to deny it, made my chest tighten as if a cage would lock shut around the shards of my heart.

But, nonetheless, dismayed as I was, I would not let another pyre be punished for my reckless ambitions or careless pride. Not again. I would be more careful. More courageous. And I would serve the enslaved with my very life, as I’d vowed to do all those years ago. If I ran off to the woods beyond the Renningtons’ reach, who would find my Rosemary? Who would free her a second time? And who would care for the multitude of high-collared slaves working for my uncle?

For the Renningtons were nothing like the Kendricks. And I was certain—quite certain—of one thing. Braun Rennington Duval had never met anything quite like me.

Episode 45: A Young Woman Greets Her First Worthy Adversary