Page 5 of Bound

He’d relented, with a warning to keep to herself, and if any higher officials came through...

Disappear. He hadn’t said it, but she’d caught his look and understood it well enough. It went against the order, after all. They allowed all sorts of peoples and trades precisely because the bonds ensured the Harquil remained precisely as they were.

She did not resent them for it, despite it all. They were kindly. They cared about family—perhaps to a fault. Their only desire was for those families to be made within the bond.

Her throat tightened.

She took a breath and then a step. Her legs were firm and stable. Her skin stung and there would likely be deep bruises come tomorrow, but she could walk. Would walk. Leave the chaos behind. Merryweather would be pleased to see her home early. It was a blessing, really. No need to fret about any of it.

She made it out of the city gates before she had to pause. To glance down at her legs again to ensure that nothing else had opened. Splinters poked out, and she sighed, leaning down so she might examine it all. A thorough wash would be needed. She’d wrap them with a poultice and remove the splinters. Perhaps take a swig of something strong and heady beforehand.

She kept moving.

It wasn’t an agony, but it was far from pleasant, and if she limped...

Well, so she limped.

Just a little. On the left side, since she hadn’t been so quick drawing it upward.

There were wings overhead.

She dismissed it.

Kept moving. Toward the path that cut through the forest surrounding the city itself. Toward the felled clearing that made up her own lands. It would take twice as long to reach home again, given her pace, and she wished she had her flagon to wet her tongue and perhaps wash away the worst from her legs. But it couldn’t be helped.

She would not cause trouble.

The thrum of wings grew louder as someone descended beside her.

She startled, jumping slightly at the sudden flurry of sound and dark wings, and she scuttled to the side, certain a mistake had been made.

But it wasn’t the Proctor demanding yet another accounting. It was the angry man, the one with the dark wings that had... intervened on her behalf.

Then insulted her.

Her lips thinned. And while it might have been good manners to wish him a fair afternoon, there was nothing fair about it. Not if it had been his load that had been lost from the errant cart and driver. And he should find some stout chains to remove the logs from their market so repairs might be made rather than here, following her.

“You gave me no answer,” he called from the distance between them as she continued to make her way down the almost non-existent path into the forest. He had to follow on foot, the boughs too dense to allow much flight at all, and she was not terribly sorry for it.

She managed, so would he.

She paused. Took a breath. He’d hurt her with his careless comments, but her mother had raised her better than that.

Wren turned back toward him, keeping her hands carefully neutral at her sides. “My injuries are minor and will be tended to once I am back home again. I thank you for your concern.” She did not add that she was not a fledgling at healing—that there were plenty of mishaps tending to her chores that ended with some measure of bleeding. All of which were attended to by her.

He took a step nearer even as she turned to do precisely as she’d said. Her brow furrowed as she regarded him.

He was of an odd stature for a Harquil. He had their usual height, but he was burly. Strong. A woodcutter? It would explain his logs, although not why he had needed a hired cart rather than one of his own for transportation.

“I think your logs are in more need of your attention than I am.”

He grunted at that, his head turning back toward the city. “Where are you going? Everyone else has stayed to receive compensation.”

She shrugged. “Home. It was a bit too chaotic for me.”

His brow furrowed. “This is a strange direction for a home.”

She did not stiffen. There was no outrage at his queries. Likely the Proctor had sent him to find her to ensure there was not a body trapped beneath the wreckage of what should have been a perfectly ordinary day. “Is it? And yet it’s the one I have.”