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“You aren’t my child.”

“What?” I breathed.

“Your mother was pregnant when I met her, and I wanted her to stay, wanted to keep her safe, so I kept you too. Despite your… looks. But I’ve had enough. Enough of you sneaking about, your lies, your trickery! Enough of your disobedience. I suppose I can’t blame you, not really. It’s in your blood. Tricky and deceiving and good for nothing fae! So perhaps you’re right, maybe you can’t help it. Maybe it isn’t your fault.”

I rose on shaky legs and walked slowly out of the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” he yelled. “I’m not done with you!”

“Oh, I think you are,” I whispered. “You’ve said enough.”

“Get back here!” he called, but changed his tactic when he realized I wasn’t going to obey. “Good, go then! Get out of here! Get out of my house! I should have kicked you out years ago.”

I kept walking toward the room I shared with Noirin. He was no father of mine. And this was no home.

I barely saw what I was doing as I packed. Barely noticed the tears dripping onto everything I grabbed. My mother appearedin the doorway as I shoved clothes, blankets, and all of the money I had saved into a bag. She clutched a small pouch, and her cheeks were tear-streaked.

“Halja, please don’t go,” she said.

“What else can I do? Stay here? After that?”

“We can work it out, your father didn’t mean–”

“That man is not my father,” I snapped, pointing accusingly toward the kitchen. “I am not his child and so this is not my home. I’m leaving.”

I expected more of an argument, but my mother was only quiet. Then she said with a faint, haunted voice, “I understand.”

A deep longing sounded in those two words, like they were spoken from the depths of an empty cave. A melancholic reservation to a life of confinement, a resignation of freedom, the surrender of a past I could not even guess at. I saw in her eyes, heard in her voice, all the pain of a story I had never even known. Never even pondered. A whole life, a whole mystery before my existence. We stood there, looking at each other, black eyed mother and black eyed daughter.

But the rage and pain of my father’s words still rang in my head. I had no choice left now. I continued to pack.

“Take this,” my mother said. She pressed the small, weighty pouch into my hands. I peeked inside and saw it was full of glinting coins.

“This is too much,” I argued.

“Take it, Halja. It’s all I can do to help you now. I am… I am so sorry.”

Another tear slipped from her eye, and I looked away so my resolve would not crumble. I did not ask any questions, did not press any more, although the mystery of my lineage already weighed on me. All I could think of was escape. I only wanted to flee this place, to feel the wind in my hair, hear the thunder of hooves. I needed to run.

I pulled my mother into a tight hug, felt the tension in her body as she battled tears. Felt the same in my own.

“I love you, Hal. Be safe, please.”

“I love you, Mother,” I said. “I will. You stay safe too.”

I pulled back to look her in the eye. She gave me a single nod, and I walked out the door.

∞∞∞

“Noirin!” I called in the yard. “Noir!”

“What!” she yelled back from the barn, where I was heading.

I rushed in and pulled her into a tight hug. She dropped the bucket she held.

“What in the hells is going on?” she asked, hugging me back only loosely in her confusion.

“I’m leaving. Right now. Help me saddle the new horse.”