Page 38 of Glass Hearts

When I make it back to my room, completely alone, I cry like I have never cried before. The pain is awful, but not as unbearable as what the princes put me through. Why would they say all those loving words if it was never true?

I remove the tattered dress, grab an old washbasin with a soft cloth, and try to clean up the sticky blood as best as I can. My hands shake, making the task difficult.

It’s time to sever ties with my stepfamily, once and for all. I jot a note and place it into Bert & Kip’s nest, knowing that if they find it, they will bring it to Lo.

Part of me wants to wait for Lo, but I also have no clue when my stepmother will make good on her threat of marrying me off tonight. I put on a loose shirt, and every movement of the fabric aches over each wound.

My breasts will have to stay taped, I guess, because there is no way I am wearing a bralette. I fasten my gold knife over my black pants and slip on my boots.

The mage lives quite a way from here, on the outskirts of Harsekeep, so I will have to run.

And so I run.

* * *

My frantic run falters into a stagger, each step more labored than the last. The fire of my lashings burns down my back, the fabric of my clothes scraping against broken skin like sandpaper. The adrenaline that once numbed the agony fades, and with it, every breath becomes harder to take.

I stop. For the fifth time.

And like a fool, I glance back at the castle that stands in the distance. Serene and golden, glittering like nothing cruel has ever happened within its walls.

“Arabelly! What in the skies are you doing?!” Petra’s frantic voice pierces through the fog of pain. She flaps toward me, feathers wild, eyes worried.

“I damned myself.” My voice is raw. “Thinking I could ever be loved by four princes.”

My knees buckle as tears fall down my cheeks, knees meeting the cold dirt ground. I clench my fists, steady myself, my back screaming in protest.

Petra lands at my side, nuzzling her head against my thigh. A silent comfort I don’t deserve.

“Oh, Arabelly,” she murmurs, her voice softer now. “What happens now?”

“I find the mage. Break this damned curse and I leave this wretched city behind me.” My voice cracks with the weight of it. “Not that it matters where I go. North, south, sky or sea. Everywhere I turn will remind me of them.”

A bitter, humorless laugh rips out of me. I sound unhinged. Maybe I am.

But I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

I tighten my ponytail with trembling hands and force my body forward, Petra’s wings beating in time with my labored breath. I walk through the night without pause. Pain and heartbreak driving me harder than fear ever could.

By dawn, my legs are jelly, my wounds crusted with dried blood, my heart numb. But I find the dilapidated cottage swallowed by shadows. The mage’s supposed home.

I knock, but no answer.

I should turn back. I should. But instead, I reach for the door, and it creaks open like it’s been expecting me.

“Hello?” My voice echoes into the dark. “Is someone here? Mage? I inquired about a curse-breaking—”

Two shapes materialize from the gloom. My gut screams run, but before I can even reach for my blade, cold hands seize me from behind.

“Let go!” I thrash, my ribs aching, my lashes splitting open again, but the arms are thick and practiced. I manage one sharp kick before I’m overpowered, my limbs yanked behind me and tied with brutal efficiency.

“My, my, Arabella,” a familiar voice purrs. “So predictable. So foolish. Did you really think this would end in freedom?”

The voice. Her voice.

I barely register the cloth pressing over my mouth until the chemical sting fills my nose. My vision blurs, my head swims.

And just before the darkness claims me, I see her. My stepmother. Smiling like she’s won.

One last tear escapes as I fall into the void.