“Do they now, Sheep?” But she was reading Alixa correctly. “I love it here, really I do. But this can never be my home. I know I need to go.”
“Because Kleehen must be back there by now, with wild reports of a renegade queen?” Emmie tried to itch her burning forearm along Alixa’s pants. “Corbiern said he’d be ready for travel after a few months of recuperation, yah?”
“It’s not that, and Corbiern wasn’t going to confirm to him who I am anyway. It’s just. . . that’s where I belong, Emmie. Now that I’m almost fully recovered—”
“You are not.”
“Now that I’m almost fully recovered,” Alixa repeated louder, tugging on Emmie’s hair. She tried to hide the wince of pain that brought to her stiff shoulders. “I do think about it more and more."
“You're not leaving before I get married, are you?”
Alixa raised her eyebrows at the grinning girl. Emmie let out a bashful giggle.
“Got Brie’s blessing at lunch, as though Brie’s blessing was ever in doubt. We'll be announced at the spring festival. Father Taeron said he’d marry us. Again, never in doubt. Possibly just after harvest next year. Course, Brie wants me to turn seventeen first. She says that’s standard, like it’s some magical age or something. I mean, hey, we don’t even know when my birthday is. I pointed that out to her, you know.” Emmie slapped her arm along Alixa’s legs. “Then Brie’s all, like, ‘well if that curse is broken, then people will start living longer again. Won’t have to marry so young anymore.’ There’s no arguing with Brie sometimes.”
She was grousing, but it was the giddiest grousing Alixa had ever heard.
“It’d be your own fault too, Golden Child.”
“Whatever, Lix. I’m getting married anyway. I suppose next harvest is fine, before Brie can change her mind.” Emmie's eyes searched hopefully up at Alixa. “You'll still be here, won't you? You know we need you to do everything for us?”
“Wouldn't miss it for anything, Sheep. Not even a silver crown on my head.”
“In that case, maybe I’ll ask Brie to push it a year. Or two.”
“Hey, I heard that,” Renn called from up the slope. “Next harvest suits me just fine.”
“Oh, be quiet, you.” Emmie stuck her tongue out at Renn. Her face grew serious. “I know you have to go, Lixa. You can't not go, and I wouldn't let you.”
“I do. I remember a squirrely grey-eyed girl saying something back at Baerd’s, feels so long ago. Begging me to take her on her little quest. ‘Maybe you'll find something of yourself too,’ she said. Smart girl. Goofy as anything, but smart.”
“So, you’ve got it planned, yah?”
“Planning. Wouldn’t say planned yet.”
“Got someone to go with you?”
Alixa side-eyed Emmie. Emmie knew the question was there but doubted Alixa could bring herself to ask.
“You think I need a babysitter?”
“Lix. . .”
“Captain Loselle will put me up at the border. Probably replenish my supplies. He may even offer to send a detachment with for a few days.” Alixa ran her fingers gently down Emmie’s spine. “Either way, up to ‘Paca and I’m sure Corbiern will beg to come. Maybe I’ll even let him. See, almost planned.”
“I guess you’re good then,” Emmie replied quietly.
“Yup.”
“Okay, but Emmie’s going to be your ambassador, yeah?” Renn called out. “And we have to find out if she really is your cousin and all. You have a read on when yet, Alixa?”
The river rushed by. Alixa squinted as though deep in thought.
“Well, when depends, I suppose.” Alixa stretched her arms out.
Emmie looked down. She didn’t want to hear when. She wanted Alixa to admit she wanted them to come with. Emmie knew she was dying to. After all this time, though, her emotions were still shut up tighter than a clam.
“Lix?” Emmie gave Alixa’s hair a little tug. She could still hope, though it seemed the narrow bridge of trust was still tenuous. “Depends on what?”
“Well. . .” Alixa looked away, embarrassed. “I guess when depends.” Her mouth felt cottony and her heart seemed to be thumping louder than the rushing river. “If, uh, if you want to go married or engaged. Because I. . . I can’t imagine trying to do this without the both of you.”
Emmie wrapped her in a hug; no response necessary. The two cousins gazed off to the northeast. To their homeland.
Erik Williamson began writing when he realized that not everyone invented scribbly maps in the margins of their to-do lists or envisioned what passerbys outside their office window might be like as inhabitants of said doodled worlds, and that maybe these thoughts were worth further exploration. From those daydreams, a love of reading, and countless hours spent in a corner at Caribou Coffee this story was formed. Erik lives in central Minnesota with his wife Carol, daughters Abby and Molly, and Max the dog – who all have been very patient in tolerating the vast amounts of time he spends with his stories, both in his head and on the laptop.
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