A Quiet Departure

“Whether you love yourself is your decision to make. But whether I love you? That is my choice alone.” 

-Excerpt from “Two for Two, One for One”

They returned home late that night, the stars now hidden behind fast-moving clouds and the scent of rain clinging to the air. Fallon was quiet, its winding streets hushed beneath the weight of the hour.

Zygan was waiting for them without anger or impatience. Just a quiet understanding in the way he stood by the hearth, arms crossed loosely over his chest. On the table, two plates of food had been set out. Bread, cheese, and cured meat. Simple fare, but the gesture meant more than Elma could say.

“Eat up,” Zygan said. “I figured you two might be out late.”

Deryth didn’t respond. He sat at the table and ate quietly, his expression unreadable. Elma could see something stirring behind his eyes—grief, or perhaps exhaustion. He’d shared so much with her, and now he seemed smaller somehow, as if the telling had taken something from him.

When he finished, he stood, bid them a good night, and climbed the stairs to the guest room. The door shut with a soft click, and Elma was left alone.

She turned to Zygan, who had returned to his seat by the fireplace. For a moment, she hovered near the table, unsure if she should follow Deryth or sit down. In the end, she chose the warmth of the fire and the ear of someone with wisdom beyond her years.

“I apologize for trying to drag Deryth’s story out of you,” she said, sitting across from him.

Zygan didn’t look offended. He smiled faintly, his hands resting on the arms of his chair. “It’s alright. I understand your curiosity. He’s an interesting young man, but he's terribly closed off and stubborn.”

“He certainly seems to be all of those things,” she said, eyes dropping for a moment as a faint warmth rose to her cheeks. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips before she looked up again. “But tonight I saw something different in him. Not just fanciful words, but a part of his true heart. A part of himself that he's been running from for a long time, something he hasn't reconciled with quite yet.”

Zygan nodded sagely but said nothing. They sat in silence for a moment, the fire popping and shifting. Shadows danced along the walls, elongating and shrinking like restless spirits.

“Can I ask you for some advice?” Elma asked.

“Certainly.”

She stared into the fire. “I realized tonight how lucky I am. That it was Deryth who found me, not someone else. Anyone else might have turned me in or sold me out, but he helped me—he took care of me. I've returned his kindness not with gratitude, but with anxiety and danger"

“You’ve been surviving,” Zygan said gently. “There’s no shame in that.”

“There is, though. Not for surviving, but for hiding. For dragging him into my mess when I never intended to make anything of it.” She took a breath. “I want to face my problems. I want to stop running.”

Zygan leaned forward slightly. “That's admirable. I wish Deryth would say the same.”

“I want to go back,” she said. “To the capital. I want to confront my father. But I don’t want Deryth to suffer for helping me. Is there a way to do that?”

Zygan scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “If no one knows you were here, then there’s no trail to follow. If you can get back to the city without being seen, you should be able to return without involving him.”

She nodded, eyes downcast but determined. “Then I should leave tonight. Before I lose my nerve.”

Zygan regarded her carefully, then gave a small nod. “He’ll be upset. But yes, if you’re going to go, best to go while he’s sleeping.”

Elma’s fingers twisted in her lap. “I... I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You can hurt him now or hurt him later," Zygan said. "You are too sharp to miss the truth—nothing you can do will free you from obligation."

She stood, taking a steadying breath. “You're right, of course. I suppose I will need to find a coach that will take me at this hour."

Zygan smiled faintly. “I assumed as much.” He moved to a drawer, retrieved a slip of parchment, and wrote something down. “Here. There’s a man on the south road. He owes me a favor. He can take you as far as Highmere. From there, you’ll need to catch a public coach.”

She took the paper. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“Go quietly,” Zygan said. “And, I am sorry. Both you and Deryth deserve better than a single night.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Elma gathered her things. There wasn’t much—just the clothes she’d been given and the note from Zygan. Everything else belonged to a life she hadn’t wanted, a future she still feared, but would now face on her terms.

Before she opened the door, Zygan’s voice stopped her.

“You know,” he said, “you’re not the only one who’s afraid.”

She turned back to him.

“He pretends he’s too clever to be hurt. But you matter to him more than he’ll admit.”

“I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I have to do this. I can’t hurt the person I lo—”

“Don’t,” Zygan said. “He should be the first person to hear those words, not this codgy old bastard.”

Elma met Zygan's gaze, the confidence in her expression and her heavy cloak hiding the slight tremble in her legs as she spoke, "I'll come back once I settle things with my father. No matter what." Without another word, she stepped out into the night.

The air was cool and damp, the streets shining slightly with mist. Fallon was still, the silence broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl or the distant bark of a dog. She moved quickly, her boots quiet on the cobblestone.

As she walked, memories rushed to mind, fighting for her attention—Deryth handing her a warmed mug of tea after their first night on the run. Deryth grumbling about the way she walked too loudly. The ache in her chest was  too much to bear. But she knew if she turned around, she might not find the courage to confront her father a second time. She couldn't stop, not if she wanted to have a future she chose with her own hands.

She made her way through Fallon and into the hills beyond, heading toward the crossroads where Zygan’s contact would meet her. The note in her pocket felt like a lifeline. Her heart pounded with each step—not out of fear, but resolve.

She was going back. Not to surrender. But to fight. For herself. For her future. And for the man who had given her a reason to believe it was possible.