Go east?
That was what the guard-raiders would expect. It was the shorter route, the obvious one. But it meant travelling alone. It meant relying on pure chance; hoping to encounter travellers from the Barnstreams, hoping they would spare food and share shelter, hoping they would listen. Hoping, then, to convince them to turn back with him and warn the settlements.
IF.
If he met no one, he would be dead within a day or two. Likely sooner, if the raiders chased him down. There was no version of this where Yu outran or outwit Tirran. No strategy and no plan could shift the truth; a fina could never hide from an omira.
So, west?
Should he go west and hope to find the ker and the witch? And then hope they would actually take him with them? That they could protect him, for two months, all the way to the western coast? That they would defend him when they had not even challenged the guards to secure shelter for their own injured companions? They had asked, yes. But that was all. And when Tirran had sent them away, the ker had yielded.
The thought stopped him.
For the first time, Yu truly stopped.
Why.
Why . . .
in all these scenarios
. . . all this running
all this false hoping . . .
Why did he keep assuming
that Tria would yield
FOR HIM?
Yu turned and looked back at the bed,
at the passport lying there.
Then at the clock.
Then at the key in the door.
As if.
As if she would ever give in to something like this.
As if she would submit to extortion.
Never in her life
would Tria allow herself
to be extorted.
Yu knew.
He knew her.
This was not bitterness.
It was not the dramatic echo of old arguments, nor a warped reading of their relationship.
It was certainty, plain and unadorned. He knew what Tria would choose if it came down to Yu or the estate.
Never in her life would she let the settlements fall for him. To do so would mean surrendering everything she had built, and everything she was.
It would mean sacrificing
her authority,
her wealth,
her standing,
and her principles.
Yu was not worth
that kind of loss.
Go east?
That was what the guard-raiders would expect. It was the shorter route, the obvious one. But it meant travelling alone. It meant relying on pure chance; hoping to encounter travellers from the Barnstreams, hoping they would spare food and share shelter, hoping they would listen. Hoping, then, to convince them to turn back with him and warn the settlements.
IF.
If he met no one, he would be dead within a day or two. Likely sooner, if the raiders chased him down. There was no version of this where Yu outran or outwit Tirran. No strategy and no plan could shift the truth; a fina could never hide from an omira.
So, west?
Should he go west and hope to find the ker and the witch? And then hope they would actually take him with them? That they could protect him, for two months, all the way to the western coast? That they would defend him when they had not even challenged the guards to secure shelter for their own injured companions? They had asked, yes. But that was all. And when Tirran had sent them away, the ker had yielded.
The thought stopped him.
For the first time, Yu truly stopped.
Why.
Why . . .
in all these
scenarios
. . . all this running
all this false hopin g . . .
Why did he
keep assuming
that Tria would yield
FOR HIM?
Yu turned
and looked back at the bed,
at the passport lying there.
Then at the clock.
Then at the key in the door.
As if.
As if she would ever
give in to something like this.
As if she would ever
submit to extortion.
Never in her life
would Tria allow herself
to be extorted.
Yu knew.
He knew her.
This was not bitterness.
It was not the dramatic echo of old arguments, nor a warped reading of their relationship.
It was certainty, plain and unadorned.
He knew
what Tria would choose
if it came down
to Yu or the estate.
Never in her life would she let the settlements fall for him. To do so would mean surrendering everything she had built, and everything she was.
It would mean sacrificing
her authority,
her wealth,
her standing,
and her principles.
Yu was not worth
that kind of loss.
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