Page 14 of Reign

The knight presented a scroll in his metal-mittened hand.

“Condolences,” he mumbled, passing the parchment to Finn.

Finn unrolled it, and I glanced over his shoulder at the text, but neither Finn nor I could read. Mother snatched the scroll away, her weary eyes frantically scanning the swirly script. Then, she let out a devastated cry that told us, without words, what was written inside: Finn had been called to war.

* * *

Since that fateful scroll arrived, snow had fallen gently every day, dusting Green Vale in white. That afternoon, I stood shivering in the village square beside Mother and Henry. Though surrounded by a crowd, there was no warmth. The villagers applauded the conscripted men as they took turns being thanked by the Lord of the Wetlands for their courage.

Finn looked beyond the queue of soldiers to where Avice stood—cloaked in black, beside her father, surrounded by knights.

The Lord wore an array of jewels, as if to distract from his forgettable face and mousy hair—now beginning to gray on the sides. Average in height and build, he was nearly swallowed by his velveteen cloak. Standing beside Avice only accentuated his ordinariness. Her perfect braids framed her rosy cheeks, the color bleeding into her ivory complexion.

After each new soldier shook the Lord’s gloved hand, Avice stepped forward to present them a wilting daffodil—a token of gratitude for their bravery in such uncertain times.

When my father left for war, there was hope for better days. But now, as young men who’d only ever fought off a cold were conscripted, a deep sadness lingered in the icy air.

By the time Finn reached the front of the queue, the snowfall had stopped. Avice held the flower out to him. Even at this distance, I could tell by the way she chewed her bottom lip that she was trying not to cry. As Finn accepted her offering, Avice mouthed something I doubted the knights surrounding her could hear, let alone me.

Clutching his daffodil, Finn walked over to where we stood. Mother took the flower and held it snugly to her chest, sniffling back the tears as if we were already mourning Finn at his funeral. Meanwhile, Henry clawed at Mother’s skirt, desperate to be picked up. I think he wanted to console her but was too young to know how.

“What did she say to you?” I probed.

“She made me promise I wouldn’t get hurt.” Finn sighed. “Do you think I’ll die?”

I hesitated, weighing whether to tell the truth or not. “I think you’ll be remembered as a hero,” I said. It was the best consolation I could offer.

“I don’t want to die a martyr. I want to die an old man, warm in his bed, with grandchildren fighting over who gets to hold my hand.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, knowing that nothing I said could change his fate.

“Can you give Avice this?” Finn uttered, pulling a lavender ribbon from his pocket. “Tell her if she wants to flee the Wetlands with me, she must wear it in her hair tonight. We’ll leave before dawn. If not, I’ll go fight in a war I cannot win.”

Before he finished speaking, Finn was already walking away. Only his boot prints in the snow remained as he disappeared into the crowd, which watched the somber celebration of young men’s valor.

After the villagers dispersed, Avice and I drifted toward each other. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and the tip of her nose was red from the chill. For a moment, neither of us spoke; there was nothing to say—we simply shivered in each other’s presence.

“What’s that?” Avice asked, tilting her head toward the ribbon in my hand.

I cleared my phlegmy throat. “Finn said that if you want to run away with him, wear this in your hair tonight,” I whispered as I handed over the ribbon.

It felt like this piece of lavender cloth was Finn’s life, and he had given the responsibility of it to Avice.

“He’s asking a lot of me,” she murmured.

I nodded, realizing how unfair this was to her.

She sighed. “I need time to think.”

“He leaves on the morrow,” I reminded her. “There’s no time left.”

Avice glanced over her shoulder, checking her father wasn’t eavesdropping. “Meet me at the forest’s edge tonight,” she said in a hushed tone. “No matter my decision, I need to see him.”

I squeezed her hand, hoping to reassure her that I’d respect her choice, whatever it might be.

As I walked away, the snow began to fall again. I turned back to see Avice standing still; snowflakes rested in her hair like tiny white flowers woven into her plaits.

She was breathtaking.