𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐩𝐞

It was strange to be free again.

The wind whipped at my face like a fierce welcome. Tall grass swayed around me as I trekked across the open field. The fortress where I'd been kept was far on the horizon behind me, looking like one of the little dollhouses I used to play with as a child, except more dark and foreboding. Ahead, there was a hill that blocked any view of the landscape. Behind it was the warmth of home.

My release had been abrupt and mysterious. There was no explanation of the undisclosed figure Elder Arienne had mentioned; only the promise of a letter's arrival which might tell me more. It should be a reason for excitement rather than worry, but I couldn't shake the feeling that my month away from prison would not be pleasant.

It may not be what you think.

As I neared the crest of the hill, houses began creeping their way into my view—first the tall roofs of churches and barns and workshops; then tops of apple trees and straw-roofed houses; and finally, standing atop the hill, I looked over the little village of Caeswen.

I recognized every haphazard house, every stable and shop. There was the messy, bright-coloured yard of Mrs. Greenswallow, overgrown with weeds but beautiful anyway. There was Mr. Belden's longhouse, built of logs and woven willow branches. He had a big black dog that delighted all the children with its tricks. And there was the well, and the run-down empty toolshed, and of course, there was my family's cottage among it all.

Most soldiers of my rank chose to live on castle grounds, but I found it suffocating and formal. Everyone was always bustling about, tired guards were posted at every corner, and I missed the place where I grew up. I preferred my life on a smaller scale.

The lights in my house were on. I peered through the windows and saw my sister scrubbing dishes in the kitchen. She was tall, and had cut her hair to her shoulders since the last time I'd seen her. She wore a simple dress by a small-town seamstress, warm browns and greens draping over her elegant shoulders. I couldn't see her face from where I was, but it felt comforting to see her, even from behind.

I took a breath and knocked on the wooden door. Barks sounded from inside—Percy. I heard footsteps and Eva scolding him to be quiet, and then the door opened.

Shock swept her face. She paused wiping the spoon in her hand and stared.

"Calli?"

I couldn't stop the grin that split my face.

She let the spoon clatter at her feet and hugged me tight, smelling of apples and spices and fresh-baked bread. I fell into her embrace, burying my face in her shoulder. It was as if we hadn't been together for years. As if letting go would make her disappear.

She pulled away from me and held both my hands in hers. "I thought you'd have to be in there so much longer. I thought . . ." she trailed off, squeezing my fingers, and laughed quietly. "I'm not dreaming, am I?"

Percy had come over, wagging his chestnut tail. He nuzzled my legs, and I gave him a quick scratch on his head. "I hope not."

Evalyn seemed to come out of her reverie. "Come, you can't stand by the door forever. Get something to eat, I just made some bread. I've missed you, you know, and Imira's missed your rabbit stew." She hurried off into the kitchen, still chattering about food and missing me and how much better a cook I was than she (which was far from true). It made things feel normal again, to be at home.

My eyes wandered to a framed photo that hung crooked on the wall: me and Eva and our mother and father, arms around each others' shoulders, comfortable and happy. I fingered my ring again.

Almost normal.

My sister treated me to a warm dinner with Percy's head resting on my lap. She led me to my room, apologizing profusely for its dusty state, and cleaned up my bed and folded my thrown-about clothes. I listened as she told me about the past two months, how Percy had whined all night for a week.

After I washed up and changed, we went out to watch the sunset and drink tea. Its steam curled over the mug, and heat blossomed under my palms.

"Where's Imira?" I asked.

"She'll be home soon." Eva's hair was dark, but it reflected the sun's orange glow with a halo around its silhouette. She smiled teasingly. "She's found herself a lover."

I raised my eyebrows. "Who?"

"I've never met him, but he's not from the village. Imira says he's a merchant in the city."

I wasn't surprised by this. Imira was our close friend who had lived with us for almost a year now. She'd practically been with all the boys in the village. "How long have they been together?"

She shrugged. "Basically since you left. She says she wants to marry him someday—I think she really loves him."

"He must be a saint then." Imira loved the idea of romance, but she was terribly picky with her lovers. She insisted she hadn't truly been in any relationships, and they were only dalliances to find 'the one'—she even had a list of criteria for her dates, though she rarely abided by it. If the mystery boy lasted this long, he really did have to be special.

"And you? How have you been? Were you alright in the dungeons?" Worry tinged her voice.

"I'm fine," I assured her. If my living conditions were all she meant with that question, it was the truth.

We stood in awkward silence for a moment. I saw in her tensed shoulders and her tight-lipped expression that there were things she was afraid to say. Questions she didn't want to ask. Answers I wasn't sure I could ever give.

"There's something else," she said. "The timing of your parole. I think it may have something to do with the Northern Empire."

I paused mid-sip. "The Northern Empire?" I hadn't heard word of it in over a year. It had been so long that I'd even begun to think it was imaginary altogether. My mission in Aragand had been the last time I'd heard its name. "It's been inactive for so long. What makes you think so?"

"There's rumours," she said, her dark eyes skimming my face, "and attacks. For the past few months, it's been rising to power, supposedly. The deserted villages have been more and more frequent. Messages anonymously delivered to random people, proclaiming its return."

"Deserted villages?"

"All up north, villages were found completely abandoned. The empire's crest carved into the walls of the homes. It used to happen occasionally, but . . . well, they seem to not have enough people. Those small towns are an easy target."

"And you're afraid they want to take me? Why would they?"

She wiped her eyes. I hadn't even noticed that they were welling up. "I know. It's a far stretch. I just . . . worry."

"You sound like mother," I said with a smile, but it quickly faded. Eva cleared her throat. I realized I'd brought our talk right back to where I was trying to avoid. She opened her mouth to speak, but I had finished my tea and was not interested in starting this conversation. I turned back to the house. "It's good to be home," I said plainly. Then I left her to stand by herself in the evening light and sank into my bed without another thought.