Chapter 31 Untitled Chapter
Lyanna
I passed the hours in the room Elias had left me in last night, counting them. Sunlight slipped through the high windows, spilling across the stone floor. I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, legs drawn close, hands fisted in the thin fabric of my skirts, listening for any sound that shouldn’t be there.
A bath arrived mid-morning. The warm water soothed my bruises and aches, though it could not wash away the worry pressing into my chest. I ate small portions of breakfast and lunch—bread, cheese, a little fruit—but my appetite was gone. Every bite tasted like ash. Every sip felt like waiting.
The hours crawled. I paced quietly, circling the room like a caged animal, imagining what tonight would bring. Would the Triune try to stop us? Would the other omegas see through the ruse? My belly was heavy, a constant reminder that I could not fail. I was pretending to be one of them, a fragile, frightened omega—but inside, I was coiled and tense, every nerve sharpened.
The sun sank low. Shadows stretched long across the floor. Torches flickered as they were lit in the hallways outside. My pulse hammered against my ribs. The door handle turned. The hinges clicked. My stomach dropped.
I rushed to the door.
Was it Elias?
My heart stuttered and I recoiled, shame washing over me at how quickly relief had risen at the thought of seeing him. Shame, I chastised myself silently. I had no right to hope. Not yet.
Marek stood there instead—his empty sleeve at his side, the other gesturing slightly as he held the door open. His face was calm, but I could feel his watchfulness. He did not speak. I did not speak. We did not need words.
He moved aside slightly. It was time, he signed.
I nodded, swallowing hard, pressing a hand discreetly against my side. The tension in my muscles refused to loosen. I dressed quickly in the muted grey Elias had prepared for me: coarse wool, loose sleeves, no sigil, hair braided tight. I was not to be noticed. I was not to be remembered.
We left the room quietly. His presence at my side was steady, familiar. A few glances between us sufficed to confirm I would not need to explain. I followed him through the corridors of Vera’s manor, every shadow and flickering torch a threat, every quiet footstep a test of my control.
The courtyard was alive with the soft chaos of preparation. Wagons lined the far edge, reinforced, covered. Horses shifted beneath blankets, lanterns swinging gently from hooks, casting shallow, anxious pools of light.
And the omegas.
There were more than I expected. Some very young. Some older. A few visibly terrified. Most of them dressed like me, in muted colours meant to erase distinction. A handful clutched small bundles—everything they were allowed to keep.
The sound was what struck me first. Not voices—those were hushed, tightly controlled—but breathing. Shallow. Uneven. The soft, terrified rhythm of people bracing themselves for something they could not stop.
I had stood like this before. Months ago, in another courtyard. Another night. Another set of chains dressed up as necessity.
My stomach twisted.
I pressed a hand subtly against my side, grounding myself in the solid truth of my body. Survive.
Marek guided me silently toward the nearest wagon. I kept my head down. Kept my hands folded. Kept moving.
One misstep. One recognition. And the Triune could undo everything Elias had risked.
I kept my eyes lowered and my hands folded, just another body being transferred from one ledger to another. That was always the instruction.
A familiar shape caught my eye.
Sera.
She stood near the third wagon, her posture straight despite the tension in her shoulders. Her hair was tucked beneath a veil, but I recognised her immediately.
Beside her—
Old Bina. Bent, as always. Wrapped in too many layers. Her hands knotted with age and work and stubborn refusal to lie down and disappear. She leaned on a cane she did not strictly need, eyes sharp beneath heavy lids.
My chest tightened.
Before I could stop myself, my feet moved. It was dangerous to break formation. Dangerous to seek connection. But the pull was stronger than caution.
Sera saw me first. Her eyes widened—just a fraction—before she schooled her face into something blank. Old Bina followed her gaze a heartbeat later, and something in her expression softened. Her eyes searched my face, lingering on my cheek.
I stopped just short of them, head bowed. A guard shifted nearby, metal scraping softly as he adjusted his stance—lantern light flickering across armour, across faces drawn thin with fear and fatigue.
Sera’s hands moved first, close to her body. You shouldn’t be here.
I swallowed and signed back, keeping my motions small, almost careless. Neither should you.
Old Bina let out a quiet sound through her nose—half scoff, half sigh—then signed slowly. None of us should.
Her gaze dipped—not openly, not long enough to draw notice—but I felt it land on my belly like a weight.
The child, she signed gently. Are you well?
As well as I can be.
Sera’s jaw tightened. She glanced past me—to the wagons, the guards, the long dark mouth of the road waiting beyond the gate. You’re really going through with this.
I nodded. I am.
Her hands sharpened. This reeks of a favour.
My heart stuttered at the unspoken name. I signed instead, He said the caravan would be safer.
Old Bina’s mouth twisted as she stepped closer, placing her palm flat against my stomach. I still completely.
Her expression shifted. I heard from Sera. She sighed quietly. You should not be here.
A hollow laugh threatened to rise in my throat. I pushed it down and lowered my eyes. I had no other place.
Sera’s hands paused midair. When they moved again, they moved more slowly. Careful. Is this his doing?
I hesitated. That was answer enough.
Old Bina exhaled, long and tired. Men like him do not move without reason, she signed. And when they do, the cost is never only theirs.
I looked past them—to the wagons lined like shadows, to the guards counting heads, to the stretch of road that would take months to swallow us whole.
Right now, I signed, this is safer.
Sera stills completely. For whom?
I do not answer.
A horn sounded at the far end of the courtyard. Low. Controlled. The signal to begin loading.
The omegas shifted as one, a startled flock—chains whispering, feet shuffling, breath quickening. Guards stepped forward, murmuring orders. Names were checked. Numbers counted.
Old Bina squeezed my stomach once—gentle, protective. You must eat, she signed. You must drink. You must not fall.
Her eyes lifted to mine, fierce now. Survive.
Sera blinked rapidly and looked away, scrubbing at her cheek as if dust had gotten in her eye. Do not trust kindness from anyone, she signed without looking at me.
Old Bina pressed something into my palm—a small, folded scrap of cloth, still warm from her hand. For sickness, she added. Or pain.
My fingers closed around it. Thank you.
Sera grabbed my hands suddenly, fierce and brief. If he helps you, let him. If he doesn’t—don’t wait for him.
Old Bina nodded once. Live, she added. That’s the only victory that matters.
Something broke loose in my chest. I wanted to say goodbye properly. To hold them longer. To promise things I could not guarantee.
Instead, my eyes burned.
Tears slipped free despite my effort to stop them—silent, traitorous, catching the lantern light as they fell. Sera cursed under her breath and pulled me into a tight, unyielding embrace. Old Bina pressed her forehead to mine, just for a moment.
Go, she signed gently. Before you’re seen.
A guard barked an order.
I pulled away before I could lose myself completely. Before I could change my mind. I wiped my face with the edge of my sleeve and stepped back into line, heart pounding too loud in my ears. One hand pressed lightly against my side.
Easy, I told myself. We survive by staying unnoticed.
The line moved. I did not look back.
The wagons loaded quickly.
We were packed tightly—too tightly—inside the covered compartments. Wooden benches lined the sides, narrow and unforgiving. The air was thick with fear and the faint, cloying scent of suppressant herbs.
I took a seat near the centre, wedged between two trembling girls who could not be more than sixteen. One clutched a ribbon. The other stared straight ahead, lips moving silently in prayer.
The door slammed shut. Darkness pressed in.
The wagon lurched forward, wheels groaning as it rolled out of the courtyard.
I pictured Elias somewhere ahead, issuing orders, overseeing details, pretending this was just another inspection. I did not know whether he was watching the carts. I did not know whether he knew exactly where I was.
I did not know which was worse.
For a moment—just a moment—I wondered if Sera was right.
If this was only another transfer. Another reshuffling of lives by men who believed themselves careful because they were not cruel all the time.
The thought settled like ice in my stomach.
The wagon jolted again, and the capital gates opened before us. Stone gave way to road. Behind us, the capital receded into darkness. Ahead—months of uncertainty.
I pressed both hands over my belly, bowing my head in the dark.
Survive, I reminded myself. No matter who walked beside me.