Chapter 25: One Too Many Mornings

Sunlight filtered through the window in dusty beams. Lily felt warm and hollow and at peace. Michael slept next to her, his arm thrown out across her stomach, and a little thrill of happiness shot through her as she looked at him.

It was over. It was starting.

Someone pounded on the door; Michael barely stirred as Lily disentangled herself. Maybe it was Abbott, come to insist they stay in the cell as permanent guests. Maybe she'd break his nose.

There was an Abbott on the other side, albeit a more pleasant one. Brenna stood next to him with her fist raised to knock again.

She threw her arms around Lily with a delighted squeal, lifting her clean off the ground for the second time in…how long? The sun was setting again. What day was it?

"We were so worried about you! You have to tell me everything, I heard you were—”

"Let her eat, first,” Luke said. A sling held his right arm against his chest and his face was a mess of half-healed scrapes.

Lily whistled.

“I got stabbed,” he laughed. “It feels even worse than it looks.”

“He barely got poked. Where’s Michael? I brought you dinner.” Brenna dropped a basket into Lily's arms. It smelled like paradise and fresh bread.

Michael emerged from the cell, yawning. He nodded pleasantly as he tucked in his shirt. “Good morning. I think.”

Lily stared. Had they done something to him while she was gone?

“Afternoon,” Brenna corrected, pointing at the basket. “It’s tomorrow. Sit. Eat.”

The square table was barely big enough for the four of them. Brenna perched in Luke’s lap.

"First," he said as Lily dug through the basket. Warm bread, goat meat, fresh cheese… “My father – we're all grateful for what you did, but the mayor wants to know when you'll be leaving."

"You ready?" Lily touched Michael's arm. He still favored his right side. Still, she believed him when he nodded. “We'll go in the morning. First thing.”

“I'm so sorry. If it were up to me you could stay forever, but—”

“At least you'll be here for the celebration,” Brenna interrupted brightly. “You're the guest of honor!”

Lily choked. “The what?”

“Everyone knows what you did! First the guns and medicine, and in Bywater—”

“What did you do in Bywater,” Michael asked.

“Absolutely nothing,” Lily began, but it was no good. Too many witnesses. The story had grown, mutated, and worse yet Brenna had heard every version.

Her enthusiatic account placed Lily at the head of an avenging army, mowing down Wasteland fiends with one hand and commanding troops with the other. It culminated with her killing 63 in single combat.

"It wasn't anything like that," Lily protested. “We were ambushed, people followed me. That’s all.”

Brenna smacked the table. “That’s not a good story, though! It also doesn’t get you a horse. They’re talking about giving you one. Do you like walking? Who cares what actually happened!”

Easy for them to make light of it when they hadn’t seen fire contracting muscle and sinew, turning hands to claws, reducing lives to ash. A discarded doll that was not a doll. Bodies in the river.

Michael took her hand. She blinked, and shifted on the bench until her knee touched his beneath the table.

“Well, that’s more or less exactly how I remember it.” Luke helped himself to a slice of bread. “General…do you have a family name?”

Lily shook her head.

“General Lily, then.” He beamed at her, and took a bite. “So? Will you be there tonight?”

Lily nodded.

“Yay!” Brenna hopped up. “There’s so much to do. Luke, you take Michael and do something with him. I have to find Lily something to wear.”

Lily’s grip tightened.

“Maybe we should,” Michael said quietly. “I’ll meet you there.”

He didn’t tell her everything would be all right, but he also didn’t stand up until she did.

“I’d like to see your boat,” he told Luke. “If there’s time.”

When Lily let go of his hand he put on a face that looked like a smile and allowed Luke to lead him out. She would be fine. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left.

She had no appetite, but forced herself to take a few more bites while Brenna paced, strategizing. “We’ll go straight to my house. Side streets. People know what you look like.”

Leaving required a deep breath and a steeling of the nerves. Outside, the street was full of people hauling various burdens to the square. They stared and pointed, whispering behind their hands.

Had any of them been there? Lily struggled to remember anything apart from the noise and rush of battle.

Hearing a muffled giggle, she looked behind her to see a gaggle of barefoot children following. As soon as she turned they scattered, shrieking.

“Why…?”

Brenna waved as someone called her name. “You didn’t believe me?”

“Still don’t,” Lily muttered.

A tearful woman ran up and clasped Lily’s hands as they passed through the market, thanking her over and over again.

It was undeserved. Luck, not Lily, had brought this woman’s children home to her. If that sergeant had lived they’d be celebrating him now instead.

Brenna’s home was built into the slope of a hill on the western edge of town. Chickens scratched in the front yard and an army of shirts swayed on a clothesline above the herb garden. No one was home.

The house was long and low, filled with the lingering oily smell of raw wool. Rugs covered the smooth floorboards and hung down the walls, all richly woven in patterns of brown, grey, green, and black. A massive loom in the corner held a half-finished blanket.

One wall hanging was shot through with threads of blue; Brenna saw her admiring it.

“My mother wove that one,” she said, a little sadness in her voice. “She got all this blue dye powder in a trade, once. We still have some left.”

“Is she here?”

Brenna closed the door smartly. “She’s gone. My father too. There was a fever, a long time ago. We lost thirty-one people.”

She said it so matter of factly.

“Luke’s mother and older brother died too. Everyone lost someone, just about.” Her eyes were bright. “Other towns in the valley had it worse because they didn’t have Burnett.”

“I’m sorry,” Lily said.

“Oh, don’t be.” Brenna tossed her braid over her shoulder and cleared her throat. “I don’t remember any of it, I was so small.”

It was right there, on the tip of Lily’s tongue: I lost my mother too. But she couldn’t bear the thought of being known.

“It has to be so much worse out east, anyway,” Brenna continued, gathering up wooden toys and cloth animals with button eyes from the floor. “I bet you’ve seen things that would turn my hair white, and anyway this isn’t what you want to be hearing about after coming back from the fighting.”

“Brenna, I—”

“I’m rambling.” Brenna hugged her quick and tight from the side, but Lily saw her wiping her eyes. “I do that a lot. Come on, let’s head upstairs. Two of my cousins are about your height, there’s bound to be something that’ll fit you.”

Lily followed her apprehensively up the narrow staircase, still working to unravel the complicated knot of emotion that had twisted up her insides.

—

This was how women outfitted themselves here, Lily rationalized, examining the loose red dress. Her mama would’ve said it was the done thing.

Anyway her own clothes were filthy, and the dress was soft. It had patterned embroidery around the neckline. They’d dyed it, Brenna said proudly, with madder root.

The last time she wore a dress she’d almost been buried in it.

Lily leaned toward the cracked mirror. She didn’t recognize the person looking back at her; her hair was braided down and her face was clean, glowing.

Brenna’s reflection stuck out its tongue, then grinned. She held out a bundle of small white flowers. “Give me a hand?”

Lily accepted, awkwardly poking the blossoms into Brenna’s intricate braid. The last time she’d done anything like this…

It had been near the end, when her mother was too weak to feed herself but not too weak to feel ashamed of her unkempt hair. Don’t let them bury me looking like this—

“I wish you could stay until yearend,” Brenna sighed, interrupting this downward spiral. “That’s a real party. We eat and drink and dance all night. If the lake freezes over we — do you have ice skating? In the east?”

“I don’t know,” Lily said. “I don’t…I really don’t like parties.”

“I wish you could stay,” She repeated, a little quieter this time.

Lily fumbled for another flower. “We have to keep going.”

“I know.” Brenna sighed. “Anyway. Let’s talk about something happier. How long have you and Michael been together?”

“Um. About a year.” The weight of that time hit Lily all at once. Yes, it had been early winter when she found him, and it was autumn now.

“It’s just so incredibly romantic, you going on the run together.” Brenna examined her reflection.

Dismayed, Lily realized how it must look — and not just to Brenna. She’d kissed him. Worse, he’d kissed her back. They’d slept in the same bed. Why had she done that? What if he thought it meant something? Had it meant something?

“It’s not like that,” she managed.

Brenna frowned skeptically over her shoulder. “What! Why not? He’s in love with you.”

Terror gripped Lily by the throat. “No he isn’t. Did he say that? How do you know?”

“I have eyes. He looks at you like you make the sun come up.”

One of the little blossoms slipped out and floated down. Lily caught it, and ripped it apart. “No he doesn’t.”

“That’s how Luke looks at his boat,” Brenna went on, oblivious. “Now, I love that boy, and I’m going to have his children, but we’ve known each other since we were in diapers and—”

“Please stop.” Lily didn’t want Michael to love her. She didn’t want to lose her friend, with his careful hands and slow smile, the one person she trusted with her life. She didn’t want things to change.

Brenna took the last flower and slid it into the hair above Lily’s ear. “You need to have a good long talk, then. Before you both get hurt.”