Miinhart Forest, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

The sun was just beginning to set, disappearing behind the treetops and bathing the forest in fading, golden light. Off in the distance, the snow-capped peak of Englecon Mountain was under the illusion of being on fire as the sun's rays struck it. Leaves from the dying trees fluttered down from above, tugged free from their perches to be scattered across the forest floor. It was the start of the season of death, and yet the forest was alive with vibrant colours.

It was fleeting, Annabella LaKline reminded herself as she hurried through the forest. Soon enough, the colours would fade and she would again have to face the ugly backside of winter. Winters in Desmond were always drab and frighteningly cold, giving off a desolate chill she always struggled to shrug off even when spring resurfaced.

Currently, however, winter was the least of her worries.

As she walked — it was more of a jog — her fingers brushed the pummel of the sword on her left hip. Her hand ached to draw it. Not yet, she told herself firmly, breathing in the cool breeze and never slowing her hurried pace. She flipped her long braid back over her shoulder, resisting the urge to turn around. She knew someone was following her; the footsteps crunching the undergrowth belonged to no animal.

Had she been spotted? So soon? She had hoped to reach Sarum without any issues, but things didn't often go her way. She could have sworn, though, that one of Motch's squadrons would have been much stealthier than her current pursuer, especially one that dared to tail one of the crown's most feared Illegals.

She had a distinct idea about who was behind her. It did not stop her from closing her hand around the hilt of her sword.

"Bell—"

She spun, sword drawn and swinging with deadly precision. The young man behind her was visibly startled, hands out, frozen with wide blue eyes and her sword at his neck. Annabella held the sword firmly just inches from his skin, letting her eyes narrow coldly.

"You could have lost your fingers, Luke Reiter."

He took a breath, lowering his hands. "Bella," he began.

"Don't call me that." She shoved her sword back into its scabbard with a bit more force than necessary. "You know I hate it." Truthfully, she would have rather faced down a squadron of Motch's soldiers. It was more bearable than facing down the mama's boy before her. She knew why he had followed her.

"Fine." Luke folded his arms across his chest. "Annabella. Please, listen to reason. You're going to get yourself killed."

"Then why are you following me? You're the one who seems to fancy hiding behind your mother's skirts. Less chance of losing your head."

He merely huffed through his nose, but she knew she had wounded his pride. "You know why."

She studied the young man before her. He was just shy of nineteen, a few years older than she, with a muscular build and dazzling sapphire blue eyes. His blond hair was cut short, and patchy stubble lined his jaw where he was desperately trying to grow a beard. Once, she had found him attractive. Now she only found him desperate. "Ah, yes. Because you love me." She hadn't meant to say it so callously, but she let it be. She couldn't afford to let him follow her or pull her back to Brittgard. He had to let her go and move on.

"You doubt that," he said, searching her eyes. "Why do you doubt that?"

"Nobody loves me, Luke. No one can or should risk it." Any emotions she might have felt she smothered with apathy. It was getting easier and easier to do that. "I'm sorry for letting you think you could."

"That's Jaulik dung, Bella."

"Don't call me—"

"That's wrong, Annabella." He raised his voice over hers. "You're just saying that because He told you you were destined for His son. Did anything between us mean anything to you? I thought I meant something to you."

She heard the bitterness in his tone, sensed the fight approaching. She blocked out her heart. It had no place in this battle. "I can't afford to let you mean anything to me."

He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture she often saw him perform when he was stressed or upset. "Well, you mean a lot to me. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It can't."

"Because your god wants you for His son. It's always about you, isn't it? You're in danger, you're wanted, you're destined."

His words were like straw in the fire of her anger. "How dare you? You think I asked for this? You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to be on the run, constantly threatened with—"

"No, no," he interrupted, jabbing his finger at her, "enough about you and your bitter trials! We're all under Motch's claws, Annabella, we've all got our trials and our problems. It's not all about you like you constantly make it out to be!"

Her cheeks blazed. She tightened her fists. "Why did you follow me? To preach at me?"

"To get you to think about anybody else but yourself for once! You're running off again, leaving behind those of us who care about you to go off on some godly quest. I'll be blunt, Bella, it's stupidity, believing in the god who deserted us. What are you expecting from Him? To be rescued? If He was interested in doing that, He wouldn't have let Desmond fall to Motch in the first place. He wouldn't have let Alexander die!"

Annabella swung without thought, backhanding Luke across the face and ignoring the pain it caused in her hand. He stumbled back, holding his cheek, giving her an incredulous look. It held shock and hurt. And betrayal.

"Leave, Luke," she ordered, her voice trembling only slightly. She regretted losing her temper and hitting him, but she didn't voice it. "Let me go."

He rubbed his red cheek, working his jaw. She knew he wouldn't retaliate, as she was a much more competent fighter than he was. But he didn't walk away. "What happened?" he asked solemnly, lowering his hand. "To you? To us?"

"We grew up," she whispered.

"We had something that meant something."

"We were children."

"That doesn't make it any less real."

Annabella closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Her emotions were beginning to creep back in, aided by her memories. She knew of the things he spoke of. She remembered it all. However, between the heart and the mind, between emotion and logic, she knew which was the strongest and wisest. "Let me go," she repeated.

"Why are you pushing us away? Pushing me away? Because of supposed destiny? It was a dream, Annabella. A dream." He stepped closer, resting his hands on her shoulders. She let him, opening her eyes to look up into his. "I am right here in front of you, I chased you all the way out here to tell you that I love you and I want you to come back." His grip grew firm as if to punctuate the truth of his words. "I'll keep you safe. You'll never have to be on the run again. We can make a life here, or we can go somewhere else, we can hide, we'd never have to worry about Motch again."

She slowly shook her head. "Now who's dreaming?" Before he could respond, she pushed on. "You've never been out of Brittgard. You have no idea what it is like out there. I have seen the way our people live, Luke, I have seen the grief and the pain and the horror and you think that all I think about is myself? You think that I am on this quest for myself?" She knocked his hands away, stepping back. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hid away and did nothing to stop Motch. I have to do this, Luke. And I have to do it alone."

"Why?"

"Because loving you is a risk I will not take. Loving you will only cause you pain." She took another step back. "Let me go."

He closed his eyes, standing still, a picture of grief among the beauty of the dying trees around them. She was sorry. She truly was. But it had to be this way.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was just above a whisper, nearly lost the breeze.

He only opened his eyes and looked at her. She wished she could read him, but it was as if she were blocked off from the emotions of others, even from the boy she had once known more deeply than any other. He was in pain — she saw pain in everything and in everyone — but how he would respond to it? She had no idea. She didn't want to know.

"Goodbye, Luke." She turned away from him.

"How do you do it?" he asked, stopping her. "How do you say these things so cruelly and then walk away as if it's nothing? Like you're not walking away from what you so desperately want?"

She didn't turn around. She had no desire to see the way her words would crush him. "I want freedom and peace. I won't find those with you." With the heavy words off her chest, she walked away, continuing on her journey.

Luke didn't follow her.