Ophelia wasn’t sure which war it was that these people were fighting, or if there even was one in the first place. As they all hopped out of the carriage and approached—what she had heard every soldier refer to as—the training grounds, she still had yet to see any signs of a fight breaking out, or traps, and fires that could have lingered on the horizon. There were, however, many men forging swords, weapons and arrows, in a building nearby. She watched them through a window; they did not notice her, she assumed it was because they were too absorbed in their work.

“Come!” Elian ushered her over. “You shouldn’t bother them,” he said. “We need our weapons to be sturdy and strong. If they make a single mistake, we could pay greatly in battle later on.”

Without a word, Ophelia followed his steps into what resembled an inn. The training grounds were not what Ophelia had expected, and it was a certainty in her mind that she could have surely mistaken it for a modest village of their times.

She grabbed hold of Elian’s sleeve and tugged. Elian paused. He spared her a glance from over his shoulder. “Nervous?” he asked her with a chuckle.

Ophelia shook her head. No, she wanted to say. No, I’m not nervous. But I want to know what it is you are fighting for. She tried to mime a warrior holding his sword, and then another, whom she pointed to as she shrugged and looked upward to Elian with confusion in hopes that he would understand.

“Ah,” he smiled. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to fight at all. We just need someone to assist us in the kitchen and farms.”

She sighed. Her shoulders hung low as both their feet made the floorboards creak once they headed to the rooms on the second floor.

“I know,” Elian said. “I know,” he echoed. “It’s not exactly great fun, but we’re short on men, and we could use an extra pair of hands.” He motioned to the door he had just opened. “Here. This is where we’ll be staying.”

When Ophelia said nothing in response, and only stared blankly at what Elian had just shown her, he coughed and hooked an arm around his neck. “Sorry, usually we do try to have separate rooms for men and women, but I can’t watch over you if you’re on the opposite end of the training grounds. I hope it’s not an issue for—”

She stepped into the room. Elian went silent. Someone had already taken the liberty of lighting the fireplace, and the noises of logs crackling filled the room; as did the warmth of the flames.

Of course it wasn’t an issue. Why would it be? Ophelia asked herself, as she thought, The only problem here is that my words have been stolen from me. Where have they gone? And what must I do to get them back?

Ophelia heard Elian take a deep breath from behind her. Yet, before the young man could speak again, his name was called from downstairs. “Sorry,” he excused himself with a curt bow. He stepped away from Ophelia’s figure. “I think my presence is needed downstairs. We’ll be having dinner soon, feel free to come down once you hear the bell ring.”

Ophelia nodded once. She closed the door behind his shadow. When she finally had time for herself, a single better look at the room immediately told her that these were surely Elian’s permanent quarters. Bows were hanging off the walls, as were arrows and unfamiliar, foreign trinkets she could not name. However, what made her veins go cold was not the portrait of his family with a mother long gone and a smaller version of Kris who smiled brighter than any suns she’d ever seen—it was the head of a deer, plastered behind the door, gazing into her eyes with his pupils now hollow of any emotion.

Ophelia took a step back.

She tripped over her foot and fell to the floor.

Outside, men were singing, woman were laughing.

I need to get away, Ophelia thought, without truly knowing why, only, that something deep inside of her told her she was not safe here. I have to escape.

Before they get me too.