I push open the orphanage door, the familiar creak echoing through the main hall. A few of the younger kids look up, their faces lighting up when they see me.
"Ashen!"
"You're back!"
"Did you really go to with the princess?"
I barely get two steps inside before a sea of small bodies surrounds me, wide-eyed and buzzing with curiosity. I grin, caught off guard by their excitement.
"It was fun," I say, ruffling one of the boys' hair.
"Where did you go?" Gwen askes.
"Well… Watcher's Rise. And it was beautiful. The view from the top… you could see the whole Duskwilds. There were so many flowers."
"Did you fight monsters?" one of them asks, clutching my sleeve.
"No," I laugh. "We just ran around. She made me draw her, though."
"You drew her?" another girl gasps.
I nod, trying not to look too smug, though I can't lie, the whole thing was kind of… amazing.
The door creaks again behind me. I don't turn because I don't notice. I'm too busy smiling and answering questions thrown at me by the kids. However, a sharp ahem cuts through the air making me look over my shoulder.
It's Lyara. She stands in the doorway, her arms crossed and her face unreadable. Her eyes lock with mine but she doesn't say anything. She just walks past the crowd, past me, and heads straight for her bed space. My eyes are on her, on her light steps which seems distant and the way she acted like I wasn't in the room.
"Did she wear a crown?" one of the children breaks the tension.
"Is she prettier than Miss Hilda?" another ask and I chuckle softly.
"Will she come here again?" more questions rush in.
"I…" I try to break away gently, glancing toward Lyara's corner, "…I'll answer, just… quickly, alright?"
"Tell us, tell us," the kids press oh. I nod and answer them but even as I talk, even as I smile and nod and tell stories about dusky winds and hidden cliffs, my eyes keep drifting back to her. To the way her back is turned like she doesn't care anymore, like she's done keeping up with me.
****************
The next morning, I wake up and prepare for the morning prayers. Lyara isn't in her bed space. It's empty, neatly arranged with folded clothes placed on the edge. I throw on my shirt and rush out, cutting through the hallway toward the small worship room. She's not there. I stay for the prayers and when we're done, rush into the dinning room. I check the breakfast line, matron Hilda's voice is already echoing orders but no sign of her. She's not here. Not washing. Not even loitering in the back like she sometimes does when she's avoiding chores.
Finally, I ask old Mikel, the orphanage gatekeeper. He always knows everything. He chews on a toothpick, barely looking at me. "She's out back. Gutters needed clearing."
Gutters? That's punishment work. I don't even thank him. I head straight for the back entrance, past the sheds, following the stench of soaked waste and there is she.
She's alone, her sleeves rolled up, face stained with sweat and grime as she digs into the gutter with a bent iron shovel. Her hair's pulled back in a messy knot. Her hands are raw, covered in muck. But her movements are sharp and angry.
"Lyara…" I say gently.
She doesn't look up. "What do you want?"
I step closer, the scent of rotting water hitting my nose hard. "I was looking for you."
She scoffs, loud enough so I can hear her. "Why?" she says, shoving the shovel deeper into the gutter. "Was I supposed to stand and wave when you got back yesterday? Say welcome back, Your Highness?"
I swallow hard. "I just wanted to…"
"You looked happy yesterday," she cuts in, her eyes finally meeting mine. They're tired but burning. "She makes you happy, doesn't she? Princess Alara. All soft hands and fancy food and drawings."
I shake my head quickly. "You're overthinking this…"
"You've chosen her," she says, her voice sharp.
My breath catches, my eyes widening. Chosen? that's what she thought this was all about. That's what she thought I was doing. All the time I spent with Alara, all the times we were together, she thought I had chosen her. I take a step towards her, look into her eyes and say. "I haven't chosen anyone.."
"You're a liar," she snaps, her words hitting harder than I expected.
I take a deep breath and continue. "I'm not lying."
"Lair!" She snaps, shoving the shovel against the stone. The metal clatters, the sound fading.
"You're too angry. We'll talk when you calm down," I say and turn. However, she grabs me by the collar, shoving me hard against the moldy brick wall.
The sudden pressure jolts my side and I flinch, the pain in my ribs slicing through me like a blade. Her face Is close now. Closer than ever and her breath shakes as her eyes flashes with rage. "You don't get to lie to me," she hisses. "Not to me."
"Lyara—"
"I hate liars." her grip tightens for just a second more before she releases me and I stagger to get my stand , my ribs throbbing as I catch my breath.
"If you ever talk to me again," she says, her voice low and trembling with something I can't name,
"I'll really hurt you next time."
Then she picks the shovel back up, turns away from me like I'm no more than dirt in the gutter, and continues her work.