Betrayal. That was the word that remained on my mind as I rode through the snowy night. She betrayed me. All that time we spent together, and she could’ve sent me home whenever she wanted. And for what? Because she was lonely? I felt my blood begin to simmer at the thought. I ran away from home for nothing. I tore apart my family for nothing.

There you go, making everything about you again, I imagined the Maer whispering in my ear. You are so selfish. A good person would only think of others. But not you. You only think of yourself. How pathetic.

The horse’s massive hooves crushed logs and branches underfoot. Its footprints disappeared from the snow immediately after each step. Overhead, the moon cast dim blue light down through the trees. Snow fluttered down from the sky like cherry blossom petals. Bright-eyed animals watched me from distant vantages in the dark.

What was I going to say to Mother, to Connie and August? What could I say? I couldn’t lie and say I was under a spell. I knew in my heart that wasn’t true. How could I possibly admit to them, the only people who’d ever cared about me, that I fled from home because I thought I was of no use to them anymore?

Or maybe they were already gone. Maybe they had left town after giving up hope of ever seeing me again.

Then another, infinitely more terrible thought crossed my mind. If time had all but stopped at the manor, what did that mean for the outside world? Did time move even faster? Would I return home to see my brothers old and grey and Mother long dead? Meanwhile, I would remain the same age as punishment for my selfish actions. The thought chilled me deeper than the cold in the air.

My mind was racing in several directions. Every time I thought I had something to look forward to, its consequence reared its head.

I would see my family again, but I would have to answer for running away.

I would return home, but I would return to being useless.

And of Faustine and the manor, I couldn’t possibly say. I tried to put as much distance between that memory and myself as however long the horse took to return to the real world. The wound was still so fresh in my mind that I dared not pick at it.

Doux squirmed in my pocket. I took him out and hugged him close. He tickled my chin with his whiskers.

“Soon, little one. Soon.” I assured him as I replaced him with my coat.

I didn’t know how long we’d be riding. The woods went on and on in every direction. I wondered if the horse was lost if such a thing was even possible.

Then right as the thought entered my mind, the snow stopped. The wind followed suit.

A warm breeze washed through me. I shut my eyes as I felt it on my face. I breathed in the damp sweetness of the air. It smelled of falling rain, fresh grass, and flowers. It smelled like spring.

The snow around me quickly faded into nothing, revealing grass and piles of leaves and little scampering creatures rushing to escape the horse’s onslaught through the brush.

I looked up and my jaw fell open.

The sky was washed in orange and gold as the sun peaked over the horizon.

The sun, I thought, tears threatening to fall. I never thought I would miss it so much.

I sniffed again. There was smoke in the air. Smoke meant civilization. Which meant we were very close.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

My pulse quickened. I was home.

The horse stopped at a stretch of dirt road. Its great head bowed as it ground to a kneel. I dismounted and approached the carved steed’s head. I gave it a small pat on the nose. Its face was smooth and cold.

The horse nickered in gratitude. It was a deep, rumbling noise I felt in my chest. In return, I gave it a further rub. “Thank you,” I said to it.

I stepped away. The horse rose to its full height and with a whistling whinny, turned and trotted away. I thought I saw the trees separate like curtains on a stage as they passed between the trunks and branches before disappearing into the woods.

My breath caught when I realized where the horse had dropped me off.

In front of me stood the cottage. Creepers still climbed up the sides of its walls. The roof was still sunken in. It looked about the same as when I left, as if no time had passed at all.

Out of sheer curiosity and perhaps fear, I went to the door and stepped inside. Instantly that familiar musty smell hit me. The relatively small interior of the house seemed too small after my time in the manor. Only four rooms felt too few now. I had been spoiled.

I went to my old room. The desk and bedframe were gone. They needed to go anyway, so no harm there. I looked over my spot on the floor where I slept. A strange nostalgia washed over me. I never thought I missed sleeping in these conditions.

Or maybe it’s not the place I missed; I thought as I wandered out of my room.

I checked Mother’s and my brothers’ rooms, and the kitchen. All were empty and spotless and showed no signs of age.

I sighed, cursing myself for being so paranoid. No time had passed at all, it seemed. But I still didn’t know how long it had been.

Orange and red sunlight shined through the dirty windows. It was still morning. Amersot would be waking up soon. I looked at the front door. There’s only one option now, I thought.

Walking to town was far easier with new boots and nicer clothes. With new soles and no holes in my shoes, it made the trek much easier. I was thankful to have no small rocks get stuck in my shoes, nor the worn soles hurting the pads of my feet again. I wouldn’t miss walking through the snow this way. That much was certain.

I passed the cemetery and the church. The large tree at the center of the graves was beginning to bud. I heard birds chirping and flying through the trees. I realized how much I missed the sound.

As I got closer to town, the low din of bustle grew ever louder. Soon the volume of houses increased. The beaten dirt road turned to cobblestone. Soon I found myself passing by small pods of people on foot or horses. A donkey pulling a cart trotted past me, its driver chewing a reed as he snapped the reins. The air smelled like mud and manure. It was oddly comforting.

Soon I was at the town square. I approached the great stone raven and ran my hand against the bare plaque. At least I knew who this belonged to, not that it made much of a difference. De Rosamund, I heard Faustine’s father say in that last dream. Faustine of the Rose. It certainly sounded regal.

I turned to the bakery. It was still there, hanging sign and all. I considered going in to visit Genny. Maybe later, I thought. I had more important people to see first.

The details of one of my dreams struggled to resurface. Our new house was here somewhere. I knew it had red bricks. But there were plenty of houses like that here. My dream didn’t necessarily give me directions.

I searched for any other sign of them. I’d come this far. I had no reason to think they would’ve left. My dream couldn’t have been wrong. They had to still be here in town.

Then, on a swinging sign, a name caught my eye. Dufresne Trading.

It was a simple building wedged between a tailor’s and a watchmaker’s office. I knew the office in Paris wasn’t large, though I didn’t go there very often in my youth. Such details were uninteresting to me at that age. I never thought I’d be so happy to see it in my life.

The door opened with a little chiming bell. Inside, the office was clean and well-organized. Dim candlelight illuminated the areas that sunlight did not. Cabinets filled with documents lined the wall. There was barely a single pen or paper out of place. I knew August’s handiwork well.

Two desks sat on opposite sides of the space. One of them was occupied by a hunched figure furiously scratching into paper with a quill. A mane of curly hair laced with gray covered her face.

“Mother,” I said aloud.

Mother stopped writing and looked over her shoulder. I saw her face. She looked much older and tired. Her eyes were red and sunken. She’d been crying a lot more. The thought stung me deeply.

Instantly Mother’s eyes widened. She stood up, steadying herself on her chair. “My God.” She whispered.

“I’m home, Mother,” I replied, opening my arms.

“My God—” Mother said again before rushing to me and pulling me into a crushing hug. Her body shook as she began to sob. “My boy, my sweet boy,” was all she could manage. I desperately held her back.

I heard the door chime ring again. “Marius?” A familiar voice said. Another set of arms wrapped around me. I saw August’s face in the corner of my eye as he joined in our giant group hug.