That night, Lyra ran away. She had watched carefully from the corner as Bryn's men packed their bags. She had noted every item and located them through the house, duplicating their efforts. She slipped into the kitchen and took food, stuffing it into a bag she'd snatched.

Now prepared, she opened the window and slipped out. Her brain told her to go back to the warm safe room but her heart, filled with rage and betrayal, pushed her into the darkness. She walked along the stones laid out to mark the future wall, right up to the river's edge.

She didn't have much of a plan. She knew she couldn't catch up to her family—and didn't want to. She just wanted to be out, to maybe taste what it was that her family chose over her.

It was cold.

When Hjor was far out of sight, Lyra gathered twigs and branches, feeling around in the dark to light a fire. A few bats flew around as the flames sparked to life and Lyra jumped but determinedly laid out her bedroll and slipped inside. It was too big for her and overly heavy, but it was warm and she fell asleep quickly.

She awoke to shouting. Sitting up, she instantly regretted leaving the huddled ball of warmth. Her hair stuck to her face and her tongue was dried to the roof of her mouth. She reached for her waterskin and was drinking when she heard the shouts again. Quietly she listened.

"Lyra! Lyra!"

Scrambling out of bed, she threw dirt on the smouldering sticks. She turned to roll the unwieldy bedroll but it was too hard. The voices grew closer. Lyra picked up her pack and ran.

She ran until she was wheezing, sucking in the cold air and wishing she had eaten more last night. Her vision swam and she stopped, resting on a rock and pulled out her waterskin, drinking deeply and stuffing a roll and dried fruit from her pack into her mouth. She was just feeling satisfied when the voices rang out again, "Lyyyyraaaa..."

She ran.

It continued all day and by afternoon, she realized she'd lost her bearings. She had no idea where she was, had just run opposite of the calling voices. She abandoned the rope and the hatchet in an attempt to lighten her pack. The sun dipped lower in the sky and she stumbled exhausted through the woods.

She walked until she collapsed. She felt tears rolling down her cheek but was too tired to care. Pulling herself to her feet, she glanced around for a place to rest. A large tree's roots cut through the earth, creating an opening. Using the dying light and a tree branch to check if it was uninhabited, she climbed in, fluffing dead leaves around to hide her entry. She wrapped her coat around herself tightly, feeling the close space warm and drifted off.

"Lyra!"

She jolted up but the voice was far off, it was hoarse and echoed by several other voices sounding in different directions and distances. Lyra sat huddled in the marginally warm hole. A few lights flickered in the blackness, torches cutting in and out between the trees. It was a long night.

When Lyra emerged the next morning, she was exhausted and cold but also alive and alone. She glanced around nervously and began walking. Slowly, the sun rose and warmed her chilled fingers, and her spirits rose with it. She had done it! She had gotten away. She had survived two nights in the wild.

She snacked on more dried fruit as she walked, hearing the river and soon finding it. Breaking the thinning ice with a rock, she filled her waterskin before glancing at the sun and to get her bearings again. Assuming she hadn't passed Hjor in the night, if she followed the river north, she would be distancing herself from her home and going farther into the wilds.

Lyra marched on.

She was just starting to hum a tune as she walked around the bend of the river when she saw a man. His pants were splattered with dirt and mud and his hair was disheveled. He was leaning against a tree by the riverbend when her humming reached him and he opened his eyes. She froze and he registered her presence.

"Gods, I found you."

She turned and ran, but his long legs quickly caught up to her, tackling her and her flailing fists. She managed to hit him in the nose, making him grunt, but soon he had his arms wrapped around her pinning her to his chest. She tried to smack his chin with her head, but he leaned back, avoiding it.

"Woah, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you, Lyra Bryndotter. I'm here to take you home."

She snarled and wriggled some more, biting his arm.

"Ow! Alright, that's it." He pinned her to the ground and wrestled her coat off her, wrapping it around and tying the sleeves so she couldn't move. She lay there panting, staring up at her captor. Slowly recognition dawned on her.

"You're the Jarl's son."

He bowed and then inexplicably began to laugh. It was a loud, full laugh, making his eyes water and he clutched his side. She watched side-eyed, not getting the joke.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's just the irony that I find you— and here of all places."

She didn't get what was so special about this particular river bend but she was too tired to ask. She slumped defeated and he picked her up, slinging her over his shoulder.

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"Alright, up you go. Got to get you back home safe. My father nearly had a heart attack when Ulris told us you'd run off. If you'd been eaten by a wolf he would have had our heads on a platter, missy." She frowned and Harold kept talking, "Especially since he warned us. 'She's a sly one that daughter of mine. Keep a close eye on her while we are away.' he said. He didn't mention the teeth."

He laughed again, his shaking shoulders jostling Lyra. "I should've expected it though."

Harold was quiet for a moment. "You know, once it was your father, carrying my trussed up sorry self up this river."

Lyra didn't care, but the Jarl's son continued, "Yes, he carried me away from my family and gave me the beating of my life. Kept me locked up like their little slave boy for days. Wish my father's search party had been as effective then as they were today." His laugh turned dark.

"I would suggest you think very hard before running off again. Next time, we might not be so lucky. Might find you without an arm or a leg. Or maybe I should just take you up to the cave and see how Bryn's spawn handles his own treatment." His grip on her tightened and cold fingers of fear tickled her stomach. The Jarl's son had always been polite and quiet the few times she'd seen him, going to the Jarl's manor for dinner with her mother.

"Or perhaps we should see how he feels about having his family beaten and tormented in front of him." Harold's voice was getting louder, more agitated.

That story she knew. After Bryn had taken Fenrin, the town shook with the news of the Jarl's beating. His leg had shattered and he couldn't use it now, so he limped along with a cane. She was beginning to understand what kind of man Bryn was.

"I hate him," she muttered, not really intending to be heard. But Harold stopped.

"What did you say?" His words were slow and deliberate, his breathing haggard. She didn't know why she answered him, why she prodded this dangerous man on the edge.

"I hate him. He does what he wants. He came and took my brother away and now he's taken my mother too."

She felt herself convulse and her sobs begin. She hadn't cried over Bryn since the day in the wall and now, under stress, it all came out. Harold began to walk again.

"It hurts, doesn't it. Having someone take what they want just because they are stronger. Trust me, Lyra Bryndotter, your father staying out of your life is the best thing that could ever happen to you."

They didn't speak for the rest of the walk back, but Lyra thought. She thought long and hard about herself, Fenrin, her mother, Harold, and Bryn. It did hurt and the way Lyra saw it, avoiding Bryn and hoping not to meet someone stronger hadn't worked for the Jarl or Harold. “You have to be stronger”, Lyra thought.

She wanted so many things. She wanted her brother at her side, she wanted her mother's happiness, and she wanted the adventure Bryn brought.

Next year, next year Lyra would tell Bryn what she wanted. She would find out how to have the strength to get it and Bryn was the one who would know.

When they returned, Ulris thanked the Jarl's son and Harold quickly returned home, wanting as little interaction with Bryn's estate as possible.

Ulris gave Lyra the worst lecture of her life. She hadn't known he could be angry, but his was a fire that burned cold. He took her knife, boarded her window, and assigned staff to follow her until, as he put it, 'he could trust her with her own well being.' Lyra took the punishment quietly, the experience only reinforcing her new ideas about power.

By summer she had 'earned' her life back. She was free to walk alone and she began to realize the power she had as Bryn's daughter and explored it. She learned the servants would do as she asked. She learned that Ulris had to listen to her requests. She asked for books and she got them. She realized the estate now ran around her schedule alone and enjoyed the feeling.

The only place she felt her power diminish was in the north estate where Bryn's men were. Ulris had forbidden her from going over there and she had mostly complied.

The men eyed her like wolves and she could feel their power. She studied them from afar trying to learn their secret. They were fighters, they had killed people, the ultimate power over others. She began to read about wars. She read about the many, many power struggles throughout history.

As she read she learned one very important thing: it wasn't always the biggest or strongest that took the victory. Many an empire had been toppled from the inside, a coup, or assassination, sometimes people took through marriage and political maneuvering, others it was the right strike at the right time, toppling a giant with a small, well-placed stone.

When her family returned in the winter, Lyra was not the same. She greeted her brother, his grey eyes sad and soft as he tried to repair what was broken. She acknowledged her father, waiting for his departure to deal with him, and let her mother embrace her, holding her daughter close and pretending she hadn't betrayed her.

The winter carried on, lessons with Jylee and sparring with Bryn. Lyra didn't speak much to Fenrin and she followed Bryn's orders without question. She listened in the wall each night for Bryn's departure date until finally it came.

"Four days."

"And Lyra, my lord?"

"She stays."

On the day of their departure, Lyra waited. She watched them eat together, and when Bryn called for Dyla and Fenrin to get their coats she stood.

"I want to come."

The hall grew quiet and Bryn's steely eyes met Lyra's emerald ones. She felt like a boulder was about to crush her but she held her ground, holding his gaze.

"You cannot," he growled, warning her.

"I want to come," she repeated. He walked up to her, dwarfing her with his size. She didn't flinch. She'd been steeling herself for this moment for many months.

"I said no."

"I'm coming," she hissed and the back of his hand struck her and she fell over. She hit the floor but her head whipped back up, staring at Bryn defiantly.

"Ly..." Fenrin said softly but Bryn held up a hand, silencing his son.

Bryn stood and stared at his daughter, his eyes more calculating than angry. He tilted his head, thinking, then he reached and shouldered his pack.

"Daughter," Lyra blinked at the acknowledgment, "if you become strong enough to beat your brother, you can take his place."

Fenrin flinched and met his sister's eyes. They were predatory, like the eyes of a snake rearing over its prey. The sharp truth that his sister had changed hit him. With his place threatened, his pride welled and his heart hardened. There was no way he'd ever let Lyra beat him.

"Fenrin, get your bag, we're leaving."

Lyra watched them leave, ready to slide into the crack she'd made. She had another year. Another year to wait, but this time she knew what would happen at the end. She was going to beat her brother and take what she wanted.