Lyra was on top of the world.

Her mother took it upon herself to fill the gaps in Lyra's education when it came to survival, but while Lyra learned everything quickly while parrying any attempts by Dyla to repair their relationship. The first battle, Bryn ordered Lyra to stay by her mother’s side. While Lyra wanted to object, she knew she had a long way to go before she could defy her father.

Though she'd never admit it, she was grateful to be left aside. The battle was quick and dirty. She had never seen anything more violent than the occasional brawls that broke out among Bryn's men. All her reading couldn't prepare her for the real thing. She threw up, grateful that only her mother saw. Dyla held her hair and helped her clean herself up. Lyra didn't thank her.

On her fourth battle, Lyra was ready. She had poisoned her blades and watched the fray, waiting for an opening. There! A man with a spear, coming at one of Bryn's men from behind. With swift but silent steps, Lyra approached the spearman. Dyla reached for her daughter but Lyra had already stalked out of reach.

Lyra's heart beat loudly and she was sure the man could hear it. She willed her trembling to stop and thrust forward, her blade penetrated the man's back.

"What the—" He whirled and Lyra barely dodged the swinging spear. "Why you little——"

The man's face went from red to blue as his lungs stopped working. He collapsed gasping on the ground, writhing and twitching. She felt sick again and had to turn away. When she did, she met Bryn's eye. He glanced from her to the dying man and his brows furrowed, but then his sword disemboweled a man and his attention moved on.

Lyra got to see the mountains, she lived in the wilds, she saw how her mother enjoyed it but she didn't care. She had moved on from her family's love. This is what she had wanted and she had it. She had won it with her own strength and nothing could take that high away.

Despite not accepting her mother's unspoken apologies, Lyra found her respecting the woman again. Watching her in the wild with her father, it was clear this was what her mother lived for. It was almost impossible to imagine them apart as they traveled through the forest and mountains. She didn't forgive Dyla, but against her will Lyra came to understand her.

When they returned to Hjor, Fenrin was waiting. He greeted his father respectfully and embraced his mother. He ignored Lyra, but she wouldn't have it.

She slipped into his room that night, having long learned the trick to opening a lock during her time trapped at home. She sat in his chair, purposefully shifting it so the sound made Fenrin dart up in bed.

"Evening, brother dear."

His eyes, silver like her father's but flecked with color glowed in the moonlight. "What do you want Lyra?" he growled, sounding for a moment so similar to their father she started.

"Just to share tales of my first adventures as you did for me."

He watched her warily and she saw him reach for his sword, propped against the wall by his bed. She laughed. "I didn't come to fight. We have to keep up the birthday tradition after all. No, I want to talk."

He snorted, grabbing his sword anyway, but she just continued, "Yes we traveled south for a while until I saw the snow capped mountains and touched their base. Then we went west and I saw my first giant. We caught many caravans."

She paused. "You were right about our father. He is a monster in battle. I killed a few myself of course." She saw him flinch and smiled. "It was as exciting as you said and I enjoyed it very much. Did you enjoy your year in my place?" she asked in a sing-song voice but Fenrin could hear the bitterness in it.

"I felt like a caged animal," he admitted and his honesty made Lyra flinch.

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She stood quickly and hissed, "Now you know. Now you know what you and mother and father did to me. You caged me but I found a way out, I will always get what I want."

Fenrin chuckled and stood, he was much taller than her now. He stepped closer and her dagger flashed in the moonlight, but his sword remained sheathed. He moved until he was only inches away. Although she didn't show it, fear trickled down Lyra's spine as she saw the wildness in her brother’s eyes.

"No, sister, you were born in captivity. I was free and you shut me back in. Imagine that." He tilted his head. "Ah wait, don't bother imagining. You will experience it yourself. I'm glad to hear you enjoyed your time, because it's over."

He took a step back and drew his sword. "Now get out, unless you want to settle this without father's rules."

She put her weapons away and turned to leave. "Maybe one day," she murmured loud enough for him to hear before she left the room.

On their birthday, they fought. Lyra began circling, but Fenrin didn't let her, he charged with a roar, startling her. She stumbled and his blade stopped inches from her throat. He slowly drew it back, cutting her lightly. She dropped to her knees in disbelief and he stepped over, knelt, and whispered in her ear, "How easily it slips away..."

Bryn watched with a frown but said nothing. Dyla looked pale.

Throughout the winter, Lyra disappeared. She would reappear after a few days without a word to anyone and then vanish again. No one mentioned it, it was commonplace to the servants by this point. Fenrin was grateful, he never slept easy with his sister around and he’d had enough of her.

Dyla began to follow her. To her surprise, she found Lyra disappeared to the cave she and Bryn had stayed in when they first arrived at Hjor. It was the cave where they had kept Harold.

One time, Dyla slipped inside the cavern while Lyra was away and found it full of boxes. A quick examination revealed most to be full of books or plants. A table in the corner had a carefully organized set of vials and beakers along with other tools of poison making.

There was also a map on the cave wall, held by nails jammed into cracks in the rocky surface. Dark lines were traced across it and Dyla recognized a rough record of their journey the last season. She imagined Lyra, carefully sketching the lines, knowing she would not be returning this year. She imagined her reading of far away places she had never seen, slipping away from the house she was born in to dream.

Dyla made up her mind.

When winter came to an end and Bryn began to prepare for the journey, his children were both surprised when Dyla emerged, not dressed or packed for traveling. Fenrin moved forward. "Mother, we're leaving soon. Where is your coat?"

She smiled and gently touched his face before leaning in and kissing his cheek. "I'm staying here this year, Fenrin."

Fenrin turned to his father, seeking objection, but Bryn just shouldered his pack. Fenrin, grabbed his own looking confused. His mother lived for those days out with his father. He didn't understand, but he knew if he didn't leave now, Bryn would leave without him. So he let his mother leave his mind and followed his father.

Lyra stood with her fists clenched. Dyla turned and her soft green eyes met Lyra's blazing ones. She stepped towards her daughter, but Lyra stepped back. Her face contorted with emotion until it finally settled with anger, the easiest. "Are you mocking me?"

"No, Lyra..."

"Is this pity?! Do you think this will change anything?"

Lyra whirled around and stalked off, slamming the door as she left. Dyla sighed, it would be a long year.

For Fenrin, it was if he'd never left. None of the men mentioned Lyra and greeted him warmly. The only change was in Bryn, who seemed less happy. Fenrin suspected it was because his mother was missing and he wondered that Bryn had let her stay. Dyla would never do anything without Bryn's blessing and Bryn very rarely did anything that would make him unhappy.

Despite this discrepancy, Fenrin flourished. He trained hard and fought well. Everything was going wonderfully until the caravans stopped. It was as if someone had created a dam. The problem was enough for Bryn to send Fenrin into the nearest Jarl’s fort to ask around. Bristling with pride at being given his first mission, Fenrin eagerly entered the town.

It didn't take long to find the answer, it was all anyone was talking about. The Jarls had all left for the capital. The High King had agreed to their terms and was signing another treaty giving yet more of his rapidly dwindling power to the Jarls. Everyone was waiting to see how things played out.

Many thought it was a trap for the Jarls while others scoffed that the king didn't have any strength left to fight and was truly giving in like a beaten dog. Some thought the Jarls would kill the king anyway and replace him with one of their own, but the wiser pointed out that that would only sow dissension and lead to more fighting.

Fenrin reported all he'd heard and Bryn's face darkened at the news. "We must return to Hjor, I need to speak with the Jarl when he returns."

His son frowned, he didn't want to return home, his hard earned year wasn't over. But he knew not to question Bryn and followed obediently as they headed back north.