Free Young Warriors by Tamora Pierce Page B

your silence,” he said as they picked their way over the field of rotting bodies.
    She looked down at the field of corpses, their faces turned to burnished silver in the moonlight. They were beyond caring too. Dead.
    Ada remembered how, long before the war, she had cried over the death of a cat that had ranged around their corn-cribs. Yet with the finger bone dangling around her neck, she had buried her mother without a single tear. She could not even remember where she’d dug the grave.
    Surely it was better not to feel. What was the purpose in courting pain?
    But then she thought of all the different sorts of pain, all the ones she hadn’t been able to avoid.
    She imagined taking the finger bone off her neck and snapping it in two. Even though that would kill her, she could not bring herself to care. That troubled her. She knew she should care. She shouldn’t stand by and allow her own death. She didn’t want to be dead.
    Her heart was still missing, so she wasn’t afraid when she broke the string around her neck with a sharp tug. The method for undoing the spell was simple. She didn’t even flinch as she swallowed the bone whole.
    Pain stabbed her chest, a thousand sharp needles, as in a foot kept too long in one position. She pressed her hands between her breasts and felt a steady drumming. Tears burned in her eyes.
    Then, abruptly, she was overwhelmed by fear, fear that bit through her flesh to bury itself in her marrow.
    This was a mistake,
she thought.
I can’t do this.
She started to shake.
    The man-at-arms tightened his grip on her and laughed.
    She thought of Julian, of the way that he had touched her hair. She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want anyone to die anymore.
    â€œYou know where we’re going, don’t you? You haven’t lost your way?”
    They had come to the edge of the village without her noticing. Looking out at the remains of the houses, black and indistinguishable, she knew what she had to do.
    â€œHe’s in there,” she said. Pointing to where a neighbor had once brewed ale and kept chickens, she found that she could hardly breathe. It was harder to lie now, when she was afraid.
    â€œIs he armed?” The man-at-arms shifted on the saddle.
    She shook her head. “He’s badly hurt. Defenseless.”
    â€œDismount,” he ordered.
    She climbed off the horse. He drew his sword and jumped down after her. Trailing him to the house, Ada hoped he would go in first, hoped he would give her a moment to get away from him.
    He signaled with his chin for her to go through the door. Once inside, he would see that she had lied. She hesitated.
    â€œGet in there,” he whispered.
    She had hoped for more of an advantage, but there was no more time. Ducking away from his arm, she ran back to the horse and pulled the crossbow from the horse’s rump. The bow was drawn tight, but she fumbled getting the bolt in place.
    A loud shout came from the doorway. The manes had appeared, cawing and capering, surprising the man-at-arms into giving her another few moments of time. She slammed the bolt into the notch and pointed it in his direction.
    His eyes went wide and his mouth curled into a sneer. “Don’t be stupid.”
    â€œI want to live,” she said, and shot him.
    The bolt hit him just below the throat. His scream stuttered as blood stained the front of his leather doublet. He reached up a hand and staggered toward her. Then he fell heavily onto the dirt.
    Tears burned her eyes, streaking her cheeks with lines of salt.
    She didn’t know how long she had been there when she noticed Lord Julian stood behind her. His fingers touched her shoulder as she turned. He still looked pale, but his fever seemed to have broken. She noticed for the first time that he was young and that he needed a haircut. “Thank you,” he said softly.
    She nodded. She wanted to say something—to tell him that she hadn’t done