Chapter Text
He was dead.
Hands covered in blood, shaking violently. The sound of a sword clattering to the ground, rain hammering on the window of the small house, surrounded by trees. Two bodies on the floor, one a look of fury, the other a look of horror. She’d never killed anyone before—
Her father—
He would have killed her.
He’d killed her mother who was trying to protect her.
Irina stared at the two bodies, feeling as though all the air in the room had left. He had to get out—what had she done? It had been her instinct when she’d heard her fathers sword, when her mother screamed. She knew her best friend had been training her to protect herself, but… had he intended this? For her to… kill him? What would he think? She felt sick.
Her bag was already half packed, it was what had started this. His fury that she was leaving, that she could dare fall in love with ‘that boy’ across the river. Irina sobbed, her bright auburn hair like a wild fire in the dark room. Her brown eyes scanned the room, shakily grabbing everything she would need. She forgot her cloak, but didn’t care even when the rain soaked her through. Let it wash away all the blood, she willed. Let it take her crime from her.
Is that what it was? A crime?
She killed him, he killed her mother, would have killed her. Did that make her actions okay? She didn’t know. Irina let out another sob, feet splashing through the puddles that lined the narrow paths. She passed the inn of Brill, she could hear drunken revelry there; she thought she heard Renault’s voice and wondered if, perhaps, she should go to him first. But she carried on running, her mind only upon the small house on the other side of the river where she’d spent so much of her time the past few years.
Irina reached it, hands still shaking. His father was not there, right? He hadn’t been for week. She wrung her hands nervously, knocking on the door. Would he answer? What would he think? She closed her eyes, terrified it was an awful idea but rooted to the spot, everything felt so heavy, her heart hammered in her chest—
The door opened.
“Irina?”
“Darion,” she gasped out, hands half raised towards him. She stared at the dried blood and sobbed again. “I-I killed him.”
She couldn’t bare to look up at him, couldn’t bare to see the anger or the judgement or the disappointment she was sure was obvious on his face. She should turn, walk off—her eyes pricked with tears, her knees felt weak, but before she could hit the wet ground, Darion’s strong arms caught her under the shoulders and pulled her close to him.
Irina closed her eyes. His heartbeat was loud in her ear, warm, significant, full of life; her favourite sound in the world.