Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.

Chapter 22: The Pieces of Her

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I fled that night.

It's a dramatic word. I could say, simply, that I left. That I abandoned my attempts with Julian and chose to carve out my own piece of the four corners elsewhere. That it was long past time to go, and I was only following the plan I had once laid out for myself. But in truth, I was running away.

It didn't take long. The bones of my plan had been in place for months. Perhaps longer. I took as much as I could carry. My nicer dresses. The small gifts Julian had given me. My Guild pin. Calia's comb. I stuffed them all into a travelsack I had bought months ago for just such an occasion. I made quick work of it. The longest part was the time it took for my tears to finally stop. When my face was washed and dry, and my hair perfectly styled, I slipped into my plainest road clothes, covered myself in the old, familiar cloak, and strapped the knife I'd never really let go off to my thigh. Then I slipped out into the lightening dawn with everything I owned of value.

Most everything. I left Julian's ring.

I made my way to the Imperial Plaza, which Julian and I had strolled across just three days past, arm and arm. It wasn't difficult to find a caravan. I smiled and flashed my coin and presented Calia's papers, and caught a ride with a small group of traveling performers just as the sun was beginning to rise. I watched its soft rays lighten the cobblestones around the wagon as we rolled slowly through the quiet streets of a mostly sleeping city. The walls loomed, dark grey masses that blocked out the newfound sun and cloaked us in shadow.

As we drew nearer, I thought of everything I was leaving behind. Charrel and Hana, who had offered me a safe place to rest my head, and their company. May, who had shown me more kindness than I had ever deserved. Sela, who had always made me smile. An unexpected light, though I hadn't seen her in weeks. Gerald; all dignified and proper, and yet full of heart. It hurt that I would never say goodbye. And then there were the men. Countless, and yet all a part of my story. I had no regrets about leaving any of them. Except him. Julian. But I couldn't think of that. It was too painful.

Why did it hurt to say goodbye?

I squeezed my eyes shut as the gate loomed overhead. A pause. A short discussion with the guards. Some banter exchanged. A check that was more of a formality. The impatient neighing of horses.

And we were through. I looked back at the gate as it receded into the distance. I was saying goodbye to them, too. They all lay within those walls, buried beneath that tear-soaked ground. Grandmother and Grandfather. Father. Mother. Denna. Unconsciously, my fingers reached for Mother's ring, and I twisted it upon my finger, until the stone dug into my hand.

We would never walk the same ground again. I felt the tears gather at the edges of my eyes, and after a few fruitless attempts to rein them in, I let them roll silently down my cheeks. I told myself I was crying for them. For Denna. For the life I should have had. And not for Julian.

I wouldn't cry for Julian. I didn't love Julian. I didn't. And I was leaving, because it was right. Because I couldn't play with his feelings any longer. I had family to find in Anilin, and that had been my plan all along. There was no reason to cry. In the end, I was no duchess. No matter what I dressed myself in, or what names I hid behind, I was a whore, and that was unchangeable. Alana… didn't exist. And the world was not a faery story. If he knew that truth, the love he held would shatter just as easily as glass. So it was time to go. It was time.

No, it wasn't a mistake.

The troupers took me as far west as Deepen Falls, and from there I paid for passage on a ship that traveled down the Arrand River to Junpui before turning along the coast to Tarbean in the Commonwealth. It was a sprawling, bustling city, cloaked in a foreignness that made me feel somehow safe.

I spent three nights there entertaining a Modegan gentleman who didn't remind me of Julian in the slightest. That was all right. I had spent the long and painful journey across the Centhe Sea laying awake for hours each night as the ship rocked around me, trying not to think of him. And yet I saw him everywhere. In the faces of others around me. In the darkness when I closed my eyes. In the lonely black of night, when my body yearned for the feel of his arms around me. And memory was all that remained. Somehow, despite all my best efforts, I had given him too much of myself. And I promised myself then that I would never let it happen again. I would never again let down my guard — let anyone reach as far as my heart.

There would never be another Julian.

It was better that way. Simpler. So I spent three evenings with a man whose name I don't even care to recall. I met him in the music house on my first night in Tarbean. He bought me dinner and insisted on paying for my rooms at a boarding house in Hillside — the nicer part of the city. On the fourth day, we met for breakfast. He gave me a fine sapphire necklace and suggested I wear it that evening, for what he promised would be a night of fine revelry and high romance. Sixth bell. That's when he expected to collect me from "my rooms."

I left at second bell. In the absence of love, I wouldn't sell myself so cheaply. Not anymore.

I stopped only long enough to pawn the necklace before securing a ride as far north as a small town called Imre. The ride took most of two days and was uneventfully quiet. The coach arrived in the late evening. It was Felling night, and Imre's narrow cobblestone streets were lively as I walked along in search of a room. Music drifted through the crisp air that tasted of fall, filling it with melody. I breathed it in, the night's din settling deep into my bones. Denna would have loved it. These small and bustling streets and colorful, well trimmed facades. In that moment, as I wandered through Imre's picturesque alleys, she felt almost close enough to touch.

I was never really sure how I ended up in the Eolian. Perhaps the faint traces of music spilling out into its cobblestone courtyard drew me in, though I didn't learn of its reputation until later. I stopped to chat with the doorman, a towering specimen of a man with soft blonde hair and muscles visible clearly even through the fabric of his shirt. He took my jot for entry despite his smile, but found me later as I sat at the polished mahogany bar on the first level, reeling from a heart-wrenching rendition of Violet Bide that had reminded me of both Julian and my childhood in the most painful ways.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, and introduced himself as Deoch.

"Dyanae," I said softly, and sensed Denna smile beside me as I wrapped myself in another layer of her name. I felt a tinge of warmth. It had been such a long time since I'd let her walk beside me, and now even the thought of her filled me with a brazen courage.

I spent the evening with him. And the next day. We talked and laughed for hours, sharing a massive tankard of something called metheglin, which tasted like warmth and Mother's spice garden. I learned that he was part-owner of the Eolian — the finest music house for miles — but liked to mind the door for he loved meeting honest folk. And he learned a secret of my own — one I had kept so close it weighed down my heart like stone.

With over a hundred miles between me and Vintas, I finally felt safe enough for my words to flow to song as we strolled through Imre's public gardens on my second night in the city. It was only Tinker Tanner, and my voice was rustier than a broken nail; but Deoch laughed in delight all the same, and my face slipped into the first real smile I'd known for span.

I would have stayed longer, but Deoch was fun and talkative and polite, and I was enjoying his company far more than I should have. I couldn't risk that. I had promised myself; there would be no more Julians. So I left. With no goodbyes or explanations. I bought a seat on a barge up to Marrow, a small town about twenty miles upriver. From there, I planned to hop on a coach or caravan heading northeast to Anilin, but my plans were derailed when an unseasonably cold spell cut through the town, coating the narrow streets with snow overnight. I woke up shivering when the early sunlight crept into my room and glanced out at a white blanket of unbroken snow spread out before me. It glistened with a deadly beauty that chilled me to my bones. It was not yet Fallow — still far too soon for snow.

For a few days, I deigned to wait it out, but my heart wasn't in it. Anilin was still miles and miles away, and the journey wept of winter. I wasn't foolish enough to travel north as snows swept down to coat the roads beneath my feet. My poor lungs already strained painfully as I drew in the frigid air, and while Anilin was still my dream, there was no promise of a warm reception. It was a void. Unknown. And it had been a long time since I'd expected anything.

So when the snows melted, I returned to Imre.

I spent several span there, wandering between the Taps, and Goat in the Door, and other fine establishments, but I eventually ended up back at the Eolian. It was, simply put, the best. And its pull was undeniable. Deoch wasn't at the door when I slipped inside, but I spotted him from across the room as I made my way to the bar. He caught my eye, giving me a rather hard look before conceding a smile.

"You came back," he said later, appearing at my shoulder. "I didn't think you would."

"I didn't think I would either," I admitted, before adding: "I'm sorry."

"Ah, s'no matter." He wiped his hands on his apron and leaned against the bar beside me. "It's not the first time a beautiful girl's run off on me."

I smiled. "Got a long list, have you?"

"Of the ones who couldn't stay away? Endless."

"Am I on it?"

"Of course," he said easily.

"Can I see?"

He tapped his temple and smiled. "My eyes only."

"I see." My lips quirked in amusement. "But I'm afraid I don't qualify," I added seriously. "I'm just here for the music. And the metheglin."

I raised my cup and took a sip. He wrinkled his nose at the contents and laughed. "I do own this place, you know."

"Just half."

He raised his eyebrows at me.

"Fine," I conceded. "It's only wine. But it's the good kind. Strawberry."

"Avennish wine's a fine drink, but metheglin is the beverage of the soul. Can I stand you a round?"

I shook my head, smiling. "Strawberry wine is fine enough for the likes of me, I'm afraid. At least tonight."

"And tomorrow?"

"Perhaps not tomorrow either," I admitted. "But I'm sure there will be wine and beer aplenty. Maybe even scutten and brand."

He nodded. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Dyanae."

"How do you know I haven't?" I asked curiously.

He offered me a smile. "There isn't scutten enough in all the world to burn through all your fire. Nor brand. Nor beer. But metheglin… I reckon that can burn hot enough." He laid a hand briefly on my shoulder then pushed away from the bar, leaving me perfectly alone. As if he had never been. When a gentleman approached me later that evening and invited me to share a table on the third tier, Deoch caught my eye again. It held only the ghost of a smile, and nothing more. But the smile was kind.

I spent the next several span in Imre and Tarbean both, splitting my time almost equally between them. I loved Imre for its picturesque streets and facades. For its propensity for the arts. For the music, which infused the air in equal part with the growing winter chill. And I loved Tarbean for its vastness. For the endless possibilities and anonymity it allowed me. For how easy it was to leave, to start again. In those months, I learned to live a life of self-reliance. To disappear quick and quiet in the night, my bill unpaid half as often as not. To weave courtships out of chance, as if I were a passing storm, dancing in the wind. So strong in the night that I could knock the very breath from a man. And gone by morning, as if I had never been. And if the sudden storm had left behind some broken pieces of what had once been whole, then what was that to me? They would fade with memory, in the resounding calm that followed. I had to keep walking. Looking forward. And if that was the cost that I should live, then Tehlu forgive me. I had done worse things before.

In Dearth, when the roads grew rutted and precarious and the air became too chill to easily breathe, I ceased my traveling and chose Tarbean as my home for the winter. It was a good place for it. The mid-winter pageantry was festive and all-consuming, and wondrous to behold. At least in Hillside. I heard that down in Waterside the pageantry was wicked and wild, and stepping into those filth-filled streets was perilous. But I didn't venture down to Waterside — I had lived my own version of it in Renere. And I would never go back.

When winter hit its coldest peak, my tattered lungs confined me to my bed for a solid span despite all my precautions. I kept enough wits about me to pick that bed within one of the finer inns, among soft sheets and blankets filled with eiderdown. But the comforts, warm food, and medicine cost me dearly. When I finally dragged myself out of my cocoon of warmth toward the end of Thaw, my meager savings were dwindling.

It cut deeper than it should have. I had spent months with Julian. Span flitting from man to man. From pawn shop to pawn shop — all of it meant to carve out a semblance of a life. But there was nothing to fall back on. Nothing. And one moment of weakness was enough to threaten everything I had built. It was nearly enough to weep. To wonder how I could possibly keep going.

But how could I stop? There was nothing else before me.

I threw myself back into the world with a desperate fervor, seeking out more suitors. Leaving them behind me in the dark night hours when the bonds between us threatened to grow too deep. I was Diana. Donna. Denyea. All pieces of her. I clutched the names to my chest like lifelines each time I introduced myself to another willing suitor. Each time I crept away beneath night's shadowy mantle. I didn't cry — there was no use in it. But every time I walked the sleeping streets like an endless wanderer beneath the ever-glowing moon, I felt it in my chest. That painful, burning emptiness. Like I was a leaf, being pulled to and fro by the wind. And I had lost control of the direction. I was too empty for that. And nothing I could call my own weighed nearly enough to hold me down.

Would there ever be anything more?

It was only when the moon turned away from the world, leaving the sky black as pitch as winter began withdrawing its claws at last, that I once again saw my map of stars flaring across the sky. It was time.

And it filled me with a terrified, anxious excitement. I had long overstayed my welcome in the Commonwealth. And yes, it had been winter. Yes, I'd had a million reasons not to go. But in truth, I think the biggest one was fear. And the excuses came far too easily. The questions still plagued me. Could I really make it there? And if I did, would I find what I was searching for? The prospect left me trembling. But I had to try. I had promised May. Had promised myself. Even if I couldn't imagine how it would end, or I didn't know, really, where I was going, I couldn't stay here any longer. Spring was here, its early warmth melting away the late winter snows. And the road before me was clear.

It was time to go to Anilin.