((Before reading this, it is recommended that you read Unsoothed ))
“The question is, ‘Have you passed your own test?’”
These words replayed in Addie’s mind over and over again throughout the night as she pretended to sleep; though her eyes were closed and she attempted to make her breathing sound as though she were peacefully slumbering, she could feel the ever-watchful gaze of Xandilif who stood guarding the door to the Soothery, sword drawn and ready to confront any foe that dared walk through. It was a question that Addie had been thinking about lately, one that plagued her mind now, and one that she did not know the answer to. Many questions swirled through her mind. Where did she stand now, morally? Did she condemn those that took the lives of others, even if it was to save the innocent? Would she be willing to kill to save others? It seemed fitting that her mind was brought to this place by a question that was delivered by this elf they called “The Banshee.”
Twice now she had been presented with the decision to end someone’s life. Her mind drifted back to that ill-fated walk home to Combe from Bree; the air was crisp and all was quiet until that dog, which goes by the name Strongboar, suddenly emerged from behind Lolo’s wagon and filled the air with the stench of the animal remains he wears around his neck. His rotten, wicked smile is as clear to her now as though he were in the room, his deep, gruff voice presenting her with this decision once again:
“I will capture Woodbridge and bring him to you, all what you have to do is kill him and spread the word around Bree that I had nothing to do with his death. Do you not want revenge for what he did to your friends?”
He was right. Addie did want Woodbridge to pay for the suffering he had orchestrated against Miss Kithri and Lincoln, but this was not the right path to justice. Her refusal to participate in his schemes was quick and firm; however, when he threatened to kill Kithri and Lincoln unless she agreed, she wavered. Time seems to stop once again as the feelings of helplessness come anew, Strongboar’s smug smile still taunting her, thinking he got the best of her, as she actually entertained his proposal and asked questions of it. He told her of how he not only planned to kill Woodbridge, but of how he planned to control Bree in his place. He even bragged of how he had persuaded Clay to join him as the healer for his gang by kidnapping him and blackmailing him in a similar way.
The memory is blurred now for after hearing this, something inside Addie snapped; she could not allow for this to happen, nay, she would not allow for this villain to subject good people to his will, to be free to harm those she cared for. Her breathing intensifies as she begins to feel the rage she felt as the fire ignited within and she drew her concealed dagger to attack him; she feels the bloodlust, remembers the swift decision that she came to that this Strongboar needed to die, then and there. Her muscles tense as she relives the fight. He was a seasoned warrior and she was not; he quickly drew his sword and overpowered her, carved his initials into her side, and slashed her across the abdomen. That rotten, smug smile peers down at her once more, promising again to kill Kithri and Lincoln as he walks off and leaves her for dead. Now there is only pain.
Those injuries ache as she lies there in the bed, jolting her mind back into the present. Her eyes begin to well with tears as she thinks of how she had failed to protect her friends that day and how her decision had marked them for death. Even so, she can’t help but wonder, was she right in trying to kill Strongboar? Should she have agreed to kill Woodbridge? Does Miss Kithri blame her for putting her life in danger once again? As she searches her mind for the answer to these questions, her mother’s words come unbidden and unwanted, “You cannot fight. You will not fight. You will never be anything more than a proper lady.” Her lips move in synchronization with her memory’s response, “You mean a damsel in distress, mother.” Addie’s eyes immediately open wide and she forgets her ruse of sleeping.
She listens to the sonorous rumble of the freshly bandaged dwarf snoring soundly in the next bed and the cold reality sets in- one more had been added to the growing list of those that had been injured… protecting her. Though Addie was thankful that Master Zurri and Masin had survived the attack on their wagon, and even more so that Bíld and Cyanite were not injured, she dreads having to face Master Maurr. She fears the words that he would say to her, that he would blame her for putting others in danger, and he would be justified in doing so. After all, none of this would have happened if she could have kept her mouth shut; even so, if she was stronger, she could have protected herself and defeated those that had sought to harm her and her friends. But she was weak, and she had failed. She needed to be protected.
Her gaze flits from Zurri, to Neth, to Masin and then lands on Xandilif; perhaps if she were more like them, she would be willing and able to end any dark threat. Her eyes study Xandilif’s massive warsword and she thinks back to the offer this battle-hardened elf presented her with just mere hours ago:
“If ya want them to spend years begging strangers ta kill em...I can do that...but you gotta sign on and embrace it, you gotta look them in the eye and say "I did this to you and I am glad". Stone-hearted, no regrets… If that is what you want, Addiela of the Riddermark, then take my hand and walk this path with me...if you can. I view vengeance as a shared pleasure. I'm holdin' the apple...you want a bite?”
Addie had refused, but perhaps she should tell Xandilif that she had reconsidered. Why should she spare Strongboar the pain and suffering he had caused so many? Would she offer this same mercy if the Banshee had been speaking of Gríma? The answer to that last question came swiftly and without debate in her mind. No! She would take pleasure in watching that worm suffer and she often prayed that she would be the one allowed to end his life, slowly and painfully. What was wrong with her then? Why could she not have this same resolve against two others just as cruel?
Her head begins to pound as all these questions continue to bombard her throughout the night, but the one that started this spiral haunts her most- Have you passed you own test? The answer was clear now in the sea of her wavering resolve, she hasn’t.
