Hidden (Book 1) (2 page)

Tressa stepped out into the dappled light of
mid-morning, closing the door behind her. A crowd had gathered outside the
modest cottage, waiting for word. The wisps of fog kissed her cheeks, not
letting Tressa forget it was her turn to disappear into it the next day.

“She’s
gone.” Tressa pushed through the crowd, ignoring their keening. Granna’s death
meant the end of an era. Without her first-hand stories of the day the fog fell,
Hutton’s Bridge would never be the same. Without Granna, there was no solid
proof. There were only legends and fears and the possibility that nothing was left
outside the fog.

It was
as if Granna’s death would leave them all orphans in a world that had forgotten
them, had trapped them inside a barrier they couldn’t obliterate. Granna was
their anchor, but the rope holding them to her had just been severed.

For Tressa
it meant so much more. Granna was the only family she had left.

A hand
caught Tressa’s arm. She looked up into Bastian Mercer’s emerald eyes. A shock
of bright red hair stood straight up, sweat drenched his shirt. She shrugged
off his hand, and continued through the crowd. She knew what was coming next
and wouldn’t waste even a moment on grief when Granna’s entire legacy was about
to be destroyed.

She
pushed open the thick wooden door to the cottage of the man she hated most.
Unlike the door to her home, this one was smooth and oiled, not a sliver in sight.
It wasn’t just well
kept,
it was an overt sign to
everyone in the village that the occupants were better than everyone else.

“She’s
gone,” Tressa announced as she strode into the cottage.

A man
sat at a polished stone table. He wiped his hands over his plate,
then
delicately licked the tip of each fingertip while
glancing up at her. Tressa’s stomach turned. Every gesture he made came off as
lascivious. He had offered to couple with her more than once, assuring her that
he could get her belly to swell with his seed. Tressa had successfully avoided
him, with the help of Granna. For an old woman, she had been formidable. Her
small stature belayed her inner strength.

“Then
I will call a council meeting.” Udor stood, pushing his chair away from the
table with his ample
arse
. “Now that Sophia’s gone,
we can start to make better decisions about the future of our village. No more
weeping about the past. No more attempts at escape. It’s time we move away from
silly tales and make a future for ourselves here.”

Tressa
held back a sigh. The last thing she wanted was to be sent out into the fog,
never to return. But Granna hadn’t even been dead for an hour. Surely a meeting
could wait until people were given the chance to mourn her. She’d only given
Udor the courtesy of a personal notification because he would be the next
leader, not because she wanted to escape the fog.

“Dear
Tressa.” He ambled over to her, his arms outstretched. She stood still,
stiffly, not accepting or rejecting the hug he bestowed upon her. She forced
herself to remain neutral. “Why did you come to me so quickly, if not to start
the process of changing our laws? You don’t want to leave. I can make that
requirement go away. You can stay here, live a long life with a boy you fancy.”
He leaned over, his lips tickling the edge of her ear. “Or with me. You cannot
be my first wife, but you could be my second. No one else will have you now.
Nineteen and no children?
You’re too old for one of the
eligible young men. Forgo the surname of Webb and take River. Just say the
word, and I, and my name, are yours.”

Tressa
recoiled, heaving out of his embrace. She didn’t want him, never had, but he
knew, as well as everyone else in the village, that she didn’t want to put one toe
into the fog. No one did.

Yet no
one ever stood up to Granna’s rule.

She
was a gentle woman, but crossing her was a mistake. Anyone who did paid for it
with
their
lives. Maybe not their own, but their
child, being sent into the fog. Granna was ruthless in her decisions, never
second-guessing herself, never allowing anyone to question her. After all, she
was the only one left, the only one who remembered the day the village was trapped
behind the misty wall.

“I
only thought you should hear it from me,” Tressa said. She couldn’t look him in
the face. Instead, she stared at her leather slippers. The long toe with the
curl at the end of his shoe nearly touched the tip of hers. She shuffled
backward, putting more distance between them. “Granna’s death will mean many
things to many people. As the new leader of our village, I came to you first.”

Udor
had long ago declared himself Granna’s successor. Though Granna had never
openly agreed to it, she privately told Tressa that no one else had the
influence to lead
their
people into a new future. It
was Udor, or it was no one, no matter how disgusting.

Maybe
that’s why Granna had been so insistent on Tressa leaving during her nineteenth
year. She never wanted Udor to touch her great granddaughter.

Udor stroked
the length of Tressa’s long raven hair. “I am ruler now, aren’t I? And you were
supposed to leave tomorrow. You don’t have to go. Say the word and I will make
sure you never have to worry about leaving the safety of our village again.”

Tressa
backed away, fumbling for the door. “I must attend to Granna’s body now. Make
sure everything is done properly.”

“Of
course, of course. I will call a council meeting before sunset to determine the
new course of our village.” His caterpillar eyebrows came together and his eyes
narrowed. “Our fates have all changed this day.”

Tressa
nodded
,
then let herself out. She slammed the door
behind her. Leaning up against it, her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. She
dropped her head, rested her face in her hands, and let the tears fall
unbidden.

“Are
you okay,” a tender voice asked.

Tressa
looked up, her hair covering her soaked cheeks. “Bastian.” She took in a deep,
shuddering breath, attempting to calm herself. He’d already reached out to her
once, and she’d shrugged him away. He shouldn’t be following her. Not today.
Not ever. “I’m fine.”

“You’re
not fine. Granna just died…”

“Don’t
call her that.” Tressa shot an irritated look at Bastian. “She wasn’t your
family. She was mine. Like everyone else in this rat-infested village, you can
refer to her as Sophia.”

“Tressa,
don’t do this. Not now.” He reached out, but fell short of actually touching
her arm.

She
glanced at his fingers. Dirt was embedded under the nails of his strong hand.
She knew without looking how muscular his arms were. Following the contours of
his limbs would only remind her of what she could never have again. She hadn’t
just coupled with Bastian. She had loved him deeply since she was just a little
girl. As children, he’d brought her daises from the meadow, promising her that
someday they’d be married. All he had to do was get her with child.

But he
hadn’t.
Vinya
had been the willing recipient of his
seed.
The bearer of his daughter.
His
bond-mate for life.
Tressa’s barren womb had sealed their fate a few
years ago when she didn’t get pregnant during their sanctioned time together.
Granna had comforted her through it. Every morning, they drank tea, laughing at
first about how lucky Tressa had been to pull Bastian’s ribbon from the basket.
As time went on, and Tressa showed no sign of pregnancy, their morning ritual
turned to one of quiet sadness. Then acceptance when
their
three months together expired. That was when
Vinya
pulled his ribbon. Within a month, her courses had stopped and she was
successful at what Tressa could never do.

Tressa
had somehow skipped over the part where she felt anger. There was only a deep,
abiding sadness. One she couldn’t stomach in Bastian’s presence.

“I
have to take care of Granna’s body.” Tressa moved to the side.
Granna’s death, Udor’s advances, and now Bastian’s concern.
She needed to get away, but living in a trapped village, there was nowhere she
could go to be alone.

“Uncle
Adam is already there. One of the children was sent to fetch him after you
emerged from the cottage. He will care for Sophia, just as he’s cared for all
of our dead since you and I were just children.” Bastian’s eyes softened.
They’d always reminded Tressa of the meadow in spring. The same meadow where
he’d picked flowers for her.
The meadow where she shared her
first kiss.
Not just with Bastian, but with anyone. His eyes held too
many memories for her.

“Still,
she is my only kin. I should be there. Watch over her. If you’ll excuse me.”
Tressa picked up her dress a little to keep it away from her feet, then took
off in a run. Away from Bastian and Udor. Toward the only person who’d so
intimately shared her past and future, and now had left Tressa alone and
adrift.

Arriving
outside her cottage in a cloud of dust and dirt, Tressa was glad to see the
crowd had dispersed. The shock of Granna’s death would wear off quickly. It was
expected, had been for many years now. Yet she’d managed to hang on. Many
whispered it was her will to raise Tressa that kept her alive. But Tressa knew
different. It was Granna’s heart’s desire to see them escape from their
village. Deep in her soul, she believed they’d find a way out. She wanted to
live to see it with her own eyes.

Whether
it was for vindication for all of the people she’d sent to their deaths beyond
the fog, or because her fighting spirit wouldn’t give up until she’d reunited
her people with those who’d left them behind, Tressa wasn’t sure. Granna never
expressed her feelings on those she sent into the fog. She refused to speak of
it and Tressa had stopped asking many years ago. While Granna’s joy was
infectious, and Tressa loved reveling in it, her silence carried the weight of
the world, a weight Tressa knew she wasn’t strong enough to bear.

And now that she was
alone, she had a choice to make. Allow Udor to influence the council and cancel
the yearly trek into the fog or believe in Granna’s deathbed ramblings, that
somehow Tressa was destined to leave and, perhaps, to survive?

Bastian
watched Tressa run away.
Same as always.
Unless their best friend Connor was there, Tressa wouldn’t stand in Bastian’s
presence any longer than necessary. Not even today, when she needed him.

He
turned to the direction of his cottage, not eager to go home. He’d been at the
forge for a couple hours, pounding out metal for the farmers’ tools. He was
ready for a break, but hearing of Sophia’s death was not what he anticipated
for the day.

Bastian’s
intention had been to grab a snack and a long drink of water, but going back to
his cottage meant facing his wife.

They
had come together the same way every other couple in the village had. Once the
council checked the lineage charts, they placed ribbons with the eligible men’s
names written on them. The woman would choose a ribbon and that man would be her
mate for three months. If the woman conceived, they were bonded. If not, the
process began again.

Bastian
had his chance with Tressa. He’d loved her too and when it was confirmed she
hadn’t conceived, both of their worlds fell apart. They were forced to move on
with others. His coupling with
Vinya
was successful
the first month – and he’d hated himself every moment of it. It felt like
a betrayal.

He
walked through the town, invisible to everyone despite his height and red hair.
Silence was his way and people had learned to ignore him. They spoke in
whispers, everyone concerned with what was to come next. Bastian couldn’t be
bothered with it. As long as the fog surrounded Hutton’s Bridge, nothing
mattered. He was trapped.

The
door swung open before he could place hand on the handle.

“Bastian.
You’re late. I’ve had your snack waiting for some time. Why can’t you ever do
anything right?”
Vinya
sighed and stepped out of the
way. Her eyes, so accusing, raked down his chest. “And you’re filthy. Can’t you
ever remember to wash before coming home? I work so hard to maintain this dump
you call a cottage, just so my daughter and I have a decent place to live.
Maybe you could be respectful of us for once?”

Bastian
nodded. He’d learned long ago that words wouldn’t soothe her feral soul.
Vinya
was determined to strip away any semblance of manhood
he had. At first he found her attitude amusing. Now he wished her lips would
fall off.

Ignoring
her huffing, he sat down at the table next to his daughter, Farah. “How are
you, baby girl?” He ruffled her curls.

Vinya
slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t touch her with your filthy hands.”

“Good,
Papa.” Farah ignored her mother too. At two, she’d already learned to cope with
the circumstances. “
Wanna
nut?” She held out a walnut
in her tiny hand.

Bastian’s
fingertips were almost as big as her palm. He plucked the nut and tossed it in
the air, catching in it in his mouth. Farah squealed and clapped.

“Again!
Again!” She scrambled for another nut.

Vinya
slapped Farah’s backside with
the broom bristles. “Stop it, now. Go lay down for a nap.” Farah nodded,
dropped a quick kiss on Bastian’s cheek, and ran through the door to her little
room.

“You
don’t have to be so harsh with her,
Vinya
.” Bastian
said between mouthfuls of bread. “She’s still a baby.”

“Speaking
of babies…”
Vinya
sat down at the table next to him.
“It’s about time we try to conceive a second. Our village needs children to
survive.” She reached out, running her fingertips along his arm. “It’s been so
long since –”

Bastian
looked up at her.
Vinya
had loosened her top. She
dipped her chin and fluttered her eyelashes at him. Long ago, that move worked.
He was younger. More eager. Trying to drown out his frustration about losing
Tressa.

Now he
didn’t want anything to do with
Vinya
.

“Sophia
died.”

Vinya’s
hand
snapped back as if he’d burned her. “Finally. That woman was too old. Taking up
resources the rest of us need.”

Bastian
held back the urge to slap her. He’d never raised a hand to anyone, much less
Vinya
, but there were moments he fantasized about it. “She
was loved deeply by many in this village.”

Vinya
snorted.

“What?”
He asked even though he knew he shouldn’t.

“You’re
only worried about your precious little Tressa. Just like always.”
Vinya
stood up and continued sweeping the floor. The dirt
among the rushes didn’t stand a chance against her fury. “Well, after tomorrow
that won’t be a problem anymore. Maybe once the fog swallows her, you’ll be
back in my bed. She’ll be forgotten and we can finally have a proper marriage.”

Bastian
stood up, wiped the crumbs off his hands over the plate, and placed it in the
washbin
. He scrubbed with the
cloth,
sure he would wear a hole in the metal plate. “You shouldn’t speak of death
like that.”

It had
been gnawing on his soul.
Every day since Tressa’s name was
chosen three months ago.
He’d sought her out repeatedly, but never had
the strength to say what he wanted. That he missed her. He loved her. He wanted
her to stay in the village and live a long life even if he could never touch
her again.

“I
can’t wait for Tressa to die.”
Vinya
stood defiant,
her hands clutching the broom’s handle. “I’ll finally have you all to myself.”

Bastian
glared at
Vinya
. “You will never have me.
Never again.
You make me sick.” He tossed the plate on the
table. It slipped and fell to the floor. Neither made a move to pick it up.
Bastian strode across the room and through the doorway. He slammed the door
behind him, not caring who saw.

She’d
gone too far.