I was itchy.
Not normal itchy.
Not survived the woods and forgot to change undergarments itchy.
No, this was divine retribution by way of sugar and ants itchy.
And the worst part? Everyone thought it was funny.
Zealot twins? Grinning like they'd just seen the prophecy fulfilled. Pillar-of-Dawn actually winked at me when I nearly tore off my loincloth trying to scratch discreetly.
Mercy-of-Gold giggled every time I passed her. Didn't even try to hide it. Just stood there with her perfect smug face and whispered "sticky justice" under her breath like it was a fucking blessing.
Loma? Still sniffling like she was the victim. I wanted to throttle her. With my bare, still-itching hands.
We got the ointment on day three. Three. They made us wait three days before Sister Comfort slithered in with her basket of salvation, like she was the Virgin of Salves. She dabbed it on with a stick like we were lepers and she was trying to avoid contamination.
It helped.
Eventually.
A little.
But my mood? That was beyond ointment.
So yes, I was in my hammock, arms crossed, legs twitching every few seconds, trying not to gouge grooves into my skin with my nails.
Loma dared to say something. Something about how "at least we learned something."
I threw a sandal at her.
Didn't even lift my head. Just grabbed it from under the hammock and flung it with righteous, itchy rage.
It hit her in the thigh.
She gasped like I'd stabbed her.
"Stop being dramatic," I growled. "I'm the one with ants in her memory."
A few Sisters passed nearby. One chuckled.
"Laugh again," I snarled, "and I swear I will climb down from this hammock and exfoliate my trauma on your face."
They scurried off.
Good.
I flopped onto my back and scratched my calf with the edge of the hammock rope. It burned. I didn't care.
Everything itched.
Everything twitched.
Everything pissed me off.
This wasn't spiritual discipline.
This was sponsored dermatological torment.
"Steel is sister," someone chirped nearby.
I bolted upright. "Steel is gonna shove a fire ant up your holy passage if you keep chanting."
Silence.
Blessed, wonderful silence.
I sank back down.
Still itchy.
Still furious.
Still alive.
Barely.
Right then and there — hammock half-swinging, skin crawling like a damned termite convention, ointment drying in sticky streaks on my thighs — I made a solemn, bone-deep decision.
I was going to run away.
Screw the Sisterhood. Screw their chants, their crops, their slogans, their zealots, their drum circles, their snake oil sermons, and their masochistic spa treatments.
Enough was enough.
The Dragon? He could rot wherever he was sulking. Cowardly, flake-scaled bastard hadn't lifted a single claw to save me. Fine. Good riddance. He probably got distracted by a wheel of smoked gouda and forgot I existed.
Figures.
So be it.
No one's coming.
No one's helping.
It's Saya versus the world — again.
No backstabbing, squirmy, self-declared royal pain in the ass to drag along. No noble sob stories or teary betrayals mid-punishment. I was done with all of them.
Just me. My wits. My two bare feet. And my absolute refusal to let some sandal-hating commune of bloodthirsty feminists decide what goes in my hair or how many ants should nibble on my ass cheeks.
And I would steal cheese.
At least one full wheel.
Creamy.
Smoked.
Preferably goat.
Why?
Because fuck them, that's why.
I wasn't just going to escape. I was going to haunt their supply ledgers. I was going to vanish with enough rations to make their quartermaster cry. I was going to sneak past their guards, piss on their slogans, and leave behind a trail of empty honey jars and half-eaten buns.
Saya Steel — deserter, criminal, and legend.
I've escaped worse.
…Okay, maybe not successfully. But I'd tried.
Almost.
Close enough.
Doesn't matter.
This time, I'd make it. I'd run until the chants faded, until the slogans were just background noise in someone else's nightmare. I'd find a village. Or a ship. Or a goat-cart headed south.
I'd live.
They'd itch.
That was the deal.
That was the plan.
And gods help anyone who tried to stop me.
Especially if they laughed.