Chapter 26 – The Ledger in the Snow
They did not bind my eyes.
Perhaps they wanted me to see where we went.
Perhaps they knew it would make no difference.
The road curved north, a pale ribbon of churned ice that glimmered under the moon. My boots slipped in the ruts, but no one offered to steady me.
I kept my head high all the same.
Every time my gaze drifted back over my shoulder, I half-expected to see the ledger still lying in the snow, its cover reflecting the lantern glow like a single, unblinking eye.
But the crossroads had vanished behind the rise.
And with it, any last pretense that I could turn back.
---
We walked for a long time.
Once, I tried to count my steps to anchor my thoughts.
Thirty.
Sixty.
Somewhere past a hundred, I lost track.
The cold had begun to find the seams of my coat, threading itself into the hollow behind my ribs.
---
When the road ended, we did not stop.
They led me down a narrow path I had never noticed before—a cleft between two ridges, where old stones pressed out of the drifts like broken teeth.
The wind hissed there, a voice made of nothing but cold.
The man on my left shifted his grip on my arm. Not roughly—only enough to remind me that I was not free to wander.
---
I did not speak.
Words had become a currency I no longer had reason to spend.
---
At last, we came to a place where the slope flattened.
An old foundation lay here, black timbers rising half-buried from the snow. No roof remained.
Only four standing posts, each wrapped in the remnants of iron strapping.
I knew this place.
Long ago, I had stood at the edge of the granary ruins, watching boys older than I was toss torches through the shattered windows.
I remembered the way the fire had swallowed the grain, how the smoke had risen in a single column that could be seen from every quarter.
Some things never truly faded.
---
One of the men moved ahead to check the footing. His lantern traced dull arcs across the timbers, making shadows that stretched and shrank as though they were alive.
The tall one who had spoken first turned to face me.
"This was once a granary," he said. His voice was as even as before. "Burned in the riots."
"I know," I said.
His head tilted a fraction, as if my answer surprised him.
"Then you understand why we brought you here."
"Because no one will ask questions."
He regarded me a moment longer.
"You're not afraid," he observed.
"I am," I said. "But it makes no difference."
He studied me with an expression I could not see but felt all the same.
Then he gestured.
The others took hold of my arms, guiding me into the center of the foundation.
I did not resist.
---
Snow had drifted here, deep enough that it covered my boots to the top of the laces.
I thought again of the ledger.
How many times I had believed it would be enough to protect me.
How many times I had pressed my palm to its cover, hoping that the act alone could make the record more than ink and scraped parchment.
---
One of the men produced a length of rope. The fibers were new—unworn, unsullied by old use.
They meant this to be final.
I drew a slow breath.
The air tasted of ash and iron, as though the embers of that long-ago fire still smoldered here.
---
When they bound my hands again, I did not speak.
No plea.
No protest.
Only the quiet understanding that this, too, had been written long before I stood here.
---
They stepped back, the three of them forming a rough half-circle.
I thought, absurdly, that they looked like jurors convened for a verdict no one intended to contest.
---
The tall one regarded me in silence.
Then he drew something from within his cloak—a small, leather-wrapped bundle.
He crouched to set it in the snow at my feet.
---
"You thought the ledger was your protection," he said.
"It was my truth," I corrected.
He inclined his head.
"And that is why you have this."
His voice was softer now. Not kind, precisely, but almost…reverent.
As though he, too, knew what it meant to leave something behind that could not be denied.
---
He rose and turned away.
No signal was given.
The others followed without hesitation, their boots silent against the drifts.
I watched them climb the slope until the darkness swallowed their shapes.
---
For a moment, nothing moved.
The snow fell in thin, listless flakes, landing on my shoulders without melting.
It felt as though the world itself had decided not to witness what came next.
---
When I looked down, the bundle remained where he had set it.
Snow began to gather along the seams.
Slowly, I knelt.
The rope bit into my wrists, but I ignored it.
My breath came in short clouds, each fading before I could draw the next.
---
I set my fingers against the leather and drew it open.
Inside lay my ledger.
The last page unmarked.
Waiting.
---
A tremor passed through me. Not fear—something older.
Recognition.
That every choice I had made had been recorded here, and that no matter what came next, it would remain.
---
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time since the tribunal, I felt something close to peace.
Not because I believed I would survive.
But because the ledger was still mine.
---
Snow settled on the exposed page, melting into the fibers.
When I opened my eyes again, I did not brush it away.
---
In the hush, I heard my own voice, soft as a thought:
I will not be unmade.
And I knew it was true.