The Grace Year(30)

The room goes completely still, the same hush that precedes a hanging.

Kiersten’s eyes narrow on me. I’m trying to stay calm, act like I’m not afraid, but my heart is pounding so hard I’m sure she can hear it.

“That’s what I thought.” Pulling the red ribbon from her hair, she shakes her braid free, sending long tendrils of honeyed waves spilling over her shoulders. The girls seem to take in a collective breath, enamored and fearful of this wanton act. Other than our sisters, we’ve never seen a girl with her hair down before.

Ravenna starts to pull out her own ribbon, but Kiersten grabs her wrist, squeezing it so tight that I see her fingers blanch. “Only girls who’ve claimed their magic can remove their braid.”

As she slowly walks back to the other side of the room, the girls watch her with envious eyes. Even I find myself wondering what it would feel like to be free of it.

“Veiled girls on this side,” Kiersten says as she claims the bed against the far wall, center stage, so she can survey her new kingdom.

As the veiled girls scramble for the best mattresses, jockeying for position near Kiersten, Gertrude and I stand back with the others. Kiersten is drawing a line in the sand. And this is clearly a test. She wants to see what we’ll do. If we try to join them, she’ll probably just laugh, cast us off with the others. But if we don’t try, she’ll take it as a sign of aggression.

I’m trying to figure out the right move when Gertrude laces her pinkie through mine. The strange warmth, the firm grip, catches me off guard.

“Come on, Tierney,” she says as she pulls me back. I’m shocked that she’s taking this stand, but I’m glad.

It’s wrong of Kiersten and the others to flaunt their veils in this way. It must feel like salt in the wound to some. But on top of being cruel, it’s foolish. The fact remains that there are more unveiled girls than there are of them.

Untangling the iron frames, the rest of us drag them into position on the other side of the room. The metal scraping against the well-worn oak floors sets my teeth on edge. I can’t help thinking of the girls who slept here before us. Were they just as scared as we are? What happened to them?

After a few minutes, Jenna whispers something to Kiersten.

“Fine,” Kiersten says with a heavy sigh. “Except for Tierney and Gertie, whoever wants to come over to our side can, but not too close.”

Martha and the rest of the unveiled girls look at each other, then at me. I’m expecting them to jump at the chance and start dragging their beds to the other side of the room, but instead, they simply lay their bedding where they stand.

The familiar heat moves through my limbs, prickling the back of my eyes, but it’s not anger this time. There’s something in this simple act of rebellion that gets to me—gives me a bit of hope.

As I unpack my belongings, laying the bedding on bare springs, I find a braided leather tassel hidden inside, the same kind they use to adorn the riding crops in the stable. “Hans,” I whisper, running my fingers over the elaborate braid. I know this is his handiwork. It’s possible he slipped this into my pack as a memento when they brought the supplies to the gate, but what if he put it in there right before he threw the pack over the gate so I would know it was him? What if Kiersten’s magic had nothing to do with it?





The girl leads me through the woods, but something’s different.

The trees are taller, the birdsong has changed, even the sound of distant water has shifted; instead of the steady rhythmic trickling of the river, there’s a slow swell, followed by something that sounds like lard hitting a hot pan. I remember that sound from when we arrived—it’s the sound of waves hitting a pebbled shore.

“Where are we?” I ask, tripping over a slippery cluster of rocks. “Is there a gathering?”

She doesn’t reply; she only presses forward, finally coming to a stop in front of a cluster of trees—only they’re not trees—it’s a fence made up of massive cedar logs.

Reaching out, she presses her palms against the wood; it begins to crumble.

I can’t see anything on the other side, but I hear it—heavy breath moving in and out.

“Don’t!” I pull her back. “There’s poachers out there. They’re waiting for us.”

Peering over her shoulder, her gray eyes pierce right through me.

“I know,” she whispers.



* * *



I wake with a gasping breath. It takes me a good minute to remember where I am.

Turning on my side, I find Gertrude staring straight at me. I can’t even begin to decipher the expression on her face. It’s strange that I never really noticed her before. I took her as plain, a scared rabbit among a den of wolves, but she’s so much more than that.

“You were dreaming,” she whispers.

“No, I wasn’t.” I wrap my cloak tighter around me. “I was just talking to myself.”

“It’s okay.”

“But…” I look around to see who else has heard.

“Whatever happens during our grace year will never leave the encampment, you know that.”

The way she says it, the dark tone in her voice—it makes me wonder if the rule was created by us. A way to avoid prosecution.

“Do you ever … dream?” I ask, having a hard time even getting the word out.