The Grace Year(61)

“Kiersten,” I whisper, my shoulder aching at the memory. “It was an axe.”

Dabbing at the edges of my cut with witch hazel, he asks, “What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I say, my chin beginning to quiver. I try to pull up the pelts to hide my emotion, but I don’t have the strength. “I only wanted to make things better…,” I whisper. “I wanted it to be … different.”

“Why?” he asks, rewrapping my shoulder in a fresh bandage. I don’t think he’s that interested, he’s probably just trying to keep me talking, keep me conscious, but I want to talk. I want to tell someone my story, just in case …

“The dreams,” I reply. “The women of the county aren’t allowed to dream, but I’ve dreamt of a girl ever since I can remember.”

He looks at me curiously. “Is that the girl you were asking me about?”

I don’t remember telling him about her; it makes me wonder what else I’ve told him in my addled state, but what does it matter anymore.

“I know it sounds crazy, but she was real to me. She showed me things … she made me believe that things could be different … not just for the grace year girls but for the laborers … the women of the outskirts, too.”

He stops and stares at me. “Is that your magic?” he asks.

“No.” I shake my head.

“Then what do you think it means?”

“I don’t think it means anything anymore. It’s just a fantasy. What I wanted my life to be.” Reaching for the comfort of my braid, I pull it over my shoulder, tracing the red ribbon with my fingertips. “In the county, only our husbands are allowed to see us with our hair down, but when we arrived at the encampment, the girls took out their braids as a symbol that they’ve embraced their magic. I refused. That’s the real reason they turned on me.”

“Why would you refuse to embrace your magic?” he asks, unable to conceal his shock.

My eyes well up to the point that I can’t see clearly, but I refuse to blink. “Because it isn’t real.” Saying it out loud feels dangerous but necessary.

Pressing his wrist against my forehead, he says, “We really need to get your fever down.”

I jerk my head away from him. “I’m serious. I don’t know if it’s something in the air, the water, our food, but something is making them change … making them see and feel things that aren’t real. It happened to me, too, but when they banished me from the camp, I got better. Clearer.”

“You were starving to death when I found you, bleeding out—”

“Have you ever seen them fly?” I raise my voice. “Have you ever seen them disappear before your very eyes? Have you ever seen them do anything … but die?” The tears finally release, searing down my face.

“Drink this,” he says, pouring a cup of steaming broth from a kettle.

My eyes widen. “I thought I couldn’t have any more—”

“It’s yarrow. It won’t ease the pain, but it might help with the fever.”

Sipping the broth, I try to forget about the pain nagging at my shoulder and think of anything else, but my thoughts keep coming back to my family. A different kind of pain. My little sisters. I bet they’re worried sick about me, worried about what will happen to them if my body goes unaccounted for.

“If I die … promise you’ll skin me,” I say, swallowing the bitter liquid. “Give me an honorable death, so my sisters won’t be punished.”

“Of course,” he says without the slightest hesitation.

“Of course?” I try to raise my head. “Can’t you even say, Hey, don’t talk like that. I’m sure you’re going to make it?”

“I’m used to speaking my mind.” He sets the cup on the table. “I say what I mean.”

“What a luxury that must be.” I laugh as I settle further back in the pelts, but it’s not at all funny. “I don’t think I’ve ever been able to do that.”

“Why not?”

I try to focus on him, but I can feel the fever taking over. “In the county, there’s nothing more dangerous than a woman who speaks her mind. That’s what happened to Eve, you know, why we were cast out from heaven. We’re dangerous creatures. Full of devil charms. If given the opportunity, we will use our magic to lure men to sin, to evil, to destruction.” My eyes are getting heavy, too heavy to roll in a dramatic fashion. “That’s why they send us here.”

“To rid yourself of your magic,” he says.

“No,” I whisper as I drift off to sleep. “To break us.”





A shrill caw in the distance jars me awake.

Ryker reaches for his knife belt and then stops, sinking back into the shadows.

“Aren’t you going?” I ask.

“It’s too far away. The call is coming all the way from the northwest.”

That may be true, but I want to believe it’s more than the distance, that maybe he’s starting to see us in a different light.

As he tends to the fire, my eyes veer toward the glass bottles lined up on the table, set there like a constant reminder.

“How can you do it?” I ask, a dry hollow sound to my voice. “Kill innocent girls?”