The Grace Year(87)

I wrench up whatever’s left in my stomach.

There’s only one person who’s not afraid of the curse …

who likes to play with bones …

who knows the language of flowers and where to procure them.

Anders said he’d come back for me. He kept his promise.

Now maybe it’s time to break mine.





As I head back to camp, there are no eager faces around the campfire waiting to be fed, no Gertie tidying up the larder. No Dovey annoying me with her incessant coo. I’m wondering if everyone’s still asleep, but when I peek in the lodging house, I find it’s empty.

A horrifying thought creeps in. Ryker told me that if the poachers no longer feared the curse, every girl in the camp would be dead by sunrise.

Running into the clearing, I’m starting to panic when I hear hushed voices, weeping, coming from the back of the lodging house.

I should be relieved to see them unharmed, but the way they’re huddled together in a tight circle, staring down at the ground, gives me pause.

“What is it?” I ask, unable to hide the nervous tremor in my voice. “What’s happened?”

Before anyone has a chance to answer, Kiersten advances on me, fire in her eyes, veins bulging from her neck. “Give me your hands,” she screams. “Let me see your hands!”

I’m looking around, desperately trying to figure out what’s going on. Gertrude meets my gaze, but all she can do is shake her head, tears streaming down her face.

Kiersten grabs my hands, inspecting them from every angle. “She must’ve scrubbed it off.”

“Scrubbed what off?” I ask, my breath shallow in my chest.

“Don’t play innocent with me. Where did the blood come from?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This.” She yanks me over so I’m standing directly in front of the back wall of the lodging house.

There, written in dark red blood, is the word WHORE.

And below it, on the soft dirt, lies a bird, neck snapped, wings spread, a yellow nasturtium placed on its chest. The symbol of betrayal.

“Dovey,” I whisper.

Looking around at their distraught faces, I realize they think I did this. This is exactly what Anders wants. He wants them to turn on me. Cast me out.

“I … I didn’t do this…,” I sputter.

“I suppose you want us to believe a ghost did this. How could you do this to Helen? The weakest among us—”

“Wait … where is Helen?” I ask.

“If this is about your stupid cloak, you can ju—”

“Where’s Helen?” I shout.

“We thought she was with you,” Becca says, looking up at me, eyes red with tears.

“Why would you think that?” I ask.

“Last night, we saw her skipping into the woods,” Martha says.

“Was she wearing my cloak?” I whisper.

“We tried to get it from her,” Nanette says, “but she said it gave her powers.”

As I take off running toward the woods, Kiersten’s yelling after me, “This isn’t over, Tierney. You have to answer for what you’ve done.”

My heart is hammering. My stomach is so tight you could pound it like a drum. I’m tearing down the path, calling out her name, when I see the tattered hem of my cloak peeking out from beneath a willow.

The dread I feel is overwhelming, but when I pull the edge of the wool and realize it’s not attached to her body, I let out a huge burst of air. “Calm down,” I whisper. She probably just got too warm and dropped it, but as I dust it off and put it back on, I notice something odd: a wide swath of clean fresh dirt leading under the tree. As if someone had been dragged—

Clawing through the veil of stringy limbs, I find her hidden underneath. “Helen.” I gently shake her shoulder, but she’s already gone cold. Sinking beside her, I see her red ribbon is coiled around her throat so tightly, it cut into her skin. Just like the girl on the ridge. I’m racking my brain, searching for answers, but I can’t understand why he would just leave her body here? A kill like this is all he needs.

But it’s not about that, is it? This is personal. This is about me.

He won’t stop until he gets what he wants.

And I’m going to give it to him.





As they load Helen’s body onto the wagon, Kiersten drags me by my hair to the punishment tree.

“Get the hatchet,” she calls out.

I’m trying to think of anything I can say to get out of this, but I’m tired of lying—to them, to myself. Gertie’s right. The truth has come to the surface, whether I’m ready for it or not.

“There’s a poacher in the encampment,” I yell.

Kiersten laughs as she drops me in front of the tree. “It’s always someone else’s fault, right, Tierney?”

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault,” I say. “I’m the reason Hel en’s dead.” My eyes well up as I look back at Helen’s body. “She was wearing my cloak. He thought it was me.”

“Is that why you were so upset about it going missing?” Vivi asks.

“Don’t listen to her lies. She’s just trying to trick us,” Kiersten says.