Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(39)

Mirror looked up, eyes wide. “Excuse me? I’m doing fine.”

Serina pulled the needle from her fingers. “You’re not. Now move over. I can do better.”

At least, she thought she could. If it were a length of fabric and embroidery yarn, she would be certain. She’d never tried to sew up skin before.

Serina looked into the injured woman’s ashen face. “Okay, Tremor,” she said, trying to sound calm and reassuring. “I’m going to fix up your arm, okay?”

“Fine,” she growled. “Just get it done.”

Serina nodded. Mirror moved out of the way, mouth pinched into a frown. Serina focused on the wound. It had been cleaned but was still oozing blood. About a third of the gash had been stitched. She began at that end, adding tiny stitches to fill the places where the skin still gapped. After the first, she forgot everything but the movement of her hands, the snick and pinch of needle, the quick tie-off of thread. Skin became fabric, thread became embroidery yarn, and in minutes, Tremor had a line of tiny, neat stitches closing her wound. Serina tied off the last and then picked up the pot of salve and covered the ridge of thread.

“There,” she said. “All done.”

The woman looked down at her arm. “You were so fast,” she said wonderingly.

Ember bumped Serina in the shoulder. Her strip of red hair had been freshly cut, making her look especially fierce. “Good work, Grace.”

Mirror squeezed Serina’s arm. Some of her color had come back. “You were right. Your stitches are better. Next time, I’ll come get you.”

Serina stood up and, for the first time, noticed the blood coating her hands. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck, and her fingers trembled. She rushed for the tunnel. Outside, the heat of the afternoon pressed down on her. She plunged her hands into the trickle of stream that fed the orange trees. Then she scrubbed, over and over, long after all vestiges of blood were gone.

She’d pierced skin, sewn someone up with barely a thought. What was this place turning her into?

A little later, she heard footsteps from within the cave. Jacana came up beside her. “Ember said we should be training.”

Mutely, Serina followed the smaller girl down through the trees. When they reached the training grounds, Gia, Oracle, and a handful of others were already fighting. The new freshie still looked blank with terror. Serina had only been here a few weeks, but somehow she was adapting. All that training she did to become a Grace, the endless lessons and forced neglect of her own needs, served her well here. Instead of dancing, she fought. Instead of playing the harp, she foraged for food. Instead of embroidering a pillow, she sewed up skin. And instead of pleasing the Heir, she tried to please her crew.

If Serina thought about it like that, if she focused on her purpose, she didn’t mourn so much the things she might have wanted for her life. Or the people she missed.

“Grace, you’re up!” Oracle shouted from within the circle.

Serina steeled herself and headed for the older women. She was getting better at fighting, but she still hated it.

When she’d reached a clear space in the trampled grass, Oracle faced off with her. Serina’s eyes widened. She glanced at Gia, who was facing the freshie. “I thought I’d be fighting—” she started.

“You’ll be fighting me,” Oracle interjected. Her mismatched eyes zeroed in on Serina, who suddenly felt horribly exposed. If it was true that Oracle could tell what you were thinking, where you were going to move, just by looking at you, she had to know Serina wished she could run.

But Serina had learned already that running wasn’t an option. Not here.

She raised her fists.

Oracle jabbed her in the stomach before she was even aware they’d begun. Serina grunted. She sidestepped Oracle’s next jab, weight focused on the balls of her feet. She ducked and swerved, throwing her own punch. She didn’t connect, but at least it had a little force behind it. Oracle dropped and twisted, trying to sweep Serina’s legs, but she managed to leap out of the way. Spinning, she used her momentum to push forward and shove Oracle. It was an ugly move, and for once, Oracle didn’t anticipate her. The woman rocked back a few steps, though she didn’t fall.

Serina pushed her advantage, getting in one good punch to Oracle’s stomach. Then she shoved her again. Oracle ran into one of the other girls and tripped over her leg. She fell, but before Serina could reach her, she’d already heaved herself to her feet and rushed forward, catching Serina around the belly. They both went tumbling to the ground, inches from scraping their heads against the rough volcanic rock surrounding the training field.

Serina stared at the sky, gasping, as she waited for the air to return to her lungs. Oracle sat up, rubbing her forearm. “Not bad, Grace,” she said, sounding more sad than impressed. “Shoving can be good for the element of surprise, but don’t do it too often. It leaves your head and the back of your neck exposed.”

Serina sat up slowly, wisps of air finally finding their way to her lungs. It was another minute before she could respond. “I’ll remember that.”

“Keep practicing your footwork. Your dancing skills help, but you’re still moving too slow. Work on your speed, your reaction time.” Her attention turned to the other fighters.

“Why do we do this?” Serina asked. It was a question that had dogged her since her first night on the island. “Why do we let the guards make us fight? If we all just said no, wouldn’t they be forced to feed us instead?” She understood that the rations were limited, but surely it would be better to share what food they had rather than this system.