by Dylan Farrow
Morning sunlight from the large front windows fills the shop. I blink, letting my eyes adjust. The store seems larger today, as merchandise is sold and little replaces it. More of the dusty brown wood of the floor and shelves are exposed as customers drift in and out, picking at everything little by little. Hugo makes a valiant effort to keep up appearances; the place is meticulously clean and tidy, but I wonder what will happen when he has nothing left to sell.
My thoughts halt when I see Mads’s father across the shop. Immediately, my heart begins to race. He’s placing his meager purchases in his rucksack and doesn’t notice me approach.
“Excuse me, sir,” I venture, tapping him on the shoulder. He turns and does not look pleased to see me. The cursed girl his son spends too much time with. “I was wondering where…”
“Maddox has gone to the Bards.”
A tiny gasp escapes me. “Why?”
His father scratches his beard and sighs. “For you, I think.”
Me? Before the word leaves my mouth, or I can ask when he’ll be back, Mads’s father abruptly turns and leaves.
I stand there in shock until a customer nudges me roughly out of the way. I snap out of it and place the rice on one of the shelves.
“What’s she doing here?” I hear the woman hiss over the counter to Fiona as she pays for a small bag of prairie flour. “Hasn’t this charity gone on long enough?”
“Shae is our family now. This is her home too.”
The woman pays Fiona with an irritable sniff and leaves. When Fiona catches my eye at the door to the stockroom, I look at the floor. Shame burns my face. Because it’s true—her family has treated me like I am one of them, even when the rest of Aster wishes I had been found dead too.
But Mads went to the Bards on my behalf. I grow giddy at even the small promise of hope. Perhaps there exists some possibility for justice. If I wait only a little longer, everything will turn out right.
It’s certainly a noble thing to do. Perhaps I’ve been seeing him in the wrong light all along.
I could fall for a man who goes in search of justice on my behalf.
Suddenly, all the awful feelings that have been suffocating me begin to lift a little, making room for something else: a small fluttering in my chest. A wisp of faith.
“Shae, come look at this!” Fiona’s face brightens as she waves me over from behind the counter. In her hand is a delicate silver hair comb inlaid with colored glass. It looks like a butterfly caught in flight and catches the light when Fiona tilts it in her hand. That same wisp of faith allows me the simple joy of appreciating its beauty. “Miss Ines just traded this for a bag of prairie flour. Said it was in her family for six generations.”
“She must have already traded her manners,” I mutter, and Fiona giggles. My fingertips ghost over the comb. The delicate design is nowhere near as fine, but it reminds me a little of the bridle Ravod’s horse wore. I can’t help imagining what it would look like adorning my hair.
“Pa doesn’t like it when I trade for something purely decorative,” Fiona says, “but I couldn’t resist. It’s too lovely.”
“But it’s clearly expensive. Worth much more than a bag of flour.”
Fiona rolls her eyes and imitates Hugo’s deep, businesslike voice, which always makes me laugh. “People need things that are practical,” she says. Then, growing serious, “We can’t resell it. Anyone will look at this and say it’s not enough silver to make anything useful out of. They won’t care how beautiful it is.”
“You should hold on to it,” I say.
Fiona smiles quietly to herself as she admires the tiny comb. “Maybe just for now,” she says. “Even if there’s no occasion to wear it, it’s a nice reminder. We should hold on to beautiful things while we have them.”
Her words make me think of Ma. Her smile. Her gentle hands. Her warm embrace. The beautiful things I could not hold on to.
What would Ma do if she were here?
I take the comb from Fiona and fix it in her hair. It catches the light brilliantly from amongst the golden waves, like it was meant to be there.
I manage a smile. “Perfect.”
* * *
At the end of the day, Fiona is sweeping the shop floor before closing up. I stretch, my body aching from standing hours on end—it’s different work than farming but exhausting in its own way. I hide a yawn behind my hand as Fiona finishes dusting the counter and moves on to the shelves. I’m already fantasizing about curling up on my bedroll, closing my eyes and blocking out the rest of the world, when the shop door opens.
My stomach plummets to the ground.
“Constable Dunne, always a pleasure to see you!” Even I can hear the strain in Fiona’s voice as she steals a glance at me. Is this what I think it is?
Dunne tips his broad-brimmed hat to us. “Good evening, Fiona.” He doesn’t bother to turn to me. “Shae.”
This doesn’t bode well. I set my broom aside and approach him.
“Is there news?” I ask. “Did you find Ma’s killer?”
He fiddles with his hat, and I count the seconds until he finally looks at me. “That’s a dangerous word, Shae. We don’t know what happened that night. We can’t be leaping to assumptions.”
“Leaping to assumptions? I saw the dagger! There was blood all over the floor!”
“Now, Shae…”
“I don’t know what you’ve found or haven’t, but you need to keep looking.” My mind starts racing. Fiona comes to my side, putting an arm around my shoulder. “What about the tracks on the road? Or the dagger? Surely there must be…”
“Shae.” His voice is calm, but firm. “It’s over.”
Fiona squeezes my shoulder, but I wrench myself free, my eyes glistening with my unleashed rage. “I don’t understand. You promised me, Constable. On that day. You assured me.” False words. “I thought you were a man of your word. Or is that not the truth?”
Fiona gasps.
“Tread carefully, young one,” Dunne says through his teeth. “Perhaps our kindness has made you forget your place. You need to put this behind you.” Dunne places his hat back on his head. I reach for the broom handle so I can have something, anything, to hold on to. My knuckles flush bone white. “I know it’s hard. And it’s not what you want to hear. But nothing more can be done.” He turns on his heel to leave.
“So ‘justice’ in this town means giving up?” I call out to his back. “To simply lose hope?”
To pretend Ma and Kieran never existed? To forget?
“It’s been nearly two weeks with no new leads. There’s nothing more I can do,” Dunne says. “It’s time to start moving ahead with life. You’ve got a lot of it ahead of you. It’s what your ma would have wanted.”
I nearly break the broom, I’m gripping it so hard. “How dare you assume what she would have wanted,” I hiss under my breath.
“Leave him be,” Fiona says as she watches the door swing wide and shut once more. When she’s sure he’s gone, she rubs out the tension in her shoulder. “Shae, you can’t go throwing around accusations like that.”
I throw the broom to the ground and cradle my throbbing head in my hands against the counter. I can’t get Dunne’s infuriating words out.
The walls of the shop feel like they are converging on me as I drag my hands through my hair.
“Why not?” Even though my eyes are open, all I can see is the dark. “I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back. The flash of hurt on Fiona’s face almost makes me want to apologize.
But that’s the thing about words. Once you’ve said them, there’s no going back.
We don’t speak the rest of the evening.
7
My dreams are plagued with nightmares. Whispers in the darkness and watching eyes, trained on me like a predator about to strike. My body is heavy and sluggish, powerless to flee or fight. I can only struggle feebly, but the more I do, the closer the darkness creeps, its claws sinkin
g deeper into my skin until I’m submerged in the inky blackness.
I push myself onto my elbows. My racing heart slows as I ground myself. I’m in the bedroll by the hearth in Fiona’s room. The flame has burned down to soft embers; it must be long past midnight.
Sitting up properly, I rub my eyes. My forehead is slick with cold sweat, and my hands ache from clenching my fists in my sleep.
It’s what your ma would have wanted echoes relentlessly in my mind, yet I know it’s not true.
Without thinking, I throw the threadbare quilt off my legs and rise to my feet, grabbing my clothes and shoes. I wait until I’m safely on the other side of the door before I pull them on and head quietly down the stairs.
I need to go home; I have to see it for myself. Maybe I can find some clue that Dunne missed.
I hurry into the shop, heading for the door. I’ll be back before dawn. They will never even know I was missing.
“Shae?” I freeze when I hear Fiona’s curious voice behind me. “Where are you going?”
I turn toward Fiona, her face visibly clouded with worry even in the dim light. I don’t know what to say to her. The days I’ve been at the shop feel like a hopeless blur. I’m wandering blindfolded in a storm.
Fiona has been the only thing keeping my head above the merciless waves of grief that threaten to destroy me. I’m selfish to make her worry.
“I…” I lift my chin to meet her gaze as she steps closer. “I wanted to see my house.”
A sob escapes my throat, and Fiona wraps her arms around me as my tears free themselves.
“Shae,” she says, gently stroking my disheveled hair, “there’s nothing for you to find there except more heartbreak. Don’t punish yourself like this.”
In the darkness of the store, she holds me a long time before letting go. I wipe my eyes with the heel of my palm.
“I feel so useless. I can’t stand it,” I say finally. “Nothing about this makes any sense.”
“That’s understandable.” Fiona’s voice is comforting. “None of this has been easy, or fair. But nothing can change it. All you can do is move forward.”
I feel a sting of indignation at her words. So like the constable’s. Someone walks into my house, stabs my mother, and vanishes, and I’m supposed to forget about it and move on with my life?
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “There’s more to it than this. There’s a person out there, and they had a reason for killing Ma.”
“Even if that were true, isn’t it all the more reason to stay away? You should be thankful your own life was spared.”
I stare at her, coldness washing over me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Only that I’m relieved you’re safe, and I want it to stay that way.”
“Because you think the curse on our family is real, don’t you?” My voice rises.
“Shae, calm down. I’m not saying…”
“Aren’t you though? What if this happened to your mother?” I’ve never raised my voice with Fiona before. Frustration and guilt twist inside me, gnawing at my heart.
A foreign emotion glimmers in Fiona’s eyes. “Don’t.” Her voice has gone flat. “Don’t talk like that. It’s dangerous.”
“You think I don’t know that? My mother was murdered!” My fists ball at my sides, the tips of my nails digging into my palms.
She gasps. Murder. It’s a forbidden word. I’ve thought it—many times over the past weeks. But never, ever, have I said it aloud. As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I wish I could take it back. It hangs in the air between us, ugly and invisible, and I shiver, suddenly feeling sick. Maybe she’s right.
Maybe I’m a danger to everyone—including her.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Fiona says into the stunned silence. “Not if you’re going to put me and my whole family at risk.”
I stammer. Words fail me completely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No, Shae. You did,” Fiona fires back. “You’re behaving like a petulant child. Is this how you thank us for everything we’ve done for you?” Her eyes are cold as she glares at me. I’ve never seen Fiona like this. I barely know how to react.
“I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I just—”
“Maybe not intentionally,” Fiona cuts me off. “But that’s your problem, Shae. You never think things through. You’re too insistent. Your anger is burning you alive. You’d set this whole town aflame with it. And I can’t stand by and watch it happen.”
My breath grinds out through my teeth. “If you want to sit this one out, fine. But don’t complain that I am doing what I think is right. There are things more important than meekly obeying the rules.”
“More important than your life? Your safety? Your happiness?” Her voice breaks. She looks like she’s going to cry, the unspoken question in the tremble of her voice, asking: More important than me?
“I need to know what really happened,” I say softly.
I turn away, darting into the darkness, and leave her behind.
* * *
The air is crisp and cold tonight. I hug my arms halfheartedly, for what little good it does. The chill distracts me only momentarily from my fight with Fiona.
Aster looks ghostly in the pale light of the full moon, its residents sleeping peacefully behind the darkened windows of their homes.
Anger crackles in my chest as Fiona’s words wind to the forefront of my mind. I’m cursed, and she knows somehow. I’m a danger to her. She doesn’t want me around. No one does.
When I finally crest the hill and my house comes into view, a low gray shape in the darkness, a mix of emotions rushes up into my chest, sickness and dread coating the usual feelings of safety and home. And piercing through it all, a pang that hurts the most—I miss my ma. I miss her so much, I am afraid the feeling will tear itself through the walls of my rib cage and burst out into the night like a feral beast.
A loud rustling sounds behind me, and I gasp, fearing I’ve somehow conjured a feral beast at the thought. I spin on my heel.
“Is someone there?” I call out, prepared to scream as I picture Ma’s murderer leaping out at me from the darkness.
For some stupid reason, I step away from the edge of the road, toward the woods.
Another crunch of branches.
I stand on guard, my entire body rigid. If someone is here to finish the job, I at least want to see their face before I die. To know.
“Damn … Damn it!” Mads stumbles through the branches. Twigs and leaves adorn his hair, and his cheek is scratched.
My anger and fear swiftly become relief. Mads dusts himself off. The tips of his ears are bright red.
“Freckles.” He grimaces sheepishly. “Sorry I was away so long, I—”
I rush forward and wrap my arms around his waist like my life depends on it. His surprise soon melts away, and he draws me closer, gently kissing the top of my head.
“You’re back,” I say, disbelieving. I study his face, trying to see if he has changed in some way, if he has found news from the Bards that will help me. The thought reignites the hope in my chest. “Your pa told me where you’d gone, but I wasn’t sure I could believe it. Did you find them? Did you go all the way to High House? What happened? And what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
“One question at a time,” he says, a soft laugh escaping him. He clears his throat. “Yes, I went to the Bards—they were still stationed a few towns away.”
He looks strange in the darkness—a combination of the Mads I know but with a layer of secrecy in his eyes. He seems nervous, his eyes darting around us, as if someone could be watching from the trees. And yet, he seems excited too. His smile keeps trying to quirk up at the corner of his mouth.
“And? What did you learn? Do they know the truth? Do they know who the killer is?”
“The … killer?” he stammers, looking genuinely confused.
“Of course! Who else? They must have been able to he
lp, right? They know everything. Surely they had a record of what happened? Do you know who murdered my mother?”
It’s the second time I’ve uttered the forbidden word—murder—in one night, and Mads looks like I’ve slapped him. I step back, hoping the space will encourage him.
“I’m sorry, Mads. I’m rushing over you. Please, take your time. I want to know everything.”
“Well,” he begins. And suddenly, panic reverberates through me. Maybe he didn’t find out the truth and doesn’t want to disappoint me. Or maybe he knows but fears the truth will break me. But I must know.
Before I can interrupt, he fishes for something in his pocket and takes a step closer. “I went to the Bards. To ask for their blessing.”
“Blessing?” I’m confused. They already granted our village a Telling.
For the millionth time tonight, his expression changes, and I wonder if he’s going to laugh or cry or kiss me. “Their permission, really. Which they granted.”
I watch, stunned, as Mads gets down on one knee in front of me.
He holds out a small box. Inside is a simple engagement brooch, in the traditional shape of a raven. It shines in the moonlight.
My fingertips graze along its polished edges, catching on the outstretched wings. There is a fable of the raven that flew over the lands of Montane and brought news to the Bards, of the plague that ravaged our lands. It’s a symbol of new beginnings.
The meaning of Mads’s choice is clear before he says it.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me, Shae. I want to make it up to you. I want to spend the rest of my life by your side. As your husband. And I promise … I will shield you from everyone who might hurl stones or curses. Anyone who might speak ill of you. Anyone who looks at you the wrong way. I’ll fight for you until I die.” Crickets screech in the silence. “Will you have me?”
An uncomfortable minute passes as I stand there, wordlessly. One minute turns to two.
You’re standing too long without saying anything! Answer him! But I can’t move. I can’t find words in the maelstrom of feelings that has overtaken all rational thought.
