Curses and Crimes: All the Queen's Knaves, #2

Prologue

TEN YEARS AGO

The world returned to life with every step Gale put between herself and the dead witch’s cabin.

Two years of blight and famine had left her village and the mountain forests that surrounded it starving. Dying. Now the curse was broken, and as she and her brother Hawk had walked home, ferns had sprouted around their feet, leaves had burst forth on the trees, and the woods had filled with birdsong that had been absent for too long.

But Gale walked with her head down, focusing on the squish of newly fertile soil beneath her too-large boots as she and her big brother crossed Mister Coldstream’s wheat field.

Almost home. Mama. Papa. Home.

Home.

It was all her seven-year-old mind could handle, so it was all she allowed herself to think. Even questioning why her heart didn’t leap at the thought of seeing her parents again was too much.

Hawk took her hand and pulled her forward. Almost there, little bird. We’re going to be heroes for killing that witch, you know.

Gale glanced up at him. He was still skeleton-thin and too pale, just as he’d been when Father had taken them into the woods and left them there. Though Gale had been just as gaunt when they’d left home, she’d gained back every stolen ounce as she’d eaten at the witch’s table, and her skin glowed tan and healthy from long days in a bountiful garden that hadn’t been touched by the curse.

A flash of laughing eyes came into Gale’s mind.

Don’t think of her.

She focused instead on Hawk’s words and tried to make the word hero in her mouth, just to try it on and see how it fit her.

It tasted bad.

Hawk deserved to be called a hero. Not her.

The shocking green of the fields, the riot of life and noise and God-given goodness that had sprouted around them since the witch’s death were all the proof Gale needed that he’d been right to want to kill the witch.

And Gale had been wrong to trust her. To eat at her table. To embrace her as a guardian after their own parents had placed the siblings in God’s hands when there was no food left for them at home.

Her throat closed at the thought, choking her.

I’m glad to go home, she told herself, desperate to believe it. Mother and Father will be pleased.

The curse is broken. God’s will has been done. We are heroes.

Bright Hollow would be in view soon, past these sprawling fields, cradled in its sheltered space on the mountainside.

It had been a sour, dull place when they’d left. No snow forts this past winter, no dances, no candies and songs, no candles in the windows to chase the darkness away on the longest night of the year. But maybe now, if enough folks had survived, it would be like before. Classes in the big schoolhouse. Harvest festivals. Friends playing in the streets.

Gale’s chin trembled as she forced herself to take in everything around her, to make it all fit what she remembered from before the curse.

For Gale, the world had changed. Her time with the witch, with magic, had made it different. Where once she’d seen and heard and felt and tasted and smelled, now there was something else she experienced beyond those natural senses.

Magic. Not everywhere. Not here. But it had been present in patches of the land as she and Hawk walked home, in the new forest plants and the animals that fed on them. She was glad to find there wasn’t any magic near Bright Hollow, though its loss made her feel strangely empty. In the woods near the witch’s home it had sung, called, teased, beckoned.

Sinful. Corrupting. Vile. The words Hawk had whispered to her when they lay in the loft of the witch’s cabin echoed in her mind. He’d tried to warn her. She hadn’t listened.

It hurt to remember magic flowing through her body, a river of warmth and light.

It hurt to think something so lovely could be so bad.

She cursed the land and Bright Hollow. The curse ended when she died. I was wrong. Wrong.

Someone shouted—a man’s voice, high and reedy. Across the field a thin figure in a grey shirt and bib overalls ran toward them, waving his straw hat in one hand. Mister Coldstream. One of Bright Hollow’s farmers.

Someone had survived. There would be others. Mother and Father, if God had willed that they live out the curse. The Luminary, surely, waiting to hear the story of their victory over evil.

Gale fought the urge to turn and run away. It wasn’t sensible, and Mister Coldstream would think it odd if she was afraid to go home.

Besides, there was nowhere to run back to anymore, even if she’d wanted to go. The witch was dead, the cabin burned.

Hawk slowed and turned her to face him. We need to get our story straight. I swear I won’t tell anyone what you did. He crouched slightly, placing his eyes at her level. I’ll protect you, Nightingale. No one needs to know.

Gale scrunched up her face to keep tears back as Hawk’s words broke through the dam she’d built around her memories.

The sleeping potion, perfectly made. Madrigal would have been so pleased to know how her student had used proper magic, but it had to be a secret.

Madrigal collapsing to the floor, her golden curls spread out around her as the potion subdued her magical protections enough to make her fall asleep.

Hawk’s knife, hidden in his belt, then pressed to her throat.

Madrigal’s eyes opening, meeting Gale’s. Widening. Understanding.

Gale’s breath hitched, and she pinched herself to call her mind back to the present.

She tried to answer Hawk, but words wouldn’t come no matter how badly she wanted to speak.

Hawk nodded. "Probably better if you let me talk for the both of us. I’ll say we worked together, that we both defeated the witch and ended the curse, that it was our plan. The two of us, all along."

Gale wanted to ask what would happen if anyone found out about her sin, but it didn’t matter. Hawk knew best. He’d proved it, and he’d keep his word. All she had to do now was follow him back to town, learn how to be a better girl, and forget.

The garden. The cabin. The warm fire. Secret lessons. Fresh rosemary bread.

The knife. The blood pooling on the floor, staining it the colour of death.

Ready to go home, little bird? Hawk asked, raising an arm to wave back to Mister Coldstream.

The farmer continued toward them, calling their names.

Gale’s legs trembled. She sank to her knees and sobbed as though she would never stop, telling herself it was because she was so happy to be home.

Chapter One

Gale crept through the house, avoiding every creaky board in the well-worn floors, and took her warmest coat from its hook by the door. She’d left a reed basket packed with glass jars on the floor there last night, and collecting it without making too much noise was a simple operation.

She had the door halfway open before her mother’s voice stopped her.

Nightingale, where in God’s world are you going?

Gale winced and turned back toward the kitchen doorway, where her mother stood with a steaming cup of tea in her hands. One of Gale’s blends, no doubt, made from dried herbs she’d grown in the garden or collected from the woods. Mother’s greying chestnut hair was still tied up in rags, and she wore her old, cream-coloured robe over her nightdress.

Gale held up her basket and smiled. Thought you were still in bed, didn’t want to wake you. I came up with an idea last night and wanted to collect a few things.

Her mother raised a dark eyebrow. Now?

Has to be early in the day if I’m to get what I want. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time.

Her mother crossed the little sitting room and ran her fingers through Gale’s tangled hair. Better be sure it is plenty. You’ve got some cleaning up to do before the ceremony.

I know. I will.

She pulled away from her mother’s touch, and the lines around the older woman’s eyes deepened as she held back whatever she felt about it.

Did you say your morning prayers?

Gale’s smile faltered. Of course.

Good.

They stood awkwardly for a few moments, Gale shifting from one foot to the other, her mother standing with the calm grace trained into every acolyte who walked the Path.

I should go.

Her mother offered a serene smile. May God go with you and guide your steps. You have your watch?

Of course. Gale slipped a hand into the pocket of her heavy skirt to double-check. The simple pocket watch had been a gift for her seventeenth birthday, a sign of her new adulthood and the responsibilities that would soon come with it.

Gale ducked out the door, closed it tight behind her, and descended the wooden steps to the street.

The sun had barely begun to show its face over the eastern horizon, and much of Bright Hollow still lay in shadow, awaiting its light and warmth. It would be a lovely day. Spring had come early this year, and the old trees that grew between the brightly painted wooden houses and shops already bore fully grown leaves in a dozen shades of green that waved in the gentle breeze. But nights always grew cold on the mountainside. Smoke rose from the fieldstone chimneys on most of the houses in town, rising over their sharply pitched slate roofs and warming the homes’ inhabitants. Gale pulled her coat tighter against the frosty chill that lingered in the air and wished she were still in her cozy bed under the open rafters of her room.

As she walked over the flat stones of the road that curved toward the forest, she muttered the prayers she’d skipped that morning in her hurry to get out of the house. She preferred praying through her activities, anyway. Sincere, but informal. Speaking to a friend instead of following a formula.

God grant me safety and success, if it be your will. God grant me strength to see your will done. She paused. And God, please let everything go well later, and—

Good morning, dear!

Gale turned toward the cheerful voice. Marigold Hallowtree leaned out the window she’d opened at the bakery, and Gale stepped closer without meaning to, drawn by the scents of fresh pastry, cherry preserves, and the mouth-watering sweetness that wafted out.

Good morning to you, Marigold. You’re up and about early today.

I was going to say the same to you. Marigold beamed down at her. She wore her multitude of long braids tied back beneath a brightly patterned scarf, and her umber skin shone from the heat of her ovens. Big day. I’d have expected you to be busy dressing before you meet up with the others.

I will be soon enough. Gale held up the reed basket she had slung over one arm. The glass jars inside clanked together. Just going out to gather a few things for River.

Part of the appeal of going out early to do her gathering was avoiding questions like these, but not every day was a lucky one.

Marigold clucked her tongue. For little Alder, I suppose?

Gale’s smile tightened. She wasn’t surprised that Marigold had heard about Storm bringing her toddler son to the clinic about a strange rash on his chest last week, or River being unable to find a treatment in any of his books or in the depths of his experienced healer’s mind even as the condition worsened.

Everyone knew everyone else’s business in Bright Hollow. They shepherded each other, kept their brothers and sisters walking the Path in the light of God’s will. Darkness hid secrets. Sin. The fact that Gale kept her own secrets cloaked in shadow only showed how deeply her time with the witch had scarred her.

For Alder, she agreed. Best be on my way.

Marigold’s brow creased. Gale supposed she’d been hoping for more details, but the disappointment vanished quickly.

Wait! Marigold ducked away from the window and returned with a tart cradled in a white cotton handkerchief. Take this. It’ll fortify you for your journey, and for the ceremony later. She grinned at Gale, eyes shining. Hard to believe our smallest hero is a grown woman already. I suppose you’ll be declaring for medicine?

And there, the expectant, wide-eyed look. Waiting for information she’d no doubt pass along to someone else as soon as the next batch of tarts was out of the oven. Anyone else Gale met would have done the same, though most without offering such a pleasant gift in return.

Gale accepted the treat, which steamed in the cool morning air and warmed her fingers. The smell was downright intoxicating, and her mouth watered. I am, and thank you.

No one was required to speak publicly about what they’d declare their intentions to be at the placing ceremony, but in her case it was hardly a secret. Gale had finished her schooling and done her rotation through a number of jobs in town, seeking God’s will for her life, but she’d known as soon as she’d mixed her first medicine where her future would lie. She’d kept on at the clinic even as she completed her other jobs, unable to stay away from what called to her, and had already taken the healer’s oath.

She’d had doubts about many things in her life, but never about what she would declare as her place on the Path. It was God’s will. All that was left was for the Luminary to confirm it at the ceremony.

Gale waved goodbye and continued up the street, leaving Marigold to her tarts and breads. She had declared her intention to become a baker back when Gale was too young to understand such things—before the blight and the famine, before all of it. And like the hundreds of other adults in Bright Hollow she seemed perfectly contented with her life.

River was the perfect healer, calm and wise and comforting. Her parents had both become acolytes before they decided to marry, following their passion for knowledge and deciphering God’s will. Folks became parents when God willed it, either by nature or by making the dreaded trip to Queen’s Run to adopt children and save them from the outside world. Every person fit into the quiet little community like a piece in a puzzle. The same had been true for Hawk when he’d become a hunter, and Gale’s heart raced at the thought that she’d find peace and certainty in her God-given purpose.

Bright fingers of sunlight cut through the leaves of the big elm on the corner as Gale passed, eating the scrumptious cherry tart in four bites as she walked. She’d thought the old tree was doomed during the blight that had stolen the life from field and forest alike, but it had come back just as surely as everything else had.

What had been broken had been made new. At least, much of it had. So many good people had died of hunger and the sicknesses that came with it. Elders first, often under circumstances that made folks wonder whether they’d sacrificed themselves to leave more food for others. Then children and those already ill had started dying, and even healthy adults. Large families became small, either because of death or because, like Gale and Hawk, the children were abandoned on the mountainside, set into God’s hands when their parents and community could no longer care for them.

The curse had hit hard and fast, sparing no one.

No wonder the town had called her and Hawk heroes for ending it by killing the witch responsible. The title was quite grand, as long as Gale didn’t think too much on how little she felt she deserved it.

She continued through town, past the clinic and into the forest, kicking up leaves once she left the neatly tended streets of Bright Hollow. Over the past few years, she’d worn a path up the side of the mountain here, and it pleased her. It marked the way to her land, chosen by her and granted by the Luminary and the town as thanks for her heroism. She already had a fine cabin and a massive garden full of vegetables and medicinal herbs laid out there in her mind.

Not like hers, though, she thought. Not enchanted, no candies on the walls.

She brushed the thought away as soon as it surfaced. It was habit now—think something good of that time with the witch, then crush the thought back down to nothing before she could feel something other than anger toward her. For years after she and Hawk had broken the curse, she’d pinched her arms to punish herself for remembering the warmth, the kindness, the garden... Double or triple pinches for feeling sad about what they’d done in the end. She’d long since abandoned the pinching, having gained enough self-control to school her thoughts toward more proper things.

It was good to hate the witch for her lies and her dreadful curse. It was better not to think of her at all.

But today she’d need to open the door on that closed room in her mind and remember the witch’s teachings. Learning magic from her had been wrong, but conventional methods weren’t working. The medicine itself wouldn’t require magic to prepare it, only knowledge of how natural things might react if prepared in unconventional ways. Surely God wouldn’t object to using wisdom from a corrupted source to do some good, as long as Gale didn’t corrupt own soul in the process.

For little Alder’s sake, she reminded herself. She didn’t know if the medicine she was planning would work, but it would be a sin to not try.

Curious creatures, Gale said aloud, her voice echoing the strong cadence of the witch’s. Hazel eyes rimmed in thick lashes flashed through her mind, bright with pleasure as her young student listened eagerly to her teachings. During the day, they hide deep in holes they make in the oak tree, but if you can catch them before the sun’s chased them away...

Enough, she said, answering her own voice, shutting away the memory.

Every kindness had been a lie, and every lesson had led Gale toward magic that had scarred her soul. Remembering more of that morning in the woods, of the witch praising her for understanding the lesson, of the temptation to learn more, could only tempt her to anger now.

The old oak stood on Gale’s land, its heavily leafed branches reaching wide around it, shading the ground and creating a clearing around its roots. Gale pulled a glass jar from her basket, then dug her fingers into a crevice in the tree’s rough bark and tugged, revealing the living wood beneath.

Half a dozen whitelings froze in alarm, round bodies like banded ivory shields hiding the dozens of tiny legs beneath, antennae pressed to the wood. Each of the bugs was as large as a copper coin. Before they could scurry for shelter Gale slipped a finger beneath one and popped it free of its moorings, flicking it into the jar. Another followed, then a third, before the others realized they’d be better off running for cover.

Gale watched the trio scuttling around the bottom of the jar for a moment before closing it and setting it back in her basket.

We must be mindful of what and why we kill, the witch’s voice continued, rising like a ghost from the depths of Gale’s memory. It must be with purpose, whether we take plant or animal. Death is a part of life, sacrifice made for benefit. Never shy away from it, but never take it lightly.

And how many lives did you take with your curse, Gale asked the memory, even as you were offering me that lesson?

No answer came, but the witch’s voice fell silent, and that was enough.

But the lesson itself had been a good one. These little creatures would die so their bodies could become medicine. Not what they would have chosen for themselves, surely, but a necessary action. Gale would have to come up with an explanation for where the idea had come from, though. It wouldn’t do to tell River or anyone else exactly how much or how enthusiastically she’d learned about potions and magic during her time with the witch if she didn’t want them to shun her for that long-ago sin.

Hawk had kept the promise he’d made her when they returned home all those years ago. Not one person in Bright Hollow knew that Gale had befriended their enemy, and no one knew she’d taken magic into herself to make the potion that had put the witch to sleep and dulled her power, leaving her defenceless against Hawk’s blade.

And if God was willing, they never would.

A change in the air caught Gale’s attention. She froze like a deer that had spotted a wild dog in the woods. The shift wasn’t in a sound, sight, or smell, but something else.

There.

It was that feeling, the one she’d grown so accustomed to during their month at the witch’s house but had rarely felt since Hawk had set the body aflame. Something like distant music that she felt rather than heard, that echoed through her at a level deeper than her body or her mind.

It brought the familiar temptation to take into herself power that wasn’t meant for humans. There had been a time when Gale had known only what the Teachings said about magic, and as a young child the thought of blackened, rotting souls had given her nightmares. Now that she’d experienced the true nature of magic, it beckoned to her, still terrifying, but unspeakably beautiful.

Gale knew she should turn away and shut the feeling out just as she did her memories of the witch, but surely it would be better to discover its source.

A hare emerged from the underbrush, apparently unaware of her presence. It was a rangy old thing, thin after the long winter, brown as a spring hare should be but with eyes like glass marbles, their brown traced through with shimmering gold and green. The feeling grew stronger as the hare approached.

Gale’s breath came quick and shallow as everything but the hint of magic the animal carried faded from her perception. She tried to shut it out, but the magic drew her in. Her body ached for it, her skin itched, her mouth went dry.

The hare moved closer, still oblivious to her presence.

The animal had lived a long life on the side of the mountain, probably feeding on plants that carried the energy Gale felt faintly on her own land. Gale wondered what the witch would have thought of this, whether she’d have taken the hare’s eyes to create a potion to feed her own power or—

A low whistle interrupted her thoughts, and the hare fell dead, an arrow lodged in its chest. Gale squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself to un-know the call of magic. Letting Hawk see her desire for it would expose something dark and shameful that she’d long since convinced him she’d left behind.

Morning, Hawk.

Her brother emerged from a dense patch of undergrowth, grinning bright as the sun as he brushed his thick hair back from his face.

Facing him was always like looking into a distorted mirror. So much had changed since their childhood. Hawk was a man of twenty-one now, already with a wife and an infant son. But the physical similarity that had made folks call them off-twins as children hadn’t changed—the earth-brown hair that he wore short and she long, the thick brows, the upward curve of their lips and the pale blue of the eyes they’d both inherited from their mother. And beyond the physical, they shared much in experience and memory that no one else could ever understand. Their terrible adventure as children had made them more like halves of a whole than a sister and brother.

At least, most of the time. As long as they avoided speaking of magic, murder, and corruption, it was easy to pretend everything was as perfect and sweet as one of Marigold’s pies.

Morning, Gale. Hawk slung his bow over his shoulder and grinned. He was dressed for the hunt in leather trousers to protect him from prickling brush, with knives hanging from his belt and boots that covered him to his knees. What brings you out so early?

Same as you, I suppose. Different sort of hunt. She fished the jar out of her basket and held it out for Hawk to examine.

He held the jar close to his face, squinting, and handed it back. My prey will taste better in a stew.

No doubt. Gale looked down at the hare, which stared blankly up at the forest canopy, the light gone from its marbled eyes. If Hawk noticed the oddity, he didn’t comment on it as he snatched the body up.

Gale considered asking for the eyes.

The longer she thought about it, the more she wanted them. Her heart pounded and her fingers curved into hooks, ready to snatch the hare away from Hawk and run. She wouldn’t use the magic. Couldn’t. But she could keep the body close, letting the perfection of its lingering power flow through her like—

No. Never again.

She’d met magic like this in the woods before and had never given in to the temptation to claim it for herself. Surprises like this one only made her stronger, and for that she was grateful to the hare, and to God for allowing its presence.

Gale? All well?

Gale forced her hands to relax and smiled up at Hawk. All well. How’s Frost? How’s Fox?

Oh, fine. She’s tired, he never wants to sleep. Hawk picked up the hare’s limp body and slung it from his belt. "She said to thank you for that balm you prepared. She said, and I quote, that girl’s got a gift, my nipples feel as though there’s never been a precious little monster gnawing at them."

Gale laughed. Tell her to talk to me when he starts teething, we might need to find something stronger.

I will. His eyes shone with laughter, too, and perhaps relief. He hid it well, but Gale knew how he worried about every little thing when it came to his wife and son. Big day today. Are you ready?

Gale rolled her eyes. No, dear brother, I’d completely forgotten about deciding how I want to spend the rest of my life.

Hawk grinned and reached out to ruffle her hair. Gale ducked away, and they turned to walk back toward town. She paused along the way to gather curled fern heads, false binberry leaves, and the buds of a wild rose. None would be useful for Alder, but she’d dry them to add to a blemish treatment for herself and a salve for her mother’s arthritic fingers.

You’re certain about your choice? Hawk spoke casually, but it would have been impossible to ignore the weight of the meaning behind his words.

Gale pressed her lips together and silently prayed for forbearance. Certain as I’ve been since I first tested the job. Why?

Hawk placed a hand on her arm, and Gale turned to him, her heart speeding up as she realized where the conversation was headed.

Let him say it and then it’s done.

I’m concerned, he said.

Don’t be. Hawk, I need to go. She started walking again, knowing he’d fall silent when they got back to town. He wouldn’t so much as whisper her secrets where anyone might hear.

He fell in beside her, the hare swinging against his leg. This isn’t the right job for you. I know you’re passionate, I know you’re talented. But given your history—

Given my history, it might be perfect, she replied. Rude to cut him off, but it was a conversation that deserved to be abbreviated where possible. I’m good at medicine. The witch lied to us about many things, but she was right about my potential.

Hawk’s lips narrowed at the mention of the witch, but Gale pressed on.

I know things even River doesn’t, and my mind is quick to learn what he has to teach. I’ll serve the town well as his apprentice and as a healer.

Hawk cleared his throat softly and nodded. I know. And it would be a loss to us all if you chose a different position. But healing, working with plants and medicines and such? Gale, it’s a gateway back to all you left behind when we escaped. The draw you felt toward magic there, the temptations you suffered…

Are behind me, thanks much. They’d reached the road by the clinic. Gale brushed a stray patch of last autumn’s leaves aside with her toe, revealing the pattern of flat stones that interlocked like the lives of everyone in Bright Hollow. I know in my heart what my place is. I respect your opinions, but this is between me and the Luminary.

I know it. Hawk’s voice had gone low. I only ask because I care. The best way to resist temptation is to keep it out of one’s sight, isn’t it?

Gale shrugged. Maybe.

Hawk had voiced this concern before, but not recently, and not so forcefully. It was the wedge that pushed them apart when other aspects of their history pulled them together. She wanted to speak to him about her plans for her life—not only her job but the home she planned to build here in the woods, close enough to be of service but far enough from town that she wouldn’t feel as trapped as she did beneath their parents’ roof, careful with every word and every step not to let her soul-deep scars show.

She often imagined her little cottage with a thriving garden and big windows where she could watch the seasons change, and enjoyed secret dreams of a beautiful huntress coming upon the cabin and stopping in for a meal only to fall madly in love with the local healer. She wished she could share all of it with the only person who had truly known her for the past ten years—the one who kept her secrets, who protected her from the consequences of her mistakes.

But what would Hawk make of those dreams? Of her wanting to create a pale, permissible version of the place he’d seen as their prison and she had thought of as her home, or of her need to live outside of Bright Hollow’s pleasant confines just so she felt like she could breathe?

He’d say she’d gone mad for sure. That the witch’s enchantments were still on her, that her ongoing sin was making her shy away from the openness and accountability of their community.

It will be fine, she told herself. As soon as I have the Luminary’s blessing, he’ll see that I’m strong enough, that I can do the work that speaks to my soul without straying from the Path.

I don’t want to see you in trouble again, Hawk said. He spoke carefully, as he might to a spooked animal.

I know. Gale made herself smile, though her patience was wearing as thin as it had ever been with him. And I know you’re only keeping the promise you made me when we came home, when you said you’d keep me safe.

He’d spared her a lifetime of loving restrictions and observation, let her join him in being nothing but a hero, the stain on her soul hidden. No matter how annoying his concern for her became, she’d always be grateful for that.

But? he asked.

But I’ve lived with this for a decade. I’ve grown up and learned to keep myself within the bounds of what’s right and good. I can take care of myself now.

She thought again of the hare’s eyes, and with the thought felt their seductive power reaching for her. She ignored them and their magic, as she would any other temptation that came across her path.

I am strong enough, she reminded herself. I am scarred, but not broken.

In the distance, the first bells of the morning rang out from the clock in the centre of town. Gale checked her watch. I’d best be getting home.

Hawk nodded, but he still looked troubled. I’ll see you at the ceremony. Then, as she stepped away, he spoke again. Gale?

Hawk, I really need to go.

I know. He cleared his throat. I—never mind. Go on. I’ll see you at the ceremony.

Gale let out a huff of breath and took off running. On a less important day, she’d have pried, asked why he was being so strange, so unlike his usual forward, open self. But today there wasn’t time.

It wouldn’t do to be late for the first official day of her adult life.

Chapter Two

Gale left her house at noon and hurried toward the nearby public well, her bare feet slapping against the sun-warmed road and her long white skirt gathered in one hand. Willow and Buttercup were already waiting in the shade of the trees, their pale clothing stark against the shadows. Willow had dressed impeccably, as Gale had expected, in a perfectly tailored dress with a puffed skirt and her dark hair intricately braided at the back of her graceful neck. Buttercup, like Gale, seemed to be wearing clothes passed down from someone else, but his cream-coloured shirt and trousers were light enough to have the proper effect.

Clean. Pure. Blank canvases for God to paint their lives onto.

Good of you to join us. A long piece of spring grass twitched between Buttercup’s teeth as he crossed his arms over his broad chest and grinned at Gale.

Gale resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. She, Buttercup, and Willow were adults today, or would be the moment the Luminary confirmed their callings. Starting off the day by acting like children seemed wrong. She punched him in the arm instead, and he winced dramatically.

I was out gathering medical supplies, she said. I’m here, aren’t I? Dressed and everything. She held the skirt of her plain dress out to one side. It had been in the family for three generations, though it had needed to be let out to accommodate her curves after being fitted to her mother’s more slender frame.

Buttercup had pumped a bucket of water from the old well, and Gale took a quick drink from her cupped hands. Thanks for waiting.

Willow stepped behind her and pulled her fingers through Gale’s hair, arranging the heavy mass into something that pleased her critical eye. Willow was the prettiest, most elegant girl in town—Gale had thought so ever since she’d first looked into her black-brown eyes on the first day of school. She was more a princess than the sort of person who belonged in an isolated mountain town, and Gale had always considered herself lucky to be friends with her.

Let me fix this, Willow said, a smile in her voice. Can’t have you looking wind-blown on such a special day.

Gale shot a beleaguered eyeroll at Buttercup. Did she fix you already?

He spat out the grass stem and shrugged. Didn’t need fixing. I’m perfect as I am.

Or a lost cause, Willow muttered, and Gale pinched back a laugh.

The sky above was a blanket of deep, cloudless blue. The Teachings advised against reading omens, but Gale