2
Hundreds of women from towns across northern Enterra had gathered in the temple courtyard. Most looked terrified and thrilled all at once. Anya and I joined the crowd, and soon we were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, tightly enough that moving was impossible.
The faerie rituals of northern Enterra were famous, revered by true believers and mocked by those who deemed us superstitious oddities. It was one of the oldest traditions of an old country perched at the edge of the world. The ocean bordered Enterra on three sides, while the mountains to the west reached craggy fingers across the northern wilds. That untamed north—all mountains, forest, and salt-scoured coast—belonged solely to the Fae.
Enterra wasn't the only country with stories about faeries, elves, or whatever each region called them, of course. They lived in wild places: deep forests, under mountains, on islands in the midst of turbulent seas. But they were as elusive as they were mysterious, rarely interacting with humans. In the south, people had largely abandoned the faith, but Tumbledown and the other villages clustered near the border were humanity's last outposts in Enterra. We saw the lights. We passed down the legends. We believed where others did not.
"It's my first winter solstice," a woman near me whispered to her companion.
"My second," came the breathless reply. "Pray I'm chosen this time."
I hoped she would be, too—if it meant Anya and I wouldn't be.
The bells stopped ringing, and our village Elder walked slowly up the temple steps. The years were wearing him down, but Elder Holman was still the most powerful man in Tumbledown—our priest and mayor in one, keeper of the ancient faith and controller of the town's coffers. He took a torch from an attendant and lit the yew logs in the brazier.
"Welcome, faithful," Elder Holman said, bowing his white head reverently as the flames soared. "This is a sacred day."
All around the courtyard, families were packed between the pillars, watching nervously. Some held hands to their lips, murmuring silent prayers—though what outcome they prayed for, who knew.
Elder Holman recited the traditional words, recounting the lore. When humans and faeries first met at the edge of this bog well over a thousand years ago, they'd viewed one another with distrust. After many years, they had found their way to peace, and then to a mingled society. Eventually, the realms split again, but both sides decided on a compact to bind the two species together and ensure eternal peace. Every six years, on the longest night of winter, four human women would be sent into the bog. The will-o'-the-wisps would light their way across, and the women would become citizens of Mistei, the faeries' vast underground realm. Some would even wed princes, bear their children, and spend the rest of their days in eternal bliss. In exchange, the immortal Fae would keep our country safe, ensuring our prosperity and peace with their magic.
"It is a great honor to be chosen," Elder Holman said solemnly. "And the selection may seem random, but I assure you, the Fae guide my hand from afar. They will adore each and every one of you."
More likely, the Elder's hand was guided by the tremors of age, I thought cynically. It wasn't that I didn't believe in the Fae; I just didn't believe they cared about us at all. How could anyone say with a straight face that they brought prosperity to the human lands when so many of us struggled? People were richer in the south, where the Fae were considered an inconsequential legend.
Beside me, Anya stood with her hands clasped to her breast. She didn't look entirely afraid, and the hint of excitement in her expression set me on edge.
"We beseech the Noble Fae for help," the Elder said as one of his acolytes brought a large copper bowl forward. Slips of paper fluttered inside as the breeze threatened to snatch them away. "Guide my hands as I make the selection. Help us find the women who will bring you the greatest joy."
The crowd collectively held its breath as he dipped a hand into the bowl. He squinted at the paper. "Nora Martin."
I didn't know the name, which meant she must be from another village. There was movement at the edge of the crowd, and then a pretty, round-cheeked woman was pushed forward. She wore a sky-blue dress belted in orange, and she was beaming like this was the best day of her life. A true believer. At the edge of the square, two people who were presumably her parents clutched each other and started to weep. Nora ran toward them and hugged each in turn, then climbed the steps to stand at the Elder's side.
I exhaled through pursed lips. One sacrifice down. Three more, and Anya and I would be free. Then I could find a buyer for the dagger and surprise her with the news that the two of us would no longer be dependent on the mercy of others.
The Elder selected a new paper. "Fiona Key."
This name I knew. Fiona's father was the town vintner, better off than most, but he had a quick temper, and it was common knowledge that he was losing patience for housing an unmarried adult daughter.
Fiona looked dazed. Her hands were clenched white-knuckled at her waist, but she didn't protest being chosen. As she walked up the steps, her father dropped to his knees, begging loudly, impassioned pleas to the Fae to take care of his beloved child. His beloved child who, incidentally, looked to be healing from a blackened eye. A bruise deeper than exhaustion shadowed her cheekbone.
That was the way of some men. Their tongues spoke of love while their fists dealt pain. I traced the outline of the dagger at my thigh, thinking about what it might be like to live in a world where women didn't have to depend on people they feared for safety.
As Fiona took her place next to Nora, Anya grabbed my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back, hoping—because I never prayed anymore—that the next two names would be unfamiliar.
A third woman was chosen: Bertha Hollyngworth, also from a village to the south. She looked to be barely twenty, with the sharp edge of starvation on her cheeks and a dress patched together from rags. She mounted the steps with effort, gripping the balustrade for support, though her face glowed with ecstatic happiness.
I bit down on my tongue. They planned to send this hunger-weakened woman into the bog at night? They expected her to follow the dangerous, narrow footpaths that even I, who had grown up beside the bog, only navigated with extreme caution? Say the myths were true; what were her odds of actually following the lights to safety, much less ending up wedded to some impossibly wealthy and handsome faerie prince?
More likely, I'd be scooping up her bones in a few years.
I forced myself to take a deep breath. "Almost over," I whispered. One more name, and this farce would be done for the next six years.
The Elder unfurled the final slip of paper. "Anya Hayes."
Sound vanished as darkness crept in at the edges of my vision.
Then a deafening roar filled my ears, a sea of hoarse screams that grew in intensity. A void opened in my chest, and I began to fall. "No," I whispered.
Anya's hands were pressed to her mouth. "It's me," she said past her fingers, eyes wide. "They chose me."
The other women were muttering. "So lucky," one said, and I wanted to spit.
"They can't." My voice sounded like it came from a distance. "They can't."
One of the Elder's acolytes pushed through the crowd to reach Anya. He reached for her arm, and I immediately shoved him away. "No," I said, pulse pounding in my temples and my gut sour with terror. "You can't have her."
"Kenna!" Anya sounded startled.
"You can't," I repeated, baring my teeth at the acolyte. "There's been a mistake."
"The Fae don't make mistakes," the acolyte said. He was barely out of adolescence, with sparse fuzz on his chin. "They guided the Elder's hands true."
"No!" My shout echoed off the stone walls of the temple. A scandalized murmur rose behind it as people craned their heads to see the source of the commotion.
Anya's fingers slipped into mine, warm and familiar. "Kenna," she said. "It's all right."
"It's not," I said as my vision turned blurry. "They can't take you. I—I found something in the bog. I should have told you earlier. Once I sell it, you won't need to get married or any of that." A tear slipped down my cheek. "You don't have to go away."
"But the Fae chose me," she said gently. Her own eyes shone with tears, but I recognized the longing in them, too. It was an echo of how my mother had looked every time she'd gazed across the bog. "I have to go, Kenna."
I couldn't accept it. "We can run away," I told her. "I'll come get you before the ceremony—"
She shook her head, and her lips curved with a small, sad smile. "This is a way out, Kenna. And more than that. This is… It's a blessing."
The word hit me in the chest like a fist. The blessing my mother had died wanting, and here Anya was getting it. And she had too much faith to believe it would end with her corpse resting at the bottom of the bog.
Anya's life and home had burned to ash, I reminded myself as I looked at the growing certainty in her expression. Like my mother losing her husband along with her plans for a loving, stable future—something had to fill that void, and here it was.
"Maybe they'll let me bring you to Mistei," she murmured. "I can ask, once I'm settled in. We won't be parted forever."
I didn't know what to say to that. It wouldn't happen, but how could I rip this shred of hope away from her? So I just nodded, throat tight with grief.
Anya took a deep breath, then turned to face the acolyte. "I'm ready."
I watched her walk toward the temple steps, feeling numb and agonized all at once, like I'd been crushed by a boulder and was losing blood flow to my most essential parts. Anya had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. My only friend, really, the sister of my heart. We kept each other's secrets like treasures, and if I had never quite managed to dream for myself, I could sometimes do it for her.
Anya stood in the line of four as the Elder concluded the ceremony, her eyes wet but head held high. The pale winter sunlight picked the gold out of her hair, and the wind whipped life into her cheeks. She was beautiful enough to be a faerie prince's bride, and if anyone deserved a happily ever after, it was her.
This wasn't a dream I could believe in, though. Not after the years of hearing my mother pray to closed and distant ears, not after fishing up pieces of the drowned.
My faith was a bitter one, my hope nearly nonexistent, but I did have a stubborn streak a mile wide and more familiarity with the bog than anyone in Tumbledown. Somewhere in that vast, foggy expanse would be a route to Mistei—and if not Mistei, a path to distant towns and a fresh start. I had a walking stick to probe the uneven ground and a dagger to turn into coins so I could buy a new future for both of us.
Anya might not believe she needed saving. But I was going to save her anyway.