The Boneless Mercies by April Genevieve Tucholke

Author:April Genevieve Tucholke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

FOURTEEN

“Come into my den,” she said.

That’s what the Willow girls called their huts … dens. As if they were foxes.

“Come, Frey. Warm yourself by my fire. You are now a true Willow. You have sacrificed to Fen and are protected by her power. You are entitled.”

The Cut-Queen had sent Runa, Ovie, and Juniper to eat with the other Willows in the long communal building on the other side of the clearing. I hated being separated, but I was soaked with dank marsh water and melancholy beyond caring. I followed the marsh witch into her home meek as a child.

The Cut-Queen’s den was plain and simple. One large round room, a few square windows, a plank table with a homespun linen cloth. A shrine to the goddess Fen stood off to the side, complete with small wooden carvings and figurines made from woven reeds and marsh grass.

I flinched when I saw the straw bed beside the plain red rug. This was it. The place from my sea vision.

I dropped my pack and my ax and sat down by the hearth. I took off my leather boots and warmed my toes, letting the fire steam my tunic and leggings dry.

Eventually a graceful black-haired Willow brought us food, and it was simple, like the hut—a bowl of cabbage stew boiled with garlic and onions. I had no appetite and wanted to refuse it, but I hadn’t eaten something warm in days.

Besides, I was used to eating after bringing death.

I sipped the salty broth, and then felt guilty at the pleasure it brought when it slipped down my throat and warmed me from within.

I should have given the Quick my dagger and let him make a run for it. He would have preferred to die fighting the Willows in the marsh.

But even as these thoughts crossed my mind, I knew it wouldn’t have worked. Elan had me kill Warrick not because she couldn’t do it herself, but as a way to show my loyalty.

I glanced at the Cut-Queen over my soup bowl. Elan sat beside me near the fire, eating her dinner cross-legged, head bowed, honey hair slipping over her shoulders.

I never could have gotten this close to the queen if I hadn’t killed Warrick.

I could still feel the Quick’s calloused palms on my cheeks. How could someone be so alive one moment, so warm and vital and real, and then so cold and still the next?

If anyone would know, it should be me.

I watched Elan from the corners of my eyes as I sipped the rest of my soup. I imagined reaching over, shoving her narrow, childish chin to the side, and slitting her throat right there before the fire.

And then I thought of Runa, Juniper, and Ovie eating in the longhouse, surrounded by the Cut-Queen’s followers. Some of the Willows were former Mercies—they would know how to use knives and bring death.

I would wait for them to fall asleep. We would win this battle by stealth, not numbers.

Meanwhile, I had a part to play, and I would play it well.

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