My knees wobble, and I lower myself onto the chair. It’s pointless to pretend otherwise. “I wish I didn’t.” I drop my gaze to the floor, the scuffed wooden planks.
“But you do. So now you must decide what to do about it.”
I’ve already made my decision. “I’m going to finish these daggers for Mother Mabel, and once the tithe is done, I will not think of Under ever again.” In time, I hope to return to my old self. One day, that red stole will rest upon my shoulder, if I am fortunate.
“Even if it means denying your heart?”
The heart, I’ve learned, can never be trusted.
“I broke my vows, Harper.”
Perfect Brielle, who can do no wrong.Those words linger like a smear on my skin.
“But they were your first vows,” she says, “not your final vows.”
It shouldn’t make a difference. Obedience, purity, devotion. Here they rest in pieces. My only saving grace is that Harper didn’t inform Mother Mabel of what transpired on our journey. Then again, she doesn’t know I nearly gave my body to Zephyrus on the grasses of a moonlit glen. “Nothing is more important than our faith. Mother Mabel says so.”
“What if Mother Mabel is wrong?”
My head snaps up. “You can’t say things like that.”
“And why not?” A haughtily arched brow, arms crossed as she surveys me.
“Because—” Oh, I haven’t the slightest idea why. “Because it is written. Because it has been foretold. Because it is truth. Isn’t that why you joined Thornbrook? You said so yourself you joined after one of the acolytes helped you search for your lost dog. The Father spoke to you then. There is no other explanation.”
An uncomfortable emotion passes over her tightened features. “Brielle.” She rubs a hand across her eyes, mouth pinched in reluctance. “I made that story up.”
“What?”
“I lied. I never had a dog. But the well needed a story from my past, and I was too ashamed to tell the truth.”
I’m speechless, but rather impressed the Well of Past did not sense the deceit. “Then why did you become a novitiate? Why give yourself to the Father?”
Her fingers tense atop her thighs, then relax. “My home life was awful. Yes, my sisters and I attended a prestigious academy, but I neglected to mention that they were superior to me in all ways, and I failed after the first year.”
I stare at her in astonishment. I had no idea.
“My parents could not tolerate my inability to live up to their standards. They considered me a stain upon their reputation, and punished me accordingly once I returned home a failure. Some days, I was whipped so severely I fainted.” Her eyes go cold.
“Harper—”
She lifts a hand. “I need to say this. Please.” With a deep breath, she continues. “My home was poison. Most nights I slept little, so deeply rooted was the dread. But on the Holy Days, my family would attend church at the abbey. I witnessed the Daughters’ kindness to others. I felt safe there. And I decided their life must be better than the one I was living. A few days later, I packed my bags. I told no one where I was going. That was ten years ago. My family probably thinks I’m dead.”
Those who embrace the devout life all seek to gain that which they lack. I sought acceptance. Harper sought belonging. We are not so different, she and I.
“Mother Mabel is more of a mother to me than the woman who birthed me,” Harper continues. “I crave her approval. I want tomatter, do you understand?” Before I can respond, she says, “I have always felt threatened by you. No matter what I did, there was always Brielle—bright, shining Brielle—who could do no wrong. No matter my efforts, I forever stood in your shadow.”
An awkward silence descends. All this time, she struggled with feeling small, just as I did. “I didn’t know you felt that way,” I murmur.
“I couldn’t compete. You were too good, too diligent, too pure.” A shake of her head.
“I did not realize it was a competition.”
She lifts a hand, touches the base of her neck in what I imagine to be a gesture of self-compassion. “You’re right. It shouldn’t be, yet I stillviewed it as such, even after yousavedme. From the darkwalkers. From the lake. At times, from my own stupidity. I—” Her eyes flutter shut. “I never thanked you, not once during that long journey.” Harper opens her blue, blue eyes. “Thank you,” she says with an openness I have never before witnessed, “for saving my life.”
Her sincerity washes over me, and embraces my hurt with newfound tenderness. I did not expect this, but I cannot pretend that the bruised, wounded girl I’d been hadn’t hoped for Harper’s acknowledgment.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
