“Grace.”
Chapter Eleven
Present Day
Grace
A puff of steam escapes with every breath. It might be mid-afternoon, but it’s only the first of March, and one of the clerics said it was going to snow tonight.
I turn toward the eastern horizon—drawn more by instinct than intention—where the pale moon is just now rising. Does Prophet know that the full moon doesn’t happen at midnight? That it’s a different time every month? That today’s moon probably reaches its apex long before dark?
My little bout of pettiness brings a hint of a smile to my face. The sensation is so foreign. I cling to it, try to draw it deeper inside me. When did I stop smiling? When did I stop feeling anything at all? And why?
The scar across my cheek pulls, and now I remember. All of it. The taste of mud in my mouth. The blood dripping from wrists rubbed so raw, I’ll never escape the ropes they used to bind me. I’ve tried to forget. But it all comes back in a rush.
And the world tips sideways.
As if she senses I’m going down a deep, dark hole, Marley, a sable American Quarter Horse, bows her head over the paddock fence and nuzzles my hand with her velvety nose.
For a blink, I see another horse caked in mud. My fingers twitch, instinctively curling into her mane. One of her braids tickles my wrist. The sensation pulls me out of the memory. I stroke up and down her nose, letting her warm breath ground me.
“I’m okay, pretty girl. Want a carrot?”
She sniffs around my closed palm, her nostrils flaring. Unfurling my fingers, I lean against the fence and wait for her to pluck the treat from my hand.
“Nova! Your time’s up!” Brother Malone shouts from the top of the hill.
I stifle my yelp. In my panic, the carrot slips from my fingers and tumbles to the grass.
“Shit.”
I realize my mistake when a heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Swearing again, Nova? Prophet ain’t gonna be pleased. It’s time for you to start preparing for the ceremony.”
Most days, Brother Malone is the one Prophet sends when they need me moved—from my room to the greenhouse, the classroom where I help the children smear fingerpaint on paper, or the dining hall where I sit at the end of a long table, barely eating, not speaking, only existing. Like a piece of furniture.
His fingers dig into the space where my neck meets my shoulder, a precise squeeze that sends white-hot pain racing down my arm. I stiffen, my breath caught in my throat, eyes lowered. Crying only makes it worse. Crying reminds me I used to be…human.
After my failed escape attempt, Prophet destroyed any illusion I’d ever be free again.
I’m almost never alone unless I’m locked in my room. During my time in the box, someone replaced the door. It’s heavier now, the hinges reinforced, and the knob completely without a keyhole. Instead, two heavy latches with padlocks secure the outside.
Brother Malone leans closer, his breath damp against my ear. I don’t hear his words—they’re all the same anyway—as my full focus is still on the moon.
The first tear stings my eye. No. Not here. Not with him.
Just as it’s about to slip down my cheek, a shadow moves in my periphery. Something shifts in Brother Malone. His hand falls away, the pressure gone so fast, my skin still burns with the sting of it.
“I’ll walk her back to her room when she’s done here, Brother Malone. Marley needs her hooves checked, and Nova keeps her calm.”
Abe crosses his arms over his chest and practically dares Brother Malone to defy him. He never gives orders. He just…shows up. Quietly. And when he does, the air is somehow breathable again. I’m not safe—nothing and no one here could give me even the illusion of safety—but with him around, I’m almost…alive.
“Yes, Father Abe.” Taking a step back, Brother Malone pins his gaze to the center of Abe’s chest. “But I’m still tellin’ Prophet about the swearing. She knows it’s against the rules.”
Of course he will. Obedience here is as valuable as gold. And Prophet will dole out another punishment with a gleeful smile. I wonder what he’ll take from me? My thickest pair of socks? No. Probably my time with the children. Prophet knows it’s the only thing in this place that truly brings me joy.
Brother Malone might be top cleric, but all the men respect Abe. The older veterinarian spends his days in the barn alone—whether by choice or by exile, I’ve never been brave enough to ask—unless someone gets hurt. Then, he’s the closest thing the flock has to a doctor.
He treated my injuries after my escape attempt left me with a dangerously high fever. For three days, he sat by my bedside. Giving me fluids, cold compresses, and antibiotics. He probably saved my life.
