Birds trilled in the canopy above, the green of spring clawing over every hard surface, swallowing stone and bark alike.
"Above your head, shoulders back." Grim toed the nearest rock, flexing and unflexing his hands.
Ilys lifted her chin in regal defiance, her veil brushing against her cheek like a hand she trusted more than her own. It steadied her. Hid her. Reminded her she was not merely a girl, but sacred.
"On three, you’ll push your will through the hilt. Guide it deep."
She nodded, eager to win Grim’s approval. Eyes shut, she absorbed his counted cadence, driving the knife through the belly of the rabbit at his direction. Blood spattered her black veil, warm and quick, flecking her fingers like paint.
"Now, what do we say, Ilys?"
Wide-eyed, she turned to Grim, uncertain. She knew some of the words, but the orders eluded her.
"Ilys," he chided gently, kneeling before her. "Repeat after me," he instructed, tilting his veiled face toward the sky. His voice carried easily through the clearing, the words practiced and unwavering. "Thy thread is cut."
"Thy thread is cut,” Ilys echoed, guileless and pliant.
"Thy name is lost."
"Thy name is lost," she followed.
"The Veil shall hold."
"The Veil shall hold." She took a breath, then sealed it with the last word of every prayer, her affirmation of faith. "Vasha."
The clearing held its breath, while the blood still steamed in the spring air.
Grim nodded. "Well done." He extended a hand, and she took it, his grip firm as he pulled her back to her feet. "Let's return you to the priestesses, shall we?"
Ilys hesitated, glancing at the rabbit’s fur matted with blood, its stillness unnatural against the forest floor.
"What about that?" she asked.
Grim barely spared it a glance. "Nature will take care of the body."
Ilys frowned. "No. Can we take it back for dinner?"
"Rabbit is for the faithful,” he reminded, amusement twitching at the corners of his mouth as he referenced the common worshippers of the Veil. “It is beneath us."
She tilted her head. "Let me take it to the faithful then."
"No."
"Why?"
"You know why. A Veilwalker does not serve the faithful, nor speak with them beyond what the rites demand.” His tone caged her indignation, but at nine years, testing boundaries was a beloved sport.
"I seek to prevent waste."
Grim sighed, weary of the conversation. "You seek to circumvent Veil law."
Ilys crossed her arms, tone flat yet curious. "You seek to be an ass."
Grim’s head turned toward her, veil concealing his expression, but she could feel the burden of his paternal attention.
“Don’t test your tongue where it’s not welcome.”
“You’ve said much worse to Baron,” she quipped.
