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“They sacrificed someone.”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“The first offerings were crops.”

I stare. “Corn. Apples. Grain. Wine.”

“Yes.”

“Then animals.”

“Yes.”

“And then people.”

Mercy’s face twists. “Men decided more blood meant more favors.”

Of course they fucking did.

“And the Bride?”

“The McBride women tended the rites.”

“Priestesses?”

“Something like that.”

My anger starts rebuilding. “They weren’t sacrifices.”

“No.”

“They weren’t supposed to be anchors.”

“No.”

“Then how the fuck did you end up underneath the field?”

Mercy’s eyes harden. “Men were afraid of losing control of what they had called.”

There it is. “They needed someone to contain it.”

“Yes.”

“And they chose you.”

“My father chose me.”

My heart cracks. “Oh, Mercy.”

“He called it an honor.”

Of course he did.

“He said our blood had always spoken to the land.” Her mouth twists. “So he decided my blood belonged to it.”

Something slams against the doors and the wood cracks.