Chapter 7

Leona I rose through emptiness—bone-deep weariness first, then a throat like dust and a body bruised by an unseen wheel. I opened my eyes. The ceiling was familiar—the wood grain of my childhood room. Fire crackled in the hearth, dry and warm. “Leona?” Mother's voice trembled. I turned with effort. My parents sat close—Father holding my hand, Mother stroking my hair. Dark crescents under both eyes told the vigil. “Water,” I rasped. Mother lifted me and tipped the cup. Father's...