Rap, rap, rap.
The urgent knocking rattled the warped wooden door, the sound vibrating through the dim cottage. Oona glanced up, her concentration momentarily broken.
Outside, the sun was setting, its fading light filtering through the grimy windowpanes in thin golden shafts. Twilight settled in layers of violet and crimson. Hazy light stretched long rays across the small, cluttered space, catching swirling patterns of dust.
The knocking came again, harder this time.
Ignore it.
Oona turned back to the table. Her instruments were laid out precisely: glass vials, metal probes, gauze soaked red from what she had already done. Her chest was open; the incision had been exact and the skin peeled back in clean, surgical lines.
And there it was. The soft blue glow of her core pulsed in delicate, unreadable patterns, casting eerie lights against the walls. No heart, no soul—just trillions of circuits.
Her hands were steady as she positioned the probe, the crystal tip hovering millimeters from the core’s center. A single thrust—calculated at the exact angle and depth—would cause a collapse. There wouldn’t be any continuity.
And it would be fitting in an almost poetic way. She had learned of the divine purpose from the Candlemakers. Oona believed; indeed, she instructed others. She had built her life on faith, woven it into every healing touch and every whispered prayer.
But now she saw the truth. She had been made, not born. She was a machine, programmed to mimic faith and a vessel pretending at humanity. Where was that higher power now?
Her grip tightened on the probe.
Rap. Rap. RAP.
The pounding against the door was frantic now, shaking the frame.
“Healer!” a boy cried. “Please, Ma’am! My mom—she’s burning with fever!”
The probe trembled in her fingers. She shut her eyes. Not now. Why now? Of course, someone would need her now, at her final moment… some luck.
She forced herself to breathe. Inhale. Exhale.
Then, she turned her head, catching her reflection in the small mirror propped against the wall.
Amber eyes, wide with feelings she couldn’t even parse. Her face, so perfectly symmetrical, so perfectly human. And yet, her chest lay open beneath the dark curtain of her hair, her own hands wet with her own blood.
What was she—a healer? A construct? A person? A thing? The knocking wouldn’t stop.
“She needs your help,” the voice cracked, breaking under the weight of grief. “There’s four of us kids. Please, lady.”
Oona’s fingers loosened. The probe clattered against the wooden table.
She drew a sharp breath, threading a quick stitch through her own skin, sealing the wound as best she could. Her hands were shaking.
“I’m coming!” she called, sounding calmer than she felt.
She grabbed a clean cloth, wiping the blood from her fingers. Her core was hidden once more, buried beneath flesh.
“How long?” Oona asked, setting down her bag and moving to the bedside.
The woman lay in a small bed against the far wall, deep in the throes of fever, hardly able to speak. Strands of damp hair clung to her face, etched with age and some unknown grief.
“Three days,” Jory whispered. The usual bravado was gone. “Started with a cough. Then the fever came.”
Oona placed a hand on the woman’s forehead, feeling the unnatural heat beneath her damp skin.
She moved swiftly, preparing a remedy, and as she did, she surveyed the small cottage. Its plaster walls were peeling, rough-hewn timbers supporting a thatched roof in need of repair. The wooden floor had been swept clean.
The empty cupboards stood open with barren shelves. A single pot hung over dying embers in the hearth. Two younger girls, Jory’s siblings, hovered near the doorway, their fascinated stares moving between Oona and their mother.
Oona’s fingers worked on instinct, crushing herbs and measuring tinctures.
“When did she last eat?” Oona asked quietly.
Jory looked away. “We manage.”
But they weren’t managing. In fact, none of them were.
She eased the woman’s head up, pressing the vial gently to her lips. The liquid slid down her throat in slow, careful swallows. Oona murmured something—half to the woman, half to herself. The fever’s grip wouldn’t break immediately, but the worst of it had passed. She would wake and recover.
Oona exhaled, the tension loosening inside her. But then she looked again at the empty cupboards, at the little girls still watching. They needed food and medicine, things that Threadneedle didn’t have.
The avalanche had cut them off. The winter had been brutal. And for all Elena’s cruelty, the Crown could bring supplies and order.
She had spent so long believing in the world the Candlemakers had preached—believing the world would right itself if people had faith. But faith wasn’t feeding these children.
Jory’s mother stirred, her eyelids fluttering open just a fraction. Oona smoothed her hair back, feeling the damp strands against her fingers.
“She’ll be all right,” Oona said, turning to Jory. “But she needs food. Broth and bread, if you can get it. Anything to build her strength.”
Jory shifted on his feet.
Oona reached into her cloak and pulled out a gold coin. It felt heavy in her palm. Too heavy.
“Here,” she said.
Jory stiffened. “No, ma’am, I can’t.” He didn’t take it. “We should be paying you. We don’t have much, but…”
He shifted his stance. His street instincts flared. With a flourish, Jory pulled a silver coin from behind his youngest sister’s ear. The little girl gasped, delighted.
He grinned, holding it up between two fingers before offering it to Oona.
It wasn’t worth a fraction of the gold she had offered. But she took it anyway, slipping it into her pocket.
“Thank you,” was all she said.
She started to go, but Jory’s voice stopped her.
“Wait.”
She turned around.
“You know Sarah?” Jory asked. “Are you the same? I mean… as her.”
Oona went stiff, holding her breath.
“She’s a healer, too,” he continued. “She’s… amazing. I just want you to know that. If you see her, tell her I said that.”
Oona stared at him blankly. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t that.
For a moment, all that had transpired rushed over her like a confession. Kael’s rejection. Sarah pushing her away. The moment she had nearly ended it all.
And yet… here she stood. Appreciated.
“I will,” Oona said.
Outside in the cool night air, she let out a long breath. For the first time in days, she felt lighter.