Over the next two weeks Fellen pulled out all the stops on her burr-like qualities. She didn’t take “no” from anyone, not even her mother. She wouldn’t tell me exactly what happened with her but, given the rumors and what I knew of their relationship, it wasn’t difficult to guess. Apparently, when Fellen returned to her family’s tent at our gathering trip her mother and her had gotten into an argument that was loud enough at times for those close by to make out what was said. I didn’t doubt most of the noise had come from her mother, given the scene she caused when we arrived at Grislander’s Maw. I assumed that Fellen had decided she needed more time outside than she could get by sneaking away, so she had announced to her mother that she refused to be kept in the tent any longer. Lendra took that badly and things escalated from there. However, Lendra wasn’t nearly a match for her daughter’s sheer ramheadedness and determination when it came to something she had decided for herself.

So now Fellen was free to spend the remaining days I was with the tribe packing my days full of activities—unless it was time for training. Nole was the only one she still listened to without getting stubborn. I became grateful to the huntress for that; for all that it was novel and interesting spending hours on end with Fellen without struggling to survive, I could only take so much before I started to feel the strain. I was used to quiet and spending long hours focusing on a single task by myself, and while we would sit side by side working on some project or training together, Fellen was more interested in doing competitions and talks and games one after the other. I tried to be more lenient than normal before I became snappish—every time I looked at her I could see the manic desperation in her eyes that came with the knowledge of time becoming short—but there were times when she pushed for too long and the strain broke my control over my tongue.

Still, her sudden change in behavior gave the rumormongers whiplash. They struggled to reconcile the meek, subservient girl they’d been crafting in their stories with the stubborn, outgoing girl they were now presented with. And as they were left in the wind, trying to reconcile what they assumed and what they saw, the sentiment that we had completed the goddess’s trial with our wits and resolve gained traction. Some people, who had barely acknowledged my presence in the past, would even nod their heads in respect as we passed.

There was one sticking point other than training that interrupted Fellen’s plan to spend all the waking hours with me. About four days after the gathering trip my wounds healed up enough that I had to move back to Grandmother’s tent—and she was less than keen on Fellen interrupting at all hours when there was work to do. A schedule—that I had little say in—was set. I didn’t appreciate that Grandmother could still dictate how I spent my time, but while I was an adult I was also still her ward since I hadn’t completed an apprenticeship yet. Given that there wouldn’t be time for me to complete my huntress training with Rawley before I left, I would technically be her ward until I became a whisper woman.

Early to midmorning was reserved for Grandmother and what chores or rituals she wanted my help with. Then Fellen and I were free to do what we wanted until the midday meal. Most of the afternoon was reserved for training and then we had until the evening meal to do activities again.

It was odd spending so many hours out and about in the forest and the valley, but I relished the freedom of it, even with the schedule. My shoulders still tended to tense up when I got up to leave Grandmother’s tent, but she never stopped me. And truth be told, I needed those hours of quiet in the mornings doing repair work or cleaning or sorting. Even with training breaking the day up, I don’t think I would have made to the evening meal everyday without saying something stupid otherwise.

I learned over those two weeks that while I had the chance to be passable at dancing, I certainly didn’t have a gift for it. Fellen insisted that we practice everyday. Never for very long, in case we caught the goddess’s eye, but Fellen was set on us doing a short reflection dance which required that we matched each other’s movements and timing. I tried to convince her to do a formation dance instead, which were thought to be easier, but my reasons and protests fell on deaf ears. The Dance of Water into Ice was the only dance for her; at least I had seen it performed at the festival in the past.

While I did allow Fellen to have her way more as we prepared for the Heartsong festival, I didn’t turn into a pushover. I didn’t let her win any of the competitions if I could help it, and I made sure a decent amount of things we did could be considered training for the Seedling Palace. Every evening before the meal, I would recite one of the myths I knew to her, to help keep them fresh in my mind, and when I learned she was having difficulty memorizing some of the different plants we needed to know for our huntress training, I began to help her study. While I might not be able to use the healing knowledge I knew about each plant, knowing its other properties and keeping my ability to quickly recall information honed were important.

All in all, those two weeks passed by quickly. It felt too soon when I saw people begin to make rings of pine needles around their tents and the smell of bitter bark cakes came from the cooking fires. The Heartsong festival always started in the evening and then lasted two more nights, for a total of three nights and two days. As that last day before the festival progressed more and more people began to appear with light blue painted onto their faces and hands. Some even managed to get the color of folly and motion and frivolity streaked into their hair.

I had never liked to wear the festival paint ever since she had smeared it across my eyelids and mouth and claimed that now my outsides finally matched my insides; that perhaps now I would realize how foolish my clever answers really were. After that I took to only wearing a bit of the festival paint on my hands, if at all.

But when Fellen handed me a bowl of the sticky paint in the meeting hall as we were getting ready with Rawley and the others I paused instead of simply doing a couple simple dots on the back of each hand. Her opinions didn’t matter anymore, nor did she get to control me anymore.

I turned to where Rawley sat nearby, pinning back some of her hair with a comb Veris had made. Crest had already done her paint in a double row of spikes that wrapped around her left eye in a semicircle.

I held out the bowl to her. “Will you do mine?”

She blinked, obviously surprised before she smiled and finished putting the comb in place. “Gladly.”

Rawley took the bowl from me and I scooted closer so that we sat facing each other. She studied my features for a moment before picking up a small stone stylus that lay by her knee. Rather than just using her fingers she dipped the stylus into the paint and used it to apply the paint to my face. She made a row of dots just above my eyebrows before doing two more rows of dots under my eyes, but not all the way to my nose. It was a simple design but effective, especially when combined with my trial mark.

Rawley smiled at me again as she set the bowl and stylus down. “Fierce and beautiful. May I do your hair as well? Or would you prefer it down?”

I accepted her offer. I had gotten used to her detangling and braiding my hair during quiet, private moments of teaching, and the thought of having to fight to keep the hair out of my eyes during the festival was annoying enough without having to deal with the real thing. She braided several small braids before pulling all of my hair back into one secure, simple plait so that the smaller braids wove throughout it. I appreciated the fact that she didn’t do anything too fancy so that I didn’t have to worry about it coming apart while dancing with Fellen.

Once everyone was ready, we began the hike up to the ridge that separated the valley from the lands beyond. It didn’t take us long to catch up with the others already making their way to the top of the ridge. All the tribes were heading there for the start of the festival as was customary. Once we joined the crowd, it was slow going, but Veris, Crest, and Rawley kept the conversation going as others chimed in and kept the walk from being born out in tedious anxiety. I had keep reminding myself not to search the crowd every time I felt someone’s gaze on me. I didn’t need to know if it was the twins or Father or her, didn’t want to know.

We weren’t able to get a spot in the trees on either side of the ridge, which were considered more lucky and a good omen to the start of the festival, so we ended up somewhere near the middle of the ridge, just before it began its decline into the foot hills below. Conversation buzzed around us and through the crowd you could spot young children playing and a few people getting some last minute practice steps in.

Then, as the sun began to disappear behind the horizon, came the crack of multiple rhythm sticks hitting together from all around the crowd. Conversation immediately ceased and everyone immediately stood at attention. Three rapid cracks cut through the air and you could feel the tension as nearly two thousand people prepared for what came next.

With the next crack of the rhythm sticks everyone stomped with their left foot and clapped. With each beat, we stomped and raised our hands a little higher until they were raised over our heads, as high as they could go. There was a pause as we watched the sun sink behind the horizon.

And then there was an incoming roar as wind born from nothing tore from the direction of the Seedling Palace. I stumbled back from the force of it when the wind hit me, eyes stinging. After that initial gust the wind died down, but didn’t go away completely. It wove through the crowd, ruffling hair and brightening cheeks—and if you listened closely you could hear a woman’s clear, powerful voice singing.

Every year the goddess graced her people with the Beloved’s song.

No one moved until the wind and song disappeared completely. Once they did, the Grandmothers’ voices rang out, “For the Beloved!”

Prayer needles were pulled out and marks pricked as everyone echoed, “For the Beloved!”

Nearly two thousand drops of blood hit the snow and disappeared into dust as the goddess accepted the offerings. Fellen twisted around to look at me, eyes bright with excitement. Rawley and Crest clasped hands.

The Heartsong festival had begun.