Except no one was saying anything, all staring away from where Perfidy was running. “Out of the way!” she hollered, breathless, and heads began to turn, bodies began to angle away to open up a corridor through the throng.

“Ma!” she said aloud, searching the press of the bodies for her best friend, the woman who’d given her life and raised her, who’d dried her tears when her pa had abandoned them both.

An acrid stink lingered in the air.

“Ma?”

Dead-eyed stares circled around her, and then, one by one, they came to her, touching her shoulders tenderly and offering useless words she couldn’t comprehend. Until she was alone once more.

The base of the pyre was ash and charred wood. The iron stake and chains had been blackened by the fire. Bile rose in Perfidy’s throat, and she turned and let it out. Tears mixed with the vomit. “Whut am I s’posed to do now, Ma?” she said to the bones. The story of the jay and the cardinal floated around aimlessly. “I don’ e’en have wings, Ma, an’ ye think I’m gunna fly?”

“Maybe not fly,” came a familiar voice. This time, it didn’t startle her. There was nothing left to be scared of. She turned to find the same woman as the night her mother was arrested, her odd-looking walking stick planted in the mud, her golden-marked cheeks gleaming in the sunlight. Where had she come from?

“Why?” Perfidy asked. “Why did they do this to her? Ain’t never hurt nobody. Only ever did good in this world.”

“I told you before. They don’t understand.”

“’Cause they’re ants?”

That predatory smile again. “Exactly. You’re a fast learner.”

“That’s whut Ma always says—said.” Fresh tears escaped from their prison.

“Your mother was a wise woman.”

Was a wise woman. Perfidy decided in that moment she hated the word ‘was’. “Whut’s the point in bein’ wise if ye’re dead. Don’ make ye any less dead.”

“With every tragedy comes opportunity.”

“Opportunity fer whut?”

“You no longer have anything tying you to this place.”

“Northpoint is my home. Always has bin.”

“But it doesn’t have to be forever. Do you really want to stay here for the rest of your life after all that’s happened here?”

Memories rose to the surface: her pa’s note on the table, two simple words—I’m sorry—scrawled in barely legible handwriting; her mother’s tear-streaked face as she faded back into her cell. They sank back into the shadows.

“I have nowhere else to go.”

“What if that wasn’t true? What if there was a place just for people like you?”

“Like me?”

“Like us. I can take you there, if you want. Will you come with me?” The woman stretched her gloved hand toward her.