“Women have no choice in marriage, you know that. You can take lovers afterward, if you’re prudent about it. Or I’ll marry him.”

Mari was close to tears. “Mother says they asked for me specifically. We’re so small in their eyes that even an old, useless man can demand to marry the next head-woman rather than her cousin. It’s hard to imagine what manner of man Mother believes we can find for you if that’s the case!”

Kirya winced.

“I didn’t mean that as it sounded.”

“The bruise doesn’t get any less sore if it keeps getting poked. Let’s just leave it, eh?” She was used to having nothing much to expect, not even a Flower Night with a decent fellow, someone she could choose. Maybe this confluence would be her only chance to taste a piece of joy just for herself, not for the sake of the others, before the cold truth blew over them like winter’s blizzard. But the thought of offering her Flower Night to a stranger who would not otherwise look at her twice was too grim to contemplate.

“Hey! Hey!”

Mariya grabbed her elbow, shaking her back to earth.

Four armed men crossed out from the Konomin camp, pointing at them. “Yes, you two! Get out of here.”

Under the stares of every woman within earshot, Mari began to snivel.

“Are you talking to us in such a rude way?” asked Kirya. “We’re here to make an offering to the Singer.”

“The Singer doesn’t want you here. Says you’re cursed. Now get out.”

The old woman spat on the ground by Mari’s feet and pointedly moved away, as did everyone else in the line. By now, all movement within eyeshot had come to a halt. The men did not threaten them directly; that would have gone against the gods’ sacred laws. But words were enough, even if no saber was drawn.

Kirya knew her face was hot with shame. People in the distance were whispering and pointing. “How can we be cursed? How can the Singer even know we are here, or who we are? We only came with an offering to ask for a marriage blessing.”

“ ‘Ghosts of a dead tribe, be gone,’ ” said the man in the lead, without looking them in the eye. “ ‘The gods have cursed you. You’ve been touched by the breath of demons.’ The Singer’s words have been spoken. There is no taking them back.”

Mari tugged on her sleeve. “Let’s go, Kiri. Please!”

The gathered people parted to make a path for them to retreat. No one wanted to chance the taint of demon’s breath spreading from their nostrils. Head bowed, sucking down sobs so she would not disgrace them further, Mari strode back the way they had come, but Kirya, following behind, kept her head high. What did the Singer know, anyway? Yet when she thought of the cloak, and the dead woman she had touched, she shuddered.

Coming at last into their own camp, sweating and hot, they passed a woman who strode past them without a greeting. Aunt sat in the shade of the awning, shoulders bowed and face so wan and weary that Kirya choked down fear, wondering if the sickness that had struck down her mother had attacked her aunt.