He passed from my view, then entered the house. I could feel his steps reverberating in the woods all around. He entered like a blazing sun and glanced around the sickroom. Rainer’s bunk was still empty. “Bay,” I said. I needed to ask if he’d taken the earrings. My head was too heavy to lift up. He ignored me, or didn’t hear.

He found what he was looking for and picked up a slight, silver-haired body from one of the bottom bunks. I didn’t recognize the person, till he stirred, and I saw with a shock that it was Dice. Dice either grimaced or smiled, his head falling back, as Bay arranged him across his arms. Bay carried Dice away, out through the courtyard, kicking through the feet of snow, and down, out of sight.

* * *

The wind whisked the bright powder in around the windows and doors. I was down to the nub of my sense, but I knew if I didn’t get water, I would surely die.

I didn’t see how I could get out of the upper bunk where someone had placed me days before. I rocked myself to the edge. My arms were shaking, too weak to hold me, and I dropped to the floor with a terrible thud. The room wheeled, and I lay on the ground and crawled to the kitchen, arm over arm, like a beggar in a desert.

This was my lowest moment, but it didn’t last, because I’d made my way to the cast-iron stove, which was cold. Arm over arm, I hoisted myself vertical and found on top the giant pot filled with soaking beans—the last move Dice had made before he got too sick to continue. I poked the sheet of ice on top until it broke. I dipped a cup into the smoky-colored water. I drank and drank, euphoric, and reached my hand in to eat some of the raw, sodden beans. The pipes had frozen, but I opened the window and piled the pot with snow, stocked it with dippers, and pushed it across the uneven floor back to the sickroom.

I sat for a moment, then stood; my knees felt as pliant as paper. I made my way to Dice’s room. I thought he might be in there, with Bay. He hadn’t locked it. It was empty, in disarray—blanket on floor, sticky brown splashes on the nightstand.

Back in the bedrooms, I gave half the room a drink, holding the dipper to parched lips. I’d helped them. Perhaps I’d saved them. This was my place. I fell asleep in the twelve inches of space below Sara’s bed.

* * *