It’s her special night tonight: she’s been given the blessing from the elders. Normally they don’t mix with anyone who isn’t from the island, but tonight, if she sees an Outsider and she likes the look of him, she can choose him, go with him, give herself to him. Just for one night. It’s an ancient rite, practiced for centuries, a way of preserving the ways of their people at the same time as it strengthens the bloodline. It can only happen now, on this night, because tomorrow is her wedding day. Those babies born nine months from the ceremony are all the more special for it, though it can be hard for the menfolk to accept that this is the way it has to be. Her betrothed hasn’t looked in her direction all day. He can’t wait for tomorrow, for the ceremony that will tie them together until their deaths. They both know that very occasionally, maybe once in a generation, the girls don’t come back. They choose to stay with the Outsider. Constance wants to comfort him, tell him she is his, that she would never leave him. Whatever happens tonight will soon be past, never to be spoken of between the two of them. She can tell he is hurt, but he, like her, must wait until tomorrow. It is the way of their people, and there’s nothing either of them can do about it.

They emerge from the sea, slick with seawater. She steps onto the sand with feet that feel newly born, with legs that are unsteady at first after swimming so far. But as she gets closer to fire, she hears the rhythm, the drumming; the beat enters her body so that she starts to move, to dance, to lose herself in this one final night of freedom. She mustn’t think of tomorrow, of the boy who sits in the shadows, his heart bruised. Tomorrow is the beginning of a long life together; they have time to mend, to journey, and to bear the children who will carry on the traditions.

When the man comes into the circle of light, their eyes meet, and she knows he is the Outsider she’s been waiting for. She pushes thoughts of her beloved away so that when he takes her by the hand, she goes willingly.

CHAPTER

12

NOW

Joanna

Saturday, December 22, early morning

“CAN I CALL you Sarah?”

The old woman stiffened slightly. “Well. If you have to.”

Mrs. Sarah Stefanidis was sitting in her living room in a high-backed floral armchair, her white stick leaning within reach. On her knees was a tray, where Joanna now placed a mug of tea.

“Careful—it’s hot.”