Crewel

had an accident, because accidents don’t happen in Arras.
    ‘Did Principal Diffet say what happened?’ Mom asks so softly that I barely hear her in the quiet dining room.
    ‘No, but he told us not to worry because accidents are very rare and the Guild will be especially careful and investigate and stuff. Is she okay?’ she asks, her voice conveying implicit trust. Whatever my father replies, she’ll believe it. I long to fall back in time and feel the comfort of knowing my parents have every answer, knowing I am safe.
    My father forces a tight-lipped smile and nods at her. Mom’s eyes meet mine.
    ‘Do you think it’s odd?’ She leans in to Dad, so Amie won’t hear. It doesn’t matter because Amie has returned to worshipping the cake.
    ‘An accident? Of course.’
    ‘No.’ Mom shakes her head. ‘That the principal told them.’
    ‘It must have been bad,’ he whispers.
    ‘Something Manipulation Services couldn’t cover up?’
    ‘We haven’t heard anything at the station.’
    ‘None of the girls said anything today.’
    I wish I had some intelligence to share, because I’m feeling excluded. Outside the dining room night has engulfed our quiet street. I can see the shadowed outline of the oak tree in our yard but little else. It won’t be long now, and we’re wasting time worrying about Mrs Swander’s accident.
    ‘We should eat the cake!’ The suggestion bursts from me. My mother, momentarily startled, does a quick inventory of our plates and agrees.
    Dad cuts into the cake with an old bread knife, smearing frosting across the blade and blending the vibrant red flowers into dull pink globs. Amie props her body against the table, completely absorbed in the ceremony, while Mom collects the pieces from Dad and passes them around. I’m bringing the first bite to my mouth when Mom stops me.
    ‘Adelice, may your path be blessed. We’re proud of you.’ There’s a break in her voice, and I know how much this moment means to her. She’s waited my whole life for this night: my release from testing. I can barely meet her eyes. She motions for us to eat as she wipes a stray tear from her cheek, leaving a smudge of charcoal from her running mascara.
    I take a bite and mash it against the roof of my mouth. The frosting is so sweet that it catches in my throat and makes my nose tingle. I have to wash it down with half a glass of water. Next to me Amie is devouring her piece, but my mother doesn’t tell her to slow down. Now that I’m through testing, it’s Amie’s turn. Tomorrow my parents plan to begin preparing her for her own testing.
    ‘Girls—’ my mother begins, but I’ll never know what she was going to say.
    There’s a hammering at the door and the sound of many, many boots on our porch. I drop my fork and feel the blood rush out of my face and pool in my feet, weighting me to my chair.
    ‘Adelice,’ my father breathes, but he doesn’t ask, because he already knows.
    ‘There isn’t time, Benn!’ my mother shrieks, her perfectly applied foundation cracking, but just as quickly she regains control and grabs Amie’s arm.
    A low hum fills the air and suddenly a voice booms through the room: ‘Adelice Lewys has been called to serve the Guild of Twelve. Blessings on the Spinsters and Arras!’
    Our neighbours will be outside soon; no one in Romen would willingly miss a retrieval. There’s nowhere to escape. Everyone here knows me. I rise to my feet to open the door for the retrieval squad, but my father pushes me towards the stairs.
    ‘Daddy!’ There’s fear in Amie’s voice.
    I grope forward and find her hand, squeezing it tight. I stumble down behind her as my father herds us to the basement. I have no idea what his plan is. The only thing down here is a dank, meagrely stocked root cellar. Mom rushes to the basement wall and a moment later she slides a stack of bricks out of place to reveal a narrow tunnel.
    Amie and I stand and watch; her wide-eyed horror mirrors the paralysing fear I feel. The scene before us shifts and blurs. I can’t wrap my head around what they’re doing even as I see it happening. The only constant – the one real thing in this moment – is Amie’s fragile hand clutching my own. I hold on to it for life, hers and mine. It anchors me, and when my mother wrenches her away, I shriek, sure I’ll vanish into nothing.
    ‘Ad,’ Amie cries, stretching out to me through Mom’s arms.
    It’s her fear that spurs me back to this moment, and I call out to