Up in our mountains, we have a custom. The man a girl chooses to wear the silver comb she carved with her own hands is the man she's pledged her whole life to.

I had carved that silver comb over ninety-nine days, until my eyes burned red, and when I offered it to Louis Carpenter, he turned his head and let it pass.

The comb hit the gray flagstone and snapped at the top in an instant.

He turned away instead, letting the college girl from the Capital City slide a cheap wooden comb into his hair.

Amy Fox blushed amid the cheering crowd. "We're being so silly. Doris Dotson won't be upset, will she?"

Louis only ruffled her hair, laughing softly. "Why would she be upset? You came to do research, and I'm just playing along."

"Besides, the whole village knows she's a disfigured freak. Other than me, who else would ever want her?"

I didn't cry, didn't make a scene. I just crouched down quietly and picked up the broken comb from the ground.

Then I turned to face the big-shot investor from the Capital City, the one who had been seated in the place of honor the whole time.

My voice came out hoarse. "Mr. Gilbert, a broken silver comb. Would you find it beneath you?"

——

Stewart Gilbert rose to his feet, his voice low and rough. "Nothing would please me more."

Four simple words, and they pressed every other sound in the place into silence.

He was very tall, blocking out the light of the bonfire behind him, and a few long strides carried him right up to me.

He reached out, took the broken comb, and slid it into his perfectly groomed hair.

People in the village said this Mr. Gilbert had a severe phobia of germs, that he even swapped out his utensils after every single course.

Yet now, paying no mind to the dirt on the silver comb, he bent his head and said to me,

"I'll come for you tomorrow morning. And don't worry about the wound on your face. I'll bring in the best specialists to treat it."

The smile froze on Louis's face.

"Quite the refined taste, Mr. Gilbert, picking up a defective piece like that for entertainment. You Capital City people sure know how to amuse yourselves."

Stewart didn't bother answering him. He only smoothed back the loose strands of hair by my ear.

"Go home early and pack. Don't bring much. They have everything over there."

Ignored, Louis couldn't keep his composure. He whipped his head around and glared at me.

"Doris, are you done making a scene? You actually think a man like that wants you?"

"With a face like yours, forget the Capital City. Even the girls at the salon in town are a hundred times better than you."

"If you've got the nerve to leave, when they're bored with you and toss you back, this village won't let you back through the gate."

I said nothing. I stepped to the side around him and walked toward my quarters.

The year I was twelve, Louis and I went up the mountain to gather herbs and ran into a wild boar.

To save him, my face was torn open by a tusk, and from that day on, I was disfigured.

When we got back, he wept for three days and three nights, until he nearly cried himself blind.

Back then he said, "Doris, I won't ever do you wrong, not for as long as I live."

He kept that promise, truly. But then Amy Fox came.

A college girl from the Capital City. Fair skin, a bright smile, a soft and gentle way of speaking.

She complained about the muddy mountain trail, and Louis said I was tough, so he forced me, burning with fever, to carry her on my back.

Near the top, my vision went black, my foot missed the step, and the two of us tumbled down together.

The first person he helped up wasn't me. He even turned and blamed me, said I couldn't even walk straight, called me useless.

Later, she wanted a Hundred-Birds Robe.

That is the most precious craft of our tribal people, every stitch and thread the work of real skill.

Louis decided on the spot that I would embroider it for her.

I embroidered for two months straight. My right eye was so overworked I could no longer see the point of the needle.

The day it was nearly finished, my arm gave out, and a single drop of blood splashed onto the embroidered surface.

Amy hid behind him, wiping away tears, the picture of injured innocence.

"Louis, just let it go. Doris didn't mean to do it."

The moment those words left her mouth, they made it look like I'd done it on purpose.

Louis kicked the embroidery frame over, and the threads scattered all across the floor.

“If you're jealous of Amy, just say so. But dripping blood on her clothes? Have you no shame at all?”

The embroidery frame had slammed into my shin. The bruise still hadn't faded, a deep purple smear against my skin.

Back in my room, I started packing.

The suitcase was small. So was the pile of things that went into it.

I was in the middle of folding when a dull, dragging ache twisted low in my belly. By my count, my period was almost due.

I bent over the suitcase, pressing my forehead against the open lid.

That was when the door swung open.

Louis came in carrying a bowl of brown-sugar ginger water and set it down on the table with a heavy thud.

He glanced at the luggage on the floor and let out a scornful little laugh.

“All right, drop the act. That whole performance today, you just wanted to make me jealous, didn't you?”

“Once you've thrown your fit, put your things back. I made you ginger water. Drink it and get to bed early.”

He stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, watching me pack with a look that said he'd already decided this was nothing but me playing hard to get.

I said nothing and kept stuffing things into the suitcase.

Louis's patience ran out.

“Mr. Gilbert was only amusing himself with you. When he doesn't show up tomorrow, I'd love to see how you clean up that mess.”

I didn't touch the bowl of ginger soup.

Last time, Louis had told me to stop putting on airs, to stop imitating city girls who drank brown-sugar ginger water during their periods.

Now he'd suddenly carried in a bowl, and it was only so I'd be grateful, so I'd meekly admit I was wrong.

He sprawled back in the rocking chair, eyeing me sideways as I gathered my things.

Then his gaze locked onto something and held.

“What's that you're clutching?”

My hand tightened on instinct. This silver hairpin was the only thing my mother had left me.

She had once been the finest silversmith in the village, her craft unmatched across three provinces.

Before she died, she'd held my hand and pressed this hairpin into my palm.

“Doris, this is the one thing your mother leaves you in this whole life. Wherever you go, never lose it.”

Louis crossed the room and snatched the hairpin from my hand.

“Amy says the pattern's worth studying. Perfect. I'll give it to her to go with that Hundred-Birds Robe.”

“Louis, you can have anything else, but not this. This is all I have left of my mother.”

Before I could finish, he shoved me to the floor.

The back of my head struck the corner of the suitcase with a dull ring. The case toppled over, and everything inside spilled across the floor.

Louis slipped the hairpin into his pocket and looked down at me, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

Then, as if he'd remembered something, the expression vanished in an instant.

“Today, in front of all those people, you ran off to hand a comb to an outsider and left Amy with nowhere to hide.”

“You walked away quick enough, but Amy's been taking the blame ever since. Consider this hairpin compensation for her grief.”

He crouched down, his tone suddenly softening.

“Go apologize to Amy first thing tomorrow. And be nice about it.”

“Once her fieldwork's done and she's back in the Capital City, I'll be generous enough to throw a wedding banquet and marry you.”

When he said generous, he said it without a shred of doubt, truly believing that marrying me was a gift he was bestowing.

I lay sprawled on the floor, staring at the scattered old clothes and broken bits of silver.

Everything I'd done for him all these years was probably worth just as little to him as these things on the ground.

Taking that wild boar's charge and ruining my face for him, worthless.

Standing by him through countless brutal winters and scorching summers, worthless.

Giving him the finest craft of my life, my best years, my deepest love, all of it, worthless.

I pushed myself up slowly and began gathering the scattered things back into the case, my movements light and slow.

“Don't bother, Louis.”

I heard my own voice, hoarse and ruined.

“I don't want you anymore.”

He froze for a moment, and then his face turned ugly.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, I don’t want you anymore.”

“Doris, I’m offering you a way out and you’re spitting on it?”

He sucked in a breath, looked around, and his eyes landed on the embroidery design archive at the corner of the table. He snatched it up.

Those pages held the craft my mother had passed down to me. It had taken me three years to compile them.

“You don’t want me? What can you even do without me? You think that Gilbert man is really going to come for you?”

“Fine. Then you can forget about keeping this junk too.”

He hurled the whole archive into the fire basin in the corner. The flames licked up instantly, belching black smoke.

I lunged to save it. He shoved me back, and I watched three years of my life turn to ash.

“Ungrateful little wretch.”

He slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.

“Apologize to Amy first thing tomorrow, and I’ll think about whether I still want to marry a freak like you.”

His footsteps faded down the path.

I knelt in front of the fire basin and clawed at the charred paper with my bare hands.

Blisters rose across my fingertips. It was already too late.

Most of the archive had burned to ash. Only a few scorched corner pages were left, still smoldering.

That was when the door opened again. Amy Fox poked her head in.

She glanced at me, crouched by the fire basin, and used a teapot to douse the last of the embers.

I looked up at her.

She bent down, picked up those few surviving pages, leafed through them, and carefully tucked them into the front of her clothes.

When her eyes met mine, she smiled.

“Doris, don’t hold it against Louis. His temper runs a little hot, but he’s already been good to you.”

“These things are burned anyway. There’s no point keeping them. Let me take care of getting rid of them for you.”

Then she turned and left with a light, springing step.

She didn’t know yet what those surviving pages would bring her.

The storm came at midnight, without warning.

By the time the thunder jolted me awake, the water inside the house was already up over my ankles.

The village loudspeakers had started blaring the alarm: “Flash flood. Everyone get to high ground.”

I rolled out of bed, bare feet splashing into the rising mud, grabbed my bag, and ran.

The whole village was in chaos.

Adults shouting, children crying, chickens and dogs all tangled into one wall of noise.

The water rose too fast. It was already over my knees.

As I passed the ancestral hall, I heard someone inside screaming.

It was Amy.

I had no idea what she’d run out here for in the middle of the night, but she was trapped inside the ancestral hall.

I cursed under my breath, then turned back to save her anyway.

When I pushed the door open, the water was already up to her thighs.

She was crouched on the altar table, soaked through, screaming until her voice cracked.

“Doris, hurry, save me, I can’t swim!”

The water had climbed to my calves. The earthen walls of the hall were giving off a horrible groaning creak.

I rushed in and grabbed her. “Move, this place is coming down.”

The words were barely out when a crash split the air overhead.

The roof beam had snapped.

In the instant it fell, instinct made me shove Amy clear.

The whole beam came down across my right leg.

The sound of bone breaking was sharper in my skull than the storm.

The pain whited out my vision. I opened my mouth and no sound came.

The water beneath me turned red, fast.

Amy stood a few steps away, a thin scrape of skin torn off her arm by the splinters.

She started sobbing: “Help, Louis, help me!”

It didn’t take long for Louis Carpenter to break in through the window with his men.

He stood in the water, his headlamp swinging from me, then to Amy, then back again.

The moment Amy saw her rescuer, she clutched her arm and shrieked.

“Louis, my arm, I’m bleeding, it hurts so much, it hurts.”