Page 133 of Bone Year

My father’s chest. The last look in my father’s eyes before he passed.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Draven’s fighting to stay calm. “I’m asking you anyway.”

The bell tolls above us, and I want to curse it. The twisted creatures are dead. I’m tired of hearing it.

The snow keeps falling.

I look down at the scalpel in my hand and up at his wing where the dark is already starting to spread, blue-black blooming around each torn place where the spines went through. I know I have to cut it out fast, or he will be just like Nella. If it has any chance at healing quickly, I need to cut.

My hands are shaking so hard I can barely keep hold of the scalpel.

He turns and gives me his back, and I see the full damage. It’s not as bad as Tomas’s father’s. It isn’t good either.

There are only two barbed spines.

I grab them and pull them out fast, tossing them into the snow.

Draven doesn’t make a sound.

I stare at the black veins spreading around the two gashes in his wing.

My hand won’t move.

Every time I cut, people die. Every time I don’t cut, people die. My father with his hand on my hand. Nella with her eyes still open looking at the ceiling. The way no one looks at me the same after… I can pretend I am still a healer, because I am in school, but I am not a healer anymore. I am a girl with shaking hands who watches people die.

I’m going to pass out. I’m going to pass out on the man I’m supposed to be saving. I can hear my own breathing and cannot make it slow down.

The scalpel is so heavy.

It feels like I’m in the clinic. I’m at the table. My father is looking at me and waiting for me to —

“Rose.”

I flinch.

Draven’s voice is sharp.

I drag my eyes up.

He has turned his head and is looking at me over his shoulder. His eyes are red at the edges, brighter than before, and his jaw is set in a way that is not patient.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Draven, I —”

“Cut.”

“I can’t.”

“You godsdamn well can! Pick up your hand. Put the blade against my wing. Cut.”

“Draven, you don’t understand⁠—”

“I understand fine,” he says through his teeth. “I understand that I just killed three twisted creatures for you, I understand that I am bleeding corruption out of a wing I cannot reach, and I understand you are about to let me die because some part of you is still holding on to some past trauma, but I am here now and need you to cut.”

I feel dampness on my cheeks. I didn’t know I was crying.

“I can’t —”