Water pulled me under—then a net yanked me out like a fish.
"Bring her up! Bring her up!" someone yelled, and hands hauled at my sleeves while the river tried to keep me.
I coughed, water burning down my throat. "Help—" The sound came out ragged and small. A man's voice barked, "Keep her head above water. For the love of the manor, keep her breathing!"
"Who is she?" a woman cried from the bank. "Isn't she—"
"Silence!" a colder voice snapped. "Move aside."
They half-lifted me, half-dragged me onto the muddy bank. Mud caked my hair. A dozen faces bent over me. I saw linen hems, the flash of a steward's sash, the steady set of a man I would later learn is called Canon Greene.
"She's wet through," Maria said, fingers working at my collar. "Miss—Miss Everlee?"
"Miss Everlee Payne," Canon Greene confirmed, voice calm as a bell. "The poor girl has returned."
"My name—" I tried to answer, but coughing cut me off. The river tasted of iron and riverweed and something older, like bone. Another memory stabbed through: a red-sashed hand slipping, a laugh turned to bubbles. My throat spasmed. I did not know whether I had been the hand or the laugh.
"Don't move her!" one of the manor servants ordered. "Lay her on the sedan's quilt. Someone fetch warm water and the medic herbs."
"Where do you think you're taking her?" a
