“Marie leads an impure and unchaste life,” Mrs. Coleman says, her tone sharp. “I won’t have you associating with her ilk.”
“But why did we have to comehere?” Clara asks. “Couldn’t we have entered the Lunar social season in a different city? One where we could live somewhere nicer than the Gray Quarter? Or couldn’t we have asked to stay at the manor?”
At first, I’m confused by what she means. Then I realize she’s talking about my father’s house, where we all lived together before he died. After his death, Mrs. Coleman didn’t hesitate to sell it in exchange for funding a lavish lifestyle chasing social seasons. Since each court hosts their month-long social season during a different month, there was always somewhere new to go all year long. A new house to rent. New dresses to buy. New schemes to get closer to the aristocracy.
Look where that’s gotten her. Where’s it’s gotten all of us.
“The manor doesn’t belong to us anymore, Clara dear,” Mrs. Coleman says. “We can’t simply ask to stay somewhere uninvited.”
“We could if we knew anyone important here. At least we had friends in the Earthen Court—”
“You know why we’re here, Clara,” Imogen says, silencing her sister. She then casts a withering glance over her shoulder at me. “It’s almost time for Ember to claim her dead father’s fortune.”
I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge her mention of my dead father and my inheritance. I harbor no doubts about whether they’ll try to steal it from me, for they most certainly will. Even though it’s only a modest fortune, my stepfamily’s financial situation has fallen greatly the past couple of years, and I know they’re growing more desperate by the day. Regardless, they’ll never see a single moonstone chip—the currency of the Lunar Court—after the money is legally mine. Neither will I, in fact. I’ll be giving it to charity as soon as I claim it. That way Mrs. Coleman has no one to steal it from. No one to hound and harass.
Besides, while Mrs. Coleman is undeserving of my father’s fortune, so am I.
I’m the one who killed him, after all.
“Your sister’s right,” Mrs. Coleman says. “When it’s time for Ember to claim her father’s wealth, we’ll need to go to Selene Palace. This is as close as we can get while still maintaining somewhat respectable company.”
There is some truth to that, considering the city of Evanston is the only human city within a twenty-mile radius of the unseelie palace, where my inheritance is being held until the day I turn nineteen. It’s not normally the duty of the unseelie ruler to deal in human matters of life and finance, but after the death of Father’s executor earlier this year, his estate was turned over to the crown. His will and finances were moved to the nearest royal vault, which is, of course, at Selene Palace.
My stepmother lowers her voice. “Just think. If the late Terrence Montgomery’s executor hadn’t joined him in the grave, we wouldn’t have this chance to visit Selene Palace at all.”
Imogen eyes her mother with a smirk, expression calculating. “Did your decision to bring us here have anything to do with the fact that Prince Franco is still unwed?”
I suppress a groan at the suggestion of yetanotherscheme to marry Imogen to fae royalty. Prince Franco is the brother and heir of Queen Nyxia, the Unseelie Queen of Lunar, and he is just as unlikely to fall for Imogen’s nonexistent charms as every other royal she’s tried to woo.
Mrs. Coleman lifts her chin and returns her daughter’s sly look. Her voice takes on a sing-song quality. “Perhaps. Can I count on you to snag his attention?”
Imogen purses her lips, all amusement leaving her face. “Of course, Mother. That is, if we ever manage to steal a moment in his presence.”
“We will, my dear. I promise.”
“Before Ember claims her inheritance? I won’t be wooing the Raven Prince over the fulfillment of contracts. Not when Ember could very well ruin everything.” Imogen says this last part under her breath, but her words reach me just the same. As does the scowl she burns me with.
“I have my ways,” Mrs. Coleman says, a swagger in her step.
Clara gasps, eyes going wide. “That’s why we’re going to Madame Flora’s shop, isn’t it?”
I furrow my brow in surprise; I hadn’t known of our destination until now. Madame Flora is a fae glamourist who specializes in weaving glamours for human entertainment and cosmetic purposes. While I’ve never been to her shop, I know her wares don’t come cheap. Why would Mrs. Coleman spend her dwindling finances on a visit to Madame Flora?
Imogen must have the same question as me. “What is your latest scheme about, Mother?”
She gives a haughty shrug. “One must be prepared should an invitation to a certain glamoured ball—one hosted by the Raven Prince himself—come their way.”
My stepsisters exchange a delighted glance, but Imogen’s excitement quickly sobers. “Mother, the New Moon Masquerade is tomorrow night,” she says. “How do you expect us to procure an invitation if we haven’t already received one?”
“I told you, my dear. I have my ways.”
I shake my head at my stepmother’s back. Of course she has no reservations about wasting money on a ball she has no invitation to. Of course she scrimps on food and coal for the furnace in favor of the latest fashions. Of course she sells my pianoforte—
As if she can sense my burning resentment, Mrs. Coleman whirls around in time to catch my frown before I steel it behind a neutral mask.
Imogen catches it too. “What was that look for, Ember? Jealous you won’t be going to the ball?”
I don’t bother answering her. The truth is I’ve given up on being envious of my stepsisters. It used to hurt more, being treated as a maid, forbidden from attending balls or coming out to society. But after three years of helping my sisters prepare for one grand event after another, I’ve learned society dances are less about the parts I like—the music and dancing—and more about marital schemes and following a careful set of rules labeled as frivolity. I’ve come to believe the best place to be during a dance is in the orchestra, not on a man’s arm.
