“Wipe that sour sneer off your face,” Mrs. Coleman says before facing forward, even though I know I wear no such expression.
Imogen, however, continues to eye me with disdain. She snorts a laugh. “Is that soot on your cheek?”
I try to hide my alarm, but a flush of panic rushes through me. Did I forget to wash my face this morning? With the sleeve of my coat, I wipe my cheeks.
This seems to amuse Imogen even more. “Just because your namesake places you amongst ash and cinders, doesn’t mean you should seek cosmetics from a chimney.”
“At least an ember still burns,” I say under my breath.
Clara joins Imogen to smirk at me. “You think you’re a poet now? Little orphan Ember with her clever words and nothing to show for it.”
“Ignore her,” Mrs. Coleman tells her daughters, as if I was responsible for the teasing. “It doesn’t matter how brightly one burns if no one cares to look.”
* * *
We arriveat Madame Flora’s shop with fifteen minutes to spare before it opens.
“We’re too early,” Clara says, shoulders slumping.
Mrs. Coleman’s lips curl into a satisfied smile. “We’re right on time.”
Imogen studies her mother’s expression. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’ll see. Now we wait.”
“Can’t you just tell us?” Clara peeks through one of the windows, but it’s obvious the lights are off inside the shop.
Mrs. Coleman tugs her daughter away from the window, then ushers her and Imogen close. “I have it on good authority…” Her back stiffens, and she whirls around to face me. “Why are you here?”
I clench my jaw. “You gave me no indication I shouldn’t be here, Stepmother. You brought me along.”
“Don’t talk back to me, girl,” she says through her teeth. “You know what I’m asking. Why haven’t you made yourself scarce? Did you honestly think we’d bring you into Madame Flora’s with us?”
“You’ve yet to send me on any other errand. Oddly enough, I can’t read your mind.” I know I shouldn’t have said the last part, so I plaster on a pleasant smile.
Mrs. Coleman’s nostrils flare, her eyes shooting daggers. After a tense pause, she reluctantly reaches into her purse and retrieves a piece of paper. I take it from her, finding a short list of food items. Nothing but the essentials, of course. Especially since every other moonstone chip will be spent on my stepmother’s frivolous fancies.
She shoos me with a wave of her hand. “Go, and don’t you dare come back until we’re done. If you finish early just…wait in the alley.”
The alley. Of course.
Two more weeks. Then it will all be over. Just go through the motions and obey.
“Very well,” I say, voice flat. I leave my stepfamily behind, but not before I catch a few words of Mrs. Coleman’s whisper.
“…the Lunar Prince!”
Imogen and Clara’s excited squeals are the last thing I hear before I round the corner toward the market.
3
FRANCO
“You’ve truly outdone yourself,” I say to the fae standing next to the mirror.
Madame Flora claps her dark, slender hands. “I thought you would like this one,” says the floating porcelain mask that is her face, her voice deep yet feminine. She has no neck to connect the mask to the rest of her short, stout body, which is covered in an elegant black robe. The robe’s many folds writhe around her like shadows pulled by a nonexistent wind.
I turn in a slow circle, assessing my reflection, and try my hardest not to laugh. Not that Madame Flora would be offended if I did. It’s more that I must learn to keep a straight face while wearing this ridiculous—no,marvelous—glamour. Satisfied with my product, I remove the black silk cravat from around my neck. As soon as it leaves my flesh, the glamour disappears.
