Chapter 1
Four Years Ago
The length of Miss Hellveig’s cane burned my raw, cracked knuckles where bruised flesh strained to guard the bone. It was my fault. I was too deeply devoted to the letter I wrote to anticipate the hit, and the swing to my pen hand was proof of that.
I mistakenly yelped, and loudly so—noise was never worth the price. I knew that just as I knew my poor attempt to write Ser William would fail like all its predecessors, but Hellveig appeared in front of me like an angry ghost.
She said, “You must always be aware of those moving against you,” and I felt my heart skip as her eyes found my page.
The fire popped. There was hardly another sound, save for my staggered breath as I felt the distance of Father’s study from the dining hall grow.
“And pray,” she began, unfurling her hand once and then closing it, coiling it back to the head of her staff like a serpent’s mouth. “What project are you working on, Your Highness? That doesn’t look like your words.”
She peered through the long space between us and slowly narrowed her eyes. I raced to bury my focus beneath othersheets, but she clawed at it, nearly ripping the parchment. I pried it from her grip and bolted it to my chest.
Hellveig frowned. Her nostrils widened. “Give it here,” she said.
I did not.
“Now, Princess.”
I heaved a breath and did the dumbest thing I could—I ran, fleeing from the room into the corridor.
I woke up with a sickness in my gut, to the bright, cheerful humming of Miss Jocelyn. Yet Hellveig’s words gripped the moments between sleep and her pretty hymn. I made myself unnoticeably still while Josie reached the chorus. She passed my toes, and I reminded myself of what I knew, just as Ser Elías had urged me to do when I would dream such things.
I knew that Hellveig was gone. I knew that she was not in the room with me. I knew that, for the weak and candid moment of vulnerability I’d given Mr. Evergreen at the farmstead, I’d conjured her appearance into my peace, and that her wraith was a simple manifestation of fear and doubt regarding his safety. I knew that I worried she would return from death, that the Devil would spit her back, but I also knew there were worse things he kept. I knew that Mr. Evergreen did not want to speak to me and that I didn’t blame him for it.
Ididn’tknow if he would reveal my secrets or our relationship—whatever it was—or if he had divulged the itinerary of our afternoons to Sameer. I didn’t know if he spoke of every look I thought I’d received from him. I didn’t know if ithad all been an awful jest—a hoax or something I imagined, but I?—
“Come on, you lazy slug,” Josie playfully barked. She tapped my knee. “You’ll be late for the Derby if you sleep much longer.”
“I do not care about the Derby,“ I moaned. “I am not going.” I burrowed into the pillow, bringing the blanket close.
She moved to the wardrobe to retrieve one of the new dresses. “I thought we agreed on the green one with the leaves?”
“Wear whatever you like,” I told her. “I don’t mind.”
“Did you know...” She tore the blanket off, then rolled it like a lump of dough into her hands. She tossed it to the floor next to the bed. “Liars oft omit contractions?”
“What?”
“I said liars often omit contractions, Miss.”
I sat up, confused. “I don’t understand. Did we change the topic somehow?”
She bobbed her head, then raised the pitch of her voice. “I do not care; I am not going!”
“I…?” I scoffed. “Is that what everyone thinks I sound like? Like a deranged mouse?”
“If you didn’t care, you’d say don’t,” she said. She shrugged. “It’s just an observation, is all.”
“What is the observation, Jocelyn?” I asked.
“Your contractions,” she explained. “Well, lack of. I do not care, versus, I don’t care. Which sounds more convincing to you?”
“Neither, because I don’t sound like that. My voice is rather deep, I think.”
“Of course it is, Your Highness,” Josie said.
