1
Iris Lightfoot hadnever imagined she would end up in this room.
There was nothing here to put her at ease. The ceiling was vaulted, and every noise echoed. If she so much as shifted in her chair, the tiny squeak would rebound on her a thousandfold. She felt very small and very noisy, like some kind of pest about to be squashed.
Like everything in her new, narrow life, this room was refined but comfortless. Unicorns preferred austerity. Luxury was for dragons, who were self-indulgent, self-glorifying, and excessive.
That was what Iris’s world had always told her, at least. Down pillows, fluffy bathrobes, hot tubs, modeling clay, birthday presents, concerts, nail polish, sleeping in on the weekends ... all of it was for dragons. Humans could have their own share of that selfish, decadent happiness, of course. You couldn’t expect them to resist it. They were, as the saying went, only human.
Unicorns were supposed to be better. They were supposed to be perfect, and their elders made sure they had the guidelines for it.
Sit up straight. Speak more softly. Avoid slang and profanity. Be elegant, but never be excessive. Don’t color outside the lines. Don’t have second helpings. Don’t run. Don’t make a mess. Don’t do that, don’t do this. If you really, really want something, that’s probably a sign that you shouldn’t have it.
The Silver Council’s cold, cavernous reception chamber was for people who followed all those rules without a second thought.
Which was why Iris had no business being there. For years, she hadn’t followed the rules at all. Sometimes she’d even gone out of her way to flaunt them.
Back in those days, she would have defiantly said that she didn’twantto be perfect. Perfection was the cookie cutter that had stamped down on her older sister, forcing her into a rigid, unrecognizable shape. Perfection meant that you weren’t really you anymore.
But if she was here, then it meant the Silver Council had decided that she was, if not perfect, then at least close enough.
There was nothing left of the person she used to be. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
She had paid a huge price for embracing independence and imperfection, and she’d learned her lesson. She was done trying to test the boundaries of her life.
It was good that the Council recognized that. Really, it was almost unbelievably generous of them, considering how much trouble Iris had been in the past. Against all odds, they were willing to put most of a troubled lifetime behind them and focus on the new.
Perfect people didn’t hold grudges. She should be grateful for that. Shewasgrateful for it. She was grateful for everything, especially the certainty that if she followed the rules, she had nothing to be afraid of.
So why did she flinch when the woman she was waiting for walked in?
Iris rose to her feet, trying to disguise her involuntary cringe of terror as politeness.
“Lady Marianne,” she said, bowing her head.
Lady Marianne ruled the Silver Council with an effortless sense of command, the quintessential steel fist inside the velvet glove, and even though Iris had known her all her life, she could never get used to the towering sense ofpurposethe older woman brought with her. It felt like every choice Marianne made, however minor, had the weight of ironclad certainty behind it.
And here she was, smiling at Iris with real warmth, exactly like Iris’s presence here wasn’t a huge, dire mistake.
“Please sit down, Iris.”
Don’t sit down. Run away and never stop running.
Iris ignored that urge. It wasn’t her unicorn’s voice. It was just the Old Iris, lingering in her mind like a ghost. She sat back down.
Despite how long she’d been waiting, the straight-backed mahogany chair still felt chilly, and she had to fight the urge to squirm. (There was no cushion, obviously. Cushions were for dragons.)
Lady Marianne studied her closely. “You’re surprised to be here.”
She was one of the few people who could still read Iris’s facial expressions. The accident had left her inscrutable to almost everyone else. Too many delicate nerve endings had been severed, and too many scars had taken their place.
“I only know one reason people are ever summoned to this room,” Iris said, choosing her words carefully, “and I would’ve thought my past disqualified me.”
“There were some cautious murmurs, I’ll admit. But everyone knows how much you’ve changed. In the last year, you’ve grown into a shining example for us all. Your strength, resilience, simplicity, and dignity have been entirely admirable.”
Iris’s face warmed. Despite all the anxiety twisting her up inside, she couldn’t help feeling proud, too.
“That’s very kind of you, my lady.”
