“Yes, now’s a perfect chance.” Before I can say no, he yells, “Brother, this way!” and Bram rounds the corner, grinning.
Emmett raises his brows and nods toward his brother. “Uh, hi,” I say.
“Hello,” Bram replies good-naturedly.
“Lady Ivy, tell Bram that hilarious thing you were just telling me,” Emmett says. I could kill him.
“Um—” I rack my brain for anything clever I’ve ever said. “Shrimps’ hearts are in their heads,” I stammer.
“What?” Bram says at the same time that Emmett says “What?” even louder.
“Uh, shrimps’ hearts—”
“No, we heard you,” Emmett says.
“Are you... fond of shrimp?” Bram asks.
“Not particularly.”
“Oh,” Bram says while Emmett stands behind him, looking at me wide-eyed and horrified.
“I’ll go now.” I turn to walk in the opposite direction.
“Wait, no, theotherhilarious thing!” Emmett calls, and I run, not toward the center of the maze, but to hide from him.
I lose him and spend the next few minutes wandering aimlesslydown corridor after corridor. Suddenly, completely by mistake, I find myself in the middle of the maze. Bram is already there, a golden trophy slung in his hand.
Emmett appears, seconds after me, out of breath, with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He pushes his hair away from his face.
He tackles Bram good-naturedly. “Must you always win?”
Bram laughs along with him. “Yes.”
Olive Lisonbee
I miss the kitchen at our country house in Hampshire. I miss our cook, Mrs. Varvel, and the way she used to wake up before sunrise to roll out pastry dough with me. I miss foraging for mushrooms with my baby sister on my hip. I’ve never felt quite comfortable in my skin, but this homesickness hurts in places I haven’t felt before.
The kitchen in Caledonia Cottage is smaller, and I am here all alone. There’s a rack of gleaming copper pots above my head and an unfamiliar brick floor beneath my bare feet.
But at least the fire is roaring and the lanterns are lit. I peer out the plate glass window and look hopefully to the horizon. The first blue streaks of dawn aren’t here yet, I’ve got another few hours until their welcome arrival.
I don’t remember a time I wasn’t terrified of the dark. It was humiliating to ask Marion if I could keep the lantern lit all night and even more humiliating when she replied yes with that pitying expression she always has on her face when she looks at me.
She means well. They all mean well. Except maybe Faith, but I’m certain it’s just because she doesn’t know me yet.
Maybe if I win, they could all be my ladies-in-waiting. Then we’d all be friends forever. What fun that would be.
But I don’t think I’m going to win. I should have asked the queen for something better than a pretty face with perfect teeth. I should have asked her to make me brave like Ivy or funny like Emmy or interesting like Faith.
But Mother said someone would fall in love with my smile, and I liked the sound of that.
I tap flour out on the butcher block and roll out the square of dough into a long, flat oval. This is my favorite part, the part where I get my hands dirty.
A log in the fireplace pops and I nearly jump out of my skin.
My governess used to say I was afraid of my own shadow. I think it was supposed to be a figure of speech, but it was true. It felt like it was chasing me.
The dark makes me feel like I’m being watched. I like that even less.
