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I bend over her chair and gather the dress out of it, the skirt over one arm and the bodice against my chest. I carry it to the table and settle it in the chair across from mine. I arrange the skirt so it falls to the floor. I bring the sleeves forward and lay them on the table, one on either side of her plate. Then I go back to the hearth for her shoes, which stand together on the floor in front of her chair. I set them under the table, beneath the hem of her skirt.

In the lamplight, the dress is deep wine velvet, cut in a fashion no one has worn in centuries. Gold thread runs along the cuffs in a pattern of leaves, and small pearls are sewn one after another along the neckline. I’ve washed it, mended it, and kept it from the damp with more care than I’ve given anything else in the house. It’s Prima’s favorite dress, after all.

I put a glazed donut on her plate. I put one on mine.

I reach up, unfasten the clasps at the back of my head, and take off my mask. It’s white bone-porcelain with a mouth of silver ribs. I lay it on the table next to my food. I feel the air hit my face.

I take a bite of my donut. The sugar is heavenly. I smile at Prima across the table, and I let the seamlines along my jaw open so the smile can go as wide as my mouth will go, all the way, all rows of my teeth showing.

Chapter Four

Aveline

The city wall is taller than any building in Rosemere. The gate stands open just after dawn as Callum drives us through.

I’ve been awake since before the light came. We’ve traveled a day and a night to get here, with one passage through a portal that I don’t want to think about again. Callum stopped along the road so we could eat and rest. At those stops, he faced me, spoke slowly, and told me about the city a little at a time.

“No one begs in Nivallia,” he said. “No one goes without what they need.”

At another stop, he told me he’s the city’s spiritual leader and the mayor’s right hand, and that he sees to the well-being of everyone.

“It’s a city of humans,” he said before we set out again, when we could already see the wall on the hills. “You’ll be welcome there.”

I believed him then, and I believe him more now that I can see it with my own eyes.

Just inside the gate stands a large inn with clean windows and a swept step. Beyond it, the main avenue opens wide and straight. If I thought Rosemere was beautiful and wealthy, then Nivallia is something else. The streets are swept clean, and the houses stand straight and freshly painted, with flower boxes under every window. The shops are already open, and their tables carry more bread, cheese, and fruit than I ever saw on the whole of Bellflower Row. There are public gardens with trimmed hedges and raked paths.

The people wear good wool and good boots, and not one of them holds out a hand for coins. The people of Rosemere ate well and let me sleep under a bridge. I can’t picture anyone in these streets allowing such a thing.

I press close to the window so I can see their faces, the way I always do. That’s when I notice the first thing that bothers me.

The people move slowly. A woman with a basket stops in the middle of the street and stands still with her eyes closed before she takes the next step. A man in a fine coat grips a shop railing and pulls his mouth tight before he lets go and walks on. A girl carrying flowers holds her shoulder with her free hand.

I look for the cause and find none, because no one is bleeding and no one is old. They are simply in pain, and there are so many of them.

Some of them turn toward the carriage as it passes. A few press a hand over their hearts when they see me at the window. I can’t tell what the gesture means, so I sit back and fold my hands in my lap.

The carriage stops before a house with a wide stone front and tall windows, larger and finer than anything I’ve ever entered. Callum opens the door, gives me his hand, and I step down onto the street. He walks me up the steps and inside, where a maid in a gray dress curtsies to us in the hall.

Callum turns to face me before he speaks to her, so I can watch both of them.

“Sabrina will take you to your room,” he says.

The maid nods and smiles at me. I should go with her. Instead, I stay where I am, and I make myself ask the question I’ve wanted to ask since the bride market.

“Please, sir. What will I be in your household?” My voice comes out too quiet, and I try again. “Am I to be your servant? Did you buy me for a new maid?”

Callum laughs, and it’s a bright laugh that shows his perfectly straight teeth. He touches my shoulder, gently, where I can see his hand coming. Then he faces me squarely and shapes each word with care.

“Your role is much more important than that.”

“More important?”

“You’ll understand soon. For now, don’t worry about anything. You need to rest.”

He isn’t going to say more, and I’ve learned not to ask twice.

“Thank you,” I tell him, and I follow Sabrina up the stairs.