FIVE
Isidore’s fingers work through my hair with methodical proficiency. Although she tugs harder than necessary as she hits a tangle.
“Sorry,” she says too sweetly when I wince.
“I didn’t mean to ruin the dress.” I’ve apologized a dozen times since I returned with my clothing in tatters this afternoon. I don’t give a shit about the gown, but I can’t stop thinking about the locket. Isidore didn’t even notice it was gone.
My family bought my fib—that I’d fallen on an icy patch on my trek back from the Grand Arcade. Isidore did not accept my apology for wrecking my new outfit, which, clearly, she’d planned to steal as soon as we returned home.
“I know it was an accident,” she says while pushing a pin into my hair so hard that it nearly impales my skull.
Yes, she’s not upset at all.
If she knew the truth, she would forgive me.
I know that. But telling any of them about what happened means explaining where I was this afternoon—and who I was with.
Getting turned around and winding up in a shady part of the city?
That might happen to anyone, but if I say something, Kieren will be in trouble.
Making a wrong turn and warding off an attacker?
That will definitely work Broderic up even more.
Telling them Bishop saved me? Embarrassing.
Maybe even humiliating. Especially after he marched me back to the palace like a lost child.
But what happened in that bookshop keeps me silent.
Bishop has a secret.
Or maybe his position allows him to read about prohibited magic. If I confess the wrong thing, it will raise questions I can’t answer—and I have plenty of my own questions already.
So, I let Isidore fume over the dress instead. Never mind that there is no place back home for her to wear such ornate clothing. Most of our closet is worn and threadbare. We so rarely purchase new things that I can’t blame her for coveting them.
“You can have my gown from tonight when we get home.” I doubt I’ll ever find occasion to wear it again. The annual Harvest party we throw for the village is the closest thing to a formal affair that I attend, and the dress is far too extravagant for that.
Isidore perks up instantly regardless. “As long as you don’t mind.”
But her gaze travels to the shimmering gown lying on my bed and lingers like it’s a carrot on a stick.
“The other families probably have entire teams of maids.” Isidore sighs, securing another curl. This time without blunt force injury to my head. “Lady Carrera—”
“We manage fine on our own,” I stop her. Because at the end of this, we must keep managing without servants, whether my sister likes it or not.
She huffs a little as she begins weaving silver ribbons through my hair, creating an illusion of wealth that’s as delicate as spider silk—it will only hold until someone ruins it.
“Remember when Mom used to do our hair?” Isidore’s voice fades like she’s stepped back in time. “She had to tell us stories so we would sit still.”
“Yes.” The memory aches like a bone bruise, the kind of pain that you learn to live with but that never seems to fully heal.
Some days I can’t even remember my mother’s face or her laugh.
She’s been gone so long now that I mostly remember how she felt.
Gentle and patient. Not rushing between duties like I always am, not trying to be sister and servant and substitute parent all at once.
“I wish I could remember her stories,” Isidore says softly.
So do I.
She clears her throat and takes a step back. “You’re finished.”
And just like that, the reminiscing is over, replaced by the usual call of duty.
My sister gathers the gown into her arms as I slip out of my robe.
She fusses with my hair as she helps guide the dress over my head, clucking when I snag it on a pin.
Silk and chiffon whisper against my skin, but she tugs and adjusts straps and fasteners into submission.
Every time I reach to help, she swats my hand.
I give up and let her treat me like I’m her doll.
Finally, she steps away, eyes gleaming. “Arden, look.”
I turn toward the mirror and freeze when I find a stranger staring back.
Her cheekbones are higher, and the freckles that dust the bridge of her nose have been softened under powder, making them look more like flecks of gold than the smattering of dots I’ve always resented. She’s elegant, the kind of person who belongs in the palace, not tramping through muddy fields.
Light catches the silver ribbons in my dark hair, making them twinkle like captured starlight. And the dress …
I’m having second thoughts about giving it to Isidore.
When I tried it on in Damalis, I felt nothing.
Now I see why my sister pushed me to choose it.
The dress is the color of moonlight, and every inch of it, from the plunging sleeveless neckline to the sweeping skirt, is embroidered with tiny golden crystals.
I hadn’t paid attention before, but now I see the gems form constellations in a subtle tribute to the Stars that will honor me tonight.
“I look—”
“Beautiful,” Isidore finishes. “Mom would be proud.”
Her words close my throat. I haven’t bothered with mirrors much lately. There’s too much else demanding attention, too many responsibilities that don’t care how I look or what I’m wearing. But tonight, for just this moment, I’m a person in a pretty dress with her whole life ahead of her.
Who miraculously did not die in an alley today.
Maybe I should be celebrating.
Isidore places a floor-length cape around my shoulders and fastens its gold chain across my collarbone. “You look like you belong here.” The admission is so soft that it feels like a secret.
But I know it’s a lie. I could never belong here, regardless of our family name.
“We’re running late.” Isidore blinks rapidly, but a single tear leaks out. She swipes it away. “The boys are waiting.”
We make our way down the hall, our shoes barely registering on the palace’s expensive rugs.
Voices drift from the sitting room, muffled by the thick oak door, but even stifled, I can hear Andry jabbering away, interrupted every few seconds by Broderic’s steady tone or Kieren’s warm interest. All three fall silent when we enter.
Broderic’s mouth drops open, his expression cycling through surprise, pride, and something protective that hits me squarely in the chest with a pang.
“Well,” he finally manages slowly, “I might need to bring my sword after all.”
“Sword?” I blink. My brother has never carried a weapon in his life. “You don’t even own a sword.”
“Then I’ll borrow Kieren’s.” Light finds his face again, and he breaks into a teasing grin. “To fight off all the potential suitors. They’ll be circling you two like vultures. Andry might have to help.”
Andreas groans and slumps in his chair. “You look okay. For people stuck wearing dresses.”
“Careful, or all the flattery will go to our heads,” I say dryly.
Kieren remains quiet, but he’s not looking at me. His gaze is fixed on Isidore, something soft and hungry and hopeless in his eyes. This is nothing new, but for the first time, her cheeks go pink like she’s actually noticed.
Broderic glances between them, his smile sliding into a scowl.
I step quickly in front of her. “Can we leave? The sooner we go, the sooner this will be over.”
Broderic turns the frown on me. “Stop acting like you’re on a death march.” He stands and smooths the wrinkles from his woolen dress jacket. “Receiving your birthright is a privilege, not a punishment. Not everyone is lucky enough to inherit magic. Right, Kieren?”
Kieren flinches as the barb strikes but collects himself quickly. “Of course.”
For a moment, I’m too stunned at the obvious slight. Collecting myself, I reach for Kieren’s arm, if only to reassure him that he is still part of this family, but Broderic intervenes.
“I think it will be best if I escort you,” he says to me, but the words are directed at our surrogate brother.
“There will be no need for security with the palace guards and Order Marius in attendance. Kieren gets the night off.” Broderic tips his head to Andry and Isidore.
“We better get going. It’s up to the four of us to represent Damalis. ”
Isidore shuffles past with her head down and hurries into the hall. Andry grumbles about stupid parties and follows. But I can’t make my legs work. I look at Kieren, trying to find the right words, but Broderic moves between us and offers his arm again. “We’re going to be late.”
Kieren forces a smile. “Good luck.”
“She doesn’t need luck.” Broderic stares ahead as he sweeps me toward the hall. “She is an Icaros.”
I can’t bring myself to glance back at my best friend, but as soon as we’re around the corner, I smack Broderic’s shoulder. “How could you treat him like that? He’s our brother.”
“He is our ward,” he corrects me, lowering his voice as our siblings come into view ahead of us. “And he needs to remember his place.”
“His place?” I repeat. “Don’t be a snob.”
But Broderic ignores my reprimand. “How long has this been going on between them?”
“Nothing is going on.” But there’s a ringing in my ears. An alarm warning me to defuse this situation. I’m just not sure how to do it.
“That look was far from nothing.” Broderic shakes his head, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “How could you keep this from me?”
“I wasn’t keeping anything from you.” Laughter and muffled conversations float toward us as we approach the ballroom. We’re nearly there. Once we’re inside, he’ll be too distracted to think about this, which will give me time to come up with an excuse for Kieren.
But Broderic stops, his gaze focused ahead of us. “Maybe not, but you suspected.”
“I have eyes, unlike some of us,” I hiss, pleased when this time, he’s the one who blanches. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
Broderic finally turns, his brows drawing together. “Of course I worry.” His tone is caught somewhere between sadness and rage. “One of us has to.”