Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
OPHELIA
Bells chime somewhere between the flowers and the cabbages, faint but growing in volume.
“Hello?” I whisper, tilting my head and crouching to peer into the bed of carrots. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
How peculiar.
I follow the twinkling, tracing the trail to our single, lonely rose bush. Beside it sits a small creature—a tiny woman with wings as red as rose petals.
A pixie, the smallest of the common fae, is trying to find a home in our garden.
“Well, well, well.” I click my tongue. “How did you wander so far from the Sun Kingdom?”
It’s difficult to say if that’s precisely where this fae comes from, but it’s the most likely possibility. The Sun Kingdom is a day away by carriage, too far for such a little thing to travel alone. She must be exhausted; she certainly appears that way.
Her twinkling voice grows faint.
I’ve seen common fae before, of course, but these tiny beings are rare in Far Water. Still, they appear occasionally—just a glimmer. It’s not usually like this. They fly by, avoiding mortals at any cost. This one, this pixie, is strange.
She hardly moves, her chest lifting and falling.
“You’re sick,” I whisper, “aren’t you?”
She gives a feeble nod.
“Poor thing.” I cup her in my hands and stand, looking about. “This isn’t a safe place for you, I’m afraid. Let us go to the woods. You’ll find friends there—beings who will help. Perhaps another pixie.”
She answers with a twinkle.
“I know.” I hold the pixie close to my chest and scurry into the woods that surround our gothic estate.
She will heal and rest there, and all will be well. This pixie will be free to fly wherever she pleases. In so many ways, I envy her.
My wings have been hidden for so long.
“Apologies,” I whisper. “If it were up to me, you could stay in my garden for as long as you’d like. Alas, it isn’t precisely mine—not that you would ever find my stepmother with her hands in the dirt, digging up carrots.”
Her next twinkle almost sounds like laughter.
I step into the darkened woods, and a cool shiver runs through me as I set the pixie on a tree branch. “Stay there until you heal. You’ll be safe.”
“Ophelia!” A wretched voice, loud enough to echo through the trees, cuts into my soul.
The pixie’s wings shake, as do my hands.
“Oh no. I must go.”
The music she creates sounds like a plea, like reluctance. The pixie wants me to stay, and oh, how I wish to. To leave the little thing alone elicits a guilt I can hardly swallow, but—
“Ophelia!” There it is again. That hideous voice. “I am going to town, and you have not even begun your chores.”
“Blazes,” I mutter, stepping out of the woods and back into what little sunlight remains. “This is what I get for trying to be helpful to someone aside from that horrible woman.”
I give the pixie a fleeting look before running inside.
“I’ve never known women of your stature to be so messy.” I squeeze a sponge with both hands, dripping soapy water onto the floor.
My youngest stepsister, Raia, peers at me with earnest, round eyes.“We don’t try to make such messes.”
“Frankly,” my other stepsister, Elisa, says, “I blame Mama. You’ve no idea how often we ask her to remove her shoes indoors, but she doesn’t listen.”
“I can imagine,” I mutter. “She enjoys giving me more work, doesn’t she?”
I shouldn’t complain about living in such a lovely home.
Then again, I’m the one who does the brunt of the cleaning, keeping it as beautiful as it is.
The chestnut floors wouldn’t be polished if not for me.
The beauty of the place—from the stained glass windows to the vibrant red rug—does little to ease my frustrations.
These days, I hardly notice how attractive our home is, but it was oh-so lovely when I was young.
I would wrap myself up in the curtains and admire the sunlight that peeks through the windows.
My father would play jovial tunes on the piano, and I would reveal myself, dancing and twirling around the room as if our home was a palace and I was the princess.
Father certainly made me feel that way, for a time. Long before he met Lady Ashbridge.
The only music to enjoy now is my squabbling stepsisters. Growing up is a bothersome thing.
My stepsisters are hardly any help. They flit around the room with feather dusters, and I know I must redo whichever task they attempt. Try as they might, cleaning is not among their many skills.
My stepsisters were trained to play the piano with expertise, their lithe fingers able to dance along the keys in a furious flash.
They were taught to charm, make connections, and—above all—to always obey their mother.
They were not trained to join me on the floor.
Their hands are still delicate while mine, once so much like theirs, are red and raw from a day of work.
Only I live in the dirt, with bruised knees and a broken spirit.
I scrub harder.
“You must not let her hear you speak that way,” Raia says.
“How could she hear me?” I blow my hair out of my face, craning my neck up. “She left half an hour ago.”
“She may come back at any moment,” Elisa says. “There’s no such thing as being too careful when it comes to Mama.”
Of the great many things their mother taught them, my stepsisters certainly learned to fear their mother. I don’t find her nearly as terrifying. She isn’t the reason for this spectacular castle. It is mine—or rather, it was my father’s.
I’ll never understand why he didn’t leave it to me in his will. I’m twenty-nine, and I can indeed care for a house all on my own.
I never knew my stepmother was so nasty until it was too late. I suppose my father could say the same.
The day my father’s life came to an end, so did mine. I’m a ghost, floating along these halls, waiting for something to rouse me from the slumber of a living death.
The old, rusted front door creaks open. I lift my head and meet Raia’s petrified stare. She freezes in place, her feather duster coming to a stop.
“You must leave,” I hiss. “If she finds out that you have been helping me, we will all be in trouble.”
They exchange a look and lift their damp skirts, preparing to scurry out. We have been through this before, and they know better than anyone that they will not be in trouble. No matter what they do, no matter my involvement, it will always be my fault.
“Children?” Lady Ashbridge calls, her voice shrill enough to make the house quake.
Children. We’re too old to be considered children; she knows it very well. Raia is three years younger than I, and Elisa is my exact age. We are grown beings. The condescending tone in her voice makes me quake, but I’ll never tremble from fear. No, it’s always with pure rage.
I duck my head and scuffle around on my scraped knees, clutching the sponge with white knuckles. Please, let these moments pass without another scream of her wretched voice.
The click of her heels against the wood will always send a shiver up my spine. The sound is a sign that the joy my sisters and I have been basking in will soon come to an end.
The younger women scurry around the room, searching for an escape, but it’s no good.
The clicking grows louder.
Until it stops.
I don’t have to look at her to know her hands are on her hips. It’s a stance that’s been seared into my mind.
“You,” she whispers harshly. “Were you forcing my daughters to clean again?”
“Mama—” Raia begins to speak.
Lady Ashbridge holds a hand in the air, silencing her daughter with a single gesture. “I was not asking you, child. I asked her.”
I crane my neck to take in my stepmother’s terrible, towering form. Her salt-and-pepper hair is in a tight bun, as it so often is. Her wrinkles may speak of age, which is beauty, but the wrinkle between her brows is pure frustration. She’s always cross with me.
A large necklace, made of gold with red stones in the middle, hangs at the base of her throat. In all my years of knowing her, I’ve never seen her without it.
Useless magic sparks at my fingertips. The energy taunts me, begging to be of assistance, but it slips through the cracks each time. It’s gone before I can decide what to do with it.
My chest deflates, and my courage goes with it.
I avert my gaze. “I’ve been cleaning alone, my lady.”
She’ll know I’m lying. Somehow, she always knows.
“Balderdash,” Lady Ashbridge spits, gesturing at Raia. “Her skirt is filthy and wet. Why is your skirt damp, child?”
“Because…” Raia blinks back tears. She’s always the first one to break.
“You must understand, my lady.” I drop the sponge on the floor. “I did not force them to do anything.”
“We helped of our own free will.” Elisa holds her head high. “Mother, we’re bored. It’s been an awfully dull day. What would you rather we do with our time? Run about the town like hellions?”
“Silence.” Lady Ashbridge’s word is law in this cold home.
We listen, even though I’m fighting the desire to slip free and put her in her proper place. How? How could I? If it weren’t for her, I would be without a home.
Would it really be so bad to be free?
My father’s painting still hangs on the wall, as bright as ever. Even though he is gone, he’s the only spot of happiness in the home. He smiles in his portrait, his warm eyes crinkling as he looks upon us.
My stepmother’s voice becomes a dull thing in the background.
What would you say if you could see us now, Father?
He would scarcely believe the state of his once great home, and he wouldn’t be able to fathom the idea of me being treated as a maid.
“It is good to have a boring day.” Lady Ashbridge draws the curtains, blocking us from the rainbow light. “You do not know the horrendous news I have received.”
“Then tell us.” Raia’s eyes widen into saucers. “Please, Mama.”
Lady Ashbridge slaps a piece of paper down on the floor. It sticks to the soapy water, and the words fade as I attempt to read them.
THREE MORE FOUND DEAD AFTER A TRIP TO THE SUN PALACE BORDER…
I press my lips into a tight line, opting for silence.
“Oh no.” Raia leans over the paper and squints as the words fade into nothing. “Poor things. We should send flowers to their families at once.”
“Yes,” Elisa says. “That’s the least we can do.”
“It is a tragedy, indeed.” Lady Ashbridge turns to us with a calm expression. “On top of it all, unusual fae are out and about in our town. I will never understand why our king and queen allow them into our land, but who am I to question our great leadership?”
It would not be the first time she’s questioned them. My brows lift without permission.
Raia nods solemnly. “What a danger it is.”
“Needless to say, you are forbidden from leaving after dark. They will snatch one of you up and make you a wife.” Lady Ashbridge stares at me pointedly. “Then again, they may not be as interested in you. They prefer mortal flesh, do they not?”
My fingers brush over my pointed ears—less pointed than the full fae but enough that I must use my glamour to hide them from the mortals.
“Yes, Mama,” Elisa breathes. “We’ll stay inside.”
“All of you.” Lady Ashbridge’s eyes linger on me, creating a festering wound in my chest.
Who is she to tell me what I can and cannot do? And why, oh why, do I listen so dutifully?
“Yes, my lady.” I duck my head and scurry from the room.
It takes everything to keep my mouth shut and be what I know is expected of me.
How I long to claw back, to let someone know I’m more than I appear.
It’s impossible. Lady Ashbridge knows what I am, but she does not fear me.
A halfling like myself is practically mortal if not taught to wield their magic properly.
Though my father promised me I would have the magic of the moon, I’ve seen no sign of such gifts. Each time a high fae is in Far Water, the tug at my chest is stronger, yanking me toward them. They may have answers, and how I yearn to know more.
That can never be.