Page 6

The fleeting joy dissipates, and a stone sinks in my stomach at my deceit. Even though a formal promise isn’t spoken, this conversation counts as one, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to honor it.

Obvious disappointment darkens Isaac’s features, but one corner of his mouth curls up. “I’ll see you soon in the city. May the Mother smile upon your travels.”

“By her grace.”

The hunch of his retreating back is a direct dart to the heart, and blood rushes to my ears. I bite the inside of my cheeks not to call after him and blab away all my secrets, wishing I could tell him the truth, but how could I even start? No matter how delicately I phrased it, he’d never look at me the same way again.

Shaken, I stay in the gardens for most of the afternoon, reading quietly under the canopy of the willow tree. Esme is too busy with her preparations for the move to bother me with any last-minute advice, and Cece isn’t back from her riding lesson, yet.

Around five, the wind dies down, and the sun falls quickly in the sky.

“What are you reading?” Cece asks, her chin suddenly on my shoulder.

The way she sneaks up on me, you’d think that girl was magic, too.

I snap the book shut, the purple and gold leather cover shining in the sunset. “Nothing, really.”

The thick layer of mud at the bottom of her dress tells me she played with the horses in the pasture after her riding lesson. She shuffles to her knees, her eyes wide, and dried flakes of dirt fall to the tartan blanket between us. “Wait a minute…I recognize this book. It’s from Esme’s forbidden collection, on the very top glass shelf.” She wrenches the volume from my hands and leafs through it. “A Fae book. I can’t believe Father agreed for you to read a Fae book.” She narrows her eyes. “Unless you managed to steal Esme’s key? Crops, Nell, I’m not a kid anymore. I could’ve helped.”

Everyone else calls me Penny, but Cece prefers Nell, even though it drives Father crazy—as does her foul language.

“Watch your mouth, young lady,” I say with a nasal edge to my voice, imitating Esme. “It’s a history book is all. Esme said I could read it, and I’m sure she’ll let you have it too when you’re older.”

I hold out my hand for her to return it, and she complies with a huff. “Still, I’m here if you ever want to steal her key…or her broom.”

Our gazes meet, and we erupt into a fit of giggles, only sobering up when Cece peels herself off the ground. “I’ll change before dinner. See you in an hour.”

I wave goodbye and return to my reading. I wasn’t lying about it being a history book—sort of. The writer crafted a fascinating picture of his Faerie travels, but now I’m distracted.

I chickened out last night. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Esme’s gift and kept it in my pocket all day instead, exhilarated by the prospect of seeing my reflection for the first time.

The weight of the small wooden box becomes too heavy to ignore, and I scour the empty garden to make sure I’m alone before prying it out. The intricate carvings over the lid separate in two flaps when I click it open. Inside, a folded piece of black cloth covers the small mirror. The two-inch wide piece of glass falls into my open palm, and the sharp glint of light reflecting off its surface feels eerie and exciting.

Heart-pounding, I gaze down at it with wonder. It’s wild to see myself so clearly, and not only in portrait or at the surface of a muddy pond. The painters didn’t quite do justice to my clear green eyes, and a thrill shoots up my spine.

A woman isn’t supposed to think of herself as beautiful, but I can’t understand why. Beauty is a gift from our goddess.

A raven lands on one of the lowest branches of the willow tree in the last gleam of twilight, and the ruffle of its feathers is louder than it ought to be. I tilt my head back to look at the bird.

Just as I’m about to shrug off the unease at the pit of my stomach, the waning breeze picks up. Gooseflesh blooms at the base of my neck. I quickly cover up the mirror, bury it in my skirts, and jerk to my feet. In the blink of an eye, the shadows casted by the branches of the willow tree swell to cage me in.

A furious wind blows at my back, and the fallen leaves littering the garden tumble in the opposite direction they did all day, rushing toward the summer house.

Above my head, the raven takes flight, and its cold cackle numbs my ears. My corset is suddenly too tight to breathe. Someone’s here. I can feel it.

Magic tingles in my palms, and the distinct pressure of a gaze roams my body. A cluster of dried leaves stops abruptly in front of me, bumping into a solid, invisible wall.

Fear drums in my veins as I squint at the night. “Show yourself.”

Chapter 3

I Shall not Flee

Anightmare shimmers into view. Shadows hover around the apparition, snuffing out the dim garden lights. A black jacket, pants, and boots cover the tall, masculine silhouette, topped with a matching hood.

The veil of darkness hiding him from view thins as he inches closer. He’s tall enough that I have to tilt my chin to gaze up at his face, and I bite back a scream.

White streaks—no, claw marks—scar the solid obsidian mask that prevents me from seeing his face and his eyes. The terrible accessory finishes right above his mouth, revealing human lips and a chin dimple. His skin is slightly darker than mine, and his jacket is stretched over his large shoulders. Peculiar drawings cover his knuckles—no doubt some Fae alphabet.