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“Near Clovendoe. But my parents moved to the city when I was born. They both died when I was very young; I grew up with my grandmother.”

Clovendoe was a settlement to the south, close to the border of Gardemuir. It was far away from Lark’s peninsula, and she had never been there. But in this moment, it felt as though she and Damson were practically neighbors. “I’m sorry for your loss. My parents died when I was younger, too. I live with my older brothers.”

Damson squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry for your loss, too. Two Verse orphan girls—we’ll have to stick together.”

Lark stared down at the path, at her leather lace-up shoes beside Damson’s polished loafers. She thought of painting her own lips with berry stain; she liked Damson so much that she almost wanted tobeher. It was as though she had looked into an enchanted tide pool and the shimmering reflection had become another girl who was made especially to be her friend.

Emboldened, she laid her hand over Damson’s and offered her a tentative smile. “Yes, we will. I promise.”

CHAPTER FOURNow

I wake alone, disoriented by the unfamiliar room. At first, I think I am back in my dorm at Marchmain, and I sit up, panicking that I’ve overslept, that I’ll be late for class. Then it comes into place piece by piece: our parents’ empty room, the grit of sand on the mattress beneath me. The fact that everything is about to be lost—not just my life at Marchmain, but soon, my life here as well.

Unless… I put my hand to my aching head, the events of last night flicking through my mind like the rapidly turning pages of a book. Could it really be possible, that Therion looked into our world through my brothers’ mirror? That he promised to restore the mine if I agree to be his bride?

Sounds come from the kitchen, a clink of crockery, the hum of the teakettle. I scramble out of bed and make my way through the house. My head is pounding, and the morning light that comes through the kitchen window makes me flinch.

On wayward nights during our unsupervised term breaks, Damson would sometimes convince an older boy from the city to buy us a bottle of cheap wine at the tavern a few blocks from the school grounds. We’d drink it beside the river, lying languorous and sleepy asthe afternoon dragged into night and the moon lined a path of silver across the water.

I feel similar now to the way I had after those wine-soaked nights: a splitting headache and a taste of sour berries on my tongue. But this is a thousand times worse. Those mornings, a walk in the fresh air and a cup of strong, black coffee would bring me back to myself. Now, though, I feel changed, bruised. Like my skin is too tight, my bones are too loose.

Henry turns as I enter the kitchen and I expect to see the same disorientation on his face. But he smiles, drawing out a chair as he gestures for me to sit down. I remain standing, looking around the room in confusion. The table is laid with three places; a vase of wildflowers sits beside an open teapot. My brother sets a wooden platter at the center of the table. On it is a heart-shaped cake, frosted with pink icing and stuck with eighteen unlit candles. “It’s strawberry,” he says, meaning the pink icing. “That’s still your favorite, right?”

I stare at him incredulously. He’s neatly dressed, all traces of last night’s misadventures scrubbed away. Acting like this is any other of my birthdays before I left for Marchmain, when my brothers would prepare a cake for us to share at breakfast.

“Are youreallygoing to pretend last night didn’t happen?” I pull a hand through my tangled, still-damp hair. “Are we not even going to discuss what this means? Therion, and what he offered, would solve everything.”

Henry shakes a cigarette from a crumpled packet and lights it. His fingers are trembling, and it’s reassuring, somehow, to catch this gap in his facade—to know I didn’t imagine what happened.

He takes a drag, exhales with a terse sigh. “It doesn’t matter what he offered. You sacrificing yourself to the chthonic world doesn’tsolve everything, Lark.”

“It would only be for the salt season.”

“Every salt season, for the rest of your life!”

On the stove, the kettle lets out a piercing shrill as steam plumes from the spout. We both turn to it, startled, frozen in place at the sound. Oberon comes in from the front room and turns off the stove burner. With a cloth, he lifts the kettle and pours the water into the waiting teapot.

He’s wearing a fresh, ironed shirt and his hair is wet from the bath. Even his glasses are shining, the lenses polished. He glances between me and Henry, his brow creased into a frown. “Lark, you’re our sister. Not some bargaining chip that we’d trade away to our god in exchange for a prosperous mine.”

“I’m your sister, but I have my own free will. And I think we should at least consider—”

“No,” Oberon cuts in sharply. “We aren’t going to consider it.”

I fold my arms, letting out an irritated breath. Henry and Oberon won’t even listen to me. I’m dragged back to my awful last moments at Marchmain, when I tried desperately to explain myself to Headmistress Blanche. Her closed-off expression, her mouth drawn taut, as she held up a hand to silence me.

And now my brothers are treating me the exact same way, like a child too foolish to make her own choices. It’s not that Iwantto sign away my life to Therion—but I resent the way my brothers have made this decision for me. Just like they made the decision to sell our house.

I feel trapped and desperate, like a bird beating its wings against the inside of a cage. “What about Alastair, then? We could ask him to forgive the debt or allow us more time.”

“We’ve already spoken to Alastair—and his father—more than once. They won’t negotiate. Marcus Felimath wants the debt settled.”

“Marcus Felimath is a wretch.”

Oberon laughs sadly. “He’s a wretch we owe a lot of money to.”

Henry crosses the kitchen to stand beside me. Gently, he lays his hand on my shoulder. “Lark, if we don’t repay the debt ourselves,the Felimaths will send creditors to claim it. I won’t put our family through that humiliation.”

“But—”