Page 57

The Stables

It’s going to snow.

I can feel it on the breeze as I step out of the Chateau stables, gulping my fill of rousing, frostbitten air.

My ankles throb from dancing—a small pack bounces heavily against my shoulder.

Curls of frost have already begun to paint the iron rose hedges, and ahead, the borders of Lac des Cygnes are limned with rime.

My fingers, clutched around reins, are already aching from the cold.

I give the leather strips a gentle tug, and the good-natured gelding ambles behind me, his heavy snorts pluming in the air.

He’s pure black of coat, and his tack shines with fresh polish, the buckles of his bridle glinting in the midday light.

He was a gift from Aimé, one the Dauphin—well, the former Dauphin, now King—had insisted I take on my journey.

He’s well trained and of good stock, Aimé had assured me.

And… He’d looked away, sheepish. I don’t want you to be alone.

I pat the gelding’s neck as I lead him down the narrow path that will take us out into the Chateau courtyard, then around the lake toward the city.

From there I don’t know where we’ll go—Orlica, perhaps, or Lore.

“I could pay Princess Turnip Hair a visit,” I tell the horse, smirking to myself.

For now I’m following my instincts, tailing rumors of strange apparitions in forgotten places, unusual happenings, and newly spawned myths.

Anything that might lead me to the two missing Mothers.

At my back the revelry continues, music surging in cheerful swells from the Chateau’s open windows, eager chatter and laughter carrying across the grounds. I smile, tightening my grip on the reins, and begin to angle the horse toward a small stump with the intention to mount.

“Running away already?”

I turn to see my brother approaching from the Chateau, rubbing his hands together against the cold.

The tips of his nose and ears have gone an endearing red, and his wide shoulders are hunched beneath his cloak.

“They’re telling your story in there, you know.

” He gestures to the palace. “The white swan and the black—but they keep getting the details all wrong. I heard someone say it was Aimé and Marie who jumped into the lake. Another is convinced there was a unicorn involved.”

“A unicorn?” I echo, offended.

“A purple unicorn,” my brother says gravely. “Perhaps you would like to go back inside and dispel these offensive rumors?”

I smile, but it’s strained, heavy with all the uncertainties of the future. “I can’t. You know I can’t. Besides, if Aimé sees me leaving, he’s going to cry.”

Damien huffs a laugh. “That he will.” Then his smile fades. His eyes have gone horribly, revoltingly soft, an unbridled look of fondness on his face. “Must you leave so soon, Dilou?”

“You and Aimé have enough work on your hands without me around causing trouble.” I pull my cloak tighter around myself.

Another gift from Aimé, it’s a beautiful thing of black wool, decorated with golden cord and obsidian wolf’s fur.

It looks expensive, and I know I’ll have to replace it with something plainer once I’m out of the city.

But for now I wear it proudly, the Augier tarasque gleaming on the clasp at my throat.

“Besides,” I say, “tensions are still high in the court, even with the Regent now in prison. You saw how long it took the noblesse to accept Aimé back, even though his curse is broken and his blood is red. They need some time to adjust before they welcome a court sorcier.”

I roll my shoulders, turning my eyes to the sky. A strange wistfulness grips me. “Do you think it will be white?” I say.

“I think so,” Damien says, following my gaze.

Ever since we freed Morgane, it’s as though color has returned to Auréal.

The fog has vanished from over the lake, the sky has brightened, and a single true rosebush sprouted recently among the Spider King’s iron conjurations, entirely out of season.

It bloomed this morning just in time for Aimé’s coronation—sky blue in color, the shade favored by the young King.

I’d made sure to declare it an auspicious omen to any noblesse within earshot.

“Odile.” My brother calls my attention back to himself. When I meet his eyes, he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m going to miss you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What was that? I think I misheard.”

My brother rolls his eyes, and I grin at him, though my heart clenches strangely. I’m going to miss him too, I realize. Filled with a sudden, protective tenderness, I close the distance between us and gently cup the back of his head, pressing our foreheads together.

“I’ll come back,” I promise. “Once I’ve learned enough magic and found a way to save Marie. After that I will stay. For good.”

“No more missions?” Damien asks, drawing gently away.

“No more missions,” I reply, and tell myself the prickling of my eyes is from the cold. Flustered, I turn back to the black gelding and mount, gathering up the reins. I sweep the wide-brimmed hat off the saddle to give Damien a dramatic salute before placing it on my head.

Then I wheel my horse around, taking one final glance over my shoulder.

At the Chateau, rising into the sky, home to a promising young king.

At my brother, standing alone on the stable path, his hand raised in farewell.

At Lac des Cygnes, mirror-smooth and reflecting a clear blue sky, the Théatre watching me mournfully from the far bank.

And finally my eyes land on the beautiful, forlorn statue at the lake’s edge, sheltering the heart of a girl I have vowed to bring back.

I force myself to look away, ahead. At the path that will lead me far from the world I have always known. My heart pounds with restless anticipation, eager for the next mystery, the next discovery. My eyes sting from the cold—my hair whips against my face.

As I leave the Chateau Front-du-Lac behind, it begins to snow.

This time it falls white.