Page 3

Chapter 3

Olivia

O livia polished the enormous mahogany dining table with lackluster movements. And yet the warm wood shone in the wake of her efforts. She looked down the remaining length—stretching along the entire cavernous room—and sighed. Even with the Legacy’s help, it was a tedious and time-consuming task.

“It’s a lovely piece, is it not?” her aunt asked happily, mistaking the meaning of Olivia’s sigh. “It’s a good thing the previous owner was eager to sell us so much of the furniture along with the house. I don’t think this table would fit through either of the room’s doors!”

Olivia glanced from the door near her to the one at the other end of the room and had to agree. She didn’t feel the glee about the sale that her aunt seemed to feel, though. Olivia couldn’t help feeling sorry for the family who had given up their home to strangers, although she knew nothing about them.

“Who was the previous owner?” she asked her aunt, who was busy arranging the flowers Olivia had gathered into a formal arrangement for the center of the table.

“The man who sold it to us was a merchant. Of course, he wasn’t the original owner since all the houses in Manor Row were originally built by noble families. I suppose he must have purchased it from one of them at some point, after he grew wealthy enough.”

Aunt Helen paused and looked up from her work, her nose wrinkling slightly. “He isn’t wealthy any more, which is why he sold the house.” She tsked, and her expression softened. “From what I’ve heard, his wife was always sickly. And she managed to bear him only a single daughter. So when she finally succumbed to her illness and passed away…” She shook her head.

Olivia’s sympathy for the unknown man grew. “The Legacy must have tried to throw every Sovaran widow with two children that it could find at his head.”

“Of course,” her aunt said. “But the silly man refused to even look at any of them! Can you imagine?”

Olivia could easily do so. He must have loved his wife very much.

“So naturally his business failed, and he was forced to sell the house and all its contents and move to a much more modest dwelling on the other side of town.” Aunt Helen gave a disapproving sniff. “He should have thought of his daughter.”

On that they were in agreement, although Olivia was inclined to think he had been thinking of the girl.

“Perhaps they wanted to move,” she suggested. “Perhaps this house reminded them too much of their missing wife and mother. With only two of them, they might be much happier in a smaller home in a different part of town.”

“Happier!” her aunt cried, horrified. “What nonsense are you talking, niece? Do you know how few properties on Manor Row have ever come up for sale? Only the most successful and influential families of business have ever had the chance to purchase one.” Her chest puffed out as she spoke, her expression glowing with pride.

Olivia looked quickly down at her polishing, not wanting her aunt to read her expression. It was true that Uncle Walt had become much more successful than Olivia’s family back in Henton had dreamed. But she hadn’t seen any sign of his apparent influence. His own wife and children rarely listened to him.

Her aunt swept on, oblivious to Olivia’s wry amusement. “If that merchant had known what was good for him—and his business—he wouldn’t have flouted the Legacy in such a way.”

Olivia polished a little harder, barely keeping a rein on her tongue. Her aunt was talking as if the Legacy had ruined his business as a punishment, but the Legacy wasn’t a sentient force. It didn’t punish anyone—even if it sometimes felt like it to those who experienced its less pleasant effects. Besides, ruining merchant businesses sounded more like the Glandore Legacy than the Sovar one. Perhaps it was the man’s absorption in his grief that had wreaked such havoc. Either way, she felt sorry for his daughter and hoped she was living a happier life in her small house.

“And that,” her aunt concluded, with a swift glance at Olivia, “is why it’s never wise to flout the Legacy.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to blindly follow its whims,” Olivia ventured, unable to stay entirely silent. “My cousin in Glandore says they work hard to avoid falling prey to their Legacy—at least to its negative aspects. Their royal family always has lots of children so as not to risk being left with a single prince like in their original history.”

Her aunt gave another sniff. “The Glandorians are welcome to do as they please. In Sovar the royal family are careful to only have one son because they understand the importance of the Legacy. And we would all do well to follow their wise example. The Legacy’s forces must be harnessed and directed if we don’t want to suffer ill effects. Our predecessor should have merely taken the time to select a kind widow, and then the whole matter would have ended there. It’s not as if the Legacy forces anyone to live out the whole history. He really should have looked to King Robert for guidance.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and once more focused her efforts on the wood beneath her polishing rag. Her aunt spoke as if living on Manor Row gave the occupant unfettered access to the king. But as far as she knew, neither her uncle nor aunt had ever even spoken to the man. Unless it was in the formal receiving line of the annual royal ball—the one that was open to every Sovaran in the kingdom.

“It sounds more like appeasement than harnessing the Legacy to me,” she muttered, but she kept her voice too low for her aunt to hear.

She already knew it would be fruitless to get into an argument on the topic. The city-dwellers seemed much more attached to following the Legacy’s path than the villagers of Henton had ever been, perhaps because the Legacy’s power was so much more concentrated within the city. And Aunt Helen was even less likely to be convinced to buck the Legacy than most, considering it would be against her own interests to do so. She knew her niece hadn’t come to the capital to be a family servant, and respecting the Legacy was the excuse that kept her guilt at bay for placing Olivia in such a position.

Olivia soon reached the end of the table and turned to work her way up the other side. The Legacy had forced her into her current position, but it also made her workload lighter than should have been possible.

“What an excellent job you’re doing, Olivia,” her aunt exclaimed happily as she finished with the flowers and surveyed the table. She smiled warmly at her niece. “You always do such an excellent job.”

Olivia smiled back weakly. Her aunt wasn’t an evil woman at heart, and she seemed to have genuine affection for her niece. It was an impression confirmed with Avery’s gift. Her aunt didn’t hate her, and she didn’t wish her ill. Aunt Helen was just extremely good at convincing herself that whatever was convenient was also justified. And in this case, she had the authority of the royal family to back her up. The power of the Legacy had to be respected.

“You know,” her aunt said, turning her full attention on Olivia, “I’ve been thinking about the ball.”

She didn’t have to clarify which ball. In the capital of Sovar, in the middle of summer, there was only one ball that mattered. The royal family’s annual Midsummer Ball.

Like all Sovarans, Olivia had grown up hearing tales of the spectacular event—stories full of women who shone brighter than their jewels, dancing the night away. The doors of the ball were open to every person in the kingdom with only one caveat—every woman who crossed the threshold must come in glass slippers.

But while crafting flexible and practical items from glass—some with quite fantastical properties—was the specialty of Sovar, glass slippers remained difficult to craft. It was a much debated aspect of the Legacy, that it granted those inside Sovar’s borders the ability to manipulate glass into impossible creations, but it ensured that slippers would always be a highly desired item.

Only a couple of families in Henton had ever had the spare funds for such a frivolous purchase. Especially when the slippers were of no use unless extra coin was spent to travel to the capital for the Midsummer Ball. Glass slippers longed to dance and had little other practical purpose.

The slippers were passed down from mother to daughter, with most of the fortunate daughters getting only one Midsummer journey to the capital, usually around their eighteenth birthdays. But one of Olivia’s friends had gone as young as fourteen—when it became apparent that her feet would soon outgrow her grandmother’s dainty slippers. She had come back full of tales of the palace, her gown, the food, and especially the dancing.

She had even claimed to have had a dance with Crown Prince Julius, though Olivia had always privately doubted the truth of that particular tale. The prince couldn’t possibly have had time to dance with every girl who attended the ball, and it was unlikely that a fourteen-year-old from the country would have made it onto his list.

She didn’t speak her doubts aloud, though, because the whole tale was so enchanting. Olivia was just as prone as the other village girls to dream of the day when she might be lucky enough to attend such a magnificent event.

If she was honest, those dreams were part of what had lured her to the capital. But as much as she wanted to attend the ball, she cared about her cousins more. Nell and Hattie were sweet-natured, hard-working girls—even if they enjoyed the luxury of working in the city for their father’s business rather than being confined to the house and its chores. Olivia enjoyed their company, and they had welcomed her from the first day of her arrival. And it was for their sake that she hadn’t been able to bring herself to mention the ball to her aunt.

Before arriving in Henton, she had imagined asking to borrow her aunt’s slippers, just for one ball. Olivia certainly didn’t have the money to purchase her own, and it would be a foolish use of her funds even if she did. She had high hopes of eventually saving enough to leave her current situation and properly establish herself in the capital. But her aunt, on the other hand, had always lived in the capital and had wealth at her disposal. So she not only had a pair but had been to the Midsummer Ball many times. It wouldn’t be a great sacrifice on her part.

Aunt Helen probably would have agreed, too, if not for her daughters. She was as softhearted and romantic about the Midsummer Ball as most Sovaran women, and she would probably have welcomed the chance to indulge her niece, especially after maneuvering her into the role of a servant.

But it was only natural that her aunt would consider her own daughters first, and that year was to be Nell and Hattie’s first attendance at the ball. Obviously their mother wanted to attend with them.

If Olivia had arrived a year earlier—or even a year later—she would have been accommodated. But there was no point asking her aunt to present her niece along with her own two daughters at their first ball. Even if Aunt Helen initially felt pressured into agreeing, she would eventually convince herself of some reason or other why it couldn’t be thought of that year.

Olivia’s cousins weren’t exactly magnificent beauties. At sixteen and seventeen, Nell and Hattie had yet to fully grow into their features, and Olivia knew her aunt had been a little dismayed by her niece’s face when she first arrived on their doorstep. In Henton, Olivia had been considered a beauty, but everyone agreed that while her figure came from her father’s side, her looks came from her mother.

Not that Nell and Hattie were like Queen Ella’s caricatured stepsisters by any means. Their sweetness granted them a prettiness of their own. But Olivia had to admit that if all three of them were dressed up in formal style, she was likely to attract a great deal more attention than her younger cousins. When combined with the expense of purchasing an extra pair of slippers instead of borrowing a family pair, it put the ball completely out of her reach for that year.

Originally, her aunt had planned to wait before taking Nell and Hattie to their first ball. But both girls had pleaded so fervently to be allowed to attend that year that their mother had eventually relented. Even Olivia, who spent most of her time sequestered in the manor, had heard talk of an upcoming betrothal for the prince, and she could understand her cousins’ desire to attend the ball while there was still an unattached prince who might ask them to dance. It was part of the dreamlike appeal of the whole event.

Eventually they had worn their mother down, and having decided that her daughters were to make an appearance at the Midsummer Ball, Aunt Helen had thrown herself fully into the preparations. And while nothing had been said outright about the reasons for Olivia’s exclusion from those plans, several comments had been dropped about Olivia’s attendance at the ball the following year. Olivia hadn’t needed the hint, but she had received it loud and clear.

But despite everything, Olivia couldn’t help a swell of hope at her aunt’s mention of the ball just after her warm compliments for Olivia’s work. Perhaps Olivia had been wrong in all her assumptions.

She dropped her polishing rag and looked at her aunt hopefully.

“I’ve been thinking,” her aunt repeated, “that you should complete the final adjustments on the girls’ dresses instead of the seamstress. You’re handy with a needle, and I’m sure that once you start working on them, you’ll come up with some improvements you can make to the designs.” Her voice gained enthusiasm. “With you to funnel the Legacy’s power, the girls will be the best dressed at the ball!”

Olivia bit her tongue to keep her disappointment from showing. With a couple of blinks, she pushed back the threatening moisture in her eyes. She should have known her aunt wouldn’t be rethinking her plans for the ball. She probably thought she could easily make up for it by taking her niece the next year. But Olivia doubted she would still be living with her relatives by then.

“Certainly, I can put the finishing touches on their dresses, if the girls would like it,” Olivia said dully.

Her aunt clapped her hands together. “They would love it best of all things!”

Olivia’s spirits lifted marginally. If she could help her cousins look their best, it would make the extra effort worth it. She knew Nell and Hattie would have liked to include her if given the choice.

Her two cousins burst into the room at that moment, and their excitement at Olivia’s agreement was so infectious that her spirits lifted even further. She even agreed to work on the dresses immediately.

As her aunt had predicted, Olivia had barely begun to pin one of the hems before her hands were flying, not only making the necessary measurements for the final fitting but pinning all sorts of other adjustments as well.

By the time they were finished with the session and sitting at dinner, she was almost convinced she was a true design genius. It wasn’t like the Legacy could control people’s thoughts, so maybe she’d been the one to make such impressive improvements to the dresses?

But by the time they had reached the final sweet course, she’d laughed the idea away. The Legacy couldn’t control people, but it could sometimes influence them in small actions. Her cousin in Glandore—where they grew enchanted roses—had told her how strong the compulsion to pick the roses could become.

She wasn’t a design genius, but she was stuck working on the gowns after the evening meal. And unfortunately, the task, so focused on the upcoming ball, made it impossible to put her own disappointment out of her mind. As she finally escaped the house to climb the hill in the near dark, she sighed.

“Olivia!” Marigold abandoned her pacing and pounced on her friend, tugging her toward the same tree from earlier in the afternoon.

Her manner was full of nervous energy and excitement, but her face dropped when she got a good look at Olivia’s expression in the moonlight. Marigold’s life always seemed so large, but it was one of her endearing qualities that it never caused her to overlook Olivia’s own ups and downs.

Olivia made a face in response. “It’s nothing. I’m just being sour and envious, which isn’t a flattering look. I’ll recover in a moment.”

“Is it that aunt of yours?” Marigold grasped Olivia’s arm. “Should I march down there right now and give her an earful?”

“Please don’t!” Olivia was already laughing again, thanks to Marigold’s presence. “I’m not sure what effect your lecture would produce, and I don’t want to find out. She’d want to know how we became friends for one—and probably demand I recount every word that’s ever passed between us.”

Marigold laughed as well, releasing Olivia. “As if either of us could remember! I talk far too much for that.”

“Besides, I don’t really mind working on Nell’s and Hattie’s dresses,” Olivia said, emotions rising in her again as she spoke until her final words burst out of her. “I just wish I could go as well!”

“To the ball, you mean?” Marigold’s eyes widened, and she seized Olivia’s arm again, this time with both her hands. “Of course you have to go to the ball!”

In anyone else, the dramatic nature of the simple pronouncement would have sounded ridiculous. But Marigold never looked ridiculous.

“Unfortunately my aunt doesn’t agree with you,” Olivia said wryly.

“Why does that matter?” Marigold asked fiercely. “Everyone in the kingdom is invited.”

“Yes, but I can’t afford the glass slippers on my own. I haven’t earned enough yet, and I couldn’t justify spending my hard-earned money on such a frivolity anyway. Not if I want to move out on my own soon.”

“Move out—?” Marigold cut herself off. “No, never mind that. Glass slippers?” Her head cocked to the side, and she regarded Olivia in confusion. “You’re not going to the ball because you need glass slippers?”

Olivia nodded, wondering if her friend had finally lost the plot.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “You know—the glass slippers that are required in place of an invitation in order to gain entry. Remember those?”

Marigold laughed suddenly. “But you’re friends with me!” She peered down at Olivia’s feet, which were now back in her old, worn-out slippers. “And your feet look much smaller than mine. I’ve been to the Ball every year since I was thirteen, and I’ve needed at least two new pairs of slippers in that time because I kept outgrowing my old ones.”

Olivia tried not to let a bubble of hope well inside her for a second time. “But surely you don’t still have the old slippers that no longer fit? You must have sold them by now.”

Marigold snorted. “Have you ever seen the back of my closet?” Her nose wrinkled. “No, of course you haven’t, since you’ve never been inside my house.”

Olivia didn’t reply, conscious that neither she nor Marigold had ever suggested she visit. They didn’t talk about it, but she knew it was because neither were sure how Marigold’s parents would view their friendship. But she didn’t find it hard to believe that Marigold’s closet might be a chaos of old shoes and garments. The noble girl had probably forbidden the servants from touching her things. Marigold found careful order boring.

“This is perfect!” Marigold jumped up and down on the spot. “It’s all decided!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Olivia said. “Nothing has been decided. I’m not even sure what we’re talking about.”

“That you’re going to come to the ball, of course,” Marigold said.

“But, I can’t—” Olivia started before Marigold jumped in.

“You’ll come with me, wearing one of my old pairs of glass slippers. I’ll loan you a dress too! It’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about tonight anyway.” She fixed Olivia with a piercing stare. “You have to go to the ball. Please promise me you will! You can’t abandon me!”

Olivia shook her head, feeling a little dazed. There had to be reasons why Marigold’s plan wouldn’t work, but she couldn’t think of them. Not from her side, anyway. If she went to the ball with Marigold, she could avoid Nell, Hattie, and her aunt completely. And Olivia certainly wouldn’t have to worry about overshadowing Marigold. At Marigold’s side, few people would even notice Olivia was there. She would be free to enjoy the evening to her heart’s content.

“Surely your mother wants you to go with her, though,” she said, considering the matter from Marigold’s end. “I can’t imagine she wants me tagging along.”

But Marigold was already shaking her head before Olivia had even finished speaking.

“No, she’s making me go on my own this year.” Her words were far too despairing for such a mild discomfort as attending a familiar ball alone.

“How awful,” Olivia said dryly. “A short carriage ride alone before you arrive at a party full of friends and acquaintances.”

“No.” Marigold took Olivia’s hand and held it in both of hers, meeting her eyes with the most earnest expression Olivia had ever seen from her. “I won’t have any friends there unless you come. You’re my only true friend.”

Olivia’s eyebrows rose. She found that hard to believe, but she was also flattered enough not to protest.

“Promise me you’ll come,” Marigold repeated, and Olivia grinned.

“You don’t have to keep begging me. Did you really think it would be hard to convince me to dress up in a pretty gown and go to the biggest celebration of the year? Every girl back in Henton dreams about attending the Midsummer Ball at least once in her life.” Her brows creased as a thought hit her. “But is there something else going on to distress you? I hope you know you can tell me anything.”

Marigold shook her head, her face lit up with a beaming smile as she looped her arm through Olivia’s. “Now that you’re coming to the ball everything is perfect. We just have to plan what you’re going to wear!”