Page 35

WILLOW WOKE TO the sound of chiming bells, clear and radiant, ringing somewhere beyond the walls of her chambers.

She stretched beneath the coverlet, the fabric cool and fine against her skin, and for a moment, she simply lay there, limbs splayed, eyes blinking at the golden canopy above.

She felt... rested. Not just unburdened but replenished , as if some invisible current in the air had poured itself into her bones overnight.

Eryth was already working its magic on her.

She smiled, still drowsy, still wrapped in the perfume of sleep, until a noise shattered the hush. Three raps on the door, crisp, clean, and commanding. Before she could sit upright, the door swung open, and Aesra strode in, her dark boots landing hard on the polished stone.

“You have been summoned,” Aesra announced from the foot of the bed.

Willow’s heart leaped. She kicked off the covers, already halfway to standing. “To see Serrin?”

Aesra gave her the kind of look one might give a foolish child. “To see the queen.”

“Oh,” Willow said. She pressed her lips together and tried not to show her disappointment.

Aesra’s eyes swept the room, her disapproval settling over the silk drapes and scattered hairpins. “Where is your chambermaid?”

Before Willow could reply, a muffled clatter rose from behind the dressing screen, followed by a high-pitched curse.

Poppy burst into view, her chartreuse-and-coral ruffles bouncing with every frantic step.

Her braid had come loose, and her cheeks were flushed pink with effort.

The top button of her bodice was fastened crookedly, giving the neckline a tipsy slant.

“I’m here! So sorry! I was organizing stockings!” She turned to Willow with a beaming, panicked smile. “Good morning, my lady.”

She pivoted, curtsied deeply to Aesra, and added in a much more formal tone, “Good morning, Sister.”

Aesra said nothing, her expression as stony as the floor beneath them.

Willow raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you were organizing stockings?”

“I was,” Poppy said, hastily tugging a gauzy chemise from a nearby chair and hauling it over Willow’s head. “Well—I meant to. Technically. I got distracted. By... sashes.”

Willow held still as Poppy began fastening the bone clasps along her ribs, though she winced when one of the sharp tips pricked her skin.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Poppy whispered, flushing. Her hands flew faster, buttons clicking like beetle shells.

“It’s fine,” Willow muttered, adjusting the bodice herself. “But why are you so jumpy?”

Poppy’s eyes darted toward Aesra, then quickly away. She leaned in under the guise of fixing Willow’s collar and whispered, barely audible, “She’s a Secret Sister. Don’t you know?”

Willow blinked. “What’s a—”

“Enough,” Aesra said without raising her voice. “Come along, mortal.”

Willow looked to Poppy for help.

Poppy gave her a tragic look and mouthed, Good luck, with the solemnity of someone watching a calf led to market.

Willow smothered a laugh and followed Aesra through the open doorway.

The heels of Aesra’s boots rang down the corridor, her stride unwavering. She moved like a rhinoceros in a parade, which begged the question: How could anyone that loud be secretive?

Willow followed Aesra through towering doors and into a grand dining hall. The table stretched the length of the room and was already laden with dishes: glistening slices of candied root, bowls of berries nestled in clouds of cream, pastries shaped like swans mid-flight.

Servants moved through the space with impressive precision. One poured a pitcher of sapphire fizz that hissed against the glass and spilled over the rim. Another glided forward, unfolding a napkin to catch the droplets before they touched the floor.

At the head of the table, Severine sat in a gown of scarlet silk. Her earrings, Willow saw, were made of bone—small and pale, the same kind used for the clasps on Willow’s own dress.

“Good morning, little one,” Severine said, beckoning her forward. “Eat. Eat.”

Willow took her seat and selected a pale berry from the nearest platter. Its skin burst against her tongue, releasing something sweet and dark.

“Delicious,” she said, careful to match Severine’s tone. “Thank you.”

Willow picked up a second item—something she mistook for bacon but which revealed itself to be faintly furry, as though it had once worn a velvet pelt. She didn’t ask what it was... or what it had once been. Best not to.

“Tell me,” Severine said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Did you sleep well? Are you comfortable? Are your attendants to your liking?”

“Oh—yes,” Willow said quickly. “Poppy’s absolutely amazing. She arranged everything in the wardrobe by color and texture. Like, there’s one section for ‘hushed mornings’ and another for ‘public weeping.’” Willow paused. “Not that I’m anticipating any public weeping. But Poppy—yes, she’s brilliant.”

“And Jace?”

“She’s great too,” Willow said. “There was a carafe of hot chocolate waiting by my bed this morning, which I assume she placed there. I didn’t even hear her come in.”

“You didn’t drink it?” Severine asked lightly.

Willow hesitated. “I would have, but... I didn’t have time, actually.” Her eyes flicked to Aesra. “I didn’t want to be late.”

Severine followed Willow’s gaze to see who was the subject of her interest. She turned back and smiled. “Yes. Aesra is punctual.”

“Very.”

“Punctuality is part of order, and Aesra believes in order. As do I. The cords must hold, or everything frays.”

Willow nodded like she understood.

Severine reached for a fig, split it with her fingers, and studied its glistening heart. “I’m glad to hear the girls are serving you well. Poppy and Jace are wildlings, you know. Brought in from the southern stretch. Untamed at first, but quick to learn.”

She took a delicate bite. “Every realm needs a little chaos—so long as the chaos knows when to kneel.”

As if summoned, Jace appeared beside Willow’s chair, her sleeves rolled to the elbow.

Her forearms were ringed with ink: vines and stars and something half-hidden that had wings.

She poured from a carafe of amber tea, her copper hair catching the light.

Her eyes met Willow’s just for a beat, and then she bowed and vanished.

Beyond the table, the double doors creaked open, and a girl passed through—slight and shuffling, her clothes stained. One bare foot dragged a little. The other curled oddly, twisted at the arch. She carried a tray of dirty napkins and didn’t look up.

Aesra stepped forward, blocking Willow’s line of sight. “More tea?” she asked briskly.

“No, I’m good. Jace just gave me a refill.” Willow tried to look past Aesra. Aesra moved to stay in Willow’s line of vision.

“Let’s focus on breakfast, shall we?” Severine said. “When you’re finished, we’ll begin the day in earnest.”

Willow looked back at her plate, where the berry she’d bitten earlier had bled into the cream. She picked up her fork and did as she was told.

~

When breakfast ended, Severine rose with languid grace. Willow followed, brushing crumbs from her lap and smoothing her skirts. Her stomach was pleasantly full, her skin still warm from the sunlit balcony where they’d eaten. Everything tasted brighter here—even the eggs had seemed enchanted.

Severine led her through a set of arching doors and into a long corridor lined with mirrors. At first, Willow caught only glints of light and color. Then, gradually, the reflections resolved into her own image—repeating endlessly down the passage.

She looked strange in them. Familiar, but not. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. She looked happy.

The corridor opened onto a descending colonnade, and with it, the hush and breath of open air. Willow stepped into the sunlight and inhaled. The breeze curled through her hair. Her heart beat fast with joy.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Severine asked.

Willow nodded. “Mmm-hmm. I’ve felt it since I got here. It’s like... a pull. In my bones.”

Severine gave a pleased smile. “Do you know why?”

Willow turned to her. “Because... I think it’s because I belong here.”

“That is exactly right, Daughter of Wrenna.”

Willow’s chest swelled. Daughter of Wrenna. In World’s End, Old Nail had called her that in his subterranean cavern. And she’d liked it, but not like this. Here, in Eryth, spoken by Severine, the designation felt sacred.

“Did you know her?” Willow asked. “Wrenna?”

Severine laughed and pressed her fingers to the base of her throat. “Do I look that old?”

Willow felt stupid and embarrassed, but as she worked the numbers, she didn’t see why her question would be so far off. Wrenna was Willow’s grandmother. Willow was nineteen; her own mother was forty. Was forty so old as that—so old as to be taken as an insult?

True, Severine didn’t look old at all. She looked like a statue that had been wished to life, poised and radiant. Her skin glowed. Her black hair shone.

Willow laughed awkwardly. “Sorry. I guess not.”

They continued on. The path curved beneath a low arch of pearly stone, then widened into a covered arcade lined with trees.

Willow slowed, marveling. There were fae everywhere, in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

Some were barely knee-high, with wings like beetles and hair like spider silk.

Others were tall and slender, with skin like polished agate and eyes that shimmered opalescent.

Some wore elaborate silks. Others wore frothy concoctions like the yards of tulle Poppy was so fond of.

Others yet dressed in what looked, astonishingly, like castoffs from another time entirely.