1. Chapter 1

one

B ile burned Kallessa’s throat as the carriage lurched over another muddy rut. She swallowed hard, her fingers digging into the plush seats. I will not vomit. I will not vomit. It had been her mantra for hours, but her churning stomach disregarded her.

Just like everyone else.

“I still don’t understand what the problem is,” her cousin chirped, interrupting Kallessa’s spiraling thoughts. Across from her, Dovina’s winter-blue eyes narrowed, her pretty mouth twisting into a pout. Her slender fingers gripped a glossy travel harp in her lap. “A carriage is much more comfortable than riding a horse.”

Five years ago, riding in a carriage wouldn’t have made her sick.

Five years ago, she’d have been riding in the finest carriage in Dracia, crafted by her father’s skilled hands. And would have enjoyed every minute of it.

But that was before the “accident”.

The “Wynlar Carriage Accident” to be precise. At least that’s what the townsfolk whispered when Kallessa walked by.

She didn’t have a name for the day she lost everything.

The carriage hit another bump, and Dovina’s harp jangled discordantly. Her cousin let out an annoyed huff, her slender fingers dancing over the strings in a futile attempt to salvage the tune .

Kallessa clamped her jaw shut, fighting a tangle of emotions: anger, desperation, elation, irritation. But above all, nausea. Constant, rolling nausea.

She released her grip on the upholstered seats and struggled to inhale against the corset digging into her ribs. She had to stop thinking about her past. This was a move forward. It had to be. With trembling hands, Kallessa smoothed down her velvet gown, the most beautiful thing she’d worn in five years. And she absolutely refused to vomit on it.

But if she had to breathe in another paltry lungful of Dovina’s cloying rose perfume, it would be all over with. Kallessa yanked aside the lace curtain and swung open the window before sucking in a cool autumn breeze that smelled of damp earth and crisp leaves. Her gaze swept over the unfamiliar landscape beyond the carriage, taking in the rolling hills and vibrant foliage. This place looked nothing like home. The colors were too bold, the trees too tall. Nausea rolled through her again. What was she doing?

The rain of earlier had cleared off, leaving the skies deep blue and the leaves shimmering in gold and russet. Late afternoon sunlight flickered between the aspens as they jolted along the main road to Shemmar, Krithadea. It was a country she’d never laid eyes upon and probably never would have if not for this excursion. She honestly didn’t know whether to thank Dovina or strangle her. Probably both.

Ten hours earlier

Kallessa tilted the smelling salt bottle into the morning light of the cottage window, violet light bursting from the bottle and bouncing about the room. This one was her favorite.

“Aunt G, make her listen to me!” Dovina’s whine shattered the peaceful moment.

Gevene cleared her throat. “Now, come away from there, Kallessa, you can finish dusting them later.” Aunt Gevene sat in her favorite chair, the arms threadbare and faded. It could have once been a gold chair, or maybe brown, but now it was as colorless as her.

With a sigh, Kallessa nestled the bottle among the hundred others teetering on the kitchen windowsill. She turned to face her younger cousin, whose very presence in the humble cottage usually spelled trouble.

Dovina stood in the middle of the small parlor, as out of place as a rose in a field of weeds. Dressed in a yellow satin gown edged with delicate lace, she exuded an air of obvious wealth. Her golden curls were intricately braided with pristine white ribbons.

In contrast, Kallessa seamlessly blended into the background, her homespun linen frock and mud-stained boots matching the faded wallpaper and rugs.

Her cousin faced Kallessa, one gloved hand on a hip. “Father has told me that soon he will cut off your stipend.”

Kallessa froze.

No, not yet. She needed more time. Her split skirt idea would work, she was sure of it. But she wasn’t ready. What would happen to Aunt Gevene? To her?

Dovina grinned impishly. “Now that I have your attention. ”

Kallessa felt her eyes widen, her ears burning. “What-”

Dovina lifted her delicate hand, soft palm out. “Just let me finish.”

Kallessa inhaled deeply and clenched her teeth. It was a wonder her cousin hadn’t caused her to crack a tooth with the games she played. But Uncle Talos now controlled every penny of what was once her father’s estate. And that meant he controlled Kallessa, too.

She swallowed down the resentment and resigned herself to listen.

“The Ravenbluff family is celebrating the Axan Moon Festival, and I was invited!”

“Who?” Hard as Kallessa tried, she couldn’t place the family name. And what did it matter? Dovina had a standing invitation to every event within a fifty league radius, thanks to the Wynlar title.

Dovina huffed. “The royal house of Krithadea?”

Kallessa couldn’t even recall the names of Dracia’s own royal family, let alone those who ruled over distant Krithadea.

Dovina’s braids bounced as she shook her head. “Nevermind, just realize it is very important.”

Of course, Kallessa was the dumb country cousin, no longer welcome in polite society since her downfall.

Dovina continued, “It’s at the family estate, which is rarely open to the public. The twins won’t go with me. They’re both married now. So I want you to come. And father said you have to go, or he’s cutting off your stipend.”

Kallessa bit her lip hard, her heart pounding. How many more times would her uncle hold their livelihoods hostage?

She glanced at Aunt Gevene, whose silver hair was pulled tight to her scalp in a simple braid, her watery eyes pinned to her task of darning a worn-out stocking with stubby fingers. As usual, her aunt had tuned out the entire conversation between Kallessa and Dovina, choosing to avoid any potential conflict. Kallessa wished she could do that.

Dovina grasped Kallessa’s hands. “Cousin,” her voice placating, “just think of the opportunities. Sure, it’s unlikely you’ll find a husband, but you might have a chance to tell Prince Castien about your split skirt idea. And if he likes it, you could sell it to him. A prince!”

That sounded about as plausible as the prince proposing to her. Yet…

“Then you’d be free of father’s demands.” Dovina finished.

Freedom. The word tasted foreign on Kallessa’s tongue. No more of Uncle Talos’s biddings, no more threats of losing the cottage or being tossed out onto the sands of Teansong to fend for herself. What would that be like?

She’d spent countless hours perfecting her split skirt design, convinced that its practicality and elegance would appeal to the discerning ladies of Teansong. Yet every merchant had turned her away, their dismissive glances a stark reminder of her fallen status.

But a stranger, someone who didn’t know her family’s tragic history, might listen. Even if the possibility was as thin as the few copper coins clinking in her near-empty coin purse, it was still a chance. Hope flickered in her chest, and she struggled to smother it before it grew too bright. She’d learned the hard way not to let her dreams soar.

Dovina continued to gaze at her, her heart, shallow as it was, in her eyes .

“Where is Nadie?” Kallessa asked. Dovina’s mousy maid was usually only steps behind her mistress.

“That ninny? Why would I take her when I have you?”

Of course.

“Aunt Gevene? Will you be okay for two weeks without me?” Not that Kallessa had much choice in the matter.

Gevene glanced up, a bland smile on her weathered face. “Oh yes, dear. You girls go have fun.” As the half sister of Kallessa's father, Gevene too, had been cast aside when Uncle Talos seized control of the estate. Yet she never seemed to chafe under his rule. Not like Kallessa.

Kallessa faced Dovina, her voice flat. “Fine.” What did she have to lose? After all, her life had become a series of monotonous tasks under her uncle’s rule, filled with constant fear and uncertainty. The chance to escape that suffocating existence was tempting. “When do we leave?”

Dovina clapped her hands and twirled. “As soon as you change out of those awful rags.”

She marched out the front door, calling to her driver. He strode in, laden with boxes and bags.

“I assumed you wouldn’t say no and had a new wardrobe made for you,” Dovina said, her eyes gleaming. “Now go change so we can leave.”