“I would never use such a vulgar term,” Lady Clemenbell replied with a haughty look. “But information is a valuable currency. Lady Rivenna has maintained her social stranglehold for far too long. There must be something—some method, some secret—that explains her dominance of Bloomhaven society. Your father believes you are now uniquely positioned to discover what that might be, whether it is evidence of how they’ve manipulated their standing in society, or insights into their business practices. Even something as simple as an embarrassing family secret would suffice.”
Oh, the irony. Mariselle already possessed precisely the sort of embarrassing secret her mother sought—Evryn’s hidden identity as E. S. Twist, author of thinly veiled satires mocking the High Lady herself. Yet she could not reveal it without destroying her own carefully constructed plan.
But relief flooded through her nonetheless. The charade could continue. Dreamland could be restored. And best of all, her parents no longer viewed her with quite the same disgust.
“I see,” she said, keeping her expression neutral. “So … you are not forcing me to end the engagement?” she asked carefully. “You’re not going to attempt to break the soulbond?”
“Mariselle, dear, I understand that youthinkyou are experiencing certain …feelingsfor this boy,” her mother said, each word coated with the same saccharine patience one might use when explaining simple arithmetic to a slow child. “And no doubt you harbor some fantasy that we will eventually embrace this absurdity. But make no mistake—this is merely a temporary arrangement. You will gather what information you can while your father and I locate a means to dissolve this repulsive magical tether. Once free of its influence, you will recognize how thoroughly your emotions have been manipulated, and you will thank us for rescuing you from such an abhorrent fate.”
Mariselle carefully arranged her features into an expression of reluctant acceptance, knowing she must appear appropriately lovestruck yet dutiful, a daughter torn between newfound passion and familial obligation. Too much enthusiasm for her parents’ plan would seem suspicious when she was supposedly enthralled by her soulbond.
“I … I suppose if that’s what you wish, Mother,” she said, allowing a tremor to enter her voice. “Though it’s difficult to imagine ever feeling differently than I do now. But I trust your judgment in this matter.”
“Good,” her mother said.
“And I’m pleased to be of service to the family.”
“Excellent.” Lady Clemenbell patted her hand, a rare physical gesture that Mariselle couldn’t help leaning into slightly, despite herself. “We knew you would see reason once you’d had time to reflect. This may well be the most valuable contribution you’ve ever made to the Brightcrest name.”
The backhanded compliment stung, but Mariselle maintained her composed expression. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”
“Yes, well, even you should find this task manageable,” her mother said. “Simply observe everything and report back to me faithfully. I shall be the one to determine what information holds genuine value. You needn’t trouble yourself with?—”
A sharp rap on the shop window interrupted her mother’s instructions. A small figure hovered outside, its wings catching the morning light. Mariselle blinked in surprise. Unlike the plainly dressed messenger pixies typically employed by Bloomhaven’s elite, this one wore what appeared to be a miniature palace uniform, complete with the High Lady’s insignia prominently embroidered across its chest.
Madame Spindriel hurried to open the door, and the pixie scurried inside, its expression distinctly irritated as it surveyed the room. Upon spotting the three Brightcrest women, it darted toward them, muttering under its breath about “searching half of Bloomhaven” and how someone was “most insistent upon immediate delivery.” It produced a small envelope from its delivery pouch and called out, “Lady Brightcrest?”
“Yes, that is I,” Mariselle’s mother said, extending her hand.
The pixie, however, swooped straight past her outstretched fingers and hovered between the two sisters, its tiny features pinched with concentration. “LadyMariselleBrightcrest?”
Mariselle’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ of surprise as she nodded, acutely aware of her mother’s stiffening posture and the sudden frost in her expression. With slightly trembling fingers, Mariselle accepted the envelope, its weight substantial despite its modest size. The parchment was cream-colored and smooth, clearly of the finest quality and sealed with a wax impression of what was unmistakably the royal insignia. She stared at it in bewilderment. Her family rarely received correspondence from Solstice Hall. The Rowanwoods—or Lady Rivenna, at least—seemed to enjoy some level of favor with the High Lady, but the Brightcrests had never been granted similar distinction.
“Well, what is it?” Ellowa demanded, visibly affronted at being excluded from whatever mysterious communication had arrived.
Mariselle broke the seal and unfolded the note. “‘Lady Mariselle Brightcrest,’” she read aloud, “‘Her Grace, the High Lady of the United Fae Isles, requests your presence for tea at Solstice Hall this afternoon at precisely three o’clock, along with Lord …’” She trailed off and swallowed, suddenly realizing precisely what this summons was about. “‘… along with Lord Evryn Rowanwood,’” she continued faintly. “‘A carriage will arrive at Brightcrest Manor at half past two to convey you to the palace.’”
“Oh, stars above!” Lady Clemenbell exclaimed, her previous frostiness instantly melting into a flurry of excitement. “We must return home at once! What gowns do we have that might be suitable? Oh, this issuchshort notice! But what an extraordinary honor for us to be summoned personally by the High Lady!”
“Mother,” Mariselle interjected, “the invitation specifies that I am to attend alone.”
Lady Clemenbell paused and blinked. “What? Nonsense! A young unmarried lady cannot possibly?—”
“It says so explicitly,” Mariselle insisted, turning the note so her mother could see. “Here, at the bottom.”
“But you cannot arrive alone in?—”
“I’m certain all proprieties will be observed, Mother,” Mariselle assured her. “The note mentions a carriage will be sent. The palace will undoubtedly ensure everything is conducted with impeccable decorum.”
“Let me see that.” Lady Clemenbell snatched the invitation, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the elegant script.
As she muttered something about it being ‘highly irregular’ and ‘most improper,’ Mariselle’s mind continued to race. This was about the soulbond, of course. Thefakesoulbond that the High Lady herself no doubt wished to examine. Mariselle clasped her shaking hands together. What had begun as a desperate scheme to restore Dreamland and prove herself to her family had somehow escalated into a matter of royal interest. And now she was going to have to deliver the performance of her life.
Chapter Six
Every step Mariselletook through Solstice Hall’s glittering corridors felt like approaching the center of a spiderweb, where the High Lady waited like a calculating arachnid, ready to detect the slightest tremor of falsehood in Mariselle’s carefully constructed tale.
Breathe, she commanded herself, though her lungs seemed to have forgotten how to function properly.You are Lady Mariselle Brightcrest, and you are hopelessly, tragically in love with Evryn Rowanwood.
