“Perhaps you’re right about them,” Mariselle said quietly, unable to meet Petunia’s knowing gaze. “But they’re ourfamily, Tunia. The only family we get. And I want to feel as though Ibelongin the family I was born into. Don’t you?”
Petunia arched a brow. “Even if belonging means joining Ellowa when she tears others to shreds?”
Mariselle felt that familiar twist of shame. This well-worn argument had passed between them countless times before—Petunia’s steadfast disapproval of the cold, cutting persona Mariselle adopted in her sister’s presence. But Petunia had never fully understood the delicate balance Mariselle maintained. When Ellowa set her sights on a target, there were only ever two options: join in, or pay the price later.
But if Mariselle could prove her worth to her family, everything would change. Ellowa wouldn’t dare treat her as a disposable pawn any longer. She’d finally be free of her sister’s cruel games.
Mariselle squared her shoulder and quietly asked, “Will you help me?”
Petunia sighed, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. “Of course I will.”
Mariselle launched herself from her chair and threw her arms around her cousin, nearly knocking them both over in her enthusiasm. “Thank you, thank you!”
Petunia returned the embrace, her arms tightening briefly around Mariselle’s shoulders. “I can’t exactly refuse and leave you working alone in that cottage with Evryn Rowanwood. The impropriety is staggering. If someone discovered the two of you alone there, your reputation would be utterly ruined.”
Mariselle couldn’t help her snort of laughter as she released her cousin and settled back in her chair. “As if I don’t already commit reputation-ruining acts on a regular basis. Imagine if someone discovered me racing a pegasus through the night.”
“I imagine it regularly, and I still maintain that your enthusiasm for plummeting through the darkness astride a temperamental magical beast is evidence of a deeply concerning absence of self-preservation instinct.”
Mariselle sighed happily, imagining the intoxicating freedom of soaring above the sleeping town, that delicious shiver of exhilaration racing down her spine with each swift dive and turn. “It is truly marvelous.”
Petunia groaned and rolled her eyes.
“And you’ll need to set aside your own self-preservation instinct, dear cousin,” Mariselle continued, refocusing on Petunia, “because you shall soon be joining me for nocturnal pegasus flights to the cottage.”
“No thank you. I shall walk.”
A bubble of laughter burst from Mariselle’s lips. “Through town? In the middle of the night? A young lady of quality, unescorted? And you say I’m the reckless one.”
“At least on the ground, the worst that can happen is a twisted ankle or a damaged reputation,” Petunia countered. “Not plummeting to one’s death.”
“Cinder has never dropped anyone,” Mariselle insisted, reaching across to grab Petunia’s hand. “It will be fun, I promise.”
“Very well,” Petunia conceded with exaggerated resignation. “I shall ride the beast if I must, but I categorically refuse to enjoy it.”
“How perfectly in character,” Mariselle replied with a teasing smile. “Your determined commitment to misery is truly admirable.”
Petunia stuck her tongue out in a rare display of childishness. Both cousins dissolved into laughter then, the tension of their earlier conversation melting away.
“I suppose we could steal one of my family’s enchanted carriages,” Mariselle said once their mirth had subsided. “There’s a cloaking spell I’ve been wanting to try out. I think with a few adjustments, I could extend it to cover an entire carriage.”
“Oh, that’s amuchbetter idea! I approve.”
Mariselle smiled. “It’s settled then. We’ll take a carriage to Windsong Cottage. Tonight, if you can sneak out. Just the two of us. I’d like to examine all the documents before involving that Rowanwood further. The less time spent in his company, the better. And you’lllovethe cottage, Tunia. It’s simply delightful. So cozy. Oh, and I found a whole collection of journals belonging to the woman who originally owned the cottage before my grandfather ended up with it as part of the land acquisition for Dreamland. Lady Eugenia something-or-other. She was a renowned botanist. The journals are quite fascinating—though nothing to do with Dreamland of course.”
Petunia wrinkled her nose. “Mm, yes. Nothing says thrilling like centuries-old notes on root systems.”
“Petunia! They’re notcenturiesold.”
“Let me guess—volume seven is titled ‘The Thrilling Adventures of Lady Eugenia and her Pet Dandelions.’”
“Tunia.”
“And I was just lamenting the lack of bedtime reading about chlorophyll.”
“Oh, stop it.”
“Truly, Mari, I can’t imagine why you didn’t open with this. Plant journals are the very height of intrigue.”
