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Of course,a sensible woman would never have accepted the invitation in the firstplace.
To attend a week-long house party filled with bickering gentleman magicians, ruthlessly cutthroat lady politicians, and worst of all, my own infuriating ex-fiancé? Scarcely two months after I had scandalized all of our most intimate friends by jiltinghim?
Utter madness.And anyone would have seen that immediately…except for my incurably romantic sister-in-law.
Unfortunately, Amy saw the invitation pop into mid-air beside me as we saten familleat the breakfast table that morning. She watched with bright interest as I crumpled it up a moment later in disgust…and then she dashed around the table, with surprising agility despite her interesting condition, to snatch the ball of paper from my hands before I could toss it into the blazing fire where itbelonged.
Naturally, I lunged to retrieve it. But I was toolate.
The moment she smoothed it out enough to read the details, her eyes lit up with near-fanatical ardor. “Oh,yes, Cassandra, wemustgo! Just think: you will finally see Wrexhamagain!”
“I know,”I said through gritted teeth. “That is exactly why we are going to refuseit!”
“Now, love…” Her eyes widened, and she gave me her most innocent look...which put me on guardimmediately.
Kind-hearted, loyal,andadorableare all phrases that may apply very well to my brother’s wife;innocentis not one of them, and never hasbeen.
She had, after all, been my mother’s final and most promising politicalprotégée.
“I should think,” she said now, as if idly, “that you would wish to show everyone how little notice you take of any gossip. After all, if we refuse this invitation, you know everyone will say it was because you were too afraid to see Wrexhamagain.”
My teeth ground together. “I amnotafraid of seeingWrexham.”
“Well,Iknow that,” Amy said, looking as smug as a cat licking up fresh cream. “But doeshe?”
Well. It isn’t that I don’t know when I’m being managed. But there are some possibilities that cannot be borne. And the thought of my ex-fiancé’s dark eyebrows rising in his most fiendishly supercilious look at the news of my cowardlyrefusal…
I drummed my fingers against the table, searching for a wayout.
Behind my brother’s outspread newspaper, an apparently disembodied voice spoke. “Better leave early,” my brother said. “It’s meant to snow next week, according to the weatherwizards.”
Amy sat back, smiling and resting her hands on her roundedbelly…
And that was how the three of us ended up rattling through the elven dales in mid-winter, with the first flakes of snow falling around ourcarriage.
Poor Amy stopped chattering half an hour into our journey, her pretty face setting into pained lines and her dark brown skin taking on a grayish hue. As I watched her, my toes tapped once, twice, and then a third time beneath myskirts.
I forced myself to lookaway.
The carriage bumped over a particularly large rock, and a tiny, muffled squeak escaped from Amy’s lips. My fingers clenched. All it would take was the simplest little spell to relieve her misery...if only a competent,functioningmagician sat besideher.
No matter how hard I tried, I could never manage a full day without a reminder of myfailure.
Beside me, Amy breathed deeply and leaned back against theseat.
All the taxes had been paid on our carriage, the glowing seal stamped proudly on its side less than a month earlier, so the trolls who guarded these dales stood unmoving in the falling snow, letting us drive past without incident. As the wintry sun lowered in the sky and the snow thickened, their massive, looming figures took on the indistinct shapes of rugged, rocky green hills…at least, until another carriage turned onto the road behind us and the closest troll swung into lumbering motion, its massive, moss-covered arms swinging by itssides.
I craned to look back through the window, grateful for the distraction, but the swirling snow obscured the scene behindus.
“Idiots,” said my brother calmly. “Thought they could get away with their old tax seal till the end of the year,probably.”
“They aren’t being foolish and resisting, are they?” Amy cracked her eyes open,frowning.
“Oh, no, they’re going quietly enough.” Jonathan snorted, crossing one leg over another. “But I shouldn’t fancy havingmycarriage swung about in the grip of a troll all the way to the local toll station. Wouldyou?”
“Ugh—!” Amy’s face crumpled. She lifted one gloved hand to her lips and squeezed her eyes tightlyshut.
