Chapter 1
ne moment it feels like everything you’ve ever wanted is within reach. The future you hoped for. The love you never believed wasO possible. The life you fought for, there at the edge of your fingertips.
And then you reach out, certain it’s finally yours. You grasp hold, only to open your clenched hand and find there is nothing left in your palm but dust and ash.
I can’t go back into the ball – the ball held in my honour as the gifted.
I survived the Retterheld. More – I fucking won it.
Me. Rose Kultavaris. Lady Rose Kultavaris.
I’ve been given a divine gift from the Great Goddess Etta herself, and I have never felt more ruined. My magic is restored, my title, my wealth … but what of my happiness?
Kay is furious with me. Kyor has walked away from me. Llin is dead. I am cripplingly alone.
I dreamed of this moment so many times. In the deprivation of the slums, I fantasised about this very heartbeat pulsing with magic. Yet now that it is here, I realise the depth of my foolishness. Wealth and magic may keep your stomach full and your skin warm, but they do nothing for your heart.
And mine is broken. Shattered beyond repair.
Kyor chose his crown over me – over us. The love I believed we shared was nothing more than an illusion. A twisted game from a twisted prince.
Snow drifts around me as I stumble away from the palace, only half- aware of the direction I am heading in – towards the courtiers’ arc. It’s where my family home once stood. It must be there still, and if so, then it should be mine now. Everything taken from me was to be returned. That was what I
asked the Goddess for, and as she made good on my magic, I have no reason to doubt she will fulfil my wish.
Shuddering against the icy winds that bite at my skin, I stride through the High Hold, keeping my head low as occasional stragglers make their way to the ball. Once I am there, once I am home, I will let myself feel the magnitude of the betrayals that have torn my heart to shreds. ‘Lady Rose,’ an uncertain voice calls after me. ‘Lady Rose, may I speak with you for a moment?’ I pause but don’t turn around. Gods, I’m done for tonight. So done. I cannot bear to hear more false words of congratulations at my astounding feat, all while the wealthy wolves of Wrohelm share surreptitious looks, trying to work out why I am the one Etta chose.
But the young woman speaks again. ‘Lady Rose, you are going home, are you not? I’m here to accompany you, m’lady.’ The deference in her tone and the way she says ‘m’lady’ tells me this isn’t a member of the court, so I turn.
The woman is of a similar age to me but dressed in the plain black-and- white smock of the palace housemaids, with the addition of a large rucksack on her back.
My breath quickens. Someone in the same uniform spoke to me at length earlier this evening, and the drawing she showed me was only the start of the heartache I’ve endured during what should have been my celebration. And I refuse to endure more. ‘If you’re here for Thea—’ I begin. ‘Thea? No,’ the maid interrupts, shaking her head. ‘I … I know nobody of that name, m’lady. No, no, I’m here because the priestesses sent me. I carry your possessions from the Retterheld as well.’ She gestures to the bag on her back. ‘I am yours.’ ‘Mine?’ I question, only for her to dip into a curtsey. ‘Your housemaid.’ ‘You mean you’re to work for me?’ I say, finally making sense of what she is telling me. ‘If it is agreeable to you?’ Her teeth worry her lower lip as though she is concerned I will send her back to tell the priestesses she failed to do as they requested of her. And part of me is tempted to. My life is ashes on the wind, a few smouldering embers in the grey that may well catch and burn anything they drift too close to. I do not need anyone to bear witness to that. But this young woman doesn’t know that. She has merely been tasked with a job.
Possibly even chosen by the Goddess herself. ‘What is your name?’ I ask her. ‘Summer, m’lady.’ She curtseys again as she speaks.
I will need someone to help me with the house, even if I am to live there alone. The thought causes a deep throb to burn behind my ribs, and tears I refuse to shed in public threaten to show again. ‘Call me Rose,’ I reply, the decision as quick as the turn of my heel. ‘Come, we will go there now.’ We continue through the courtiers’ arc in silence. Every step is a trial in its own right, one in which I am forced to smother this searing emptiness that fills me. This isn’t what the return to my family home was supposed to be like. Me, alone with a maid about whom I know nothing but her name.
I dreamed that Kay would be by my side, as well as my friends. That there would be drinks, dancing, and laughter filling the air. I imagined a feeling like everything had suddenly fallen into place.
Victory was never about erasing the losses I had endured. I knew before I entered the Retterheld that even the Goddess couldn’t bring my murdered baby brother, Florian, back to me. Couldn’t bring my parents back. But it was meant to feel different from this. It was meant to feel like life could finally
begin.
That’s not how I feel at all.
It’s only when my feet stop, my body rigid and unmoving, that I look up and find myself outside the stone façade of my childhood home. The windows are dark with dust and age. The moss on the roof is denser too. But so much of it is the same. The wrought-iron gate. The carved filigree patterns etched on the door. And even though the plants that filled the window ledges are wilted and yellow, the pots are still there. My mother’s pots. This is my home.
There is no light inside it, no sense that anyone has occupied it since my family was forcefully evicted all those years ago.
I stare at the lock on the door. I have no key. And yet, no sooner than the thought forms than I catch sight of something glittering atop one of the planters. A key, which I could have sworn wasn’t there even a heartbeat ago. ‘Thank you, Etta,’ I murmur as I pick up the heavy brass item and slip it into the lock. For what little it is worth, the Goddess has certainly held up her side of the bargain.
My breath stutters as I stand on the threshold of my home, key in place.
This is what I wanted. To return here. So why am I quavering? Because without my family it will never be a home, merely a house.
A house filled with memories that may yet destroy me.
Steeling myself against whatever waits for me inside, I draw in a long breath, turn the key, and step over the threshold.
The hallway is dim and cold, surfaces layered with dust and grime, and yet somehow it is exactly as I remember it. The green tapestries on the walls.
The golden chandeliers. The curved windows letting in light from the High Hold and beyond. It is four stories of luxury and even includes an orangery with more plants than anywhere else in Wrohelm, excluding the Goddess’s
Garden, of course.
All that is missing is my family.
Closing my eyes, I inhale so deeply it is as though I am trying to pull the memories from the woodwork, to force laughter and songs and aromas of cooking and brews from the very bricks of the building. But as a single tear trickles down my cheek, I face the fact that even the Goddess cannot grant me that.
Summer is respectfully silent as I reacquaint myself with my old home, running my fingers along the wooden wall panels. When I feel a chink in the wood, the memory hits as hard as the clanging of metal all those years ago. I was sparring with my father. We were only meant to use wooden swords in the house, but Mother was working – healing – and so we took the risk.
Father always had a sixth sense of when she would return home, giving us time to hide the evidence of our shenanigans. On this occasion, though, the damage was too great to repair, and Mother chastised us both sternly. No swords in the house.
A sad laugh threatens to form in my throat, but before it can, Summer breaks the silence. ‘M’lady, should I prepare you something to eat?’ she suggests, wiping her hands on her pinafore as if she is readying herself to work. ‘Unless you ate at the ball?’ I did not. It’s been over a day since I last ate, though I haven’t noticed any hunger. It’s not a surprise. I know better than most how heartbreak and devastation can destroy a person’s appetite.
However, now that food has been mentioned, hunger pangs bloom as a dull ache beneath my ribs. ‘Some food would be good, thank you,’ I say gratefully. ‘Come. I’ll show
you to the kitchen.’ At some point I’ll have to give her a tour of the entire house, but even showing Summer the kitchen, the heart of the home where my mother would brew and cook, where we would eat our meals – or in Florian’s case, mush it into his highchair – feels somehow wrong without Kay present.
As I continue down the hallway, another memory surfaces: Kay riding upon my back, using me not as a horse, but as a dire wolf; the sound of my father’s familiar belly laughs rolling through the air as he bounced a giggling Florian in his arms, while Kay struggled to remain on my increasingly bucking frame. In the end, Kay had marched off sulking because I wasn’t being a nice wolfy, too focused on making our brother laugh. Perhaps that was true. I can’t even remember now. But I wish I could. ‘It’s a little worn and dusty…’ Summer mutters as she looks around, assessing her new place of employment. ‘But nowhere near as dirty as it should be.’ She’s not wrong. Though it may not be filthy, everything is on the wrong side of old.
Pots with overgrown vines clutter the shelves. They’re part of my mother’s history, and from the way several have risen up the wall, their tendrils intertwined, her irrigation system appears to have been working all this time. Even so, many are half-dead, having outgrown their too-small pots years ago, with white roots bursting through the bottoms. The temptation to help them is too much.
I reach out with my magic and give a turn of my wrist, then watch in wonder as stems shift and straighten, and wilted leaves turn lush and verdant, as the plants return to health before my eyes. They’ll need repotting – and soon – but I can give them this for now, at least. ‘Oh m’lady! Your magic is beautiful,’ Summer gasps.
A smile lingers momentarily on my lips before I turn my attention to the rest of the kitchen. It is hard to see the space with fresh eyes rather than ones layered with nostalgia, but I try. If this is the home we will live in, then it is important to see it with a view to moving forward rather than staying stuck in the past.
Only madness and despair lie that way. I should know.
Besides, I know it’s what our parents would have wanted for me: a fresh start.
Though in truth, there is nothing fresh about the kitchen. The large table
requires cleaning, as do the floor and the countertops. In fact, everything requires cleaning, meaning that, as hungry as I am, cooking will have to wait until this place has been dealt with. ‘I think there might be some buckets and cloths under the sink,’ I tell Summer, already moving into action. Having a job to do will help me keep my mind off Kay and Kyor, and right now that’s what I need. ‘With both of us working, we should be able to get it useable quickly enough.’ ‘Both of us?’ she says, blinking. ‘M’lady, you can’t clean. Your dress …’ As I glance down, I realise she’s right. I’m still in my ball gown. The deep green gown with the lace-up back that Thea tightened. Thea, the woman Kyor supposedly loved before he loved me. If he ever loved either of us.
It is impossible to know what is true anymore.
My memory draws me back to the Spire. To Thea curling my hair, pretending to help me. It is enough to make me feel sick all over again. ‘You’re right,’ I say, suddenly desperate to get out of the ballgown. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’ My breath quickens as I head into the hallway. It is as though the threads of the corset are being pulled tighter and tighter, crushing my ribs. I yank at the fabric, trying to free myself, trying to stop my head from swimming as my lungs scream for air. I have barely reached the bottom of the staircase when a loud chime rings abruptly through the house. My stomach jolts as I
freeze.
A bell?
Adrenaline surges through me, more overwhelming than ever before.
Gasping with fear, I scrabble for a weapon before my brain catches up to the
moment.
This is not a call to arms.
The bell isn’t to warn me of a trial commencing, but merely to announce that someone is at the door.
Embarrassment warms my cheeks as I try to slow my thundering heart, yet my breaths are still shallow even as Summer joins me in the hall, wiping
her hands on her apron. ‘Are you expecting visitors, m’lady?’ Visitors? Who would be visiting me now when the ball is still mid-flow? ‘Whoever it is,’ I say, ‘turn them away.’ I shrink out of sight but remain nearby, too curious to leave.
She nods briskly. ‘Of course, m’lady. It’s been a long day.’ As she moves
to the front door, I remain out of view, listening in. ‘I’m sorry, Lady Rose isn’t accepting callers,’ Summer says politely as she opens the door. ‘She’s already asleep.’ ‘Then wake her up,’ a voice snaps, ‘or I’ll do it myself!’ I stiffen. Jonas.
He begged me to speak to him at the ball. Was it to discuss his father’s engagement to Kay? ‘I’m not leaving until I speak to her,’ Jonas continues forcefully. ‘This is the Goddess’s wish. I’ll stay here on this doorstep all night if I have to. Rose!
Rose!’ Jonas shouts into the house. ‘Rose!’ ‘Please, sir,’ Summer tries again. ‘Please, Lady Rose is sleeping —’ ‘Rose! I know you’re —’ ‘It’s all right, Summer,’ I say, stepping out of the shadows. ‘You can let him in. He won’t be staying long.’ The comment is as much for Jonas’s benefit as for Summer’s.
The maid nods at me before pointedly looking at Jonas and then back at me. It takes me a moment to realise she is waiting to see if I will require her to fetch drinks. But I meant the comment about Jonas not staying, and so I give her a quick shake of my head.
At the gesture, she scurries back to the kitchen, leaving Jonas and me alone.
Manners dictate that I offer him a seat in one of the countless reception rooms, but it’s late and he’s intruding, so he can damned well stand in the entryway. ‘Rose.’ His eyes scan me, as if looking for injuries. ‘You ran from the ball,’ he says, stepping closer. ‘I couldn’t find you. Is everything okay?’ I fold my arms. ‘Is this you asking – or your father?’ ‘My father?’ He frowns in confusion and I meet his expression with one that I’m certain is nearly identical. If he doesn’t know of the engagement,
then why the hell is he here?
Ugh, surely not to propose again? ‘What do you want, Jonas?’ ‘I … I wanted to come and see you,’ he says, nerves creeping into his expression. He looks away and tugs at the cuffs of his shirt, avoiding my gaze. ‘Needed to. There’s something you and I must discuss.’ He clears his throat, but he seems suddenly unable to form words. ‘Well?’ I place my hands on my hips. ‘Spit it out.’
‘It is … something I should have told you before.’ He finally looks at me, his eyes already begging me to understand. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you. You have to believe me that I really wanted to, but …’ His voice fades. ‘But?’ I await his answer, expecting it to come promptly, yet he remains silent.
My hands flex and clench as I try to claw any last dregs of patience from the depths of my exhausted frame. But I’m done. I don’t even have the energy left to shake an answer out of him. ‘Jonas …’ His name leaves me with a sigh. ‘By the love of the Mother, just tell me what you came to say so that you can fuck off and I can go to bed.’ He nods forcefully as he draws in a trembling breath. ‘Yes, you’re right. I have to tell her,’ he says, more to himself than to me. ‘The Goddess insisted.’ ‘The Goddess?’ Surprise catches me off guard, and for the first time since he hammered on the door, a modicum of my fatigue is replaced by intrigue.
What has Etta told him to do?
Jonas’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Nervousness radiates from him. ‘You spoke to the Goddess?’ I press as an unexpected dryness claims my throat. ‘Yes, when you were portated out of the caves. She spoke to me then.’ Nerves scrape my stomach. I assumed that when I was brought to the Spire, Jonas would be instantly portated out too. Why would he have needed to remain there after I had gone? Why would she have needed to speak to him alone? ‘Why?’ I set the word free from my mind. ‘Why did she speak to you?’ Jonas’s eyes dart around the hallway and linger pointedly towards the kitchen. ‘Perhaps some privacy?’ I don’t deny him the request a second time. My stomach has coiled tight since his mention of the Goddess, and I push open the nearest door to me, not even realising which room I have invited him into until we are inside. My father’s study.
In an effort to warm the house, Summer already has a fire burning in the grate, and I’m grateful for the heat of it as the ghosts of memory stir.
Images of me sitting upon the armchair, listening to my father’s stories of battles while Florian crawled around my ankles, threaten to consume my thoughts. I turn away from the heavy wooden desk, where the memories are most dense, and focus on Jonas.
‘Why did the Goddess speak to you, Jonas? What is it you have to tell me?’ Rather than respond, Jonas begins pacing the room. ‘It was the safest thing. For everyone. I need you to understand that.’ ‘That’s why Etta needed to speak to you? Because it was safer?’ ‘Yes—No!’ His fingers claw at his scalp as if these words are physically paining him.
My confusion deepens. Is it to do with Kestria, I wonder, the Rettling he blinded? Is there something the Goddess believes I can do for her now that my magic has been returned? Our friendship may have been tested of late, but surely he knows that if he asks such a thing of me, I will gladly do it? But first he has to explain to me what the fuck is going on. ‘Jonas, please…’ Finally he stops his movements and locks his eyes on mine. ‘Remember the last thing Etta said to you? That you’d have everything returned to you in time? All the precious things that you’d lost?’ With a scoff, I lift my hand, gesturing to where we are standing. My home is mine again, just like I asked. And with it, every memory it possesses.
I aim to find them all, trapped as they are in the plaster and cobwebs. ‘I’ve got it,’ I say. ‘Haven’t you noticed?’ Jonas shakes his head. ‘That’s not what she was talking about. This isn’t the most precious thing.’ His breathing hitches and his hands are trembling.
‘I’m so sorry, Rose. Really, I am.’ ‘Jonas…?’ I’ve seen Jonas in some of his worst moments. Wanting us to leave him out on the ice to die. Blinding Kestria during the final trial. You can’t get much lower than that.
And right now, that same raw hopelessness is consuming him once again.
His eyes glisten. ‘Jonas, just tell me,’ I snap, nerves fraying. ‘What the fuck is it?’ ‘It’s about William!’ As the words fly from him in pained terror, my forehead creases but my pulse lowers by just a fraction. It’s not about Kay. Not about my family. She is still safe, even if she is with Artur. ‘William?’ I question. ‘Your father’s ward?’ He nods. ‘Yes … but that’s not who he is. Not all he is.’ With a single step he stands in front of me and takes my hand, his fingers
closing around mine as if he expects my legs to give way. As if he knows what this will do to me even before the words have left his mouth.
Heavy dread curls in my gut. What could he have to tell me about a boy I barely know that could make him fear such a reaction? The question has barely formed in my mind when he answers it. ‘He’s your brother, Rose,’ Jonas whispers. ‘William is your brother. He’s Florian.’
