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Frozen Hearts and Death
Magic
OF FIRE & FAE 1
DAY LEITAO
SPARKLY WAVE
Copyright © 2022 by Day Leitao
Sparkly Wave, Montreal
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.
Cover illustration by Nyaka-N
Map by Sekcer
 Contents

1. Secret in the Woods

2. The Necromancer Castle
3. Ice-breaking
4. Golden Strands
5. Music and Magic
6. Behind Doors
7. Meetings and Matches
8. Notes
9. Mirror Shards
10. Through the Hollow
11. Decisions
12. Changing Course
13. Naia and River
14. The Iron Citadel
15. The Woods
16. Attack
17. Voices
18. The Ancient City
19. Asleep
20. Death Sails
21. The Hollow
22. Frozen
23. Trapped
24. Escape
25. The Wave
26. Awake
27. The Battle
28. The Truth
29. Hanging
30. Debt
31. Goodbye
The story continues
Afterword
 1
Secret in the Woods

N aia’s toes were freezing, and she still had no idea what
insanity had made her leave the warmth of her bed, no
idea what had compelled her to climb out of her
window, no idea why she was out in the rain in the middle of
the night. An odd feeling, a hunch, a weird, unscratchable
itch.
Pity that the hunch had forgotten to warn her that these
slippers would get drenched outside. But then, did she really
need to be reminded of the obvious? Common sense wasn’t
her companion tonight. At all.
It was as if something called her, pulled her, but whatever
that something was, it was perhaps going too far, as she was
now leaving the manor’s garden and stepping into the
Shadowy Woods. If she kept going, eventually she’d come
across one of the royal guards stationed in the forest around
the property, and then she didn’t even want to think about all
the explaining she’d have to do.
When she pictured herself sitting across from her father,
the part she dreaded the most wasn’t making him angry or
worried, but the fact that he’d learn that she could bend the
iron bars from her window. He’d probably put some wooden
trellis there or something, meaning no more random strolls at
weird hours, also known as bye, freedom.
That was a horrible thought. But she did wonder how come
he’d never guessed that iron bars wouldn’t contain an
ironbringer. Right. As if he thought her magic was worth
anything. At least being underestimated had its perks. Wow,
freezing outside, what a magnificent perk.
The worst was that now everything was getting hard to see,
considering the light from the garden lamps was fading into
darkness, and any different sound would be drowned by the
raindrops falling on the trees and leaves rustling with the wind.
Alone in dark woods in the middle of the night, her feet
wet, unsure why she was even here, this would be the time to
turn back to her warm room and some dry socks. Oh, the
wonder of dry socks. And yet, there was something out there.
Something… Nothing that she should fear, rather something
calling her.
With eyes closed, she reached for her magic, but couldn’t
feel any type of metal other than the faint traces of iron deep
within the earth. She took a few more steps into the woods,
trying to sense what was out there—then tripped on a root and
almost fell. She should have paid more attention to where she
was going.
Naia looked back. Too light to be tree bark. As she reached
out and touched it, she realized it was soft and smooth, like…
skin. This was a person. A person, lying on their stomach,
wearing no shirt, unconscious—or dead.
Naia checked for a pulse. Still alive. But the hand was so
cold. She was about to yell for the guards, yell for someone so
they could get a healer, when she noticed the nails. Pointy,
dark nails.
A chill ran down her spine. It couldn’t be. But then, the
long hair was not white or pale blond. Even drenched and
muddy, it looked brown or at least dark blond. She moved
some of it away from one ear—and sucked in a breath.
This was her enemy.
Sure, she’d only heard of them in stories; the dreaded race
that had razed cities to the ground, killed her grandparents,
almost rid Aluria of humans.
Until they disappeared.
 Her father had always thought they would return one day.
Here was the proof that he’d been right.
With dark nails and pointy ears, this was a fae.
She touched the top of his head and found pointy,
backward horns. Fae, for sure, but these creatures in Aluria
were supposed to be monstrous, with blond-white hair, claws,
and red eyes. Well, the hands had pointy nails. But at the same
time, there was something so human, so vulnerable about this
fae, unconscious in the woods, perhaps dying. A young man,
based on the size of his arms and back and what she could see
of his face.
Naia swallowed, her heart thrumming in her chest. She
should call the guards. And then what? The fae would be
beaten, perhaps worse. But he was an enemy. Or maybe not.
So much time had passed. This could be a sole survivor or
maybe someone who had nothing to do with the past war. Or
perhaps a different fae race from across the sea.
Maybe, maybe. Every second she spent thinking was a
second he remained on that cold ground. Naia was no healer.
But calling guards or her father could seal his fate, and she
didn’t know if she would want that blame. She had a choice to
make.
Naia got up and ran back to her room, then tiptoed down
the hallway to the kitchen. There, she took the biggest tray she
could find, one meant for serving whole boars. Sometimes she
used her metal magic to transport animals she hunted, and this
was the only way she could imagine herself bringing that fae
inside.
Perhaps she should call Fel to help her. No. Her brother
would definitely want to tell their father, and for now, she
wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea. Yes, her twin’s
outrageous metal magic would probably be helpful, but… The
fae was her secret, and perhaps she wanted to keep it that way.
Carrying the tray and also a blanket from her bedroom, she
returned to that place in the forest, almost afraid that someone
would have found him or that he would have disappeared
somehow, but he was still there, still unconscious. She placed
the blanket over the tray, then, with some effort, rolled the fae
over it and wrapped him. Hopefully that would prevent the
iron from hurting him. If it was true that iron hurt them. If he
was really a fae.
She hoped that he was not a white fae, that this didn’t
mean they were returning, didn’t mean another war would
start. Still, for now, she just wanted to save him; otherwise
she’d never know why she’d been drawn to him, who he was,
or what he was doing here.
Moving him all the way to her bedroom wasn’t going to be
easy. Naia sighed. The weight over the metal should make no
difference, except that she always felt that it did, and then had
trouble moving heavy objects. Fel would be able to get this fae
inside without even blinking or breaking a sweat.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Perhaps that was how her magic had
gotten so shitty; by relying so much on her twin. She sighed
again, then reached for her connection with the iron. It wasn’t
that it called to her, but that she could feel it, as if it were an
extension of her own body that she could touch when the need
came.
Naia floated the tray with the fae on it, carefully bringing it
to the gardens. Thankfully there was nobody there. She
approached her window, moved the bars again, then opened
the glass panes wide, to make room for the unconscious fae.
Getting him in was going to be the hardest part: a mistake
could make him fall and break his neck. If fae even got broken
bones.
For now, she raised her hand, even if she knew that it made
no difference for the magic, and guided the tray through her
window. Her arm was trembling, and, feeling she’d be unable
to hold anymore, she dropped the muddy tray, blanket, and fae
on her bed.
What a mess.
Naia climbed in, closed the windows, and moved the iron
bars back to their original place.
 The room was chilly, so she put more wood in the fire, and
only then turned to look at the bed. It was a young man,
regardless of his pointy ears, which were not even that visible
under his wavy brown hair, which hung past his shoulders.
The two horns on top of his head made a difference, but
somehow it was as if they belonged there. He had a square jaw
with delicate lips and no facial hair. This was the furthest away
from a monster that she could imagine. Now, white fae, as far
as she knew, had light hair, so she wasn’t sure what to make of
him. His skin was much lighter than hers, but his hair was
brown, also lighter than her own black hair, but definitely not
pale blond.
Carefully, she pulled the metal tray from under him, then
took another blanket and dried his hair, torso, and pants,
avoiding the weird parts. He had no visible wounds and no
fever. His only issue was how cold he was. She warmed a
blanket by the fire and wrapped it around him. The room was
no longer as chilly, so that should also help.
Naia got up, stood by him, then checked his pulse again.
Still alive. Hopefully his problem was only cold. For a so-
called monstrous creature, he was quite vulnerable, quite…
human. She touched one of his horns. The texture was
different from what she’d expected. Despite its smooth
appearance, it was rugged and rough. She ran her finger over
it, fascinated by it. This would probably be the only time she’d
be so close to a fae. And then, perhaps this was also the only
time she’d be close to a beautiful young man, at least if it
depended on her father. His voice echoed in her mind, saying
she didn’t need to get married, that she was so lucky, so
strong, so independent.
If romantic wishes and dreams of kisses were weaknesses,
then she was far from strong. She was seventeen, and had no
idea if she was normal or not, no idea what a girl her age
would be doing or thinking. No idea about anything, just some
odd wishes. And perhaps that was why she was keeping the
fae a secret. It was nice to look at his pleasant face with
delicate lips, alone where nobody would know what she was
doing. It was nice to look at him while he couldn’t see her,
couldn’t judge her. Even if he was probably her enemy and
likely to have horrific red eyes, at least she had this moment.
More and more droplets, then drops of water hit the
windowpane and the roof as the drizzle turned into thick rain,
the loud noise outside a quiet comfort in case one of her
thoughts escaped her head and turned into words. Thoughts.
Nonsense.
The scent of rain was taking over the room, a scent so
intoxicatingly wonderful that she closed her eyes for a moment
to bask in that feeling. Odd how she’d never noticed what rain
smelled like. Perhaps because she’d never brought in a wet,
muddy young man.
A young man that hopefully would survive. He had to.
Even her heart was starting to tremble with worry. So much
worry for him… Well, of course. She had to figure out who he
was and what he was doing here. In fact, as a princess, getting
that information was her duty.
And so was telling her father.
But she could ignore that part for now. After all, she’d
been the one to find him. And the one to get her feet wet.
Speaking of that, only then did she remember her numb
toes, so she took off her shoes and sat by the fire, imagining
how horrible it would be to have her entire body cold like that.
After a couple minutes, when she felt her feet had thawed, she
got up. When she was about to turn, something pushed her.
Naia found herself face down on her rug, the fae above
her, with a hand around her neck, as if about to choke her.
Before she could even process what was happening, she called
an iron poker and hit his arm, then between his legs. Her
brother had told her that men were fragile there or something,
and it seemed to be true, as the fae yelled in pain and let go of
her. Naia took the opportunity to push him and roll away.
Enemy. Monster. She should have known he could be
dangerous.
Naia got up, still pointing the poker at him. “Is that how
you thank me for saving your life, you ungrateful prick?”
 Trembling on the floor, his pointy nails holding the blanket
around his torso, he turned to face her, his eyes wide. Those
eyes. They were not red, but rather a warm brown. Mahogany
eyes, now moving about as if to check the room, check where
he was. And no sign that he had even heard her question.
“Do you speak my language?” she asked.
He looked at her and frowned. “No.”
Great. She was wondering how come he had answered her,
when he added, “You speak my language.”
She rolled her eyes. Aluria had its own language. It was
old, yes. She had never thought about its origin. But that
wasn’t even the point.
“Why can’t you answer me, then?”
“I just did, didn’t I?” He remained on the floor, a casual
expression on his face as if he were relaxing there.
“I meant the first question. I saved your life, and I can still
decide whether I tell anyone about you, so if I were you, I’d
make an effort to be nice.”
He frowned, as if thoughtful, or perhaps in disbelief, then
chuckled. “Saved… me?”
Naia shrugged. “Well, is it a fae thing to lie half-naked
outside in the rain?”
An edge of a smirk appeared on his pretty lips. “Well…
Maybe not in the rain. Not—” He lifted the blanket wrapped
around him and peeked underneath it. “Half-naked, you say?”
“And unconscious. I brought you here. I won’t accept
anything less than life servitude as thanks.” She was joking.
Or maybe testing him.
He blinked slowly. “Life servitude?” He looked away, as if
thinking, then ran his dark nails through his hair. “I would
need to agree with that.”
Naia scoffed. “I wasn’t serious. But I do want an apology
for attacking me. And keep your voice down. You don’t want
my father finding you here.” Neither did she, in fact.
 He got up, towering over her, which was odd because she
was tall herself and it meant he was even taller than her
brother. Her first reflex was to step back, but she stood her
ground. She wasn’t going to let him think he could intimidate
her.
But then the fae bowed slightly, put his hand on his head,
between his horns, as if dizzy, and sat on the bed, eyeing her
with curiosity. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, and didn’t know you
had… brought me in… with good intent.” His words were
careful, as if he were measuring them.
She stared at him. “You don’t want to admit I saved you?”
His expression was relaxed, bored even. “We can’t know
what could have happened.”
She moved to the window and touched the latch. “It’s all a
matter of experimenting. You can go back outside and see. It
won’t be fair because you’re conscious now, but it’s worth a
try.” Of course she didn’t want him to leave, but she didn’t
think he was ready to go anywhere, and it was annoying that
he wouldn’t even thank her.
“Still won’t prove anything about the past. Unless you
want me gone.” He tilted his head and narrowed his beautiful
eyes. “But you don’t, do you?”
“Not before I know who you are and what you’re doing
here.”
He looked up, an amused expression on his face. “But
those are such big questions. Do you know who you are and
what you’re doing in this place?”
She scoffed. “Of course I do.”
There was a knock on the door. Naia stiffened, then threw
another blanket at him and whispered, “Lie down and hide.”
The fae frowned but got under the blankets. Funny how he
didn’t argue when it was something that benefited him.
Hopefully it was just her brother and he hadn’t heard the fae’s
voice. With that much rain outside, he shouldn’t be able to
hear anything.
 Naia moved the door just enough to see her twin standing
in the hallway, his long black hair messy for once.
“Fel? Something wrong?”
“I…” He craned his neck as if trying to look inside the
bedroom. No way he’d see the bed from this angle, and even if
he saw it, it would just look like it was messy, but it still
unnerved her. Fel frowned, thoughtful. “I thought I heard…
Are you all right?”
Naia faked a cough. “Yes. Fine. You probably heard the
rain.” She fake-coughed again. “Or me.”
Her twin narrowed his green eyes as if suspicious, but then
smiled. “Are you hiding something?”
She scoffed. Or maybe it was a nervous laugh. “What am I
even going to hide?”
Fel shrugged. “You tell me. But you need something for
that cough.” He then turned around and walked away without
even saying goodnight or anything. Weird. Well, at least he
wasn’t going to stay and chat or check her bedroom.
Naia closed and barred the door, then walked back to the
bed and removed the extra blanket.
The fae seemed curious, and cocked his head toward the
door, almost as if pointing at it with one of his horns.
“That’s… metal magic?”
Right. He didn’t mean Naia’s magic, which had brought
him inside and saved his life, but her brother’s. On the upside,
at least this was a piece of information. “So you know about
our magic.”
His eyes were quite captivating when looking up, thinking.
“I’d say… no. I was under the impression that only royal
families had magic among humans.”
Naia clenched her fists. “And what in the world do you
think we are?”
He narrowed his eyes. “This is… a castle?”
 “A manor. Comfortable enough for us. We don’t have an
obsession with showing off.”
“Interesting.” The fae took a deep breath, his eyes
scanning the room with even more curiosity than before. “And
this isn’t Ironhold.” That was the metal kingdom, and it meant
he knew Aluria quite well, to know about their magic and even
a kingdom’s name. His eyes narrowed, again looking around
the room, then setting on her. “Where are we?”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t know. What if we exchange
an answer for an answer?”
His lips formed a hint of a smile. “You could lie.”
“So could you.”
He rolled his pretty mahogany eyes. “I’m an Ancient.”
Ancient. That was what the white fae called themselves.
So he was the enemy. Naia had to tread carefully. “Not fae?”
He exhaled, as if annoyed, then shook his head. “Ancient.
But you’re free to call me whatever you want. And we don’t
lie. It doesn’t mean I have to answer anything.”
“So you aren’t going to thank me or answer my questions.
You know, I might call my father, who’ll put you in a
dungeon.”
“And then chain me in iron and torture me until death.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you proud of that, little human?”
“I haven’t yet done anything to be either proud or ashamed
of, little fae.”
“River.” The word made no sense, until he added, “My
name.”
Somehow, the honesty and softness in his voice made her
tremble, but it wasn’t fear, it was something… she wasn’t sure
what it was. Naia didn’t want him to notice her reaction and
chuckled. “Isn’t there some big deal about knowing your name
or something?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Who knows if the name is
real? But you can call me River.” He then stared at her with an
amused smirk. “Now, who is my beautiful aspiring human
savior?”
Naia felt a slight flutter in her stomach, but ignored it.
“Not yours. Not aspiring.”
He blinked slowly, perhaps to show off his long lashes.
“Forgive me. I was under the impression you assumed you had
saved my life. Is that not the case?”
“It’s not an impression. I saved your ungrateful skin. I’ll
tell you my name if you tell me what you are doing here.”
River nodded. “That’s a fair deal.” Like that? So easily?
He then said, “Your name first.”
Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. But if it was a trick, at
least she would learn whether he could lie or not. “Naia. Short
for Irinaia.”
“Naia,” he repeated slowly, as if savoring a drink. “Sounds
like music.” He smiled. “I’m sitting on a bed, not sure where,
talking to an unusually gorgeous girl.”
What he was doing here. It was a correct answer, by all
means. Prick. And it was the second time he was calling her
beautiful, probably expecting some reaction, which she wasn’t
going to give him, even if it was the first time in her life
anyone was calling her that—other than her brother, which
didn’t count. She knew that it was just a polite way to get a
woman’s attention and didn’t mean anything. Of course it
didn’t. Still, it was interesting to learn that fae also did that.
Naia smiled. “Enlightening. I could never have guessed it.”
He returned the smile, as if satisfied. “My pleasure.”
Another knock on the door. “Hide,” she whispered. This
time, she noticed a hint of fear in his eyes. This was good. It
meant she could threaten him for answers.
Again she opened the door just a little, and saw Fel, this
time holding a cup. She always admired how well he did that.
“Yes?”
 He extended his gloved hand, a movement he did so
graciously. “Mint tea. For your cough.”
Her twin was a treasure, even if his perfection was
sometimes annoying. Naia shook her head. “You didn’t have
to.”
“Always support each other.”
Their father had hammered that sentence in their heads.
Naia hated it. For her, it meant one day seeing her brother
become king while she’d need to settle with being just his
advisor. For her twin, supporting each other meant making tea
in the middle of the night.
She took the cup. “Thanks. I’ll try to sleep now, if you
don’t mind.”
Fel pushed the door open before she had time to stop him.
For a moment she felt a chill in her stomach, fearing he’d see
what was on her bed, but all her brother did was kiss her
forehead. “Sleep well, sis. I won’t bother you, but call me if
you need anything.”
“I will.” She smiled, then watched as he walked away. He
was indeed a treasure.
This was the first time she was lying to her brother, and
guilt gnawed at her. Up until now, she had shared everything
with him, and it felt odd to hide something. Fel made it very
hard to dislike him. Or resent him. Or lie to him. Still, she shut
the door, then pressed her ear on it, to make sure his steps
were receding down the hall.
Perhaps she could have told him about River. But she
hadn’t. Naia turned—and saw the fae eyeing her attentively.
“What?” she asked.
He turned away, a bored expression on his perfect face.
“Nothing.”
Naia sat on the bed and offered him the cup. “You should
drink it. Warm tea is good when you’re cold.”
River grimaced, staring at the cup as if it had poison. “I
don’t want any.”
 “My brother prepared it for me. You do realize he doesn’t
want me dead, right?”
He raised an eyebrow. “One can never know. And it stinks
of metal magic.”
Naia rolled her eyes. “Metal magic doesn’t stink.” She
truly hoped so, or else he would think her smell was dreadful.
“It’s just mint. Which I like.” Naia shook her head, took a sip
of the tea, then put the cup on a corner table, while River still
eyed it with disgust.
He took a deep breath, then his face got serious for once.
“Ask me something.”
“Why? Now you’re going to answer?”
“Not a question. Something. You think you saved me, and
I can’t convince you otherwise, so ask for something in
return.”
“Eternal devotion.” The words popped out of her mouth
again. She knew he’d never agree to it, but she wanted to see
his reaction.
River sucked in a breath. Again a flash of fear crossed his
eyes, but then he laughed. “Not that. Something simple.”
That fear… it meant something. She had room to
maneuver, had an opening to get what she wanted, but needed
to make sure to do this right. “I’ll think about it. But before
that… You saw my brother, right? I could have told him about
you, and I didn’t. Now, I’ll keep your presence here a secret,
as long as you answer my questions.”
He managed to look confused. “I haven’t refused to answer
anything, you know?”
There was no teasing, mischief, or defiance in his face, as
if he were the most helpful fae in the world. But since he
wanted to pretend to be nice, she’d better seize the
opportunity. “Why did you come to this house? What were
you doing in the woods?”
He paused, then answered slowly, “I intended none of
those things, therefore I cannot give you a reason, Naia. I’m
wondering as much as you are.”
She took a deep breath, then decided to ask something
different. “Why did your people disappear?”
He bit his lip and had a thoughtful expression for a second,
then shrugged, as if unfazed. “We didn’t disappear. I’m here.”
She frowned. “Are you planning to return?”
“You mean my people. Well, do you know everything
humans plan?”
“We’re many kingdoms in Aluria. You’re just one.”
River shook his head. “It doesn’t mean I know
everything.”
His eyes locked on hers, and it felt as if it was raining
inside her, but more like a cool, comforting feeling of summer
rain. She didn’t think he was trying to deceive her. There was
openness and honesty in his beautiful red-brown eyes lined by
long lashes. His face was so perfect, like an unrealistic
drawing or sculpture, and it was calling to her. His lips were
calling to her.
Naia looked away, trying to focus, but even the scent of
rain was overwhelming her senses. Focus, Naia.
She looked back in his direction, making an effort not to
pay attention to his astonishingly compelling looks. There was
a lot she wanted to understand, and she couldn’t afford to be
distracted. “You’re the first fae to be seen in Aluria in many
years. There must be a reason.”
He stiffened and his eyes widened, then he looked away.
Or maybe it was an impression, as he turned back to her and
chuckled. “We also live in Aluria.”
“But you weren’t seen,” she insisted.
He shrugged. “Maybe your kind didn’t look.” He then
stared straight into her eyes. “Ask me something, Naia. I can
give you anything you want.” His voice was a soft caress in
her ear.
 Anything? Her attention was again drawn to his lips. She
swallowed. It was unlikely that she’d ever again see any man
half as good looking as him. It was unlikely that she would
ever again be alone with someone like that. The idea that was
coming to her was so strange and scary that she didn’t even
dare think about it.
“What do you want from me, Naia?” he insisted.
There was an entrancing softness in his voice. He’d
managed to make her name sound like music, a lullaby
soothing her into wanting. It would be bold and wrong and
inappropriate. Bold and wrong. Her father would be furious if
he learned she did that. His pure daughter, meant to be single
forever. Perhaps that was a good reason to ruin his absurd
wishes. Undisturbed in her room, she could have wishes of her
own.
“Kiss me.” She didn’t feel embarrassed, afraid, or
ashamed. The voice was hers and wasn’t. It was the voice of a
different Naia, one that had been imprisoned, gagged, and
bound. And it was free now.
River’s face got even more beautiful as it relaxed into a
happy, relieved smile, as if that had been his wish too. That
smile made her heart leap—and speed up.
He wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her close, so
that she was sitting right beside him, her legs to the opposite
side as his. It felt so good to be this close to him, to feel his
touch. There was still a blanket around him, but it no longer
covered his arms and chest. He turned her towards him, so that
they were facing each other, then caressed her hair slowly.
Her heart pounding in her chest, she closed her eyes. He
smelled like grass and rain, but there was also something
unique, mysterious, magical, and sweet. A reminder that he
was not human. Naia sucked in a breath as she felt his lower
lip touching her chin, then moving up to meet hers. Such a
pleasant softness. He pulled her even closer, so that she felt his
chest against hers, her thin nightgown the only thing between
them. He opened her lips with his, and then his tongue was
caressing the inside of her mouth.
 Naia had no idea that a kiss would be like this; luscious,
moist, thrilling. She would never have imagined that tongues
would touch. Or that it would feel so good. She caressed his
hair, then moved her hands down to his back, the pleasant feel
of his lips and tongue like water reviving dry soil. And she
was absorbing, absorbing, absorbing it, a thrill of life going
through her. It was more than just the two mouths moving
together, it was an energy moving down her body. She was
kissing him back too, lost in the feeling of his lips. Was it
seconds, minutes, hours? An eternity perhaps, if it could have
been condensed in that moment.
Suddenly, he unwrapped his arms from around her waist,
pushed her back, and stared at her, trembling, his eyes wide.
Naia was trembling too, but there was something odd in the
way he looked at her. Perhaps she’d done it all wrong? But it
had felt real and powerful. It seemed that he had enjoyed it
too, that he had wanted it as much as her. She had felt it in the
way he had pulled her closer and closer, in his movements.
Why was he looking at her like that? Why had he pushed her
away?
A shiver ran through her body. “River?”
There was no mistaking the horror and shock in his eyes.
“What have you done?”
Naia had no idea. No idea what to say or what to think. His
face and hair darkened as she stared, unable to understand
anything, unable to do anything. At first it was as if his body
was emitting black smoke, but after a few seconds, only
smoke was left where the fae had once sat. Only smoke
remained in place of the lips she had kissed. Only black
smoke, without even a smell. The scent of rain was gone.
“River?” she asked again, moving her hands around her,
searching fruitlessly for something solid, for a sign of him.
There was nothing. What have you done? She had no idea.
 2
The Necromancer Castle

B lood covered the walls and floor of the ballroom. That

and bodies, bodies everywhere. Leah’s feet were bare,
stepping on granite tiles now viscous and red. She
stopped walking, then tried to put her hands together. They
crossed through one another.
The feeling of blood on her feet was gone. This was a
dream. At least it wasn’t one of those weird ones—or a
nightmare. Blood and death she could deal with.
Her father’s voice came to her. Necromancy is life; a wisp
of it, condensed and returned to the dead, to give them one last
chance. And necromancy in dreams was different, much more
powerful than in reality. Leah made her way to the great
window. Around her, blood disappeared, wounds healed,
bodies became whole again, people got up. She didn’t dare
look at anyone too close, didn’t want to see whose bodies were
there, didn’t want to let the dream control her. All she wanted
was to get to the window and look at the sky. There was
always solace there, always an escape from even the most
dreadful horror.
She reached her destination, ignoring everything behind
her as she stared through the glass. There, flying in the sky,
was the silver dragon. Her silver dragon, always present in
both her dreams and her nightmares.
Long, wingless, with iridescent scales, it was the most
beautiful thing she’d ever seen. And it brimmed with power,
so much power that she could sense it even from a distance.
But its beauty and power were nothing compared to how she
felt when seeing it. Her pain, her fears, her worries all
disappeared, as if the sight was a balm to her soul. Her chest
brimmed with love—such an amazing feeling—until she
opened her eyes.
The curtains of her four-poster bed were closed, but some
light was coming through them. This was it; the day the
remaining royal delegations would arrive. The gathering was
starting. Leah should be happy, should be excited. She did
pretend it, especially in front of her mother, who’d been
preparing her for this occasion for so long. But the truth was
that Leah wished she could turn around and hide in her
dreams, even with the blood, bodies, and everything.
No. Nerves were normal. She shouldn’t listen to her fears,
no matter how much her heart pounded in her chest, no matter
how much her stomach felt strange and cold and hollow. The
kings and queens would discuss the mysterious attacks, and
they would find a solution. Plus, she was indeed looking
forward to the balls. Real balls, right here in the castle! And
she was curious to meet the other princes and princesses from
Aluria. Perhaps she’d even make a few friends. And perhaps
there was a nice, handsome prince among them.
And then perhaps there wasn’t. Her mother would pick a
husband for her regardless.

T HE PEBBLED road was a lot smoother than Naia had imagined.

It was strange to cross the portal into such a white world. Even
in the carriage, wearing a fur coat, she felt her face and hands
getting cold, and wished her gloves hadn’t been tucked deep in
her trunk. She could probably use her magic to get warm, but
wasn’t in the mood for a scolding from her father.
As she watched the snowy landscape through the window,
she considered the upcoming festivities. She and her brother
would finally be introduced to the other royal families in
Aluria, and she was curious to see in person everyone who
apparently hated them, including her mother’s family and
some cousins who pretended that she and Fel didn’t exist. And
then there was another reason that made her excited to visit
another kingdom for the first time: knowledge. Having access
to a different library and to more people, perhaps she could
learn more about the fae.
What have you done? The question still echoed in her
mind, had never faded, even after almost a year had passed.
A meeting with royals from all over the kingdom could be
an opportunity to seek an answer. For now, she appreciated the
white landscape; the trees covered in snow as if embraced by
clouds, except that the windows of the carriage were getting
foggier and foggier, and she eventually gave up trying to see
beyond them.
As she turned back inside, a sight surprised her: her father
was looking down, his legs restless. She glanced at her brother
to see if he noticed it too, but he was playing with his hands,
oblivious. Naia took another look at her father. It wasn’t an
impression; he was nervous.
Strange. She had never seen him even flinch, and would
actually have liked to see some emotion from him a few times,
like when a wild boar had almost run her over. She had been
only seven, terrified, and her father had waited until the very
last second to kill the beast, all the while keeping his
expression placid and calm. Perhaps it was because he was
such a strict father, like when he’d sent her and Fel to the
cabin by the manor, to live off whatever they could hunt and
gather, without any help. She’d been fourteen then, and had
spent some tough six months with her twin. True that at the
end of it, they had learned to trust each other, had improved
their magic tremendously, and were much stronger. Still, there
had been no worry or any hint of fear from his father.
Perhaps he was calm only when dealing with his children?
Not really. He could recount tragic events in the war against
the white fae without showing even a trace of emotion. On the
few occasions he got angry, he kept his voice steady, his
composure calm, which made him all the more terrifying.
Then, he was a deathbringer, wielder of the most dangerous
magic in the eleven kingdoms. Naia had always thought that
nothing could rattle him.
But she had been wrong.
Here he was, looking like a common man, dreading
something. The question was what.
“Dad?” she asked.
He stopped fidgeting and raised his green eyes. “Yes?”
“Something wrong?”
“Nothing.” He rested his hands beside him on the seat and
crossed his legs. “I mean, we need to remain alert, of course.
It’s enemy territory.” He said it matter-of-factly.
Was that why he was anxious? About meeting
representatives from other kingdoms? “But we’re not at war.
Even when there was a war, all human kingdoms were allies,
right?”
Her father raised an eyebrow. “Just because we joined
forces to defeat the fae, it doesn’t mean our interests align.
And you know they all hate Umbraar.”
“Yet you always come to these meetings.” Her father had
been to all the gatherings, held every three years or so, each
time in a different kingdom. Never in Umbraar, of course,
since everyone hated them or maybe because her father had no
intention of hosting other royals. Well, they didn’t even have a
proper castle to host anyone.
This year, the gathering was in Frostlake, which was the
southernmost kingdom in Aluria, frozen a good part of the
year, and far from Umbraar, which was much farther north.
Naia was happy it was here because she got to see snow for
the first time, but she also knew that her father hated the
Frostlake queen and king more than anyone, except maybe for
the Ironhold family—and the Wolfmark family. Well, he hated
a lot of people.
Her father took a deep breath. “It’s never a good idea to
give your back to your enemies. Or to give them reasons to
conspire against you. They’re all pretending to be friends, and
I can pretend too.” He pointed at her and Fel. “And so can
you.” Only then he noticed that her twin was spinning his iron
phalanges in the air. “Isofel. I’ve already told you to keep your
hands always gloved.”
Fel stopped spinning his fingers, leaving them floating in
the air, and had a mocking smile. “Why? Afraid they’ll notice
I’m a cripple?”
Their father sighed. “Don’t say that. Still, you don’t want
to reveal your magic.”
That didn’t make sense. “But everyone knows we’re
ironbringers.”
“Still. Never show your true power to your enemies.”
Fel snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure they’ll be
terrified of spinning fingers. But don’t worry, I’ll hide them
when we get there.”
Her father grunted, and Fel put his hand back in place;
metal pieces mimicking hand bones, kept together with
ironbringing. It was what made Fel so powerful. He had to use
an insane amount of magic just to perform ordinary actions,
such as holding a fork, drinking from a cup, buttoning his
shirt, or brushing his hair—and she was pretty sure he spent a
lot of time brushing it.
Naia still remembered her twin as a child, trying to use a
solid metal hand, frustrated that he couldn’t hold anything. He
asked for hands made of more and more pieces, trying hard to
mimic normal hand movements. Naia had sat with him as he
made an effort to copy her gestures, often feeling defeated,
sometimes angry, but never at her. A few times she had heard
him crying in his bedroom, but pretended she hadn’t noticed,
as nothing brought him more shame than being caught in tears.
But the tears had been worth it. Eventually he asked for metal
pieces that looked like hand bones and, with a lot of training
and persistence, mastered his control over the pieces to the
point he could mimic hand movements.
Then his magic took this gigantic leap, a leap Naia could
never reach no matter how much she practiced. She was happy
that her brother was so powerful, but felt weak and
incompetent in comparison. That until recently, when she’d
found her own magic. Not that her father cared for it.
The air got warmer, so Naia rubbed her hand on the
window and noticed they had entered the dome, a colossal
metal and glass structure surrounding the Frostlake capital like
a gigantic greenhouse.
She turned to her brother. “You could destroy this dome
without even blinking, couldn’t you?”
Fel looked out the window. “Wow, it’s huge. I’d need to
get closer, I think.”
Their father rolled his eyes. “Great. Our hosts will be
delighted to hear you can destroy their city.”
Fel chuckled. “Just because I can, it doesn’t mean I will.”
He then glared at his son. “You think a gathering is a joke?
You’ll need your wits, you’ll need to remain alert. There are
princesses from other kingdoms, and they might try to snare
you.”
Naia pushed back her laughter trying to imagine a horde of
young women throwing themselves at her brother and asked,
“Don’t they hate us?”
Her father was still serious. “Hate is meaningless when
they might see a chance to extend their influence to another
kingdom.” He turned to Fel. “Guard your heart. It’s the most
precious thing you have.”
The funny part was that he didn’t give Naia the same
advice. Right. He obviously didn’t think she had a heart.
Fel rolled his eyes. “We’ll spend four days there. What
kind of nitwit has their heart stolen in such little time?”
Such little time. Was it possible to steal a heart in four
days? What about in an hour? Or in a few seconds? Was her
heart still whole? She didn’t want to think about it.
A dark shadow crossed her father’s eyes. “Young people
get carried away by their fancies, they don’t know the
difference between reality and illusion.”
 “Noted, father.” Fel’s voice was still mocking. “What’s the
next advice? Don’t jump from a cliff?”
Naia’s father grunted. “We’ll also go over treaties, and I
want you two learning how to deal with those royal snakes. I
fear the Ironhold king will try to extend his power, using the
fae as an excuse.”
Naia stiffened, even if she’d been practicing acting normal
whenever she heard that word. But she couldn’t shake her
guilt. Guilt for not telling anyone what she’d seen, then even
more guilt for perhaps hurting or even killing River. Her
father’s magic could kill someone easily, and she couldn’t stop
wondering if that was what had happened.
But if River was alive, where had he gone? How come he
had disappeared? What exactly had she done? Then there was
the memory of a kiss that would never leave her lips, a taste
that had never left her tongue. Did it mean that her heart had
been compromised?
“The attacks. You truly don’t think it’s the fae?” Fel asked.
Attacks. In different kingdoms, a few villages had been
targeted by some mysterious magic that left everyone dead.
Not yet in Umbraar. She felt guilty for that too, wondering if it
had anything to do with the white fae, wondering if she could
have somehow prevented this by telling someone that she’d
seen one of them.
Her father shook his head. “If they had returned, we would
have known by now. Someone would have seen them. This is
something else. I don’t know what, but it’s not the fae.”
Naia wished she could disappear in her seat, even if she
hoped her father was right and none of it had anything to do
with the fae—or her secret. So far she’d wondered how come
neither her father nor brother had suspected anything, but then,
the idea that she had rescued—and kissed—a fae was so
outrageous that there was no way something like that would
ever cross their minds.
Fel snorted. “Perhaps the attacks were planned by
heartbreaking princesses. That’s the real danger.”
 “Isofel.” Her father’s voice was low and calm, a warning,
as he glared at his son, who stared back.
Naia’s father had eyes the green of dried leaves, while her
brother’s eyes were more like brilliant green jewels. They both
had brown skin, but her brother had straight black hair and
sharp features, while their father had wavy brown hair and a
softer face. It was unsettling to see them staring at each other.
In fact, in theory a deathbringer could kill with a stare, so she
always felt terrified when her father looked at her brother like
that.
“You’re sure I shouldn’t display my magic?” Naia asked.
She knew the answer, but all she wanted was to get her
father’s attention away from her brother.
It worked, as her father turned to her and sighed. “How
many times have I explained it? First, you’re not looking for a
husband. Second, I won’t have my daughter on display like
cattle.”
She looked away. Cattle, what an exaggeration. To be
honest, she wouldn’t mind showing off, wouldn’t mind
impressing everyone with her own, unique talent: fire magic—
like nobody else in the kingdom.
It had started about a year before, but she’d been practicing
it as much as she could. She was sure it was a manifestation of
her deathbringer magic, which was powerful and complex, and
still not completely understood. Her father’s magic, and he
should be proud that at least one of his children had it, but no.
Every time she showed any fire magic, it was as if she’d
grown a second head or something. She had wondered if
maybe… She had asked and read about fae magic, and never
found anything associating them with fire, so she couldn’t
have gotten it from River. It was deathbringer magic, she was
sure of it, even if this specific manifestation was unheard of.
And she wouldn’t mind astonishing a bunch of
condescending royals. Naia lit a flame on the palm of her
hand. “I bet my fire would make quite an impression.”
Her father frowned. “Stop it. Do you want to burn down
the carriage?”
 Naia did quench her flame, even if it was unfair. Fel had
been playing with his hands a good chunk of the way, and had
gotten no scolding.
Her father then added, “Don’t give anyone an excuse to
start whispers, to wonder why you have that magic.”
“It’s deathbringer magic, dad. What else could it be?”
“Irinaia. Don’t. Hide your power, especially something so
exceptional.” At least he had a positive word about her magic.
“It’s strategy; never show your full potential to your enemies.
If you do want to be part of the young ladies’ introduction, use
some mild ironbringing, but I would rather you didn’t
participate in it, lest anyone think you’re looking for a
husband.”
Naia looked down. It had been just a silly idea, but still,
her father’s words bothered her.
Fel then asked, “And what if Naia wanted a husband?” He
wasn’t mocking, but rather curious, voicing a question she
hadn’t dared ask.
Her heart sped up as her father turned to him. “Why would
she, if she doesn’t have to?” He chuckled, his expression
amused, as if hearing the most ridiculous idea ever, then asked
her, “Do you want to get married?”
The question surprised her. “I… I don’t know.” She had no
idea if she’d find someone. All she knew was that she
definitely didn’t want to watch her brother become king while
she remained cast aside, watching, as a mere advisor, without
a life of her own, but she didn’t want to say that because it
sounded as if she envied Fel, and it wasn’t really that.
Her father waved a hand. “Nonsense. You’ll help your
brother, make sure Umbraar is in good hands. That way you
can be free, a master of your own destiny. You can be much
more than a wife. I raised you two equally, so that you
wouldn’t succumb to feminine fancies and vanity.”
Her father always insisted that she and Fel were equal. But
they weren’t, were they? He was going to inherit the throne,
not her. Naia looked down, as she never knew what to say, and
didn’t want to sound as if she didn’t wish the best for her
brother.
Her father seemed satisfied, and turned back to Fel. “And
you, sir, next year you’ll find a wife: a healthy, honest
commoner from Umbraar.”
Fel smirked. “How are you going to choose? Line them up,
measure them, and examine their teeth?”
“How else would you have it?” He matched his son’s
smirk. “Pick the one who best pretends to fall in love with
you?”
Naia’s twin looked out the window. “Obviously not. Who’s
gonna love a cripple?”
“Fel!” she protested. “Who wouldn’t love you?”
He looked at her, his green eyes definitely looking like
cold, hard gems.
“Stop saying that word,” her father told Fel. “You’re
perfect. But romantic love is a silly illusion.”
Her brother cocked his head, staring straight into his
father’s eyes. “Is it that you regret eloping with our mother?”
Oh, no. Fel was stepping into forbidden territory.
Her father stared at him for a few seconds, then, in a slow,
threatening voice, said, “I have no regrets, but I don’t want
another word about it.”
Naia looked at her brother, pleading with her eyes for him
to remain silent. Fel exhaled, bit his lip, then looked out the
window. Talk of their mother was absolutely forbidden in their
family. Perhaps it caused their father a lot of pain. He still
wore the two interconnected wedding rings, and had vowed
never to marry again. But it was odd to have only emptiness
and silence where her mother’s memory should be. So much
emptiness.
Naia looked outside and noticed that they were
approaching the Frostlake castle. It was all white, with tall
spires. Weird. She’d rather imagined that the castle of the
necromancer king would be black with huge skulls or
something. But then, even the kingdom’s name didn’t allude to
their magic, and the white looked like frost. Frostlake, right?
Not Necrokingdom, Deathland, Grimhold, or anything like
that. Such a wasted opportunity.
The castle was beautiful. Being under the dome, it had no
snow or ice around it, but its whiteness felt like it brought
some of that dreamy white landscape to the heart of the
kingdom, into that beautiful, majestic building.
Her father always said that a castle was pointless
ostentation and a big target for their enemies, but it was also
an imposing symbol of power, which Naia found fascinating.
This would be her first time in a real castle, her first time
wearing a fine dress, her first time attending a ball. So many
firsts. And yet the first that mattered most had been in the past;
her first kiss. A part of her feared it would be her last. For
now, all she wanted was to understand what had happened,
and maybe… She even feared to think it, afraid of wanting too
much, but maybe there was a chance she’d meet River again.
Not in Frostlake, of course. How would a fae reach a city
surrounded by a metal dome?

F OR THE FIRST time in her life, Leah hated being in the library.
Yes, it was her favorite place in the castle—but not when
everything interesting and exciting was happening outside this
room. Her mother had even locked the door. The horror. Leah
felt like a prisoner in her own castle.
The delegations were arriving from the other ten
kingdoms, and Leah wasn’t supposed to meet them before the
introduction ball. This was the first time she was going to
participate in the gathering, now that she was finally
seventeen, so she had never seen the other royal families. That
was why she wanted to take a look, just a look. Her heart sped
up, wondering what the princes were like. Leah wanted to see
them, just to feel more at ease knowing they weren’t… What?
She didn’t even know what she feared. Perhaps she feared the
unknown, and if she made it known, the fear would be gone.
That made sense. Or maybe not.
She thought back to her dream and her dragon, which
brought her a soothing feeling of peace and calm. Dragons
were said to be the creators, guardians, and arbiters of all the
magic in the world. But if they had ever existed, they were
gone now. Except in her dreams—and sometimes nightmares.
Her dragon felt so real. He had to be real, somewhere.
Unfortunately not in this library.
But there was no point lamenting being locked up.
Surrounded by books, she could easily find escape and solace
in one of her favorites. Not that all the stories she liked were
here. Kissing books were forbidden, but she’d found a few of
them hidden within other covers a few years before.
Unfortunately, they had eventually disappeared, and as much
as Leah had looked, she had never found them again. Well, her
mother always said that those books were immoral, that they
would give her unrealistic expectations, and that a proper lady
shouldn’t read that material. Leah didn’t think they were that
bad, and she did not expect a dashing hero to save her, but her
opinion made no difference if the books were gone.
Still, she had other favorites. Rudolf the Mighty, with more
than twenty books, had been her faithful companion in her
days of solitude. She loved reading about his adventures, even
when he killed commoners, and he killed a lot of people,
sometimes ten or twenty at a time. He also killed evil dragons,
and her favorite book was the one where he had to face the
three dragon kings who had imprisoned his betrothed. Yes,
there was some romance in Rudolf the Mighty too, except that
there was no kissing. Still, the stories were fun.
In some books, the enemy was a necromancer, King
Skeleton, but he was evil, unlike Leah’s father. Sometimes she
wished she were Rudolf, slashing and killing, getting rid of all
her problems. True that she didn’t even know how to hold a
sword, but it didn’t matter. Sometimes she wished she were
King Skeleton, raising armies from the dead to smash her
enemies, even if she knew necromancy couldn’t do that, even
if she knew that she would never want to kill or harm anyone.
Plus, King Skeleton was pure evil. But they were just stories,
filled with comforting power and fearlessness.
Yet Leah was feeling the opposite of powerful as she
grabbed The Might of Rudolf, when then the door opened. She
thought it was her mother, but turned to see Kasim coming in,
and was glad to see her father’s closest advisor and best friend,
someone who was like a second father to her. She was even
gladder to notice that he had a mischievous smile on his dark
brown face. That smile was always good news, and often
meant he was about to let her do something her mother had
forbidden.
Leah beamed at him. “You came to open the door!” Then
she added, “But my mother…”
Kasim waved a hand. “If she comes looking for you, I’ll
find an excuse. But she is too busy planning the festivities.”
“Thanks. I was hoping to try to see some of the princes.”
He cocked his head. “Try, Leah? You underestimate me
so.” He put a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded.”
“You…” This was almost too good to be true. “Have a
plan?”
“A great one, in fact. You do like ice-skating, right?”
“You know the answer.” She wasn’t sure where he was
going with this.
“Guess who’s going to visit Sunset Lake right now?”
“I don’t know! You have to tell me!”
“The young princes and princesses. Including you, of
course.”
This was amazing. Or maybe not. “But my mother was
very specific that I shouldn’t be seen before the ball.”
“Oh, dear, but this is such a great opportunity to get to
know them.” He sighed. “If you truly want to obey Lady
Ursiana, you can only watch them. Wear a hood, keep your
head down, and pretend you’re a servant. Nobody will look at
you. You’ll be like a little fly, listening when nobody knows
you’re there.”
The idea sounded amazing, except for one small problem.
“But then I can’t skate or they’ll see me.”
“Maybe. Maybe you can introduce yourself today, after
enough listening. Or maybe it will be your chance to see who
they truly are. It’s such a great opportunity. I don’t know why
your mother…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, it’s not my
place to say that.”
Leah chuckled. “Yet it’s your place to help me break the
rules.”
He winked. “Always.”
“Let’s see these princes, then.”
She followed him out of the library, leaving behind those
written stories, excited and at the same time terrified to live
her own, unsure what to expect from the visiting princes, and
trying to forget the pressure of having to make such an
important choice in such little time. Unable to forget it, in fact.
Her hands were sweaty and her heart was racing.
 3
Ice-breaking

T hree carriages were going to transport the young royals

to the Sunset Lake, then three more would follow with
guards. The gatherings always had some informal
activities to entertain the young royals. Leah’s mother had told
her that it was common for princesses not to attend them, as
the young ladies needed to protect their virtue. But Leah
couldn’t fathom what was unseemly about skating, and she
was glad that Kasim was bringing her along.
Wearing a coat, a scarf, and a hat because of the cold
outside the dome, she doubted anyone would notice her. She
stood by the last carriage with the guards waiting for the
young foreigners to arrive. Kasim stood beside her, ready to
tell her who was who.
Leah had three cousins from Greenstone, and she was
hoping to meet them. In fact, she couldn’t wait to meet her
cousin Mariana again, still remembering her short visit when
they had been just little girls. The kingdom where her mother
had been born had greenbringers, with magic related to
growing plants, which was very useful to make sure crops
were healthy. That wasn’t the only kingdom with green magic,
though, as there was also Vastfield and Haven. Speaking of
greenbringers, the two older princes from Vastfield were the
first ones to get into a carriage. Leah wanted to watch the
younger one, since he was one of her potential matches, but it
was hard to see much under his hooded coat.
The reason her parents wanted her to marry a younger
brother was that she was Frostlake’s sole heir, and the idea was
to make a strong alliance but marry someone who would be
willing to live here and help her rule, instead of taking her to
another kingdom. That was why she wanted to watch the
younger brothers rather than the crown princes.
The next ones to arrive were the three Ironhold brothers.
While in theory the younger ones could be good suitors, the
truth was that Ironhold never made marriage alliances,
apparently because they wanted ironbringing contained to their
kingdom, so Leah knew that neither of them would be a
potential husband.
The last ones were the Umbraar twins. Now Leah paid a
lot of attention, but it wasn’t that she thought the prince could
be a potential match, but that she wanted to know why her
mother had warned her so much to stay away from them. She
hadn’t explained much other than saying that they were rude,
ill-mannered, and lived in poverty in a kingdom crumbling
apart. Some of it was likely exaggeration, but there should be a
reason why her mother hated them. Leah had also heard that
the twins’ mother was from Ironhold and had eloped with their
father against her family’s wishes.
The Ironholds hated him so much that they had forbidden
anyone to trade with Umbraar, and so the kingdom had
become isolated. The kids seemed normal, though, and in fact
it was good to see that at least one princess was also coming
with them.
Minutes went by and nobody else came. Kasim went in to
check if the others were late, but returned soon, telling the
drivers to move. He took the reins of the last carriage himself,
and Leah sat beside him.
“Where are the others?” She knew that all the families had
arrived, and yet there were no wildbringers or anyone from the
non-magic kingdoms.
Kasim chuckled. “Afraid of the cold, I’d assume.”
Well, it was still a good opportunity to get to know the
younger Vastfield prince. She almost wished she could go in
the carriage with him and his brother, but it would be too
obvious—and inappropriate. Apparently a woman’s virtue was
something that could be snatched from her at any moment if
she spent time unattended with a man. At least that was what
her mother seemed to think. While she wasn’t sure what
exactly could be stolen, she doubted anyone would do
anything with Kasim here. It meant she wasn’t unattended,
though, so she wasn’t contradicting her mother’s advice.
They left the castle and took the road to the Southern Gate.
When they were almost crossing the dome, one of the
carriages stopped, and a guard came running towards Kasim.
He bowed slightly. “Master. One of the Vastfield princes
feels indisposed, sir. They wish to return.”
Kasim’s expression was grim. “Does he need immediate
assistance?”
The man shook his head. “It doesn’t seem to be the case.”
“I’ll see,” Kassim said, then told the guard, “Stay here.”
The guard looked at Leah, then bowed. “My lady.”
She nodded, slightly annoyed that he was making it
obvious who she was, then looked at the carriages. The
Ironhold princes were getting out of theirs to see what was
happening. This was so unlucky. Her chance to get to know
one of her potential suitors was gone. Not to mention that
having a visitor getting ill during a gathering could be horribly
problematic and cause all kinds of talks of poisoning and
sabotage. But then, they’d arrived this morning and perhaps
hadn’t even eaten in Frostlake. It could have been the trip or
going through the portals.
All the kingdoms had a portal hub, through which they
could visit other kingdoms easily. In Frostlake, it was
somewhat far from the dome, for security reasons. Leah had
never traveled through one, but she’d heard that the experience
could make someone dizzy and indisposed. It was very old
magic bringing Aluria together, and likely explained the issue
with one of the Vastfield brothers.
Kasim came back and sat beside her. “The Ironhold
brothers are returning too. Do you still wish to go to the lake?”
 She smiled. “Better than being locked in a library.”
Perhaps she was also curious to see the Umbraar twins up
close, and maybe looking forward to getting some fresh air
and spending time outside.
The carriages made their way out of the dome into the
Southern Road, then turned into the path leading to the part of
the Sunset Lake where they usually skated. The weather was
cloudy with a few flurries, and not very cold. It was a perfect
day to be out, and it was a pity that almost nobody had come.
Leah watched from a distance as Kasim and a guard led
the twins to the benches by the lake and helped them put on
the borrowed skates. The girl was tall and beautiful, with
brown skin and wavy black hair. Her brother… Leah avoided
looking. His hair was black, straight, long, and very shiny. The
little she’d seen of his face was quite nice, and that was why
she didn’t want to look too much, didn’t want anyone to think
she was admiring him.
Still, Leah was curious to observe the twins better, so she
got closer and sat on a bench behind them.
“Want to bet who’s going to fall first?” the prince asked his
sister.
His voice was deep, and sounded oddly familiar,
comforting, even. For the first time, Leah realized that magic
was something she could feel, like a smell, but not really a
smell, a different sense, and the prince was brimming with
magic so strong that if it were a light, it would be dazzling.
The Umbraar princess was trying to lace her skates, doing
a poor job of it. “I can see you’re confident that it’s not gonna
be you. But falling doesn’t scare me, you know? I’m perfectly
capable of getting up.” Her tone was playful.
He chuckled. “I’m glad we agree you’ll be falling more
than me.” He got up and walked towards the lake, put his feet
on it, and started gliding. His movements were a little odd, as
if the skates were being pulled by something.
His sister was after him in no time, her skates horribly
laced. Leah understood that neither Kasim nor the guards
wanted to lace them for her, but they could have at least told
her they were too loose. The princess glided a little, then fell
on her butt, but laughed, and yelled at her brother, “How come
you’re doing it so easily?”
He chuckled and approached his sister. “Not hard to guess,
is it? What are the blades made of?”
Metal. His skating was not really skating, but magic.
“Cheater!” his sister yelled. Then, in a lower voice, added,
“I thought someone was going to teach us.”
Leah felt bad that the twins were getting no help, so she
pulled down her hood, walked to the edge of the lake, and
addressed the girl. “Come here, let me help you tie your
skates. And I’ll put on mine and teach you.”
The princess struggled to get up, but her brother helped
her. That was when Leah noticed his eyes—and face. For a
moment she felt as if she had no air in her chest, then she
quickly looked away. Those were some bright green eyes. The
Umbraar prince was better looking than she thought anyone
could be. Leah knew that looks didn’t matter—and that she
wasn’t supposed to notice him. And yet her heart was beating
with twice its usual strength, as if it had awakened from a
slumber, intent on getting her attention. She would need to
find a way to silence it.

N AIA ’ S FACE HURT . The landscape was beautiful, but she

hadn’t imagined that the cold air would prickle her skin. But
she had always wanted to skate on a frozen lake and wasn’t
going to quit just because it was freezing. Which was the
point, right? Or there would be no ice.
She couldn’t help noticing that the girl caught a breath
when she saw Fel. It was weird to think of her own brother as
beautiful, but he did have amazing hair and unique eyes, so
perhaps there would be a horde of young princesses after him
—if they ignored he was from Umbraar and didn’t mind the
fact he was… a little different. Naia felt something cold inside
her, fearing that nobody would take Fel seriously as a match.
And sure, he wasn’t supposed to find anyone, but still, she’d
hate for him to be ignored or perhaps even humiliated.
But at least one girl was flustered and embarrassed, as she
gestured for Naia to sit, then tied her skates. But that wasn’t an
ordinary girl or servant. The guards seemed to defer to her,
and she’d been sitting by the advisor. Her hair was brown with
gracious curls, her skin a little lighter than Naia’s, with
contrasting blue eyes. Beautiful. Naia glanced back to see if
her brother had noticed, but he was fake-skating away from
them. Odd.
She turned back to the girl. “Thanks. That’s very kind. I’m
Irinaia, from Umbraar. You are…”
The girl paused, then said, “Leah.”
“Princess Leandra?”
The girl’s eyes widened, but then she nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m glad to meet you. You can call me Naia.” She pointed
at her twin. “That’s my brother Isofel, or Fel.”
Leah glanced at where he was, then looked down quickly
at her own skates, which she proceeded to put on. The guards
were far, circling the area around the lake, and even the
advisor was now sitting at a distance.
The princess seemed friendly, so Naia decided to ask a
question. Perhaps it was blunt, but she didn’t know when
she’d have such a chance again. “Do you know why everyone
hates us?”
The girl bit her lip. “I… don’t know. I’m sorry.” She truly
sounded apologetic.
Naia shrugged. “At least you’re being honest. Most people
would say something like: ‘Oh, hate? Of course not. Where
did you get that idea?’” She chuckled. “They even turned
back, I guess not to be contaminated with evil Umbraar
company.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t that.”
 “Maybe. I know that some people think my father killed
my mother. Do you think that’s true?” It was a weird question,
and one she didn’t really believe, and yet… Naia wanted to
know more, and this was the way she found to try to dig some
of the past.
Leah shook her head. “Of course not. My father was there
when you were born and your mother said he never did
anything wrong.”
That was a surprise. “Truly?”
The girl’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know that?”
Naia was still trying to process the information. “So your
father spoke to my mother?”
“Just a little.” She looked down. “After she… Not when
she was alive. You must know she died in childbirth, then
he… asked her some questions. He does that in cases where
there’s a suspicious death. So you can be certain your father
didn’t kill her. I don’t know why some people still insist on
this cruel rumor.”
Naia nodded. It probably still had something to do with the
fact that her father had eloped with her mother, and that
Ironhold had never accepted their wedding—or their children.
Yet she knew so little of what had happened, so little about her
mother.
Leah said, “I’m truly sorry for your loss.” She then stared
at her feet, as if unsure what to do for a moment, but then she
got up. “Shall we go? I’m sure you’ll learn in no time.” She
had a playful smile. “With no cheating.”
She held Naia’s hands and helped her onto the ice,
ignoring Fel, which made sense, since he was also ignoring
her.
Naia then remembered her father’s instructions that they
should be polite, so she turned to her brother. “Fel! Come here
and introduce yourself to the Frostlake princess!”
Leah shook her head. “It’s fine.”
 He was beside them in a couple of seconds. “Apologies,
my lady.” Naia had to hold down her laughter at seeing him
acting so formal. He took Leah’s hand and kissed it, and for a
moment she feared the girl would notice something was off,
but she didn’t, perhaps because they were both wearing
gloves. “Isofel, at your service,” he said while looking down,
as if avoiding looking at her.
“I’m Leah.” She pointed to his skates. “Nice magic you
have. I didn’t know you could do that with ironbringing.”
He smiled and floated above the ice. “I can do a lot.” Show
off. He probably had iron in his inner shirt or vest.
“You can fly!” Leah sounded impressed.
He got back on the ice and shrugged. “Just float a little.”
Leah turned to Naia. “What about you? Are you also an
ironbringer, or do you have your father’s magic?”
Fel seemed disappointed that he was no longer the center
of attention and was now looking away.
Naia considered the question. “I… uh.” She couldn’t
mention her fire. “Ironbringer, like Fel, except he’s better.
What about you?”
She smiled. “Necromancer. Like my father.” Somehow she
managed to say it with pride, not with any of the awkwardness
or shame Naia would have expected, considering it was the
creepiest magic in Aluria.
Fine, deathbringing could be deadly, but it also had many
advantages, like allowing someone to travel through the
hollow. Necromancy… was about dealing with the dead and
there was no getting out of it. But then, if it had been
necromancy that had cleared Naia’s father’s name, perhaps
there was something good about it.
Leah explained to her how to move her feet, and slowly,
Naia got the hang of it and stopped feeling cold and
uncomfortable. She was glad they had come. Being here, in
this lake surrounded by snow and ice, felt peaceful. And
perhaps she’d make a friend.
 Her father didn’t have female servants, other than an old
cook who worked only a few hours a day, and Naia often
wished she had some feminine company. Perhaps she wanted
to talk about kissing and love, and all those wishes she never
mentioned to anyone. But then, she had no idea if this princess
even thought about those things or if she was just cold-hearted
and manipulative, like her father claimed all princesses were.
Naia was pretty sure she couldn’t confess having kissed a fae,
couldn’t try to figure out if they always disappeared after a
kiss or if it had been a problem with her. So many questions.
Fel kept a distance from them, but he did observe their
movements enough that he was now actually skating, even if
he was also using his magic. Naia was not using ironbringing.
If anything, she thought she’d fall even harder if she tried to
control the blades. For Fel it was different; his first instinct
was always to turn to his magic, and she didn’t blame him.
She wondered if there would be malicious whispers about him.
The Ironhold family had seen him and Naia when they were
born and should be aware of his condition, but she didn’t think
it was a subject they’d want to mention.
Naia closed her eyes as she felt her feet gliding on the ice.
Leah was way ahead of them, further into the frozen lake,
speeding with grace and skill.
Fel was near Naia, but his eyes were locked on the
Frostlake princess, which he did whenever the girl wasn’t
looking at him. Sneaky. Then his eyes widened in shock.
Naia followed his line of sight, and noticed something
disturbing the surface of the ice. Then it broke, and a gigantic
watersnake emerged from the water, its huge blue scales
glinting in the sun. The creature was right beside Leah, who
then fell, surrounded by broken ice, the creature advancing on
her. Watersnakes were usually seen only near the ocean, and
were associated with magic and the fae. It was strange to see
one in a lake like that, and in a frozen lake.
Naia felt the fire in her begging to come out, and lit two
flames in her hands.
 Fel was also rushing to the creature, but his eyes met hers,
and he shook his head slightly. “Let me deal with it.” His
expression was calm except for the warning in his eyes.
Right, she wasn’t supposed to let anyone see her power.
But if she couldn’t use it in an emergency, what was the point?
Naia quenched the flames in her palms, but still skated toward
the creature, right behind Fel. He ungloved his hands and sent
his metal fingers flying towards the monster, hitting the scales
around its huge yellow eyes. The creature recoiled and dove
back under the water. Leah was sitting, probably about to
perform some magic, as her eyes were turning completely
black, but the ice she was standing on was already cracking.
Everyone would hate the Umbraar royal family even more
if a princess died while skating with them. That was a horrible,
selfish thought. Leah had been friendly and nice to them, and
didn’t deserve to get hurt. But what was Naia going to do? Her
fire could only melt the ice, not put it back together. It could
have maybe hurt the watersnake, but now it couldn’t fix any of
the damage.
Then she noticed silver pieces floating towards Leah. Fel’s
hands. Of course. He could control them from a moderate
distance. The hands held Leah and lifted her in the air, while
the ice underneath her cracked. He’d done all that without
even flinching. Of course; Umbraar men didn’t flinch.
Leah was brought close to them and landed beside Fel, her
eyes turning blue again, but wide with surprise. Fel pulled the
metal pieces that made his hands, reformed them, and put
them back in the gloves.
The advisor with the dark brown skin was beside them, a
sword in his hand. “Let’s go back,” he said with some
difficulty, as he was almost breathless.
Leah moved quickly to the border of the lake, Naia and Fel
following them at a distance.
Naia turned to her brother. “Good job.”
Fel grunted, which was what he did when he didn’t know
what to reply, then said, “Wasn’t it an interesting
coincidence?”
Naia wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “The
watersnake?”
He nodded. “Right when the royal families were supposed
to be here.”
“You think someone enchanted a watersnake? I mean, a
powerful wildbringer could do that, but it would be a lot of
work.”
“I don’t know.”
Neither did Naia. A planned attack? But who would do it?
And why?

N EITHER THE ICE breaking nor the watersnake had scared Leah
as much as her magic. For a second she’d been in one of those
awful nightmares, macabre figures reaching for her, about to
suffocate her—until brilliant hands caught her and pulled her
out of that horror.
Kasim was saying something as she put on her boots, but
she ignored him and turned to see Fel rushing to her. Fel, who
had saved her.
He didn’t look worried or even smug. If anything, he had
what looked like an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry. Only later
I noticed you were also doing something with your magic.
Naia gets furious when I ruin her plans, and I hope you forgive
me.”
He thought he’d interrupted her? Leah shook her head. “I
have no idea what my magic was doing, and I doubt it was
going to do anything useful.” And it had been terrifying, but
she wasn’t going to tell him that. She smiled. “You did well.
Thank you so much.”
“Oh. Good, then.” He sat and started unlacing his skates
with the same hands that had floated towards her, or were they
different?
 Leah pointed at them. “How do they work?”
He paused, then took off one of his gloves. What was
underneath was like a hand made of silver bones, but then the
pieces floated and formed a sphere, spinning in the air.
“That’s amazing,” she said. Well, everything about him
was amazing, and he was so beautiful that looking at him
almost hurt. Still, that was some incredible display of magic,
and he did it so naturally.
“I guess.” He looked down, put his hand back in place and
into the glove, then resumed taking off his skates and then
putting his boots on.
Leah couldn’t take her eyes off his fingers. “You’re using
magic now.”
He bit his lip, then nodded. “I use it most of the time,
barely even notice, I guess.” He then stared at her. “You don’t
find it… odd? Or creepy?”
“Why? This is marvelous.” He was marvelous, and the
thought made her tremble. She then smiled. “And I’m a
necromancer. What most people call creepy doesn’t faze me.
But your magic is the opposite of creepy.”
He smiled again, this time showing cute dimples. “Well,
my father’s a deathbringer. Your family is not the only one
with death magic.”
Leah smiled, then their eyes met, and she looked away
quickly. It took her a moment to steady her breath.
When they all had their boots on, they walked back to the
carriage. Kasim sat outside, in the front, Leah and the twins
inside. That was how she found herself beside Fel, which was
scary in a way, but also good because she was curious about
him.
When the carriage started moving, she gathered her
courage and asked him, “Do you also have some of your
father’s magic?”
Fel shook his head. “None. He says it’s a good thing.
Sometimes he speaks of it almost like a curse.”
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 CHAPTER III

The Little Room—and Peggy

The golden robins woke first, and demanded their breakfast in
weak, insistent voices. Then the blue counterpane slid to the floor
and two ruffled blue dimity sleeves were flung out at right angles.
The clear bell of the schoolhouse clock struck six times.

"Dear me, I must hustle," Elizabeth said.

She flew to the wash-stand and poured the creamy, gilt-edged

bowl of the best room set full of well water, in which she laved and
splashed. An aroma of bacon and coffee and the inimitable savour of
raised biscuits helped to accelerate her progress. She sang as she
dressed, but she thought of nothing at all but her breakfast.

Her grandfather, in his shirt sleeves and sand-coloured waistcoat,

was already at the table when she took her place there, and
unfolded her red-fringed, damask napkin from the napkin ring that
was her father's, and marked with his name. It was on a standard,
and supported by twin boys, wreathed and carrying trumpets.
Elizabeth always tried to hide it behind some dish as she ate.

"Good morning, Miss Betsy."

"Good morning, Grandfather."

The hired girl, who was sixteen and the daughter of a neighbour,
wiped her immaculate pink hands on a more immaculate and pinker
apron, and took her seat opposite Elizabeth. She was an enormously
fat blonde, who never spoke without blushing. Grandmother was
bustling about with plates of biscuit and coffee cups.
 "The reason we don't have more help around the place is that
Mother wears herself all out waitin' on them," Grandfather observed.
"Judidy, ain't you got no control over Mis' Swift? Can't you make her
set down to the table when breakfast is ready?"

"No, sir," Judidy blushed. "She told me to set down, so I set."

"Well, whenever she tells me to set down—I set, but I thought

maybe you had more independence of spirit."

"No, sir."

"Elizabeth, here—she don't pay much attention to what anybody

says. She sets all the time, so's to be on the safe side. Well, I guess
we're in for a spell o' bad weather. I see old Samuel Swift out bright
and early this morning, and when Samuel comes out of his hiding
that means rain sure enough."

Elizabeth shuddered. Samuel Swift was an unbelievably unkempt

individual who lived in a hermit's shack in the woods, and was locally
known as a "weather breeder." Whenever he harnessed his ancient
mare to his antiquated buggy and emerged into the light of day the
wind changed, according to neighbourhood tradition, and the fog
and rain swept in. She quoted:

"There was an old man with a beard,

Who said, 'it is just as I feared,
Three rats and a hen,
An owl and a wren
Have all made their nests in my beard!'"

"That's poetry," her grandfather explained with a wink at Judidy.

"Fall to," he said as he served the last plateful of golden eggs and
crisp bacon. "Here's Mother with her last chore done, and we ain't
more than half through our breakfast. If that coffee's for Elizabeth,
Mother, you can give it to me."
 "I thought Elizabeth could have a little—very weak."

"Not at my table," Grandfather said.

Elizabeth poured a glass of milk and drank it in silence, but her

grandfather gave her one sharp look from under his bushy brows.

"I see old Samuel's crawled out," he said, turning to Grandmother.

"I guess we'll have some wet weather, now."

"He's a disgusting creature," Elizabeth said, looking resentfully at

the jug of milk—and taking a second glass of it.

"He's a kind of relation of yours. His mother was my father's

cousin. I think he'd be better off at the poor farm, but he's so dirty,
the selectmen kinder hate the job o' trying to get him there."

"A relation?" Elizabeth cried. "Oh!"

"You don't know much about your Cape Cod relations, do you,
Elizabeth?"

"I guess I'm a kind o' relation, too," Judidy simpered.

"Everybody's relation on Cape Cod, I guess."

"Elizabeth would be proud to have you for a relation, Judidy,"

Grandfather said, gravely. This time Elizabeth saw the sharp glance
that appraised her, and she turned quickly toward Judidy.

"Anybody would be proud to have a—a cousin with such a lovely

complexion," something urged her to say.

"Don't!" Judidy protested. "I'm all tanned up."

"I have a friend in New York, Jean Forsyth," Elizabeth said,

presently, "whose sister married a count."

"And when you get back to New York, you can tell her all about
your cousin Samuel," her grandfather twinkled. "My, what good times
you can have, comparing notes."

"Father!" said Grandmother Swift, warningly. "You run along

upstairs, Elizabeth, and I'll come up there as soon's I take one more
swaller o' coffee. I got something I want to say when there ain't no
men-folks about."

Upstairs again, Elizabeth took the photograph of a deep-eyed girl

in a silver frame out of the drawer in her wardrobe trunk and gazed
at it with gathering woe.

"Oh, dear, Jeanie," she said, "the only thing that would make me
any less miserable in these surroundings would be to sit down and
write you just exactly how things are, and that I can never do."

"You come with me," her grandmother called suddenly from the
threshold. "I got an idea."

She led the way past the landing and tiny hall into which the
steep stairway debouched, into the regions in the rear of the three
bedrooms that Elizabeth was familiar with. There seemed to be a
chain of small, stuffy rooms dimly stored with old furniture and
boxes, and not all on the same level, and beyond them a low room,
with a slanting roof, half chamber, half hallway.

"I never knew you had all these rooms," Elizabeth said. "Why, the
old house is enormous, isn't it?"

"The front o' the house is new; it hasn't been built more'n fifty
years at the outset, but these back chambers belong to the old
house—the one your great-grandfather built to go to housekeeping
in." She flung open a door that led into a little room still beyond.

"Oh, what a darling, what a sweetheart of a room!" Elizabeth

cried. "Whose was it?"

"It was your Aunt Helen's room. She had it papered in this robin's
egg blue paper, and she got a lot o' old, painted furniture, and fixed
it up real cunning. I thought maybe you might like to do the same
thing."

There was only one portion of the room in which Elizabeth could
stand upright. The roof sloped gradually until it met the partition
about shoulder high, where two tiny, square windows, of many
panes, were set; but the main part of the chamber, in spite of its low
ceiling, was big enough to hold all the essentials of comfortable
furnishing.

"You could hunt around through the house and the attic chamber
until you found the things you wanted to put in it, and furnish it just
according to your taste, and nobody would ever set foot inside of it
unless you happened to want them to. I know girls. That's what they
want."

"I guess you do know girls, Grandma," Elizabeth said. "I guess
Aunt Helen must have had a good time growing up if you let her do
things like this. I don't remember her much."

"Well, that ain't so remarkable. She's lived in China since before

you was born. I ain't never let anybody use this room, but now I
kinder think her lease has expired. She's got daughters as big as
you, and sons that's grown men now."

"I'll be just as good to her room!"

"I guess you can't help it. There's a good spirit in it. You rummage
around in these different rooms here, and then you go up in the barn
chamber and look till you find the things that suits you. There's a
powerful lot of what some folks calls antiques around this place.
Dealers and what-not is always coming around and begging to look
through my pantry and my attic, wanting to buy all Grandmother's
pretty dishes, and a good many that warn't so pretty, but I tell 'em
all that when I'm ready to part with 'em I'll let 'em know."
 "The Washington Vase china that you use all the time is really
valuable, isn't it?"

"Well, so those collectors say. It's valuable to me, because I was

brought up on it. Money value ain't everything. The value of a dollar
is one thing—the joy it brings to you is another. You just rummage
around and find the things that you like, and we'll get Grampa or
Zeckal to move 'em up for you."

"How did you ever think of such a thing, Grandmother?"

"Well, your grandpa thought he hadn't seen you looking around

the house much, and s'long's it's full o' the kind o' things that most
city folks goes so wild about, I kinder figured you might like
something to get your interest started. Helen, she was never very
much interested in anything she didn't have to do with. You favour
her in some ways."

"I suppose I haven't seemed very much interested in the house

and things, I've—had other things on my mind."

"You've been worried about your brother, and a little homesick."

"I didn't think I showed it."

"You don't always have to show your feelings to Grandma. You

better start in the barn chamber, and then work on through the
house. When you get all the furniture you want, you can come to me
and get the key to that closet some day." She indicated a door that
might have been a panel set in the wall, except for the keyhole,
where a knob might have been. "There's a closet there, that runs
clear under the eaves. I guess you might find some fol-de-rols you
would like."

"It might be fun to start in the closet," Elizabeth suggested.

"It might," her grandmother agreed, "but better save that till the
last."
 "I will," said Elizabeth.

The barn chamber, reached by a rickety stairway leading from the

region of the stalls, from which a white mare poked a friendly nose
as she went by, proved to be a storehouse of the most
heterogeneous assemblage of objects Elizabeth had ever imagined.
The overflow of fifty years of housecleaning and readjustment had
been brought together under those dusty rafters.

"Poor things," Elizabeth thought, looking about at the old settees

and rocking chairs, broken backed and legless. "A horse in that
condition is put out of its misery. I don't suppose they could blindfold
and shoot an old sofa, but they might cremate it, or something."

She came upon the wreck of a little old rocking chair, a child's
chair, with a back beautifully decorated with grape clusters and
leaves, and two limp, broken arms stuck out helplessly. These she
tied up with strips of faded blue cambric that were lying about, and
set the little chair gallantly rocking.

There were innumerable cracked china jugs, big bowls, and

strange wooden utensils and cabinets; beds that had been taken
apart, forlorn, carved old posters minus springs or mattresses that
were merely being used as pens to keep forlorn chairs and tables
herded together. These things were all draped with dust and spiders'
webs; and in a corner, from a pile of ancient straw, Elizabeth heard a
faint, continuous rustling.

"Mice!" she said, "but they can't frighten me unless they get a
good deal nearer. Still, I guess I'll look carefully around and choose
my nearest exit."

Her first discovery for her house furnishing was a flag-bottomed

chair with rockers about two inches long. It was perfectly preserved.
It wasn't a child's chair, though it was very little of its age, she told
herself. The next was a spinning wheel, which was the first one she
had ever seen outside of a picture book.
 "I'm going to get Grandmother to teach me to spin on it," she
said.

There was a writing desk, a rosewood box with inlaid corner

pieces, and a short-legged, square stand to set it on; and then more
rustling in the straw sent Elizabeth suddenly downstairs again,
though not until she had segregated her chosen furniture.

"Zeckal, whoever he may be, can come and get it," she said.

She went back to the little blue room under the eaves, and began
a diagram of arrangement. Standing against the wall was a long,
panelled picture in a black frame, that had made its appearance
there in her absence. Elizabeth lifted it to the light and disclosed
three barefooted ladies in flowing garments of gauze, who were
standing on a light turf from which lilies of the valley were springing.
One of these ladies was reclining on the breast of another, and the
third was standing erect and aloof, with shining eyes.

"'The Christian Graces,'" Elizabeth said. "For goodness' sake!" and

beneath, the curious inscription, simulating letters cut into stone,
was engraved in a neat, Spencerian hand, "Faith, Hope, and Charity."

"For goodness' sake!" said Elizabeth, again.

She turned the picture around, and found on the board at its back
another inscription, written in a round, childish hand, "Helen Swift,
aged eleven, hung in my room to help me to remember."

"I guess I'll hang it in my room, to help me to remember,"

Elizabeth said.

She was a little self-conscious about going down to dinner. She

knew that her grandfather had found a good many things to chuckle
at in her breakfast-table conversation. She always knew afterward
just what things she had said that Grandfather would consider most
typical of what he referred to as her "city manner." This time she
realized that her allusion to Jean Forsyth's brother-in-law would be
the subject of many sly, humorous thrusts for a long time to come.
However, when she reached the table again, her grandfather had not
yet come in, but he appeared almost instantly, with a tall, freckled
girl hanging on his arm—a girl with a turned-up nose and a bronzed
pigtail the size of her doubled fist hanging down her back.

"But, Granddaddy Swift," she was saying, earnestly, "don't you see
that I can't come and meet a brand-new city granddaughter, and sit
down to a respectable person's dinner table, attired in a bloomer
suit? Don't you know it isn't done in the circles in which we move?
Make him let go of my ear, Grandmummy."

Elizabeth rose shyly, and then she sat down again, but the
stranger eluded Grandfather's masterful grip, and slipped around to
her side, with a hand out-stretched in greeting.

"Isn't he dreadful?" she said, indicating her tormentor

affectionately. "When I heard you were here, I was going back to the
cottage, to put on my best bib and tucker and make a proper call
upon you, but Granddaddy wouldn't hear of it. He insisted on
dragging me hither by the hair. So here I am—Peggy Farraday, at
your service, and am very glad to meet you, too."

"I'm glad to meet you," Elizabeth said. "I haven't seen any girls
for a long time."

"The woods down here are full of them."

"Well, I guess I haven't been into the woods very much."

"Elizabeth ain't a tomboy, like you, into everybody else's business,

all day long. She stays at home with me and Gra'ma, and minds her
p's and q's."

"Well, we'll change all that. Attractive as you and Grandmummy

are, you can't expect to monopolize her forever. Now it's my turn."
 Elizabeth saw that both her grandfather and grandmother were
beaming at this tall girl's impulsive chattering. She felt her own
stiffness relaxing under the sunny influence of the stranger's smile.

"I adopted Grandmummy and Granddaddy three years ago, when

I came over to this ducky old house, on my very first day on the
Cape, to beg a pint of milk and a pail of water for my hungry,
unkempt family. I saw that they were just the grandparents I was
looking for, and so I took them on, and I've been the plague of their
existence every summer since. Haven't I, Granddaddy? Isn't he a
lamb? You know, my one ambition is to squeeze him to pieces, but
he's so woolly and scratchy and cantankerous, that it's almost
impossible to get your arms around him, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Elizabeth said, crimsoning, with a quick glance at her

grandfather.

To her surprise, he took no notice of her discomfiture. Both he

and Grandmother seemed unaware of the delicate ground upon
which Miss Peggy Farraday had set her enthusiastic little heels.

"I'm fifteen," that young lady continued, with very little pause
either between her mouthfuls of food or of conversation—"You're
fourteen, aren't you? I had more fun the year I was fourteen than I
ever had before, or ever expect to have again."

"I'll be fourteen next Thursday," Elizabeth said.

"I took on an entirely new character the day I was fourteen. I

became very sedate and dignified, and changed my name from Peg
to Peggy. Do you expect to do that?"

"I think perhaps I shall," Elizabeth said. "I guess my character

does need improving."

She expected some retort from her grandfather at this, but he

only held out his hand for her plate, and heaped it high with roast
lamb and tender green peas from the kitchen garden.

"I envy you the scrumptious things you have to eat all the time
over here. We bring our fat cook down with us. She cooks all right in
town in the winter, but she always sulks on Cape Cod, and we have a
dreadful time getting anything. We're not lucky enough to have
Judidy."

"Don't!" that flattered young lady protested. "Land, think of

anybody feeling lucky to have me! I kin cook, though, whenever Mis'
Swift is willing."

"Mother, she don't let our help do much work. She's afraid they'd
get the habit, and kinder get in her way whenever she wanted to
make a day of it. When she's cooking, Judidy she generally sets
down and reads the newspaper."

"I'm so fat," Judidy explained, "that I kinder make hard work

getting around."

To Elizabeth's surprise, Peggy Farraday went off into peals and

spasms of laughter at this.

"They are such loves," she explained. "They are such darlings! I
adore the way they do things. Grandmummy—I call her that,
because she was jealous of Granddaddy for a name—is a lot like the
Peterkins in her domestic arrangements."

"I ought to be like Elizabeth Eliza. That's my name." Elizabeth was

glad that she had read the "Peterkin Papers" with Buddy the summer
before. She had never met any other girl who was familiar with
them.

"I'll tell you later what character in fiction I think you're like. It
takes me a while to make up my mind about things like that. I seem
to jump at conclusions a good deal quicker than I do."
 "Can you always tell whether you like people or not, at first
meeting?"

"Yes, I can. Can't you?"

"Yes."

Peggy looked up quickly, and then her eyes dropped to her plate
and she began eating rapidly.

"She's shy, too," Elizabeth thought.

"If you'll come upstairs after dinner," she said, aloud, "I've got
something I want to show you. You've come just in time to give me
your advice about something pretty exciting."

As she was leaving the dining room something made her turn and
look back at her grandmother, who was smiling broadly to herself,
like the Cheshire cat in "Alice in Wonderland."

"The something I was going to show you was her surprise to me,"
Elizabeth whispered to Peggy.
 CHAPTER IV

The Birthday
Elizabeth sat in her little blue room, and shivered.

It was the afternoon of her birthday, and although she hadn't

mentioned the fact to any one, she had dressed herself to do honour
to the occasion. Every undergarment, chemise, camisole, and
petticoat, was of a soft, flesh-tinted silk. Her dress was of the finest
white muslin trimmed only with infinitesimal tucks and Valenciennes
beading, and she was wearing a blue ribbon sash with a big butterfly
bow at the back.

"My pride ought to keep me warm," she thought, "what a pity it

doesn't."

Before she bought her silken lingerie she had deliberated a long
time between that magnificence and a light blue wool sweater and
had finally succumbed to the lure of the lacy garments which had
taken every penny of her month's allowance and all that she was
allowed to borrow on her next.

She looked around her room with a glow of satisfaction, having

only that morning put the finishing touches on it. She had draped the
windows with an old-fashioned print, a blue groundwork with tiny
pink roses wandering over it, that her grandmother had produced
from an ancient chest stored with remnants of the popular fabrics of
an older generation. The furniture she had chosen was mostly
painted black, or a very dark stain. She had found another flag-
bottomed chair, a twin to the first, and a wonderful old settee on
rockers, which had a deep seat with an adjustable rack running
along the outside of it, as if to prevent its being used except for the
one person who chose to sit in the space that was clear at the end.
This she had piled with cushions made from little square pillows that
her grandmother kept for "children who came a-visiting." Her desk
and her spinning wheel were in opposite comers, and a miniature
organ, the keyboard of which comprised two octaves exactly,
occupied a position under the eaves between the two farther
windows.

The morning mail had brought her a writing-case from her

mother, a check for five dollars from her father, and a letter, her first,
from her Buddy. She had taken a high resolution not to shed one
tear on her birthday, and the mild faces of Faith and Charity smiled
down on her as if to strengthen her will.

"Hope looks a little teary, herself," she said.

There was a sound of altercation on the stairway that led directly

out of the passage from the dining room of her new suite.

"You shall come upstairs, Grandmummy, and give it to her

yourself. She doesn't want your present by way of me. She wants it
handed out, with your own personal and private blessing. Besides,
I've got a present for her myself. I can't give her two presents."

Peggy Farraday, with her hands sternly set on Grandmother Swift's

shoulders, marched her firmly into Elizabeth's chamber.

"Here's Grandmummy with a beautiful present for your birthday.

She was going to send it upstairs by me, but I declined the honour."

"Young folks like to open packages by themselves, without

anybody standing around counting the Ohs and Ahs, and waiting to
be thanked for something that may not exactly suit. If Elizabeth likes
what I've made her, I guess she can make out to tell me so."
Grandmother, entirely unruffled by the recent coercion to which she
had been submitted, put down a bulky tissue-wrapped package and
departed.

"Isn't she funny?" Peggy said. "But do open it. I can hardly wait to
see what you think of it. It's copied from one of mine, the only
sweater I've ever really loved. And it's in your colour, and
everything."
 "'Do open it. I can hardly wait to see what you
think of it.'"

Elizabeth, scarcely crediting her senses, shook out from the folds
of tissue the lovely, fleecy garment of her dreams, a wool sweater in
her own colour of "Heaven's blue." She gave it one comprehensive
glance, then she slipped after her grandmother, caught up with her
halfway down the stairs, and kissed her on the nape of an
astonished neck.

"You're not a grandmother, you're an angel," she said, and flew

back, in a panic, to Peggy.

"Here's my present," that young lady informed her. "It's something

very practical, but I made it myself. I thought you might like it. I
always give away the kind of thing I adore, don't you? That's doing
the very best you can to show love—and one person's sure to be
suited."

"It's a laundry bag," Elizabeth said, "and I haven't got one. You
dear." She put out her hand toward Peggy, and missed her. Then
they both put out their hands together, and kissed.

"The beauty of this creation is that you don't have to fish down
into it," Peggy explained. "It buttons all the way across the bottom,
and can be dumped that way. I made the buttonholes myself."

"And it's my colour, too. Have you made this since you were here
last week?"

"No, I made it the first week I came down, to be sure to have it

ready."

"Before you even saw me. How did you know you'd like me well
enough to give it to me when it was done?"

"I was willing to take my chances. When I heard about your

brother being sick, and your disappointment about the cottage, I
thought you might be feeling kind of low when you first got here. So
I prepared for it."

"How kind you are! How kind everybody is."

 "Well, don't get the weeps. See here, do you know what this bar
on this settee was put on for? It's a kind of a cradle arrangement.
Mother makes up baby's bed on the lower end, puts up the bar, sits
herself up at the head, and rocks and knits. Grandmother told me.
She was rocked there herself when she was a baby. She remembers
having scarlet fever on it. Aren't these old things fascinating? You're
an awfully lucky girl to have grandparents like this. Mine live in a
Back Bay apartment, and are just like everybody else, only a lot
more so."

"You're a lot nicer than I am," Elizabeth said, suddenly.

"Well, I don't have such nice clothes. I thought you might like this
clo', though." Peggy stood up to be admired. "It's my best bib and
tucker. See, this is the bib," she indicated the square of cobwebby
lace and lawn under her bronze chin, "and this is the tucker." She
turned around, to show its counterpart in the back. "That's really
what I bought it for, I couldn't decide between this pink linen and a
gray dotted swiss until I realized that this was a bib and tucker.
Which of course settled it at once. By the way, I know something
very funny." Peggy barely took a breath between sentences. "I
wonder if you know it, too. My sister Ruth knows your brother John
quite well. They wrote to each other all the time that he was abroad.
I just found out that he was your brother by the merest accident."

"You don't mean that Ruth Farraday is your sister! Why, Buddy's
known her for years."

"Can't he have known my sister for years?"

"Yes, I suppose so, but it doesn't seem possible. I thought he met

that girl in Boston."

"I live in Boston. If you've got a sample of your brother's

handwriting, I can prove to you that my Ruth is the girl. I've taken in
his letters for years."
 Elizabeth produced the precious morning missive by the simple
process of diving into the neck of her blouse. Peggy bent over the
letter.

"It's the same," she said. "Oh, is he going to be an awful lot

better soon? Ruthie has been dreadfully worried, I know, though she
hasn't said much about it. She's the still member of the family, you
see."

"What does she look like?"

"Oh, she's darlingly pretty, with great blue eyes and long golden
lashes, and lovely colour that comes and goes, and she dresses sort
of quaintly. She looks well in fringes and sashes and droopy things. I
have to wear boys' clothes, almost, to set off my peculiar style of
beauty, but you mustn't judge Ruthie by me. She's really a star."

"I think I'd like you best."

"Oh, you wouldn't if you could see Ruth. You'd just call for the
incense and get busy worshipping. Everybody does."

"Has she many suitors?"

"Flocks and herds of them, but she doesn't care. She's kind of
booky and dreamy. I don't mean she doesn't play a stunning game of
tennis, and drive a car, and all that. She was motor corps for a while,
and just crazy to get over, but Dad wouldn't hear of it. She'll be on
the Cape bye and bye, and you can judge for yourself—I'm going to
stay to supper, did you know it? Your grandmother sent over and
invited me yesterday."

"I didn't know she even remembered my birthday, and now—only

think!"

"She said to me that you were as blue as indigo, and putting up a

good old struggle not to be, and she wanted you to have something
pleasant to remember. That festive sound from below stairs is Judidy
taking her turn at the handle of the ice-cream freezer. Do you know
what they make the ice-cream of here? Just pure Jersey cream and
fruit juice. I never tasted anything like it in my life."

"Didn't I hear something outside the door? It sounded just as if

somebody had crept up and then crept away again."

"I didn't hear anything." Peggy threw open the door like a flash.
"It was someone. More birthday surprises." She held up the package
that an unseen hand had deposited on the threshold. "Open it quick,
Elizabeth."

"Why, it's the Kipling 'Birthday Book,'" Elizabeth said, "that red-
leather edition that I've been crazy for. Who do you suppose could
have got it for me?"

"Who is there left to give you a present?"

"Nobody."

"Grandpa hasn't been heard from."

"Grandpa?"

"He's capable of anything. You don't half appreciate him,

Elizabeth."

"I know I don't, Peggy, but I think I'm beginning to."

At the supper table they cornered him.

"Well," he admitted to Peggy, "I didn't know as you was upstairs,

and I calculated to have Elizabeth blame it on you, but seeing as I'm
caught, I'll own up to what I can't hide. I asked that girl in the
apothecary shop in Hyannis what was the best kind of a birthday
present, and she said a birthday book. I thought that was likely, so I
asked to see one. She fetched out a Longfeller book and a Emerson
book, and then I see this one standing all alone in a corner, and I
took to it right away. Kipling, he writes about things I know
something about. So I took him."

"And you are going to put your name in the book the first thing—
before any one," Elizabeth declared: "What's your birthday?"

"What day is to-day?"

"The thirtieth of June."

"That's it."

"You don't mean that you were born on my birthday?"

"I always kind o' calculated you were born on mine."

When Judidy, attired in a purple and yellow silk gown over which
she wore a black silk apron embroidered in blue forget-me-nots, rose
to change the plates, with an expression of the most intense self-
consciousness, Grandmother rose also, and the two exchanged
signals.

"If I understood dumb show a little better," Grandfather said, slyly,

"I might be inclined to think that Mother had something hid out in
the kitchen, and Judidy had an errand in the pantry, but o' course I
probably got it all mixed up."

"Well," Grandmother smiled, "seeing as the same thing has come

o' the pantry every June thirtieth for forty-five years, it ain't anyways
likely that you know anything about it." She bustled off to the
kitchen, to reappear with a mound of ice-cream in which the
strawberries were embedded, like so many perfect emeries.

"I like ice-cream better than anything in the world," Elizabeth said.

"I like it better than fathers and mothers and sisters and intimate
friends, but not better than grandparents, especially not
grandparents when one of them is celebrating its birthday," Peggy
declared, "Now, I'm getting silly. Will somebody stop me, please? Oh,
look! Look at Judidy!"

That flushed and excited young woman was approaching the table
with the air of a standard bearer. In her arms she carried a big tray
lined with white paper lace, and on it was set a marvellous erection
of cake—a big round of chocolate confection lettered in pink, and
further adorned by blazing pink candles. She placed it in front of
Elizabeth.

"Time was when I had a cake to myself on my birthday,"

Grandfather grumbled.

"The time ain't so fur off." Grandmother appeared, with a round

loaf of fruit cake on which one candle burned brightly. "You can take
the candle right off if you want to. I only put it on for a joke. The
cake is just what I always bake for you."

"Elizabeth can eat all the candle grease." Grandfather made an

effort to frown, in which he succeeded only indifferently.

"I made it myself," Judidy cried, as Elizabeth counted her candles,

"fourteen, and one to grow on."

"And did you make all the letters—'Elizabeth With Love?'—I think
that's the nicest thing any birthday cake ever said on it."

"I was going to put on 'Elizabeth-aged-fourteen,' and then I

thought that the candles would tell how old you were," the blushing
Judidy hovered over her masterpiece, "and then I thought it was
better to put on a kind of a message. I couldn't write a very long
one, but I guess that says just as much as a whole sheet of paper."

"How did you make the letters so clear?"

"With a cornycopia. You colour your white frosting with strawberry

juice, and then you make this here cornycopia out of letter paper,
and then you sort of dribble it along and write with it."
 "It looks lovely," Elizabeth said. "Thank you. Thank you, Judidy."

"Don't let your ice-cream melt," Peggy warned.

"You haven't let yours melt," Grandmother said, putting out her
hand for the empty dish Peggy was waving.

"I never had all the ice-cream I wanted," Peggy acknowledged,

sadly. "I never shall have, I know I shan't, because I can't hold it."

When Elizabeth made her wish, and blew out her candles, tears of
pure delight stood in Judidy's eyes.

"I've give you luck," she said. "Oh, I hope it was a good wish!"

"It was the best wish anybody could wish," Elizabeth smiled. "I
shall never forget this birthday, and this cake, Judidy, nor any of the
dear things that have been done for me."

That night, as her grandmother tucked her into bed, she caught
one of the kindly hands and clung to it.

"That was the most beautiful sweater in all the world," she said.
"Do you think I could go down and kiss Grandfather good-night,
too?" she asked, shyly.

"I guess it could be managed. I'll go downstairs with you, and

see."

And presently Grandfather, with his glasses sitting low on his nose,
and his nose in the morning paper, was attacked from behind and
kissed breathlessly; but when Elizabeth tried to escape, she found
herself caught by a blue dimity sleeve, and drawn into an energetic
embrace.
 "No, you don't," he said, placing her on his knee. "You're going to
set here a while, and talk to Grandpa."

But the eminence of his knee proved such an embarrassing

vantage ground that he soon let her go.

"Good-night," she said, slipping her hand into his. "Good-night,

Granddaddy, dear," and she kissed him again, a real kiss this time, as
if he were her father, or Buddy.

"Well, well," he said, "well, well!" and sat holding her by the
shoulders so long that he almost seemed to have forgotten she was
there. Then he picked her up in his arms and carried her up the
stairs again, tucking her into bed with a hand as accustomed as
Grandma's.

"Fourteen years old and letting her grandfather put her to bed the
way he did when she was a baby. Ain't you ashamed?" he asked,
playfully, in a tone she had never heard him use before.

"No, I'm proud," Elizabeth said, and she meant it.

Under her pillow was her brother's letter, and she lit a flickering
bedside lamp to read it by before she went finally to sleep. It was a
short letter, slanting down the paper, as he was not yet able to sit up
in his bed long enough to write properly. He said:

Dear Sister-on-her-birthday:

I'd be willing to eat a German helmet to be able to spend this

day with you. But the U. S. base hospital—base is the word—has
got me for the present. I send you my respects, and fourteen
and one half kisses to grow on.

For the love of Michael, don't get priggish in your old age.
Some of your letters have made me wonder if there was nobody
home where my sister lived, but lately they've seemed more the
real thing. Get acquainted with your grandfather and
 grandmother. Grandfather once told me that he had come to the
conclusion there was only one person in the world he had to
keep an eye on, and that was himself. Good talk, Sis.

Which endeth the lesson.

Buddy.

As she tucked the letter back in its envelope, she realized that the
sheet which had been wrapped around it to prevent its scrawly
surface from showing through the transparent envelope was not
blank as she had at first supposed; she spread it out before her,
thinking to find a postscript to her own letter, but it was not that. It
was evidently a sheet of a letter begun and discarded. Elizabeth had
read it before she realized that it was not meant for her eyes to see.
"Sweetheart—Sweetheart—Sweetheart—" it ran, "I have never called
you this, and I have no right to call you so now, or any other name.
At least, not for many years to come. I'm done for. I love you, and I
can't try for you. That's something the war has done for a lot—more
——" Here it broke off, abruptly.

"Oh, Buddy, Buddy," Elizabeth cried, "I didn't mean to snoop. How
perfectly, perfectly terrible!"

It was two in the morning before she slept. She lay wide eyed in
the darkness, thinking of her brother and Peggy Farraday's sister. It
couldn't be anybody else—she knew that much about Buddy. For the
first time in her life she was feeling the weight of a trouble that did
not make her want to cry.

"I guess that's what it means to be fourteen and grown up," she
said.
 CHAPTER V

Ninety-Nine Negroes
Peggy and Elizabeth were lying on the beach in their bathing
suits. Peggy had hollowed out a careful seat in the sand, and built
arm rests and a slanting support for the head, which she was trying
to recline on and enjoy. Elizabeth, who had made no such elaborate
preparations for relaxation, was really comfortable. She was wearing
a black mohair suit with a patent leather belt and silk stockings, and
a blue rubber cap put on with great care, so that tendrils of soft
brown hair framed her face. Peggy wore a rubber diving cap that
made her look as if she had been scalped, but her blue jersey suit
was trimmed with blue and green stripes and slashed up the side
and laced fetchingly.

"Did you get your birthday wish, or did you wish for a handsome
husband in the sweet bye and bye?" Peggy asked, lazily. "I always
wish for things that will happen right away, because I can't stand the
strain of not knowing whether I'm going to get them or not."

"I didn't wish to get anything. I wished to be something. I can't

tell yet whether I'm going to succeed in being it."

"Oh, I know—occasions like that always make you feel noble, but
I hate to waste a wish on wanting to be a better girl. You can't tell
your wish, and if you don't, there's nobody that can judge whether
you've got it or not."

"Can't we judge for ourselves?"

 "I suppose we can, but it's kind of embarrassing to award yourself
prizes for virtue."

"I know it, but in a kind of general way you have to keep tabs on
your own piggishness, because you're the only one that can."

"Did you say pig or fig?" Peggy had all of "Alice in Wonderland" on
the tip of her tongue.

"I said pig, but I guess prig was what I meant, really. You're not a
prig—but I am."

"Well, speaking of wishes," Peggy said, "do you know the very
latest way of telling who you'll marry? You count ninety-nine niggers,
twenty-seven white horses, and three red-heads, and then the next
man you shake hands with, you'll marry. Let's begin and do it. I've
been meaning to for a long time, but I wanted to wait until I had
somebody to do it with. Those things are not so much fun alone.
Kindly remove that inquisitive sand flea from my back. Oh! Ouch!
Lots of people claim they don't bite." Elizabeth took the offender
between thumb and forefinger.

"He's a funny looking beastie," she said. "He's got a kind of

solemn, long face."

"I think he looks interrupted," Peggy said. "I guess he liked my

flavour. Shall we start counting to-day?"

"There aren't many Negroes on the Cape, unless you count

Portuguese."

"There are two kinds of Portuguese—black Portuguese and white

Portuguese. We'll have to count the black ones. My mother once
went to the Azores—that's inhabited by Portuguese, you know—she
says that the high-class women all wear a kind of nun's costume,
with a huge black head-dress made exactly like a pea-pod, and they
are all quite light-skinned in spite of their black hair and eyes. Well,
let's go in swimming."

Elizabeth swam her hundred strokes, and then stood breast high,
watching Peggy's fearless performance as that young person
displayed all the latest spectacular swimming feats, diving and
wallowing and spouting like a young whale. The raft, which was
usually rocking in at least seven feet of water, had at first filled
Elizabeth with terror, but Peggy's adventurous spirit was beginning to
animate her, and she followed courageously when Peggy cried, "Now,
the raft," and climbed up its slippery sides with very little hesitation.

"You're an amphibious animal," Elizabeth said. "I don't just know

what kind, but I do know what your mind is like—the way it flies
around, up one thing and down another. It's exactly like a squirrel."

"I don't know whether that's a compliment or not. Look who's

here, Elizabeth. A little fish, see. A perfectly good fish. I wonder how
he got here."

"Is he dead?" Elizabeth asked, shrinking a little.

"He's either dead or sleeping. I think he's alive. He hasn't any

eyes, that's his trouble. Let's put him back in the water—but let's
wish on him first."

"Wait a minute," Elizabeth cried. "I know a perfectly lovely poem

out of the Kipling book. I'll try it on the poor little thing.

"Little blind fish, thou art marvelous wise.

Little blind fish, who put out thine eyes?
Open thy eyes, while I whisper my wish;
Bring me a lover, thou little blind fish."

"He couldn't very well open his eyes, on account of never having
any, but I guess he got the general idea. Back you go into the water,
you little blind fish."
 "You wish, too."

"I did—one of my next week wishes. You know how they tell your
fortune with cards. 'What you expect, What you don't expect, What's
sure to come true. Next week.' My wishes are all on that principle.
There goes fishie, swimming away for dear life."

"Bring me a lover, thou little blind fish." The raft was rocking
gently under a fleece-lined sky, and the water was blue-green and
full of little thrills and ripples. Peggy took off her cap, and let her
black hair stream on the breeze.

"Have you ever thought much about lovers?" Elizabeth said.

Peggy blushed. "Have you?"

"Not about my own. That is, I mean not about anybody I ever
knew or saw, but have you ever thought about anybody else having
a lover? Any relation of yours?"

"About Ruthie, yes, but I don't believe she would ever really care
about that. Except in a very friendly way. All the engaged people I
ever knew were so mushy! I can't imagine Ruth being mushy."

"I never think about the engaged people I know. That isn't what I
call being engaged—the way people are engaged. I always think of
the way people in books get engaged, and that makes it easier to
imagine."

"Yes, it does. That would be the only way Ruth would ever do it.
But I don't think she would."

"Do you think she would be the kind of girl to get engaged by
letter?"

"Well, I don't know. I don't like to think about her getting

engaged. She's too useful around the house. You wouldn't like to
think of your brother being engaged, would you?"
 "I might, if he were very unhappy."

"Well, don't you worry about your brother being unhappy. The
thing about being grown up is that you can do just about what you
please. If a man wants to get married, he can do it, when he's as old
as that."

"There might be things to prevent him—health and things."

"Say, I wouldn't worry about my brother and any girl if I were

you. He isn't the marrying kind. I heard Sister tell Mother that.
Mother was quizzing her, I guess; you know how mothers are about
this suitor proposition. Well, Ruth said that John Swift was the one
man she knew that was perfectly satisfied to be a friend, and a good
friend to a girl, and that he had told her so. She said she had a
perfectly tranquil, lovely friendship with him."

"Oh, dear!" Elizabeth thought.

"Buddy has got a very beautiful nature," she said aloud. "I think a
girl of his own age would like him very much, and he would make a
good friend to her."

"Ruth would make the best little friend in the world. I think
friendship is much more beautiful than love. I don't think I should
altogether like it, if my sister and your brother were the other kind,
and wanted to behave, well, you know—that way. Would you?"

"I don't know," said Elizabeth, faintly.

On the way home she was very silent, while Peggy chattered, but
at her own gate she looked at her friend speculatively.

"Do you know, Peggy," she said, "that there are ways in which I
feel a whole lot older than you are?"

"Are there?" said Peggy, uncertainly. "Look, Elizabeth, there's the

third Negro. I'll bet we'll really get our fate settled before the
summer is over."

That afternoon Elizabeth took her knitting—she was making a

scarf for Buddy, who had demanded one to bind himself round,
soldier fashion, during the period of his anticipated convalescence on
Cape Cod—and sat in Grandfather's chair by the living-room window.
Her grandmother was darning stockings on the other side of the
branching fern. Elizabeth's knitting would have progressed more
rapidly if she had not been keeping a sharp eye on the street, in
order that no Negroes should escape her.

"Did you ever do any stunts to see who you would marry?" she
asked her grandmother.

"My sister and I used to hang horseshoes over the door, and the
first one that passed under them was supposed to be the one we
was going to marry."

"Did somebody pass under?"

"We did it a good many times. I remember one time we did it, and
the first one that passed under was to be my husband, and the
second was to be Alviry's. The first one turned out to be young Pork
Joe, who was one o' the unlikeliest boys that ever put his waistcoat
on hind-side before; he never would dress himself proper. I was
pretty well discouraged at the idea of young Pork Joe for a husband,
but Alviry she made me hang around watching for her beau to turn
up, and lo and behold the very next person to set foot over that
threshold was your grandfather. I thought I felt bad enough before,
but when I saw John Swift's shoulders thrusting themselves through
that door frame, I just bolted off upstairs and had a good cry. Alviry
she wasn't pleased, either. She had her eye on Martin Nickerson at
the time."

"Maybe it was the second one you were to marry, and the first
didn't count. Who was young Pork Joe?"
 "Old Pork Joe's son. He used to keep pigs to sell, and so they
finally got calling him that."

"The way they call the plumber Pump Peter. I think Cape Cod is
the funniest place."

"It ain't so different from other places."

"In other places you don't associate so much with—the baker and
the butcher."

"Maybe they ain't so well worth associating with."

"My friend Jeanie Forsyth is a direct descendant from the

Mayflower."

"Well, so're you. Don't you know it?"

"Have we really got Mayflower blood?"

"Those old pewter spoons on the dining-room mantle, that you

was examining the other day, was made from a mold that Peregrine
White brought over on the Mayflower. My mother was a White, you
know."

"I didn't know. I guess I don't know much about anything,

Grandmother."

"Live and learn. Babies ain't born with any great amount of
contrivance, nor yet much of an idea of what's what."

"I've learned a lot since I've been down here."

"You ain't so sure as you was about the way things was meant to
be. At first, we're pretty sure that things was meant to be just one
way, and that way the one we've picked out. After living along a
while, we get to realize that the other feller has his way, too. Then
we have to kinder arrange our ideas again."
 "Buddy thinks I'm a snob."

"Well, what do you think?"

"I—I think Buddy's right."

"Well, he ain't going to be right very long if you think so. When I
was growing up, I used to have a stylish city friend that I spent a
good deal of time with. She was the daughter of the biggest man we
had had from these parts, and she used to spend her summers at
home, in the big white house on Main Street—the one with the
pillars and the cedar hedge, just opposite the post office. She used
to get her dresses from Paris, and let me make copies of them, too,
and she was courted by a member of the governor's staff. I don't
know as she ever had a brother-in-law that was a count——"

"Oh, Grandmother!"

"Well, let Grandma have her joke—as long as she can keep
Grandpa quiet. Well, when we was little girls, she used to love to go
to my grandma's with me."

"Not Grandmother Elspeth's?"

"No, my grandmother; Grandmother White. Well, Mary's folks

mostly lived away from here, and most of the ways and doings of
home folks was a novelty to her. She liked to get Grandma telling
about old times on Cape Cod. You see, when Grandmother was a
little girl, her mother was bedridden, and the whole family was taken
care of by her and a neighbour's daughter, a little girl called Hopey
D.—I never knew what the rest of her name was. As fast as the
babies come along, they was put in the old settee cradle, and she
and Hopey used to have to change places sitting and rocking there
all the time they wasn't doing housework. That's the same settee
you got in your room upstairs. Grandma used to tell how the fire
would go out in the old fireplace, on account of she and Hopey not
keeping it going right. Those were the days before matches, you
know; and she used to have to run through the woods to the nearest
neighbour, who lived a mile away, to borrow fire and bring it home in
a swinging pail."

"Oh," Elizabeth cried. "Oh, that doesn't seem possible. I thought

that the days before matches were way back in Columbus's time, or
something."

"No. I've got a piece o' flint and a tinder box upstairs somewhere
that came from Grandma's. Supposing you had to strike a spark from
a piece o' flint before you could get the kettle to boiling."

"Supposing I had a bedridden mother, like poor Grandma White.

Oh, I hope that Hopey D. was a nice little girl, and that she and
great—no, great-great-grandmother had good times together."

"When Grandma used to tell all those old stories to my stylish

friend, do you know how I felt? I felt mortified at having a grandma
that wasn't more high toned, and I used to try to get Mary not to go
there, so's we wouldn't have no more talk about running after a pail
of fire, and rocking babies on the old settee and such."

Elizabeth bent her head over her knitting, and the colour mounted
slowly to her forehead, but she did not speak.

"So you see, girl nature is pretty much girl nature, wherever you
find it."

"I was going to write a letter to-night, Grandmother," Elizabeth

said, after a period of silence, "and it wasn't going to be a very nice
kind of a letter, because it—it was going to misrepresent things
some. Now, I am going to write entirely differently, because things
you've been saying have set me to thinking. I'd be willing to show
you the letter, if you thought you ought to see it," she added,
anxiously, but her grandmother only smiled.
 "I ain't never very particular about reading other folks' letters,"
she said. "I have trouble enough reading those I write myself, and
those that is sent to me."

"All right," Elizabeth said, in a very small voice, "I guess it's going
to be hard enough to write it, anyway." This was the fateful epistle:

Dear Jeanie:

I want to begin by correcting an impression I was snobby

enough to give you when I first came down here. I wrote you
about this place and my grandparents in an entirely false way. I
did it because I was too proud to own up the truth. I was
surprised and shocked when I got here, to find how things really
were. I hadn't been here since I was a little girl, and then only
for very brief visits. I imagined a kind of Farm de-luxe and a
grandmother in real lace and mitts, and a kind of Lord
Chesterfieldian grandfather, and all the comforts of a château.
Instead, my dear Granddaddy and dearest Grandmother are just
—natives. They murder the President's English, and they sit
around in their shirt sleeves—the former, not the latter—and
they, well, they aren't like anything I've ever known. So I got
started pretending, in my letters to you, and kept right on. The
"car" is an old, rattletrap Ford, and Granddaddy drives it in his
suspenders when he wants to. The chauffeur I sort of gave you
the impression we had is a regular, farm hired man. Our hired
girl sits at the table with us, and she is nice, too. They are all
nice, nice people—nicer than I am. My grandmother is beautiful
looking. I wish you could see her. I didn't care for any one to
see her, for a while. Now, I am getting anxious for everyone to.

Jeanie, can you understand me or not? I'm just a prig, snob,

liar, and I don't feel fit to live. I don't know what got into me. I
always tell you everything, and now I deliberately did this awful
thing, and I've got something else that I can't tell you, but that
is not my secret.
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