Vasilisa spent hours picking wildflowers at the edge of the wood, gathering armfuls of silvery daisies and fragrant lavender. She watched the moon rise high into the night sky and even made friends with a large toad that had come out to catch crickets. The moon bathed her father’s manor in graceful light, letting Vasi believe for a few minutes that her life was still beautiful even though she knew the truth.

She waited until the carriages left, surrounded by peacock guards, before collecting her flora and heading home. Marika had held another dinner with more titled guests to avoid, and time out-of-doors was much preferred to serving the haughty nobility or hiding in the kitchen.

Vasi felt the shifting energy even before she reached the house, a clunking sense of doom as though chains were winding around her.

“How soon could I take possession?” Lord Baine asked, his voice drifting out into the darkness.

Vasi froze near the trunk of an oak tree and then ducked behind it to avoid being seen.

“I think my offer is more than generous,” Lord Baine continued, his voice growing in volume as he approached from the side of the house. “And you’ve made your feelings for everything around here abundantly clear.”

Vasi pushed her back into the trunk, the rough bark scraping against her bare arms. The relentless toad hopped up beside her, croaking his displeasure, and Vasi waved it away. What did he have to be upset about? Nothing. Go eat more crickets, Toad, and while you’re at it, eat Lord Baine. She stilled her movements when Marika spoke.

“I told you the price I need, Emeroi,” she responded, her voice a throaty purr reserved for men. “It’s a simple exchange.”

“Viscountess, you seem under the delusion I have more influence over my uncle than I actually do,” Lord Baine responded, his words clipped and tight.

Clearly he wasn’t infatuated with Marika, which might’ve made Vasi like him if he weren’t so vile. Instead, she just acknowledged the duke wasn’t an infatuated fool.

“I’d rather our exchange be of our usual variety,” he stated. “Gold paid on acquisition.”

“I’m not interested in a single sum of gold, Your Grace. I’m in need of an unlimited supply. You, of all people, should understand this. I cannot continue to live like this,” she simpered.

Vasi rolled her eyes in disgust, wishing she could crawl away from the exchange. She loathed these two; they were worse than cockroaches. Where did that toad go? Maybe he could get some of his friends and swallow them both.

Marika continued her ingratiating platitudes. “We both know that the tsar listens to you above anyone else. I just need you to nudge him in the right direction.”

“Nudge him in the right direction?” Lord Baine snorted. “Your husband is expected to return any day now—”

“Then we don’t have much time, do we?” Marika snapped, all pretense of civility gone. “Get me what I want, then you can have what you want.” The clacking of her heels on the paving stones announced her retreat.

Seconds later, Vasi heard Lord Baine leave, too, and she sighed in relief.

The night dew kissed Vasi’s face, and she exhaled again as her heart settled. She’d eavesdropped on Marika’s conversations too many times this week, and though listening to the conversation with the tsar may have been treasonous, this conversation felt far more dangerous. Vasi wasn’t surprised Marika planned to sell their family home out from under them. But what would she tell Casimir when he returned? Knowing Marika, the blame would fall to Vasi for the loss. And the price?

Vasi could guess the steady stream of income Marika had her eye on. Nikolai. Since Roza wasn’t attracting the prince on her own, Marika was stooping to underhanded means.

Vasi would rather her family home burn to the ground than let it pass into the ownership of the revolting duke. Furthermore, it wasn’t right of Marika, Lord Baine, and especially the tsar, to treat Nikolai like an object to be bartered with; he was a person, not a treasury. Yet, Marika’s conniving and plotting were hardly surprising.

If the consequence for status and wealth was to be manipulated and used, Vasi was glad she was poor and, as Marika had said today, unmarriageable.

When ten minutes had passed in silence, Vasi emerged from behind the oak and crossed the lawn to the back entrance of the house. As she passed through the gate and into the kitchen garden, she heard the hushed voices of Cook and Brida as they argued.

“If you don’t tell her, I will. It’s not fair to have her find out from one of them,” Brida said. “’Specially not with her da’ getting the runaround.”

The toad appeared again and released a loud croak, and several other amphibians responded.

“Where were you ten minutes ago?” Vasi whispered down to the warty creature. “I could’ve used your help eating a very large bug.”

When she glanced up, the garden had melted into a tapestry of dark shades interspersed with vivid wisps of light. Vasi blinked, pushing down the hunger and exhaustion, and the garden reappeared in shadows. She hurried forward, and the squish of a fallen tomato underfoot made her cringe. When the tangy aroma perfumed the air, her stomach growled in response.

“Nothing good ever comes out of putting your nose where it don’t belong,” Cook responded, followed by a long sigh. “Still, her ma’ would turn in her grave if we didn’t tell her—”

“Tell me what?” Vasi asked, stepping into the warm kitchen, the savory smells of the meal she’d missed teasing her. She extended the bouquets and said, “I thought we could use these around the house tomorrow, help bring the summer inside.”

Brida’s smile wavered as she took the blooms and then set them on the thick table in the center of the kitchen.

Vasi grabbed a bowl and dished up cold potato soup. She set the dish on the cooktop to warm the leftovers and then slathered butter on a thick slice of bread.  

“Marika ordered fresh flowers from town.” Brida glanced past Vasi at Cook.

Cook stepped away from the stove, her chin trembling as she said, “Your da’ is coming home this week.”

Vasi beamed. “I know. Probably the only good thing to come out of the tsar’s visit earlier this week, right?”

But immediately after she’d said the words, Vasi thought of the princes: Nikolai’s tortured looks as well as his playful banter, and Henryk’s smoldering silver-eyes. Those stolen moments with them had been a boon, but she shouldn’t dwell on either prince or their flirtatious banter. Dreams would get Vasi nowhere; in fact, it would probably be best, for everyone’s sake, if she forgot all about them.

Cook and Brida shared a weighty look, and Brida coughed.

“I’m just going to, uh . . .” Brida blushed as she looked around the kitchen desperately. Her gaze landed on the table, and she scooped the flowers back into her arms. “I’ll just head outside and trim these.”

The maid fumbled with the blooms, dropping several on the floor while grabbing a bucket, and then she headed out the door.

Vasi waited until the door was closed before turning her attention back to Cook.

But the older woman had shifted, and her girth was facing the stove once again.

There was something amiss or Brida wouldn’t have fled, but Cook was clearly not ready to open up. The older woman silently stirred a pot of porridge, grumbling incoherently under her breath.

Knowing Cook was not one to be pushed, Vasi looked over the rest of the leftovers of the extravagant meal served to the party tonight.

“If we put the rest of the meat in the larder on the thrawl, do you think it will keep?” Vasi asked, eyeing the seared meat swimming in gravy.

Cook grunted. “Already put the pheasant in there. Wasn’t hardly touched at all. But the roast is mostly gone. You best eat the rest of it now if you want some; otherwise, you know it’ll get ate afore morning.”

Vasi grabbed the platter; the thick mushroom sauce glistened with fat from the meat. Vasi perched on the edge of the table, sliced the meat, and then dragged the heel of the crusty bread through the gravy before setting the meat on top. The savory richness was reminiscent of her childhood, and Vasi closed her eyes and smiled. She took another bite, and another, hunger roaring to life with the prospect of enough food to satiate her. Vasi bowed her head over her food, her world focused only on slicing through the generous roast.

The kitchen door banged open.

“Here you are,” Marika snapped. “You’ve been off traipsing around all day, and now you show up in the kitchen? Just in time to eat my food?”

The rich food turned to dust in Vasi’s mouth, and she had to swallow several times to get the lump to pass.

Marika crossed the kitchen, advancing slowly as if circling her prey. “You’ve made yourself scarce this week, Vasilisa. Prince Nikolai said he ran into you the other night. Is that right?”

Vasi started to nod then thought better of it and shook her head.

Marika raised her eyebrows and asked, “What happened? Was Henryk with him? I want every detail, right now.”

Don’t tell her.

“I was off getting truffles in the woods, mum.” Vasi glanced through the kitchen and pointed to the basket still sitting on the counter. “I bumped into him, and . . .” Vasi waved her arm in a dismissive gesture, hoping to convey that the meeting was inconsequential. “I apologized and left.”

“It must’ve been just as they left, thank Svet,” Marika said, praising the djinni she didn’t even believe in. “Vasilisa, when will you learn?” She shook her head, but not a single hair from her elaborate updo even dared to move. She fixed Vasi with her dark gaze and with perfectly painted lips said, “You’re such a cursed thorn. And you talk like a dim-witted fool. I don’t know why your mother didn’t have you educated.”

Derisive laughter rolled into the kitchen, followed by the poisonous Roza. Tossing an errant curl over her shoulder with manicured nails that matched her silvery dress, the young woman quipped, “Did you just call Vasi a fool, Mother?” She giggled. “I don’t think that’s strong enough. If I ever want to find Vasi, I only need to follow the trail of dirt she leaves behind—Hey, that’s my steak!”

Roza raced forward, but her pointed heel caught in the grooves between the stones, and the brunette beauty stumbled.

The seconds stretched as Vasi watched her gorgeous stepsister flail and then crash to the stone floor with a shriek of pain. Serves her right.

Vasi dipped her half-eaten sandwich into the gravy, but before she could take another bite, Marika caught her wrist in a vice-grip.

“What do you think you’re doing? This isn’t your food.” Marika dug her nails into Vasi’s skin and yanked the girl’s hand down. “You heard Roza . . . It’s her steak. Set it down.”

Vasi released the sandwich, and it plopped into the gravy, splattering her apron and Marika’s dress.

Marika pushed the platter from Vasi’s lap. The meat and gravy fell to the floor, followed by the ceramic platter which broke on impact, the shards clattering on the stone.

Even though the mess was nowhere near her, Roza exclaimed, “That almost hit me!”

“Now look what you’ve done, you clumsy mule.” Marika’s nails continued to bite into Vasi’s flesh.

Roza scrambled to her feet, and she held her now-broken shoe in her hand. “Look! L-look what else,” she stammered, shaking her shoe at Vasi. “This is your fault.”

Tears welled in Vasi’s eyes as the pain in her wrist seared and throbbed, radiating up her arm. Black spots danced in her vision. Unable to bear the horrific pain, she gasped. “Please!”

Marika tightened her grip, and her sharpened nails dug deeper into Vasi’s skin, blood oozing from the gashes.

Vasi batted and pried at her stepmother’s hand, but Marika’s hold was unyielding. Screaming, Vasi dropped to her knees, desperately pulling at her stepmother’s fingers.

Vasi saw a square piece of paper flit to the floor, but it barely registered as everything in her entire world narrowed to the agony emanating from her wrist. Undulating waves of pain crashed over her with every movement, and her vision blurred until all Vasi could see were links of metal chains.

Marika released her hold and slapped Vasi across the face. “What’s wrong with you?”

The slap barely registered, and Vasi brought her wrist to her chest, clutching the wound tight, feeling the sting of cold metal for a moment, and then warm blood trailed through her grip.

“Oh. Goodness,” Marika said, looking at her hand, her fingers wet with Vasi’s blood. “I’d forgotten my nails. This trend is clearly not going to work in this house. See here, you’ve ruined them.” She sniffed and, after a moment of silence, huffed, “Why must I always set the example?”

Vasi looked up at her stepmother with abhorrence. Example of what? Horror? Misery? Malice?

The dark-haired beauty was examining her bloodied nails with a grimace. Her gaze fell to Vasilisa, and Marika’s lip curled. “I’ll forgive you,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “But you must forgive me . . . if I accidentally . . . poked you with my nails.”

Poked? Blood dripped from between Vasi’s fingers, staining her apron and faded skirt. Vasi rolled her lips, biting down hard to keep from whimpering, and she dropped her gaze to the stone floor.

“Well?” Marika demanded with a shriek, smacking the back of Vasi’s head. “You owe me an apology, girl!”

But Vasi couldn’t say anything. If she opened her mouth, even the slightest, she would howl with pain, or worse, sob uncontrollably. Furthermore, she refused to pretend that she’d forgiven Marika. Vasi didn’t, and she wouldn’t.

Grabbing Vasi’s chin, Marika pushed just hard enough for the edges of her nails to dig into Vasi’s skin again, forcing her to face the Viscountess. Mother and daughter stood side-by-side, both glaring at Vasi. But where Marika’s hatred took joy in Vasi’s pain, Roza’s disgust wavered, and her wide-eyed gaze shifted to her mother.

“You have the most atrocious manners, Vasilisa,” Marika ground out through clenched teeth. She clutched Vasi’s chin tight for a moment and then flung her face backward. Marika raised her voice as she continued her tantrum. “I have no idea what your mother taught you or what she would put up with, but I will not accept this.” Marika swept the expanse of the kitchen. “Clean up your mess. Until you learn your manners, you will get nothing more from me or my household. You’ll need to sleep outside, get your own food—and not from my garden, mind you. You’ll get nothing more out of me, you hear?”

Vasi stared at her stepmother in shock, unable to say anything.

“Do you hear me?” Marika screamed, spittle flying from her mouth. She brought her hand up as if to slap Vasi again but froze. Marika’s already fair skin blanched, and then her gaze narrowed.

Vasilisa followed her stepmother’s gaze. Relief flooded Vasi when she saw Cook holding a butcher’s knife in one hand and a large, round winter squash by its stem in the other. Cook’s face was beet red, but she said nothing as she set the big, orange vegetable on the table and, with a single stroke, cut through the thick gourd.

“Clean this up,” Marika snapped. She pointed back and forth between Cook and Vasi and continued. “You would do well to remember that both of you are replaceable, and your little helper girl, too. I expect more than a few mushrooms from you, Vasilisa.”

Marika stormed out of the room. Roza stood silent, blinked several times, and then fled after her mother.

Stunned, Vasi stared at the door in their wake.

Cook sighed, seemingly unsurprised by the turn of events.

Vasi stared at the stone floor as if there were answers in the cracks, and her gaze fell on the folded paper. It was a letter, the broken seal in blue wax. Vasi picked the paper up and tucked it into her apron pocket.

“Come on then,” said Cook. Circling around the table, she extended her hand to Vasi. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”