The next morning, Marika ordered all of the food to be stored in the pantry. While Vasilisa lit the fires, Cook and Brida managed the transfer, and Marika locked the storeroom. Marika disappeared for a few hours, and when she returned, she discharged Cook, sending a pinched-face skinny woman in to take her place with strict instructions that Vasi was not to be fed, even from the table scraps.

Marika ordered Vasi and Brida to work in the garden each afternoon, and after three days of no meals, Vasi only felt relief today. Kneeling in the dirt, she stabbed the trowel down, loosening the ground around a carrot. The ground held fast as if reluctant to give up its prize, and the deep ache in Vasi’s chest swelled. The greedy earth had been thus with every root today. The painful sores and dark bruises surrounding her wrists screamed as she gripped the bushy stem of her carrot.

“Here, move over, Vasi. I’ll pull that one out for you,” Brida said, circling from the next row over. She’d been hovering ever since Cook was discharged.

“Almost there,” Vasi said, and with a release of pressure, the ground relinquished the carrot. Vasi brushed off the dirt, a small clot falling on her filthy skirt, and her mouth tingled. She bit into the fresh vegetable, the gritty dirt mixing with the sweet carrot, and Vasi grinned. “I’ve never tasted anything so good.”

Brida leveled a look on Vasi. “You could eat and drink plenty if you only told Marika you’re sorry and forgave her. If you made peace with her—”

“By apologizing for what? You want me to say sorry for simply existing?” Vasi shook her head before taking another bite of the small carrot while wishing it was bigger. Her other hand went into her pocket, and she rubbed the wooden djinn doll from her mother. Vasi closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sky, basking in the warmth.

Since discovering that Marika was plotting against Casimir, Vasi went about her chores, silently biding her time. Vasi refused to let bruises and insults frighten her, but Marika’s political plotting was terrifying because if the plotting worked, Casimir would disappear, too.

The day hinted at hours more of golden sunshine; she would take comfort in that. The holidays for Jaro had passed and the earth jinn, Svet, honored. In years past, this would be a time for Vasi to celebrate the bountiful harvest, spend hours befriending forest creatures, swim in the river, and nap on the sun-baked rocks. But the summers of childhood were gone.

Vasi took another bite of carrot and savored the small abatement of her hunger and thirst.

“I can outlast Marika,” Vasi said, more to assuage Brida’s worry than because she believed it. A letter came yesterday from the tsar, confirming Casimir was expected no more than two days hence.

Two days.

Leaning in, Brida’s warm brown eyes gleamed. “I can get some bread from the oven before that mean-eyed cook locks up dinner, and maybe even meat—”

“No,” Vasi said, closing her eyes as the world tilted and spun. She wasn’t even sure Brida knew that Marika had taken away Vasi’s water this morning. The dizziness waned, and Vasi continued, “You are to do nothing that would put your job at risk. None of us can afford for you to be replaced.”

The maid was Vasi’s last connection with humanity, and Brida could ill-afford to be let go as she sent her wages home to her family. Furthermore, Vasi couldn’t even imagine how terrible life would be without her only friend in the house.

“You are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.” Brida gripped her apron and clenched her teeth, anger brimming from her eyes and trickling down her freckled cheeks. “You must talk to Marika. Swallow your pride. Beg her to restore your room and meals. She’ll give it to you if you beg.”

Vasi grimaced, placing her hands on the ground to stay upright as another wave of lightheadedness hit her. “Perhaps I was born without a talent for begging.”

Brida gave an exasperated huff as she rolled her eyes. “You need to eat. And don’t you want to stop sleeping by the hearth in the kitchens?”

“I would prefer the hearth’s stony embrace to Marika’s.” Vasi tried to make the words light to ease her friend’s mind, but the worry on Brida’s face only increased as she dug up another potato. Vasi finished the last bite of her carrot before poking the stem back into the hole and brushing dirt over the top. The likelihood of Marika coming into the gardens was ever increasing. According to Brida, Marika was obsessed with knowing where Vasi was at all times.

Brida sighed, drawing Vasi’s attention, and added a couple more carrots and tubers to her basket’s meager bearings. “Never has the garden yielded so much and almost all of it gone to waste.”

Wiping her dampened hair out of her eyes, Vasi looked down the rows of plentiful growth. They’d harvested so much food over the months, much more than in any previous years. But whatever Marika didn’t use for entertaining, she sold, and the lavish meals their cook prepared didn’t keep.

“You’re right. At this rate, all we’ll have for winter is legumes and potatoes, and we’ll have those only because Marika calls them peasant food.” Vasi leaned over to poke her friend in the side and added, “Good thing we like beans and taters.”

Brida almost smiled back. “Hopefully her ladyship will learn how to conserve over a barren winter.”

“Not likely,” Vasi said with a huff. “She’s more likely to cannibalize you and me than go hungry.”

Brida did smile at that, even giving up a little snicker before replying. “That’s wicked and scary because it might be true.”

“It can’t be helped I suppose.” Vasi blinked, trying to focus on the row ahead as her head swam. One more row to harvest, and they could get out of the sun. She pulled the stem of another carrot. Ignoring the ache in her wrist, she pinched at the thickest, coarsest part, and said, “Mmm . . . lentil soup, bread with a little butter and salt—”

A low plodding sound came from the west, and both girls stopped their laughter as they stretched to see through the grapevines one row over.

The plodding continued, growing in volume, and then the brim of a man’s hat came into view above the vines.

Lightness poured through Vasi as she recognized the slope of her papa’s shoulders.

“Father!” she cried, struggling to get to her feet. The ground rolled beneath her, and Vasi fell to her knees. Vasi’s heart sank when she realized the rider on the painted mustang hadn’t heard her.

He trotted up the road toward the entrance of his house. Behind the first rider, a wagon trundled along with another familiar figure and Vasi’s favorite gelding. The horse’s tail whipped around as he walked, inspired either by flies or the heat, repeatedly hitting the driver. The young man with the reins alternated between slapping the air and hollering, “Quit it, Cobalt.”

Even with his flustered state, Vasi smiled at Danek, her father’s apprentice. With a deep breath, Vasi pushed to her feet, cupped her hand around her mouth, and yelled, “Father!”

Casimir turned, meeting her gaze, and when recognition sparked in his tired eyes, he waved back. No smile of greeting lit across his features, and new wrinkles rooted around his big blue eyes. He’d combed back his coppery-blond hair, accentuating his wearied expression.

Vasi took a step forward, her stomach flipped, and her vision tunneled. She staggered, trying to regain her footing as she pitched forward.

Brida caught Vasi’s arm and pulled, but Vasi dropped to her knees in the mounds of dirt.

“Vasi,” Brida shrieked.

Vasi kept her eyes closed, waiting to regain control over her body. Several seconds passed before Vasi could say, “Hush, Brida. I’m quite all right. I stood too fast.”

Vasi kept her head down, focusing on the dark earth while she waited for the dizziness to pass. Again.

Now that her father was back, fear prickled and chilled her skin. Ugly doubts ate at her heart like worms in an apple, leaving a hollow ache in Vasi’s chest. What if she was wrong? What if her father actually knew all along? What if Marika had told him, and he’d condoned it?

Hoofbeats thundered closer, the ground vibrating with their force. She tried to stand, but her vision swam, the basket of carrots and pile of dirty tubers blurring in and out of focus.

“Is she ill?” Casimir asked, his familiar, beloved voice demanding answers.

Vasi could feel his presence, but she didn’t trust herself to move. Not yet.

“She has not eaten for . . . days, sir,” Brida said.

Vasi reached for Brida, gripping the hem of her dress, and begged, “Say . . . nothing. I’ll not have you punished.”

A shadow fell over Vasi’s crouched form.

“Give her here, Brida,” Casimir said. He knelt at Vasi’s side and scooped her up in his arms.

Her vision held, and she stared at her father. This close, the redness of his eyes and sagging of his shoulders showed clearly the extent of his weariness. However, overpowering his exhaustion, concern etched itself in the furrow of his brow, his dark gaze, and his pursed lips.

Casimir pulled her close as he stood. Dirt and sweat darkened the collar of his genteel blue shirt, evidence of a long, hard ride. He smelled of travel, dust, and horse as well as another scent, truly his own, the combination of his favorite lemongrass soap and ink. Black ink stained his shirt, several drips right down the front, and Vasi smiled at the familiar sight.

“Vasi,” he said, his voice rumbling through his chest as he spoke. “Is this true? Have you not eaten?” He carried her down the rows, his boots smashing the husks and stems the young women discarded earlier in their harvest. He examined her face, seemingly only more concerned. “Why have you not eaten for days?”

The world rocked like a boat in the river, but a warm lassitude of comfort blanketed Vasi. Beaming up at her father, she said, “I had a carrot.”

“You’re smiling, but you’re eyes are glassy and unfocused,” he said, his expression darkening. “And you’re slurring your words. Brida—”

“I’m just so happy you’re here,” Vasi continued, patting his shoulder. “We weren’t expecting you for . . . days.” Or had they been expecting him days ago? Had it been weeks? Her thoughts muddled together in a muddy slurry.

“Vasi?” He pulled her close and whispered, “Please, tell me why I’ve found you unwell. When I left . . .” He cleared his throat but didn’t continue.

Vasi rested her head against his chest. She didn’t know how or where to begin. She’d been waiting for this moment for months, but words slipped through her mind and eluded her grasp. Her parched throat clogged with emotion.

“Papa . . .” She trailed off as her nagging doubts returned, assailing her.

Casimir studied her face. “Vasi, my little dove. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You could never guess how happy I am.” She rested her head on his chest again as a single tear leaked from her eye and trickled down her cheek. The world glowed in golds and ambers, and with a sigh, Vasi closed her eyes.

Casimir stopped moving. When he spoke, it was as if through water to Vasi’s fuzzy mind.

“What’s happened, Brida? How long has Vasi been like this? Has a physician been sent for?”

The next time Vasi opened her eyes, Casimir was setting her on the narrow bench of the cart. He climbed up next to her and then, with a flick of his wrist, the rig began its trundling pace forward.

Vasi yawned and swatted at a fly buzzing around her face. Leaning against her papa, she murmured, “You can’t imagine how much I’ve missed you.”

Casimir put his arm around Vasi, tucking her close to his side. “And I you.” Then he quickly amended, “You and your sister and mother.”

Vasi cringed, and the fear of losing her papa to the hated Marika reared again.

“Talk to me.” His puzzled expression filled with questions, and he continued to press. “If you’re ill, why were you in the garden? Why didn’t you tell Marika?”

Vasi’s head throbbed with a pounding ache, but she dared not rub her forehead lest her father see and heap more questions on her.

“Please?” he begged, kissing the top of her head. “Please talk to me.”

Her heart broke, and Vasi spilled her secrets. “Marika locked the cabinets.”

His tanned complexion blanched. “There has been a theft?”

Vasi whispered, “No.”

The cart lurched, and Casimir glanced down. Their blue eyes met, and he shook his head in disbelief. “Why would you not ask her for the key then?”

There were so many things she could say, so many instances of Marika’s abuse, but the words crumbled in Vasi’s parched mouth. She dropped her gaze and pushed the truth out. “Not eating was preferable to asking for the key.”

“What?” Casimir gasped, the reins sliding from his hand. He scrambled to pick them back up, but held them limply. The horse slowed, but he hardly seemed to notice, his attention fixed on his daughter. “What do you mean by that?”

Vasi swallowed, trying to remember what she’d planned to say, but her thoughtful explanations vanished in her muddy mind. “Marika is not . . . kind to me. I’m not trying to fight her . . . I promise, Papa. It’s just that she wants me to get married, and I won’t. But . . . Now that you’ve returned, would you ask her to unlock my room? And can I have something to drink . . .”

“A drink? And no food? Where are you sleeping? How . . .” Casimir spun toward his daughter, almost bumping her off the bench. He ducked his head and met Vasi’s gaze, his beautiful blue eyes cloudy with emotion. “Does Marika know?”

Vasi choked on a sob and hung her head. The immediate joy of her father’s arrival slipped away, and its wake left a host of other emotions washing over her, chief among them anger at his betrayal of abandoning her with the nastiest person alive. She closed her eyes again and whispered, “Yes, Father, Marika knows. She’s the one who ordered it.”