Devan paused to consider the invitation, glancing up at his uncle before smiling lopsidedly. "Perhaps," he said. "Though I suspect it would make a better show if you were to spend your time with my cousin."

  The Lady Silviana Jurie. Marjeta's stomach tightened as though she'd taken a floury bite of unripe pear. Neither the duke's daughter nor his aged mother were in attendance, as if they were monstrosities he wanted hidden away. "I thought I'd see her here," she said, swallowing to cover away the strange taste in her mouth. "This ... future daughter of mine." She tried to make it sound like a joke, but she knew as soon as she said it how ridiculous it must sound. Her, sixteen and dressed up in the yellow of another woman's country, pretending that she was anything more than a traded substitute.

  Silviana was a child, for sure, but so was she. The engagement was simply a formal sealing of intent. Marjeta would live in the summer palace with the same status as another foster child. Much like Devan himself. After two years, when she reached marriageable age, there would be a wedding and feast, and by then the deal would be done. She would go from child to wife, with no moment inbetween where she would have the space to invent herself. "What is she like?"

  "She's..." Devan frowned and made a little sound that seemed almost a sigh—not annoyance, but something else. "She can be sickly, and weak. Uncle's been very protective of her since her mother died. He keeps her far from crowds, after the priest told him that her mother died because of tiny demons that leap from one host to another." He shrugged with one shoulder and ate a strip of meat, chewing and swallowing with a wolfish hunger. "Anyone who wants to see her first has to be cleansed by Brother Milos."

  That sounded like a tall story, Marjeta thought. Demons and cleansings. Typical foreign nonsense. Everyone knew the safest way to ensure one didn't get ill was to ward with spells and protection amulets, and to embroider the twenty-three pleas of protection as delicate sigils into the hems and cuffs of your clothing. That was part of why the stitchery had to be so precise. A stitch wrong, or missing, and the wardings were useless. And why the women of her mother's court spent their evenings in embroidery. It might not have been witchcraft like Val could do, but it was its own kind of magic.

  "Uncle will want you to meet her as soon as possible though," Devan said through a mouth stuffed with food. "He's keen for the two of you to make friends." He swallowed and bobbed his head. "Silvi's lonely, poor thing. That much even I know."

  As if she had overheard the conversation, Lilika arrived at Marjeta's elbow as soon as the last of the platters were cleared away, whispering for her to join her, that it was time for her attend the Lady Silviana.

  "It was a pleasure speaking with you," Marjeta said, and curtsied formally to Devan, and repeated the dip toward the duke and her father, neither of whom noticed.

  "And to you," said Devan. "Don't keep Lee waiting," he said, half smiling. He was drunker than he should be, sprawling down in his chair, limbs floppy with wine and ale. "She can nag like any mother hen, never stops. Cluck, cluck, cluck," he raised his voice, but Lilika only ignored him, gesturing for Marjeta to follow her

  They walked together through the hall, and Areya rose quickly when she saw them pass, her cheeks red, and her hair wispy and undone.

  The Daughter of the Sun and Moon

  It was not the first feast Silviana had missed, nor would it be the last. She was used to it. Her world was this: a suite of interconnected rooms that began with the small entrance hall, where Brother Milos or one of his priests performed the rites of cleansing that kept her safe from any harm or sickness, and culminated in the tiny room just off her bedroom.

  Silviana was in the third room from the entrance, a glorified playroom filled with all manner of objects to entertain her. The lamps and candles were all lit, and the walls danced with painted animals, stags and foxes and bears that leaped between the windows and over the tapestries. She was not alone. A servant tended the room, and one of Lilika's small coterie played harp to fill the air with music instead of loneliness. Silviana sat crosslegged on a large thick bear fur in the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs and couches, books and gifts from her father and her father's court. There were poppets from the south, with their jointed limbs and tangled strings, fine clockwork engines faintly imbued with magic from the east. Not true eastern clockwork — those were fiercely guarded and never left the cities — but little miracles nonetheless. Animals of wool and wood with staring glass eyes, leaded soldiers and kings and a painted castle for them to siege, and a huge wooden horse on rockers, delicately painted, and maned and tailed with real horse hair. This was her favourite, and she'd named him Dragon. For the moment though, Silviana did not ride on Dragon and pretend she was fierce and wild, hunting through the estate forests, or travelling to great adventure. She was growing too big even for this giant rocking horse, her legs long enough now that her feet skimmed the carpet as she rocked.

  Spread before her was a game of cards, each card not printed on the new machines, or from woodcuts, but hand painted and lettered by the castle librarian, Caneth. He'd made them as a gift for her mother, back when his eyes were less clouded and his hand steadier. While the cards had once been her mother's, it was Lilika who had taught her all the games and showed her not just how to play and win against others, but how to do so against herself.

  She sighed and flipped over a hare card and tucked it neatly in the row of discards. There were only a handful of cards left to turn, and no way to win this round. She had lost. Her mind was unsettled.

  Down below and across the central court, the high hall was filled with men and women feasting in welcome of her new future stepmother. A witch girl from the east, a serpent, a Petrell.

  "I will hate her," Silviana said fiercely.

  The gentle stream of music faltered. "My lady?"

  "Have you seen her, Genivia?" Silviana gathered her cards and folded them in silk and returned them to their box. There was no need to be more precise. Today there was only one her worth mentioning.

  "Only from a distance," Genivia replied. She returned her hands to the strings but did not move them, waiting for Silviana's permission to continue.

  Silviana shook her head. "What did she look like?"

  "A girl." Genivia shrugged. "Younger than sixteen, skinny and hard. She looked like she'd been sucking on a lemon rind. A face that would curdle milk."

  "She's ugly?" The thought of this heartened Silviana for reasons she could not quite understand. Here was this usurper, this stealer of future affections, this thief of rightful places, and she was a brattish scrawny child. The idea pleased her.

  "Not hideous." Genivia laughed. "She has the kind of face that needs growing into, all angles and flatness, and hair that needs better braiding." She touched her fingers lightly to the harp and brought out a gentle trickle of music. "But she is no sun."

  "What is she then?"

  "I suppose we shall see. You're not to worry about her."

  "I'm not worried." Silviana stood with a huff. She was annoyed. She understood that her father and grandmother meant only to protect her and that Lilika was the same. They cared for her, loved her fiercely. Nothing would be allowed to harm her as long as they lived. Certainly not this skinny witch-thing. Lilika had sworn as much to her, had got down on her knees and held Silviana's hands in her own and told her that no matter what rumours she might hear about her new future stepmother, that Lilika would watch over her. That Furis himself had made her guardian and it was by his power that she was protected.

  Silviana's right hand went to her neck, to the braid of blue and silver thread that Lilika had knotted there, the grey stone heavy against her breastbone. It was a hagstone. Lilika had given it to her late that afternoon, just before she had gone down to join the feast preparations. It felt awkward and rough against her skin, scraping a raw mark. She scratched at the graze, wondering how something so silly as a stone would keep her safe. Lee had said it was a gift from her Grandmother, which only made Silviana itch to take it off. The old woman frightened her, she was too close to death to be reassuring. She mumbled her words and mashed her food with her remaining teeth. She smelled of urine and roses, and Silviana hated the few times she would deign to be wheeled into Silviana's rooms and touch her cheeks and whisper with her foreigner's tongue.

  "What's that?" Genivia asked. "A new necklace?"

  Silviana started and dropped her hand. "Just a silly little thing," she said. "A toy." She breathed deeply and looked to the Book of Furis open on the small octagonal book table inlaid with mother of pearl and veins of gold. The book had been her mother's. It came from the east, written in the prayer-flag script that Silviana had only just begun to learn. She wandered over to the book and touched the gilded capital gently. Though she could not quite read what was written there, she knew from the illustrations that it was from the story of the crippled maid who had brought Furis well water to drink in the heat of the day, and how he had blessed her and made her withered legs strong again. If he could do that, then caring for the safety of one girl was nothing. "I am protected," Silviana said. "Furis watches over me."

  Genivia narrowed her eyes and said nothing, but her music grew louder, filling up all the spaces in the rooms, coaxing the flames in the hearth to leap higher and burn brighter.

  The hours were going so slowly. Surely, they must be done feasting now, Silviana thought. She had been served her own meal, had eaten, and drunk milk sweetened with honey. On a normal night she would have been undressed already, her maids having bathed her and dressed her in her nightgowns, warmed her bed and let the fires in the main rooms slowly burn themselves out. But, tonight, she was to meet the interloper, and she was still in the formal gowns Lilika had chosen. They were stiff and uncomfortable, and all Silviana wanted to do was be out of them, be warm and safe, and half asleep.

  "How much longer do you think?" she said and yawned widely. She was done with card games, too restless and bored to play with her toys. But she was even at nine, aware that she would have to play her own part in the performance, that the witch must see only what her father's court wanted her to see. And that meant being presentable and distant.

  "I shouldn't think that long." Genivia left off playing. "She will come here soon. Lilika said she'd bring her. Here, sit by me and I will brush and braid your hair."

  "It's already braided." Silviana frowned.

  "Yes. But it will give us both something to do."

  "It will give you something to do," Silviana pointed out. "I'll just have to sit there."

  "Think of it as a lesson, then." Genivia gathered the wooden brush and settled in on a low stool just behind Silviana. Her fingers were quick, playing and picking at Silviana's braids as though she were just another harp, and this was music.

  "A lesson in what?"

  "In sitting still and thinking." Genivia gave one loosened lock a gentle tug. "Do not fret, Lilika will be here with you."

  "I know that." Silviana pressed a hand against the hagstone hidden under her dress. "I am not afraid." she sneered the last word. "Don't ever think I'm afraid, Genny."

  "No. Of course not."

  "She's nobody," Silviana said. "I'm the daughter of the sun and the moon."

  "Just so."

  From beyond came the soft flow of voices, and Silviana sat up straighter, pulling her hair free from Genivia's touch. "They're here," she said and got up off the floor. She would not meet this monster while sitting on a rug and having her hair braided like a little child.

  Instead, she took her seat on the white chair that was reserved for her, even though she barely used it. It stood at the head of the room, the fur at its feet, the hearth behind her like a frame for a portrait. She settled onto the velvet cushion and stared straight ahead of her, watching the side door through which her guest would have to enter.

  She could hear just faintly Brother Milos's slow sonorous voice as he intoned the blessing of cleansing and imagined that she could also hear the faintest lap of water as he washed their hands clean of impurities, as he prayed for their flame souls to burn out all evil thoughts.

  Would it be enough to make the witch girl safe? She shook her head. Lilika had said that it was just petty rumours, that no one could be sure the girl had indeed killed her sister for the chance of Jurie's throne.

  Silviana clutched at the hagstone through the layers of material, then released it and breathed in deeply to calm the clenching of her stomach and settled her hands on the slender arms of her chair like a queen about to meet an enemy. "Furis watch over me," she whispered.

  Hare And Foxes

  Marjeta wanted to hate her, this wide-eyed girl with her hair dark as the water at the bottom of a winter lake, her snow skin and spilt-blood mouth. She wanted to find her annoying, a simpleton, a brat.

  She wanted her to be everything but a reminder of the sister she had lost.

  Marjeta thought of the three gods set out on the long, painted table in her new rooms, and hated them instead. Bring me back my sister, she had begged, and they had answered. Awful mocking irony.

  The rooms where Silviana lived were so lush and gilt as to put even Marjeta's suite to shame. She blinked at the sheer ostentation of it, the scale of wealth and power. But there were iron grills fixed into the stonework windows, and no amount of coloured glass could hide that. Marjeta stopped looking at the finery and focused on what it tried to hide instead. This was no little girl's room, but a lady's cage. There were beloved toys and kindly nurses as decoration for this vault ceilinged aviary, and in the centre of it, perched on a white chair carved from ivorywood and upholstered in emerald velvets, sat a child, her legs swinging under her ornate robes.

  "You may approach," she said softly, as though she were a diminutive empress, and Marjeta some ambassador sent to curry favour, beg gifts and armies.

  Marjeta took a deep breath, glanced to Areya, and nodded. Her lady gave her the smallest twitch of a supportive smile. What was she afraid of, Marjeta thought? After all, this was just a little girl — the age she'd been that night she'd climbed the tower with Val and her silver mirror. There was nothing this girl could do to her that hadn't already been done. It was best to make this child her friend, let her know that she didn't have to be alone in her gilded cage.

  She stepped closer to the throne-like chair, her toes resting against the edge of a large bear skin that stood covered the carpet there, and curtsied. "It's good to finally meet you, Lady Silviana," she said. "My name is Marjeta—"

  "I know who you are," the girl said. She sounded small and soft. "Father said you would come here." Strip away the finery, replace them with the normal plain shifts and wools of a small girl, and that was all Silviana was. Wide eyed, hesitant. She reminded Marjeta of nothing so much as a small kitten. One day it would be a hunter, perhaps, but to start it was fluff and wide eyes, and teeth and claws so small they were not weapons, but toys.

  Marjeta stood straight, channelling all the regal poise she could remember from her mother. She couldn't let herself forget what this girl could grow up to become. Under current laws she could not be the inheristix, but laws changed and until such time as Marjeta could give the duke a son, she could become heir to Calvai lands, and Marjeta was just a political wife, passed along to make sure that Petrell and Jurie stayed allies. She had to carve herself a place and defend it or be pecked to pieces. "I'm sure your father wants us to be friends. I was hoping that we could get to know one another better," Marjeta said. "I've brought you a gift."

  "You have?" For the first time, Silviana's expression changed, and a hint of smile showed. It made her look even more her age. Marjeta had to get that part of Silviana to like her, to make sure the girl was on her side.

  "It belonged to me," Marjeta said. "My mother made it for me when I was young." The toy was one Marjeta had brought with her not out of any emotional attachment, but to use as a lure for this girl. She glanced back at Areya, who hurried forward with the small wooden chest. It was plain, but polished to a high sheen, and the hinges moved easily. Marjeta raised the lid and drew out the gift.

  In truth, she remembered being given it when she was barely six years old, and the creature had been well loved. It had been stitched together from scraps of silks and linens, a multicoloured patchwork of tiny scales, with beads for eyes and claws, and for the thin ridge along its back. The salamander was no longer than a child's arm, but it had been made with love and skill. The material was soft under her fingers, and Marjeta ran one fingertip along the beaded spinal ridge, listening for the faint clack. She'd abandoned this toy in favour of her bows and play-swords, not realizing at the time how much of her mother's care and love had been poured into its making. There were faint traceries of embroidery across the patchwork scales, binding it stronger. "These symbols," she said, moving closer to Silviana so that she could show her, "are protection emblems. My mother sewed them in place to ward against diseases, against enemies, against all ill wishes. See?" Marjeta held the salamander out to the girl.

  "Why would she do that?"

  "Because she cared," said Marjeta. It occurred to her rather belatedly that the child might see the gift as a cruel reminder of her own lack. She swallowed and tried to spin a better tale. "And its why I am giving it to you. I will not make you one, because I will not presume to replace your mother. But I can share what I have with you, in the name of friendship." There, that sounded plausible enough, and Marjeta thought gratefully that at least some of Mama's lessons must have sunk in, whether Marjeta had meant to listen or not.

  Silviana took the toy salamander hesitantly, and spent a moment examining it, before she carefully placed it behind her, and hopped down from her chair. "You're not very old," Silviana said, and sat down crosslegged on the bear skin rug and began pulling at the tufts of fur, stroking them between her fingers like she was petting a live animal.