I will do what I can to protect you if we are caught,” I told her softly, “but some dangerous things are worth the risk.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
I would prove myself, prove I wasn’t a disappointment or insult, and I would change Demeine. If the world wouldn’t give me the chance, I would take it myself.
Two
Annette
I ate dirt as a child. Nothing grew the summer I turned six; Vaser’s dry fields filled only with cicada husks. Lord Sun had not been merciful, giving us endless days of heat without rain, and Monsieur Waleran du Ferrant, comte de Champ, whose family watched over our lands, hadn’t sent near enough help. Maman was pregnant with Jean, Papa was busy working, and Macé was seven and going through a growth spurt, crying till I gave him my supper. I’d cried too, but quiet, and pulled at my sides like I’d be able to pry open my ribs and scratch the hunger out of me. I’d been a good sister, then, and dirt was better than Macé crying. Tasted like the air after Alaine’s funeral pyre.
“Your family must be proud.” The shopkeeper smiled up at me and handed over the little satchel of everything Macé would need in Serre. “A varlet. There’s a good career for a country boy.”
I was not a good sister now.
“They’re very proud of him,” I said, tucking the packet into my bag. It wasn’t a lie. They were. Of him. “He’s leaving next week, and I’ll be sad to see him go.”
I’d be sad to see him go alone.
It was supposed to be us going—to university, not to Serre—to be hacks. We were supposed to study together, him the noonday and me the midnight arts, so we could both get jobs channeling magic for some rich artists who wanted all the results without getting worn down. I was supposed to go with him.
I’d always known I wasn’t as good as him, but I didn’t think Maman would make me stay in Vaser. Figured she’d be happy to see me go.
Probably why I’d been sent to pick up his supplies in Bosquet.
“Thank you,” I said. “There a baker in town? I’m supposed to buy him something sweet to celebrate.”
Our parents wanted to have a nice dinner before he left, and make sure he had some nice things to take with him so he wouldn’t be too out of sorts from the others training to assist the chevaliers. So long as no one asked him to do something that required paying attention for longer than five minutes, Macé would make a good varlet. Macé would be a step above a hack, helping Chevalier Waleran du Ferrant stay alive and channeling the noonday arts for him during fights so his noble body didn’t wear down too fast. They were honorable, varlets.
They were worth the money and time and sacrifice. I wasn’t.
The shopkeeper told me how to find a baker—said Bosquet was too small for a proper pâtisserie, which I didn’t believe for one second because there were more people and buildings here than I’d ever seen. As I’d left his store, he said, “Good luck to your brother, girl.”
I froze.
“You’re not as good as you think you are, girl,” Maman had said yesterday morning. We’d been standing in the root cellar, she and I. The magic I’d been gathering to scry the day’s weather had scattered when I heard her steps, and I itched to draw it all back to me and lose myself in the one thing I knew for sure. “Your brother’s real good. The comte de Champ offered him this, and chances like these are once in a lifetime.”
I’d run my finger along the rim of my bowl and refused to look at her. “He’s not that good.”
“Annette Boucher, keep that jealousy out of your mouth, or I’ll wash it out.” She’d bent over me, wobbling, and patted my cheek too hard. Like she’d forgotten how. “We’re family, and family makes sacrifices. Now, you’re going to Bosquet and picking up what he needs. You can get something small for yourself too.”
She never asked. Just watched. She narrowed her eyes, the little crinkles of age bundled up in the corners like a handful of nettle cloth.
Bosquet was so much bigger than home. I slipped through one of the narrow alleys between two towering buildings, and wrapped and unwrapped my necklace around my fingers. The market was taking advantage of school starting up too, and nearly every available space was someone