“It’s everything you asked for, Lady Raven. Just as you prefer.”

The lady finished her examinations and knotted the burlap. “Yes, everything looks acceptable. Thank you, Blythe.” Lady Raven turned to depart with her order, and that was when she finally took note of me.

I stood, stark and silent, as her cold gaze swept over me. She studied my wild hair, the features of my face. And then she frowned and said, “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“No, lady,” I said, but my palms had become slick.

“Mm.” She lost interest in me and departed the shop.

When I turned to the girl once more, setting my sketchbook on the counter to purchase, Blythe released a tremulous breath.

“I apologize for that. She’s one of our loyal customers, and my father told me to always give her precedence when she steps into the shop.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m Clem, by the way.”

“Blythe. Will I see you again here soon, Clem?” She handed me the sketchbook as I paid her for it.

“Most likely.” I smiled and started to leave, but I smelled a trace of Lady Raven’s perfume in the shop, roses and lavender, and it reminded me . . . “By the way, who was she?”

Blythe’s eyes widened, as if I should have known. “Why, that was Lady Raven Vesper. The Countess of Amarys.”

10

“Perhaps you could take a few art classes,” Imonie suggested as she poured me a cup of tea the following morning.

“Where?” I asked, sitting at the table. An art class was enticing, albeit scary to contemplate, as I had never been instructed before.

“The university, perhaps?”

The thought of attending a school full of strangers made my stomach knot. “Maybe.”

“Well, you need to find something to keep you occupied, Clem. Perhaps taking a class here or there might help you adjust, make some new friends.”

I sighed, knowing she was right. Papa had already left for his new employment, working in the mines. A laborious task as far from magic as he could find. And my mother was still asleep, but I felt restless, aching for something. The mountains, I thought, and home. I longed for my life before the Vespers had stepped within it, and I wearily reached for the honey jar. I was about to melt a spoonful of it in my tea when the newspaper caught my eye.

Papa had been reading it, and there was a smudge of jam on the headline.

I reached across the table to take it and began leafing through the classified column.

Wanted—a caretaker for an elderly solicitor.

Wanted—a tutor in science and literature, for a young noblewoman.

Wanted—a dancer for the Disillusioned Tavern.

I turned the page, my heart heavy with discouragement until I saw the warden notices. Suddenly my hands were trembling, and my eyes raced across the entries.