Sophie, a dressmaker and charm caster, has lifted her family out of poverty with a hard-won reputation for beautiful ball gowns and discreetly embroidered spells. A commission from the royal family could secure her future—and thrust her into a dangerous new world.

Revolution is brewing. As Sophie’s brother, Kristos, rises to prominence in the growing anti-monarchist movement, it is only a matter of time before their fortunes collide.

When the unrest erupts into violence, she and Kristos are drawn into a deadly magical plot. Sophie is torn—between her family and her future.

ORBIT NEWSLETTER

1

“MR. BURSIN,” I SAID, MY HANDS CONSTRICTING AROUND THE fine linen ruffles I was hemming, “I do not do that.”

“But, miss, I would not ask if it were—if it were not the most pressing of circumstances. If it would not be best. For all concerned.”

I understood. Mr. Bursin’s mother-in-law simply refused to die. She was old, infirm, and her mind was half-gone, but still she clung to life—and, as it turned out, bound the inheritance to her daughter and son-in-law in a legal tangle that would all go away once she was safely interred. Still.

“I do not wish ill on anyone. Ever. I sew charms, never curses.” My words were final, but I thought of another avenue. “I could, of course, wish good fortune on you, Mr. Bursin. Or your wife.”

He wavered. “Would … would a kerchief be sufficient?” He glanced at the rows of ruffled neckerchiefs lining my windows, modeled by stuffed linen busts.

“Oh, most certainly, Mr. Bursin. The ruffled style is very fashionable this season. Would you like to place the order now, or do you need to consult with your wife regarding style and fabric?”

He didn’t need to consult with his wife. She would wear the commission he bought from me, whether she liked the ruffles or not. He chose the cheapest fabric I offered—a coarser linen than was fashionable—and no decorative embroidery.

My markup for the charm still ensured a hefty sum would be leaving Mr. Bursin’s wallet and entering my cipher book.

“Add cutting another ruffled kerchief to your to-do list this morning, Penny,” I called to one of my assistants. I didn’t employ apprentices—apprentices learn one’s trade. The art of charm casting wasn’t one I could pass on to the women I hired. Several assistants had already come and gone from my shop, gaining practice draping, cutting, fitting—but never charm casting. Alice and Penny, both sixteen and as wide-eyed at the prospect of learning their trade as I had been at their age, were perhaps my most promising employees yet.

“Another?” Penny’s voice was muffled. I poked my head around the corner. She was on her back under a mannequin, hidden inside the voluminous skirts of a court gown.