Come back engaged, she might as well have said, or don’t come back at all. The Council behind her was a moat, a blockade, an iron gate locking me out of my home until I’d done her bidding.

Alessandra spoke the words like a death sentence or a curse, releasing the bottle of wine as the final piece of her incantation. It swung in a wide arc and smashed a gory stain over the Beholder, leaving the girl carved on its prow bleeding.

My father had never looked so defeated.

Einmal im Winter, als es steinhart gefroren hatte

und Berg und Tal vollgeschneit lag,

machte die Frau ein Kleid von Papier, rief das Mädchen und sprach:

“Da, zieh das Kleid an,

geh hinaus in den Wald

und hol mir ein Körbchen voll Erdbeeren. . . .”

Dann gab sie ihm noch ein Stückchen hartes Brot und sprach:

“Davon kannst du den Tag über essen,”

und dachte:

“Draußen wird’s erfrieren und verhungern

und mir nimmermehr wieder vor die Augen kommen.”

—Die drei Männlein im Walde

Once, in winter, when everything was frozen as hard as a stone,

and hill and vale lay covered with snow,

the woman made a frock of paper, called her step-daughter, and said,

“Here, put on this dress

and go out into the wood,

and fetch me a little basketful of strawberries. . . .”

Then she gave her a little piece of hard bread, and said,

“This will last thee the day,”

and thought,

“Thou wilt die of cold and hunger outside,

and wilt never be seen again by me.”

—The Three Little Men in the Wood

8

THE BEHOLDER

Godmother Althea blew a kiss as the Beholder sailed away through the fog. I watched Daddy—broken expression, bent head—until the mist on the water swept him from my view.

When my home was out of sight, I stood by myself, avoiding the gazes of the sailors hustling around the deck and imagining how ridiculous I must look, filthy and staggering around in a ruined dress, one glittering shoe in hand. A complete disaster, to the eye discerning or oblivious.

Not that it mattered what they thought. These were Alessandra’s people, not mine.

Captain Lang didn’t turn his head as I wobbled near, arms akimbo so the ship’s woozy sway wouldn’t send me sprawling. But he rapped his ink-stained knuckles on a barrel beside his place at the helm, and I sat, drawing up my legs beneath me to hide my dirty feet.

He glanced away from the horizon for a long moment, studying my face. “You had no idea before last night, did you?”

“None,” I said quietly. “I don’t like this—feeling blind. Not knowing the plan.”

Lang’s dark eyes shifted under his lashes. “What can I tell you?” he asked quietly. “What would help you not feel so lost?”