“Are we finished for today, or would you like for me to sing it again, Madame?” My voice was saccharine and contrasted mightily, I knew, with my flinty expression. She’d been a thorn in my backside for nigh on four years now, doing her best to turn what I loved most into a dreaded chore. She’d failed.

“By this time next week, you’ll be begging to come home.” Turning on her heel, she strode off the porch and back into the inn, black skirts swishing. With any luck, this time, this week, would be the last time I laid eyes on my vocal teacher. In a week’s time, I would be learning from the best opera singer living on the Isle of Light.

Unbidden, my mother’s image rose to the forefront of my mind, and along with it the memory, four years ago to the day, when she’d sealed my fate. “Sing,” she had demanded, and I’d chosen a tune popular at barn dances, the only song I knew. When she scowled, I thought my heart would break from disappointment.

“Any talentless wretch could manage that,” she said, blue irises identical to mine except that hers were cold as the winter sky. “Repeat after me.” She sang a few lines from an opera, her voice so lovely that it brought tears to my eyes. “Now you.”

I imitated her, hesitantly at first, but then with more confidence. She’d sung and I’d repeated, trilling like a songbird mimicking a flute.

She’d smiled. “Well done, Cécile. Well done.” Turning to my father who’d watched from the corner, she’d said, “I’ll take her when she’s seventeen.” When he’d started to argue, she raised a hand, silencing him. “She’s strong, clever, and, once she’s grown out of this awkward stage, she’ll be fair enough. And her voice is divine.” Her eyes had gleamed. “She’s wasted out here in the country where no one would know talent if it kicked them in the face. I’ll arrange for tutors to come out to Goshawk’s Hollow to teach her – I’ll not have her arriving with the manners of a milk cow.”

Turning to me, she’d unclasped a golden pendant from her neck and fastened it around mine. “Beauty can be created, knowledge learned, but talent can neither be purchased nor taught. And you’ve talent, my dearest girl. When you stand on stage and sing, the whole world will love you.”

I clutched that pendant in my fist, now, staring at the door Madame had closed behind her. The whole world would love me.

The sound of my name caught my attention. Scampering down the wooden steps, I dodged puddles as I made my way over to where my best friend, Sabine, was leaning against a fencepost, playing with a coiled lock of hair. She grinned and handed me a basket of eggs. “You finished it.”

“Hundredth time’s the charm.” Taking hold of her arm, I tugged her in the direction of the stables. “I need to hurry back to the farm. Gran needs these eggs for the cake she’s baking for my going away party tonight.”