If her mother had been paying attention, she would have heard that whisper through the tug of connection that she’d laid upon all of her children. Spellcasting must have taken all of her focus, though, for Cordelia still sat, uncertain and unanswered, on her windowsill a minute later when the first grown men she’d ever seen burst through the trees into the narrow clearing beyond the moat, wearing armor that clanked and flashed in the sunlight.

“There!” The first one strode forward, as big and hulking himself as the raging bear painted on his shield. A great black beard jutted out beneath his iron helmet. “The sorceress’s castle—and no dragons guarding the gate after all!”

“None that we’ve seen … yet.” The man who answered was lean and poised, like the wolf who snarled on his own shield—and he looked every bit as ready to spring. His head turned, predatory gaze sweeping the clearing. “We may have slipped past her outer shields with our ploy, but that’s no guarantee of our safety from now on.”

Cordelia held her breath, unmoving on her perch, as more and more armored men and women flooded out of the trees behind the first two. Each of them carried a shield with a wolf or a bear in one hand and a long, sharp-looking sword in the other, and they took up position behind their two leaders.

Too late to change into a bird for safety now! She should have slipped inside before, if only her insatiable curiosity had allowed it. Her feet and arms were nearly as pale as stone, though, and her comfortable old linen gown—carefully ripped along the sides to allow herself real adventures—was a deep green that matched the ivy on the walls. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice her?

“No dragon,” said the leader of the wolf-knights, “but a little spy watching us with big eyes for her mistress. You, girl!” he called out. “Tell the dowager duchess she has visitors!”

The dowager duchess? Cordelia stared at him.

There were no duchesses in their castle. No one lived with their family at all except for Mother’s friend Alys, who looked after the goats, argued with Mother over what to plant in the kitchen gardens, and was almost always covered in dirt up to her bony elbows.

On long winter evenings in the great hall, after Giles had finished singing his latest ballads, Mother would often summon up a pile of tiny, scented, silk-bound books to read out loud to all of them. Cordelia had heard of elegant, powerful duchesses in those pages, along with queens and countesses and fiercely beautiful knights in armor … but none of them sounded anything like Alys.

“The girl’s obviously simple,” said the leader of the bear-soldiers. “No sense looking for any help there.” Shaking his head, he cupped his big hands to his mouth above his beard and bellowed, “Sorceress, reveal yourself! Or we’ll attack!”