TRISTAN

Footsteps echoed through the open arcade surrounding the gardens of the inner courtyard. I quickly made my way to the entrance. My maid followed at a respectable distance—close enough to be on hand, and far enough to let me believe I was in control of the world. Through the spaced arches beside me, I spotted my mother's dark red hair. I hurried along to the marble archway framing the steps and hopped down them.

I slowed when I saw she wasn't alone. Gardeners tended to the flowers on the edges, but mere feet away from my mother was a group of men and women. They weren't part of the castle staff, and one of them had the sparkling Core of a sorcerer. They looked to be laborers of some kind. As they looked over the ruined fountain that stood in the center of the courtyard, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment at having been the cause.

My mother turned her attention away from the small group and smiled down at me. "Please excuse me," she said with a light bow of her head.

They each nodded and turned their attention back to the fountain. One lifted what remained of a swan's wing and winced. I grimaced as I watched their faces, each showing a different level of bafflement.

My mother approached me and took my hand, leading me to a bench in a shaded corner. Finches chirped away in a nearby tree, and they took turns at the birdfeeder that stood in front of a row of rose bushes. My maid remained on the steps, and the gardeners had moved on to other flower beds. The people around the broken fountain were shaking their heads and smiling.

"What bothers you, Trista? You know no one blames you for the fountain," she said as she tucked my hair behind my ear. It never stayed put, no matter who brushed it or tucked it away.

My hair was the same dark red as my mother's, but it refused to behave as hers did. Where hers lay flat, mine fell in waves that didn't know which direction was best. She loved to compare it to the lion's mane my father once had. If only it were that easy. I would happily be a lion. I hoped I would come across a spell that would help me tame my awful hair. My suggestions of cutting it were always met with a plea to wait and a distracting sorbet.

I pursed my lips in thought as I tried to come up with what was on my mind. My hair could wait. "Why do I feel sad?"

Her eyes widened, and her soft smile fell from her face. Her normally bright aura dimmed. I had yet to properly learn to read what I saw, but I knew dimming meant something like sadness. Almost like giving up.

"You felt that? Oh, my sweet star," she said just above a whisper.

I blinked in surprise as I was pulled into a tight hug. I hugged back, not knowing what else to do.

She pulled away and held onto my shoulders. "Do you remember Lord Scattergood?"

I nodded. He had a funny beard and let me ride his large dog. Floppo had the same white beard and friendliness, but she was more prone to licking faces. The dog was the only reason I remembered Lord Scattergood and his happily shining aura.

"That was him going to the Mallou. When Children of Mallou … die, we…"

She struggled for her words, and her aura was a confusing mess to me.

"Say goodbye?" I offered.

"If it's peaceful." She nodded as she stroked my hair.

"Last week was a happy goodbye. I didn't like this one." This one made me want to cry, and I couldn't understand why I was sad.

"Last week? That would have been Lucinda Hartfeld. She was very old. She… She lived across the sea." She looked at me oddly before standing. She kept a hand on my arm and motioned to my maid.

I didn't get the feeling that I was in trouble. There were no angry spikes poking out of her aura, but it had gone splotchy with a stark white bleeding out in patches.

There were a dozen more sorrowful goodbyes before she cut my hair and gave me a talisman that blinded my senses. I was excited to finally have my stupid hair out of the way, but my excitement was marred by confusion when she burned the trimmings. I wasn't even allowed to show off my new haircut to my older half siblings.

Dressed in what I thought of as rags, I was sent away to one of the Crypts as an orphan. I was to pretend to be a boy and find out what secrets were hidden in its depths.

There were no secrets.

And I hadn't been far enough away to not feel the screams.

I startled from my doze and looked around the small room in shock. I could just make out the lingering effects of a Core shattered against its will. It happened far enough outside the town to not be felt by those with minimal magic, but close enough to serve as a warning to the rest of us.

Lady Below, I had been a stupid child to ever confuse a murder for a normal passing.

I stood and quickly swept the remains of the protective charms I had been working on into a leather satchel. The desk was a mess of chalked sigils, protecting my work area from any prying senses. I set about scrubbing it down until no evidence remained.

I had been told before that the power used to create charms was so little that no one would notice, but I couldn't take any chances. I was already risking everything. It was almost to the point that carrying around bits of quartz would end in an interrogation.

Looking around the small room, I let out a regretful sigh. It was one of the nicer ones I had seen in the past two years. A halfway decent bed had provided four months of actual sleep, and the desk and vanity provided a workspace with convenient cleanup. Even though the window looked out over an alley, it still caught enough light during the day. And at night, the room had the luxury of working gas lamps. There was even a small painting of a duck hanging above the desk. The owner of the safehouse fancied himself an artist, and it lent a bit of class to the place.

As much as I wanted to languish in my room and enjoy a few more moments of comfort, I needed to be productive. Word of High Sorcerer Costanzo Reinier entering the town would come soon, and we would be asked to keep an eye on him then potentially move on to somewhere else. The dingy basements of other safehouses would most likely be in our future until we got a proper assignment.

I already missed the ugly duck.