When I returned to Castellano Manor, my body ached and my head felt heavy. I strained a look over my shoulder, afraid that the Shadow would appear behind me and snatch me away.
To my relief, there was nothing there.
Allowing a breath, I slipped around the back of the large, three-story house, its night-black face, manicured hedges, and white windows breathtaking. Father said that the house was built with stone from the largest mountain on the range. To my relief, the garden gates were still open, and I carefully wove my way around the rose bushes, their crimson faces seeming to follow my every move.
Stop being paranoid, Hayley.
I had every right in the world to be. I was shocked not to be a nervous mess already. Thankfully, the garden and the servant's door were empty. Ms. Casas would inevitably interrogate me about my whereabouts, Mother no doubt sick with worry.
The last time I left the house unannounced...
Like a child running from the darkness of a dimly lit corridor, I moved quickly through the servant's quarters, eager to get to my bedroom. Nothing sounded better than the safety under my covers. No one could get me there. Not my parents. Not the town. Not the Shadow on the hill. Not even the Blue Sickness or the Hollow Ball.
A little voice in the back of my mind reasoned that the Shadow had only been a figment of my imagination caused by stress and nightmares. Maybe a trick of the daylight or delirium from the hospital. The thought gave me solace when I approached my father's study on the second floor, ready to lock myself away until my demise.
Another voice in the back of my mind worried it may have had something to do with the woman in my dreams. The thought made my stomach turn.
Maybe some whiskey would help.
Father kept plenty in his office...
Surprisingly, a light flickered from his office. Was he home in the middle of the day?
My parents sat on the plush green chaise, huddled over a book, their voices low and hurried. When they noticed my presence, they stopped as though caught scheming, and my eyebrows raised at the wide-eyed distress in my mother's eyes when she saw me.
Were they scheming?
Risa Castellano was not well-versed in masking her emotions. She shared that gift with Kian. Whatever they'd been reading, it disturbed her greatly.
That same distress worried my father's expression, but he was quick to hide it with a purse of his lips, and he slammed the old book shut. I swore it glowed in the lamplight.
"There you are," Mother said, standing. My eyes didn't leave the worn, frayed edges of the book in my father's hands. "Your father returned early. Are you ready for Dorothea Chase's funeral?"
Funeral. An ache hollowed my chest. Right. Unlike Mr. Roberts, who was laid to rest in a modest ceremony two days ago, Dorothea's funeral would be an elaborate affair. Even in death, the Founding Families found ways to flaunt their gifts.
"What are you reading?" I asked.
"That is none of your concern," my father said. Tucking the book under his arms, he regarded me with his signature scowl.
"There's plenty to be concerned about, Father," I said between gritted teeth. Couldn't he find a new phrase to shield his secrets? Did he think me so daft I couldn't smell the conspiracy in the air?
Ignoring my challenging glare, Mother smoothed her fingers over her dark hair and asked, "Is that what you'll be wearing, then?"
I narrowed my eyes. Her eyes shone with the request not to push the matter any further. Typical, of course. After everything, I was still expected to play the subservient daughter of a powerful councilman.
Swallowing the fire in my throat, I only obliged out of exhaustion, promising to investigate the matter tonight when everyone was sleeping. As though sensing my intention, Father unlocked the safe behind his desk and slid the book inside.
"Hayley?" Mother pressed.
Threading my fingers through my black curls, I looked down at my dress: plain black with white ruffles. It was customary to wear black and white to funerals, and they were the only gowns I touched after the night in the forest. "I don't see the need to change."
"Good."
My mouth opened to tell them I wouldn't attend Dorothea's funeral. I couldn't stomach seeing her again. Not when I still heard her screams in the middle of the night. But another thought stopped me. A memory of the fear in her eyes when she clung to me. She deserved peace. I owed it to her to pray for her soul's safe passage into the next life, even if mine remained somewhere in between for eternity.
Even if those prayers likely went to Shadow's ears.
An hour later, we arrived at the Temple of Shadows. The tallest building in Hunting Hollow, it was an abundant dedication to the soul-eating gods, made of white stone that rivaled the moon's silvery glow, with spires, stained glass, and ornate arches. Inside, pillars draped in oxy tapestries threaded with golden stars reached higher than I could see, my neck straining when I tried to look into the darkness of the pointed dome. Incense burned sweet in my nose, and candles filled the Great Hall, clustered along the coffin perched just below the altar, their white and blue wax dripping onto the stone like angelic tears.
Marble white, decorated with white lilies, Dorothea's casket remained closed for the service. Beneath me, my knees weakened, and I swayed at the memory of our last encounter and what it meant for her beautiful face to be hidden from the world forever. For what it meant for the other children of the Founding Families that lined the pews, and the memory of my sister's mangled body at Castellano Manor all those years ago.
My pulse skittered.
When I closed my eyes, I saw her lilac gown and chestnut hair. The memory lay warped and spotty in my mind's eye, as though savaged by moths. Despite this, nausea climbed up my throat and the incense turned sour and hot.
This wasn't a good idea.
When I opened them, Dorothea stood in front of me. The black voids where her eyes should have been stared into mine, and I staggered back.
"Dorothea?" I gasped.
"Hayley," Mother said under her breath, both alarmed and confused."Are you alright?"
When I blinked, she was gone.
Beside me, Father steaded me with a firm hand that felt too hot against my clammy skin. "Breathe, child," he ordered with a steady voice. I clung to the command and willed my lungs to contract. "Good. Come, let's have a seat."
The sounds of the service passed over me like cold water over polished river rocks, and I welcomed the numbness that came with it, desperate for reprieve. There was no use listening to the priest's sermons when my soul was ripe and ready for the taking. I needed to block the noise praising Dorothea for her sacrifice for the greater good of the town. Stray words caught my attention. The high priest turned mourning into a rally for the Hollow Ball, raising his arms and shouting with divine righteousness as though he were one of the Chosen.
Sitting in the Great Hall, sharp as the thorns that circled the rosebushes in the garden, guilt pierced me. A noble sacrifice should not feel so awful. Even if my father and the Council's recklessness were responsible for this very moment, our very fates, I should be... grateful. Shouldn't I?
It was the ultimate service to Hunting Hollow. I would be in the caliber of a saint.
Yet... it felt like the greatest hijix of my life.
Eyes prickled the side of my face, and I lifted my gaze from the black lace of my gloves just enough to see Maeve's dark eyes. Sitting beside her mother, she dipped her chin just once, as though to say, I know how you feel.
She and twenty others.
The service concluded with a magnificent hymn. Standing, I mindlessly followed my parents back to the carriage, and we proceeded to the beach where the family chose to cremate, Dorothea's ashes intended to join the Chase family's mausoleum. My parents didn't push me when I told them I would wait in the carriage.
The last time I'd been on the beach, it had been my sister on my pyre.
Or at least, what was left of her.
And in the decade since, I refused to set foot on the beach.
Please forgive me, Dorothea.
I didn't know what caused me to peel the curtain back and look. The tops of the black waves were painted with glowing blue algae, their light similar to the moonlight lilies. Even inside the carriage, I could taste their magic with the salt on the wind, and across the long white beach where mourners gathered. I regretted the moment the funeral pyre burst into flames.
Closing the curtain, I rested my head against the window and sobbed.
* * *
As the Hollow Ball drew closer, the initial shock of the announcement wore off, and to my dismay, Hunting Hollow teemed with life, the preparations for the festivities in full swing. The air cooled and the forest turned brilliant shades of gold and amber, while homes and storefronts adorned with glistening decor sparkled brighter with each passing day.
Even the manor staff seemed in higher spirits.
I wanted to scream.
"I will be among the saints after I am gone. I couldn't ask for a greater honor."
"They've already put my portrait in the parlor. Next to my beautiful aunt."
"I wished I celebrated my birthday properly this year..."
Voices carried over the bustling streets. Carriages rattled with the tinkling sounds of bells and seagulls squawked high in the sky, music weaving in and out of open doors. Standing in Lucia Oberoi's dress shop, I had to press the back of my hand to my mouth to stop from spitting venom at the girls who chatted eagerly about the ball. They were so smug with their excitement, discussing their demise so casually, that one might have thought they were talking about any old party.
"We've been standing here for an hour," I said to Mother. Despite the autumn air, it was too stuffy in the small shop, its dainty yellow walls ready to burst from the number of ladies standing in wait for their turn with the acclaimed seamstresses working under the Oberoi family.
"It's going to get busier by the day," she countered in a low voice. Fanning herself with her gloves, black hair pilled high on the crown of her head and adorned with ruby clips, my mother glanced longingly at the door. "But..."
"I'll send Juniper to set up an appointment. I can't stand another minute in here," I pressed. "I've cooperated with everything you've asked, Mother. Please just give me this one thing."
With a heavy sigh, as disgusted with the gloating as I was, she motioned to the door.
The ache in my chest subsided when we stepped onto the sunny street. I didn't want anything to do with the ball more than the necessary task of attending it, and being here, seeing so much preparation, my skin crawled.
"There are always alternatives!" someone shouted. "Has anyone thought to ask the king?"
Across the circle, beneath a pair of trees, standing along a long marble fountain carved into a fox perched on a log, a group gathered around what sounded like a debate. Red-faced and out of breath, David Blythe stood at the center of the gathering, his face the picture of rage at his opponent. "Witches! Other priests! Hunters!"
Across from David, West Shadeson watched the young man with an eerie, icy serenity as characteristic of the family just as their dark blond hair, so opposite from, David, it was almost comical. "Has it ever occurred to you that someone may have tried? Did you forget about the Crown's researchers who were found strung up in the trees by their entrails?"
They arrived to investigate how we prospered despite the terrors of the forest. To understand how the Crown could utilize our magical resources for trade and power. Only one survived. Just like many outside Hunting Hollow, she refused to ever come back.
"Everything is different this time," David reasoned.
Part of the First Families, David was the only child of Gregor and Rosalia Blythe. At his death, his cousin Amelia—soon to be the only one to carry the Blythe name forward—would be the heir to the Blythe's fortune. It was only months ago that David gloated that he would triple his family's wealth when he took over his father's business.
"We're not the same people we were when the Treaty was signed," he said.
Sliding his hands into the pockets of his dark pants, West rolled his eyes. "You're right. We're worse off. At least before, we might have had a chance. Now, like pigs, we're fat on what's been shoved down our throats. What do you suspect, Blythe? We march into Hannover and shoot Shadows with your rifles?"
His words sent a flash of irritation through me. Of course, West Shadeson would be the one to defend this nightmare. It was his ancestor who created the Treaty in the first place. And since then, the Shadesons marched through all of Hunting Hollow as if they owned it, richer than any family, more beautiful.
"You're foolish to think they won't ask for more souls," David said.
Turning to the crowd, West asked, "Are you willing to risk more people dying to find out?"
The crowd murmured, most shaking their heads.
"Let's go, Hayley," Mother said.
Echoing Ethel Fontaine's words, West said, "Accept your fate, Blythe. Pray it is enough."
"I will accept my fate," David said. "I will do whatever is necessary to help the people who mean the most to me. And when I die, I'm going to come back and make sure every single person in this forsaken town suffers the way I had to. Mark. My. Words."
* * *