Chapter One                 Chapter Two                  Chapter Three             Chapter Four                Chapter Five            Chapter Six
Chapter Seven             Chapter Eight            Chapter Nine

 

                “Wednesdaaaaaaaaaay!”
                Wednesday’s cousins and all her other relatives who had already arrived came out of the huge country home hardly seconds after the carriage had halted near the front walk.  Up close, the foliage was even more impressive, as was the house.  Wednesday spent quite a while admiring the regal oak-and-glass front doors in their respective patterns and the lovely patches of alternating light and dark that shaded the winding way. 
                The large group of people, headed by Desdemona, had poured out of the magnificent front doors, opened the large gates that Wednesday somehow hadn’t seen earlier, and crowded in a chatter around the carriage, helping them out, taking suitcases, and basically taking care of everything and giving the carriage driver an extremely easy time, as the hosts were doing everything that he should have done.  Wednesday stepped out of the carriage, beaming, as Desdemona threw her arms around her and they embraced tightly.  She also heard cries of “Lei’Anne!” from her two sisters and a rustling of skirts as they rushed to their older mature cousin, and Mother and Father were talking pleasantly to the older folks.
                In the midst of all the babble, Des somehow made it quiet and calm right between Wednesday and her, as Des drew back slightly just so they were looking at each other, heads tilted slightly down to give themselves some privacy.
                “It’s lovely to see you again,” Des said sweetly.  Her amber eye gleamed as she shifted her head and her eyelashes caught the light and cast it across her entire visage. 
                “Same here.”  Wednesday was glad to see that there was no trace of the cold version of Des she had met in that awful nightmare.  “So you’re all right?  Everything going well?”
                “As well as it could be,” Des said with a soft laugh.  “Everyone’s fussing over Lei’Anne.  She and Mr. Gilbert Gerdrane will be getting married any time now.”
                It’s just like it was in the dream, Wednesday thought.  Except less foreboding.  She smiled brilliantly and threw her arms around her older cousin again, burying her chin in Des’s long white-blonde hair and breathing in the sweet flower scent Des always carried due to her perfume.  “I’m so glad that we’ll be here together,” she said, her voice muffled by the streaming hair in her way.
                Des gently detached herself from Wednesday.  “I’ve been here for half a day, and it’s been wonderful.  This is my first time meeting the Corells—”
                “Also mine—”
                “—And they’re such a nice folk.”  Des turned and stood up on the toes of her boots and surveyed the small throng of tightly knit, eagerly chattering people.  “Oh—look at them.”  She settled back down on her feet.  “They’re just hanging at the edges—they’re quite shy until you get to know them, and then they’re so familiar and friendly that you can’t help wondering if you’ve met them before—or more like if you’ve been living with them for years even though it’s only been a few hours! Not in a bad way, of course,” she amended quickly, taking Wednesday’s arm.  “Let’s see if I can introduce you before there’s a formal introduction.  They really believe in first impressions,” she confided, while Wednesday nodded, absorbing all this information.  “Hm…where’ve they gone?  Oh, I think they’re taking all your things inside.  Well, you’ll meet them later, then,” Des said, sounding disappointed. 
                “It’s all right.  There’ll be plenty of time for that,” Wednesday said.  She was feeling apprehensive about meeting these people, especially because of Father’s comment in the carriage.  “Anyhow,” she went on, “this is a brilliant place.  I had no idea that such a grand dwelling existed in the countryside!”
                “That’s what I had been thinking when I came this morning,” Des said, opening her eyes wide.  She smiled.  “This place is like a living dream.  I’ll take you on a quick tour if they don’t.  The scenery is amazing, like something straight out of an artist’s palette, and there are so many fun places inside the farmhouse.  I think it’s very lucky that they live here!”
                “Are the Corells nice?” Wednesday was still worried, even though the landscape calmed her.
               “Yes, of course!”  Des paused.  “Well, more or less.”  She moved closer to Wednesday and bent slightly to breathe in her ear.  “Mr. Damien—that’s Missus Reyna’s husband—well, he can be obnoxious.  But really it’s Lancelot Corell who gets on my nerves all the time, and I’ve only known him for half a day—”
                “Desdemona!” Des’s mother called.  Des looked up and grimaced.  Mrs. Cheri Fontana, one of Wednesday’s aunts, was waving her daughter over. 
                “Sorry,” Des apologized.  “I’ll have to talk later.  You know how my mother is—”
                “Desdemona!
                “Coming, Mother.”  Des raised her eyebrows at Wednesday and drifted off.
                Wednesday couldn’t help smiling as she watched Des leisurely make her way over to Mrs. Cheri Fontana.  Des acted all pouty and rebellious, but she had a sweet, sweet heart.  She turned to survey her crowd of relatives, all of whom were talking and laughing together.  A few of the people she didn’t know.  Most of them she had vague memories of; she recognized their faces, knew she had seen them before, but knew little or no else.  With the Corells added to the rest of their families, Wednesday assumed they had quite a large group.  She thought about how large their dining room had to be to fit all of these people; but with such a grand house, it wasn’t that hard to imagine.  She grinned inwardly.  The house was probably some sort of old castle that had been refurbished.  No country house that she had ever seen had looked so…royal.  It was staggering, actually.
                Wednesday walked about, saying polite hellos to the older folks and greeting her younger relatives more intimately.  She still saw no sign of the Corells.  Des had said they had gone inside to take their things up to the rooms, but Wednesday was half eager, half uneager to meet them.  Des had given her some information that Wednesday wasn’t sure was good or bad.  Apparently both Father and Des held this Damien Corell in low opinion.  Wednesday wasn’t ready to meet Lancelot Corell either; Des made him sound like a wild reincarnation of the devil.  Anyone who could get on Des’s nerves had special talent, and it wasn’t necessarily a good one.
                Lei’Anne, Des’s sister, greeted Wednesday coolly, while Winter and Willow trotted after their glamorous older cousin like guard dogs.  “It’s nice to see you again, Wednesday,” Lei’Anne said with her trademark detached tone. “You’re looking well.”
                “I have to say that I feel much better.  It must be the atmosphere,” Wednesday said with a tight smile.  It wasn’t that she didn’t like Lei’Anne, but rather that she didn’t fawn over her like Willow and Winter did.  They worshiped Lei’Anne with all their being.  Why, Wednesday didn’t know.  Lei’Anne was about as full of emotions as a gargoyle.  
                Speaking of Lei’Anne, Wednesday hadn’t seen her fiancé Gilbert Gerdrane around. She supposed he must have not been invited, and she had to suppress a laugh.
                “So you’ve been feeling better lately?” Lei’Anne said, cool as ever.  “Not so sick?”
                “No.”  Wednesday kept her sentences polite and clipped.
                Lei’Anne nodded, making loose waves of her mousy brown hair flutter like ribbons, and swept off.  Willow and Winter hastened to follow while Wednesday stood alone, feeling foolishly triumphant for some reason.
                She said her greetings, accepted comments of “You look healthy!” from her older relatives, and generally smiled politely and made small talk, every so often glancing over to look at Des.  She and her mother were engaged in conversation. 
                “Look at you,” Wednesday’s grandmother Lucia Fontana said, pinching Wednesday’s cheek.  “My little darling, you’re still so pale. Like a crescent moon.  You need to eat more!” Then she started going on and on about the rich dishes her cook could make.  Wednesday’s grandparents on her father’s side were extremely rich.  That was fortunate, since they were so old they could hardly move, so they had servants left and right. 
                Grandfather George, whom Wednesday’s father was named after, smiled in his slow elderly way, with the wrinkles and lines in his face creasing and his eyes squinting.  “I’m glad that you’re here, Wednesday,” he said, stiffly patting her shoulder.  His joints were probably hurting.  Wednesday gave him a gentle hug and he laughed in a wheeze.  “Good young lady,” he commented to his wife Lucia.
                “Of course she is,” Lucia agreed, smirking.  The two of them gave new meaning to “old married couple.”  Wednesday grinned and pulled away from her grandparents.
                She greeted Jerry and Cheri Fontana, Des’s and Lei’Anne’s parents, with respect, and introduced herself demurely to Elizabeth, Wednesday’s aunt on her father’s side.  She had never met Mrs. Elizabeth before, and pleased to greet the kind woman. 
                She didn’t see the Corells anywhere, but decided that they must be shy, just like Des had said.
                After a great deal of introductions and talking, as the families started to drift towards the doors of the huge house to go inside, Des caught up with Wednesday again.
                “Know everybody now?” Des teased Wednesday as she watched Mrs. Elizabeth walk away.  She knew it was a lot to remember.
                “Well,” Wednesday admitted, “it helps that I studied my family tree.”
                Des raised her brows.  “Did you now?  I didn’t think of doing anything like that.  No wonder you don’t look freaked.  My head was completely buzzing from all the names.”  She shook her head ruefully.  “Still, I’m glad that you came prepared.”
                “Me too.”  Wednesday looked around as a light breeze picked up.  The families were gathered at the front doors, filing in and talking.  The sky was becoming rather cloudy, not soft clouds but more threatening, dark clouds like a storm was approaching.  Wednesday was glad when they stepped over the threshold into the spacious reception room of the Corells’ grandly furnished home.  Rain made her hair fluffy if she wasn’t careful, and it was a surprisingly unpleasant feeling for wisps of auburn to tickle her neck and drive her to the edge of insanity.
                Wednesday held Des’s hand gratefully as she looked in delighted awe around the almost imposingly large room they had just come to.  Chandeliers, modest ones, were everywhere, dripping with frosted glass.  Soft armchairs, thin and easy carpeting, an area with shelves for boots and a rack of satiny indoor slippers on one wall for the women, rows of boots on the other wall for the men.  Wednesday cautiously followed her cousin as Des removed her modest boots and took a pair of slippers.
                “The Corells designed the system so no mud would get tracked in the house,” Des explained, picking up on Wednesday’s confusion about the shoe-changing.  “Here—slip your boots off and this pair is for you—”  She removed a silky pair of white slippers and handed them to a baffled Wednesday.  Des stepped into her own comfortable footwear and visibly relaxed.  “It’s odd at first to change shoes every time you go in and out,” Des admitted, “but it’s much more comfortable this way.  The Corells are geniuses for coming up with this.  I wish I had that kind of money at home….”
                Wednesday agreed with Des the second she had laced up her pair of shoes.  It felt almost as though she wasn’t wearing shoes, like walking on feathers.  She was almost tempted to look down to see if she was even wearing shoes.  She walked around in circles to get used to the airy feeling.  Around her, Willow and Winter were trying out their new footwear as well while Lei’Anne patiently waited for them to get over their awe.
                “Come on, you haven’t even seen the good part yet,” Des teased as Wednesday couldn’t help a smile spreading over her face.  She tugged on Wednesday’s arm.  “Let’s go through the house, see if we can find the Corells.  It’s too bad they’re not here in the open waiting to greet you.  Though I don’t miss Lance Corell at all.”
                “Is he really terrible?” Wednesday asked.  She remembered Des lamenting about Lance earlier.
              “He’s only fourteen, well, fourteen and a half as he likes to brag, but he has such an ego.  And he cares nothing for manners,” Des said fervently, rolling her eyes in disgust.  “I met him with the rest of his family and the first thing he said to me was, ‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’”
                “How rude!” Wednesday huffed.  She had a deep-seated hatred for people who poked fun at Des’s two-tone eye color.
                “And that’s not the least of it,” Des went on earnestly as she took Wednesday’s elbow and they drifted away from the clog of people in the reception room.  “He’s such a lady’s enemy.  He told Lei’Anne quite frankly that her décolletage was too low.  She started seething so badly I was afraid she was going to slap that cocky smile right off his face—oh, I think he enjoys irritating us.  He’s grated my nerves to wit’s end even though I’ve only been here for a few hours.”
                “Oh.”  Wednesday felt worried.  All the comments Lance could make about her!  And they likely wouldn’t be very encouraging ones, either, from what Des was saying.
                “Don’t worry,” Des said comfortingly, placing a placating hand on Wednesday’s shoulder.  “We can stay away from him.  And the rest of them are nice.  Anna Corell—she was named after Grand-Aunt Anna, whose birthday we’re celebrating—she’s nice.  Brielle’s also nice, but I think she’s more like a second Lei’Anne than anything. And Luka…he’s so shy.  The second I looked away he was up the stairs with a book in hand.”
                “Oh,” Wednesday said again.  In her mind, she was already thinking that Luka must be a lot like herself.  She wondered if there was a potential friend to be made here, but the thought of befriending a boy in that sense made her shy and nervous.
                “As for Mrs. Corell—I mean Mrs. Reyna, as she asks me to call her—she’s quite nice, too, if not a little indifferent.  Mr. Damien is probably second worst after Lance, but he’s not too bad to my face…” Des went on, turning her head this way and that, going on in a ramble.  She kept looking around as though she was hoping to see someone.
                “I still hope that I can just avoid the influx of adults here,” Wednesday confessed as they passed through a magnificent room with glimmering wallpaper that shone like silver.  She saw a grand piano and knew instantly that Willow and Winter would want to claim it.  She mentioned this to Des.
                “They had better not,” Des said with a little laugh.  “That piano’s Brielle’s. She wouldn’t be afraid to murder anyone who touched those ivory keys.  You wouldn’t believe how protective she is, but that piano was so expensive.  And she’s a good player, of course, but she doesn’t have that rhythm that she needs to truly express herself.  It’s always this stiff sort of flowing…it’s not quite right.”  She suddenly stopped, and Wednesday lurched forward before settling back.  “I forgot something, Wednesday, I’d better go back and get it.  I’ll have to catch up with you again later, okay?”
                “Okay,” Wednesday said, slightly confused.
                “Thanks. You’re the best.”  Des dashed off, brushstrokes of hair coming loose.
                Wednesday wandered about, enjoying the beautiful structure of the house, leaving Des behind.  The detail put into the home was frightening almost, but mostly ethereal and beautiful.  One room was grand, full of swooping window-curtains trimmed in silk and tulle and lace, rife with embroidery and preciously stained with fresh colors.  Another room was charming with miniature belle epoch arches crossing like latticework overhead and pale, beige-like paint.  Wednesday had never admired a house so much before.  It really was quite beautiful.  Wednesday wondered where Des had gone and what she needed to fetch.  After her disappearing, Wednesday went on, and ventured through four rooms before coming to an octahedronal wall corner and pausing.
               Wednesday sort of was hoping she would run into one of the Corells, because she was interested in meeting this Luka Corell, because he seemed to be most like her based on Des’s description.
                Her wish half came true.  She turned the corner, admiring the octagonal paneling laid into the walls, and had to back up quickly so she didn’t bump into a figure who was coming around on the other side.
                To her chagrin, the figure was not Luka Corell, but instead a slender but rather short young lady in an expensive-looking dress, who could only be Brielle Corell, the younger Corell daughter.
                “Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Brielle said.  She immediately struck Wednesday as very cool, very polite, and slightly haughty.  Brielle held herself in a way that broadcasted her opinion: I am superior.  Bow your heads to me and I will not cut them off.
                “No, it’s my fault,” Wednesday apologized, feeling intimidated by Brielle’s strong, unwavering gaze. Her gaze wasn’t a glare, but it was quite deliberate.
                “It’s all right.  I don’t hold grudges for small things like this,” Brielle said sweetly.  She held her chin high up, and even though she was slightly short, Wednesday knew that Brielle was the ruler here.  She was the one with the beautiful aura and regality.  Brielle studied Wednesday with her levelheaded gaze.  “You must be…?”
                “I’m Wednesday Fontana, daughter of Esthetique and George Fontana,” Wednesday recited.  “My sisters are Winter and Willow. I don’t suppose you’ve met them yet?”
                “Oh, Lei’Anne has told me a lot about your sisters,” Brielle said, smiling with her lips pressed together.  It looked slightly painful, ad Wednesday unconsciously found herself trying to copy her without even knowing it.  It made her lips hurt, and she quickly relaxed her mouth, hoping Brielle hadn’t noticed.  “Your cousins Lei’Anne and Desdemona are precious,” Brielle went on.  “And from what I’ve heard, you lot are lovely as well.”
                “And you must be Brielle.”
                “Oh, yes.  I’m terribly sorry we haven’t been introduced,” Brielle said, still smiling that unusual smile.  It made her lips pale from rich red to faint pink.  “Mother was planning to formally introduce at supper.”
                “It’s fine. I love your house,” Wednesday said politely.
                “That’s sweet of you.  I feel as though it can be sort of…ah…pressurized.  I do rather like to hang outside.  The honeysuckles have a delightful scent, but I’m afraid they’re not in season yet,” Brielle said, raising her eyebrows.  Her paternal tone made Wednesday’s fingers tense of their own accord.  “We do have quite a mansion, and I might add that we built it ourselves.  And of course my sister Anne Corell gets to inherit it, but I do have a share in the income, I believe.”  Brielle started going on and on, which made Wednesday nervous for no apparent reason.  She hadn’t imagined that Brielle would talk about her inheritance before even explaining her family.
                “And I think even Luka receives a bit of land,” Brielle finished.  She was still smiling pleasantly, unaware of Wednesday’s discomfort.  “Oh…forgive me for keeping you.  You must have some things you need to do before supper.”  She started to turn away.
                “Actually—”  Wednesday hesitated, and Brielle paused, her expensive skirts swirling around her legs before they settled.  “Actually, I’m not sure where my—where my family’s things are.  I feel awful having to ask you, but—”
                “Oh, hush.  Don’t bother with formalities,” Brielle said, turning back around.  “We took your family’s things up to the third floor, by the south side.  I hope you’ll be comfortable there.  Follow me.”  Wednesday hurried off as Brielle set off at a brisk pace, trying to keep up with her cousin.  “The third floor isn’t the nicest floor, I’m afraid, but it’s plenty nice.  You see, Anna created the design for the third floor, so it’s not amazing, but I did plan out the designs for the fourth floor.  There’s quite a beauty up there and you can go visit the floor if you have time, assuming you don’t get lost.”  They passed through a tiny room so exquisitely hung with tapestries that Wednesday almost stopped in the middle of the floor.  Brielle kept going to a gilded spiral staircase that looped regally above the other floors.  “Now we can go up this case.  Lance and Luka designed the pattern and layout of the second floor.”  She sniffed in disdain.  “Boys.  They have no sense of style!”
                “Well, I’ve heard some about Luka,” Wednesday ventured out bravely.
                Brielle stopped.  Wednesday almost ran into her and grabbed the rail so she wouldn’t fall down the stairs.  She blinked, but Brielle just gave her another thin, sweet smile, and said with deliberate insouciance, “Well, of course you have.  And you’ve probably heard more about Luka then the rest of us, right?  He is quite a fellow.”
                “Of course not,” Wednesday said carefully, realizing she was walking through a minefield.  “I’ve heard about you, of course.  How you play the piano like an angel.”
                “I do,” Brielle said, continuing back up the stairs.  “I should, anyhow.  I’ve been playing for seven years and from the beginning I had a natural talent.”
                “Yes, of course,” Wednesday said, mentally thanking Des for mentioning Brielle’s piano.  They reached the top of the staircase, where another continued.  She wanted to see the second floor, but she only caught the rich carpeting and smoothly carved wooden tables on the landing before she had to hustle after the quickly moving Brielle.
                It wasn’t that she didn’t like Brielle.  Brielle was nice, if not a little prideful, but she seemed a bit like a second Lei’Anne like Des had said.  Brielle’s brio was intoxicating almost, and her cool manner paired with her supersweet chattery personality made her a different sort of personality than Wednesday had expected.  And Des didn’t seem very sincere or genuine about any of her actions or what she said.  Not to mention she was hugely ambitious.
                “Lance wants to run for Parliament,” Brielle kept talking, perpetually speaking.  “He’s ridiculous.  I’m surprised Lance has any friends, that attitude of his is so annoying.  I want to give him such a slap that he’d fly right out of the window! Lei’Anne doesn’t hold a very high opinion of him, either, I can tell that—”
                Oh, great, Wednesday thought dully.  Yet another girl who idolizes Lei’Anne.
                “—but when you have to live with him, you sort of get used to it,” Brielle chattered, climbing the staircase so fast Wednesday wondered if she was going to hyperventilate.  She felt light-headed from the speedy circular climbs.  “I just tune out his incessant complaining.  One day a few years ago, I counted how many times he complained in one day.  The total was some twenty-one times!  That’s incredible.  I say, is it even possible to complain more than that?  Well, no, of course….”
                “Willow can,” Wednesday puffed out as she went up the stairs with Brielle.  They reached the landing, and Wednesday had never been more thankful to reach flat flooring.  Brielle started leading her down the hall at a rather slower pace.  Wednesday already knew that every time she and her sisters attempted to find their way to bed, Wednesday would be hopelessly lost. “Willow complains about everything under the sun.  She’s not like a real lady, naturally, but she’s so defiant.  I think every other word that comes from her lips is a complaint.”
                “She complains more than Lance?”  Brielle’s pace slowed drastically so she could see Wednesday eye-to-eye.  Her plucked, thin eyebrows were arched incredulously high on her forehead. Her indefatigable speech suddenly became clipped off on each word.
                “Maybe,” Wednesday answered, thinking she would have to be more careful when she defied Brielle in the future.  She had to tread carefully again.  “You’re probably right, of course.  I’m probably just…making Willow seem worse than she really is.”
                “Lance complains the most,” Brielle said firmly.  She turned a right and opened a beautifully carved and polished wood door, pushing it open and displaying a huge room with interior wall segments, a room so large it looked almost like a small house in its own.  “In you go.  We put all your things in the bathroom.  Enjoy, all right? I need to run.  Supper’s at eight!”  She closed the door behind Wednesday, leaving her befuddled in her temporary home.
                “I can’t believe this.”  Wednesday looked around.  She really needed somewhere to sit down, but she wasn’t sure where.  She was standing on a large, luxurious rug so soft she could feel it through her indoors satin shoes. There was a wall facing her, on the left wall was a small room, across from that closed-off room was a wall section with what looked like a miniature kitchen by it.  And in the middle of the room was a dainty circular table with chairs. She had no idea where to go, especially since the room was so huge.  Was it really just a room, or was it an entire floor by itself?
                She peeked into a few other “rooms,” reveling in the beauty of the house.  Despite the discouraging facts and remarks Brielle had made about the second floor, it was as stunning as anything Wednesday had ever seen.  She made a mental note to go and see the fourth floor, apparently Brielle’s pride and joy.  She wondered if she could convince Father and Mother to let her design a floor, too.  They had plenty of extra space available. 
                Wednesday was touring the bathroom, marveling at its glamour, when she heard a tap on the hallway door.  She quickly ducked out of the bathroom and opened the door a slit, her eyes meeting both the rich carpet and a pink-cheeked Willow, whose hair was coming loose and her breath in little puffs, with her sparkling eye and flushed cheek, smiling broadly, her pretty little dimples showing on either side.  Despite the fact that she looked rather tired, Willow looked like a little porcelain doll.  Wednesday opened the door wider and beckoned her in.
                “What’s the story, Willow?  You look absolutely exhausted,” Wednesday said, stepping back as Willow swept in.  She glanced out the beveled glass windows.  A brilliant sun, framed by the trees and glinting
[m1]  through the diaphanous shrubbery, snuck a peek back at her as it started sinking slowly.  She turned back to Willow, who was thoroughly investigating and making a brisk inventory of their quarters.
                “This entire place is breathtaking, isn’t it?” Willow said, lovingly running her hand along the beds in the “bedroom,” which was really a set of beds and bureaus set off behind a half wall partition.  “And these slippers are so comfortable.”
                “Slippers…? Oh.”  Wednesday had almost forgotten about the different shoes she was wearing.  They were so light she didn’t understand what they were made of. Surely it was silk, blended together with air.  She had never felt so fine a material before.
                “Lei’Anne’s been taking me and Winter around, but Winter went off somewhere, and Aunt Cheri called Lei’Anne and Desdemona back, so it was just me.  But I did meet Brielle.  She’s such a darling, don’t you think?” Willow said, in a dreamy mood as she sat down on one of the bedspreads and turned her eyes down so her lashes were covering her eyes.
                “Brielle?  I do suppose,” Wednesday said doubtfully.  “She is sweet.”
                Willow hopped up, back onto her feet, and headed to the window.  Wednesday trailed after.  “I also met Aunt Elizabeth.  I’ve never met her before, you know; she’s Father’s sister.”  Willow gazed out the window, then unlatched it and pushed it up and out.  A fresh and startlingly brackish breeze whistled past them, ruffling the girls’ hair and making their dress skirts billow like sails.  “Have you met her?”
                Wednesday stared out the window, captivated by the view.  “Hm?  Oh, I met her earlier.”  She tore her gaze away from the scenery and set about exploring their quarters again.  “I have such a hard time thinking of this as a room.  It’s almost like a flat.  A small one, of course, but really, I could live in this one room if I had all the supplies.”
                “If you were willing to cook and do your clothes and all that yourself, of course, hm?” Willow said indifferently, striding over.
                Wednesday winced.  “I meant in size,” she said stubbornly as Willow looked at her skeptically.
                “Mmm. Of course.”
                “Anyhow,” Wednesday said, willing to change the subject, “how did you find your way up here without getting lost?  Did Brielle direct you?”
                “Well, yes,” Willow admitted, “but I think I know the route now.  It’s just a quick turn up the stairs, down the hall, left and then straight and then left again, and then skip the next right and up the stairs, turn to the right at first opportunity—”
                “No, that can’t be right,” Wednesday said, having remembered something different, despite her lack of understanding of the house layout.
                “Oh, it doesn’t matter what you think,” Willow said, brushing the comment aside.  “By the way, dear sister, have you explored downstairs?  Our little room here is truly exquisite, but down on the lower floors there’s much more to see.  Brielle didn’t lead me very far, only directing me up here, but Lei’Anne took me for a quick go-by of her favorite places earlier, and she has good taste.  If you want, I can try and lead you around, since I’ve nothing else to do but snooze.”
                “That’s comfortingly, as well as a lovely suggestion on your part, but Des already claimed that right,” Wednesday said lightly, hoping her response wouldn’t agitate Willow.  Willow shrugged, fingering the stems of the assorted flowers arranged in a vase on the windowsill. 
                “Whatever you please, Your Majesty,” she said, grinning as she snapped an iris clean under the calyx.  “I might suggest that you go see the atelier.  It’s Luka’s, you know, the youngest one, but granted, he has some degree of talent.”
                Wednesday perked up at the thought of Luka Corell.  The younger child was still a mysterious and quiet figure to her, and she saw him as a potential friend, sharing the same interests as her, after all. Willow slightly tilted her head to one side, studying Wednesday’s face.
                “You haven’t met him yet?  What’s that look on your face?  You don’t fancy him, right?” Willow teased lightly, grabbing a pillow off of one of the beds in the bedroom section and tossing it at Wednesday’s head.
                Wednesday flinched as the pillow glanced off her shoulder.  “Stop it!  And no, I don’t fancy him.  I’m just curious since he’s so closed off.”
                “You can say that again,” Willow said.  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you?  I’m so bored and I need a task….”
                “No thanks.  Supper’s at eight, by the way, if Brielle didn’t tell you,” Wednesday added, diverting the subject before Willow could grab onto the topic of touring again.  She was curious, though; curious about the Corells and their odd family, especially mysterious Luka, not to mention the ones she hadn’t met yet; and curious about the atelier Willow had been talking about.  Yet she was reluctant to press her sister for more details in fear that Willow might again take up the idea of leading Wednesday around like a little dog.  She seated herself on a wicker chair and reclined back in contentment. 
                “Come on, aren’t you going to do anything interesting?” Willow wheedled.  “I might as well go back downstairs if there’s nothing to do here.”
                “If you move that table you can practice dancing on the main floor,” Wednesday suggested, nodding her head at the dainty round table and chairs set up in the middle of their enormous quarters. 
                Willow wrinkled her nose.  “I don’t want to.  It’s so hot, even inside.  Dancing will just make me perspire, and I absolutely hate perspiring.”  She was altogether as gauche as Wednesday had ever seen, but the heat seemed to have made Willow weary and irritated at the same time, and Wednesday did not feel inclined to be in the vicinity of a crabby Willow. 
                “All right.  You can go and see Lei’Anne,” Wednesday suggested politely.
                “She’s busy.  As is Desdemona,” Willow added just as the question arose on Wednesday’s tongue.  “And even if I wanted to, I don’t know where she went.  Off with her mother, somewhere.”
                “Well, I don’t know then,” Wednesday decided.  She wandered into the bedroom past the wall partition and sat down lightly on one of the beds, hugging a pillow to her chest.  Finally she lay back down, staring at the ceiling.  “Go back downstairs.  Are you willing to call me when there’s supper?”
                “No,” Willow said stoutly.  Wednesday heard a creak and a swish of skirts as Willow rose and headed for the door.  “You have to come yourself.”
                “Fine, fine.” Wednesday waved a hand vaguely. 
                She drifted off in a half doze after she heard Willow leave.  The bed was so comfortable, nicer than the ones at home.  She was starting to think this was her home, this enormous mansion farmhouse in this charming agrestic land.  Truly she’d only been here less than half a day, but she was rapidly growing accustomed to the scenery outside, and the soft coziness of the house that didn’t seem to exist in their gloomy and grayer home.
                Some time later, as Wednesday sank through layers of silky dreams, she was startled awake by a tap on the door, and nearly lurched off the bed.  Opening the door to a slit, she peeked out, looking into a bright blue eye framed by impossibly long lashes.  Brielle’s eye.
                “Oh!  It’s you, Brielle.”  Wednesday leaned away from the door.
                “Yes.  I came up to fetch you for supper.  Is everything okay?  Why are you holding the door shut?” Brielle asked through the tiny crack.
                “Oh, I’m sorry.”  Wednesday quickly opened the door wider.  Brielle was standing there, and she looked Wednesday up and down.  “Brielle, is it already suppertime?  Did I miss something?”
                “Oh, don’t fret, you aren’t late,” Brielle reassured her.  “But you will be if you don’t hurry.  Come on, I’ll take you.  What do you think of your room?”
                “It’s delightful,” Wednesday admitted, following Brielle out into the hall and closing the door behind her.  “I just hadn’t expected it to be so large.  The room could be a miniature house all on its own.”
                “That’s good,” Brielle said with a touch of relief.  “We were thinking we’d maybe missed something.  We were trying to make it as close to a little home as possible, because I do know that this grand place can be rather—stifling.  It’s a lot to take in.”
                “You can say that again,” Wednesday joked, picking up her skirts slightly as the ruffled edges caught on the carpet.  Her steps made no sound on the floor.  “I’ve never thought that there would be such a nice place in the countryside.  Before coming here, I had rather expected a charming but sizable cottage with lots of grassy field space.”
                “Oh.  Well, you were mistaken,” Brielle laughed.  “I’m telling you, you’ll have a jolly good time here all the same.  And we do have a great deal of empty space.  Good for having tea or riding horses.  Do you enjoy riding?”
                “Somewhat,” Wednesday said, recalling her last time riding, which had resulted in her falling off a horse and having to stay in bed for over a week.
                “We have a few horses,” Brielle said as they descended sets of stairs.  Wednesday didn’t focus on the decorations anymore.  She could always explore the manor more thoroughly when Des took her around.  “And I do love riding.  I’ve met some amazing horses here, especially the mares, who are just so beautiful and sweet.  So, you feel like you can go riding later?  I’d love to get to know you better.  Especially since we’ve had only a brief meeting with each other.”
                “It seems fine with me,” Wednesday replied, only slightly uneasily.  She was intrigued by Brielle’s unusual personality.  At first she had come across as not only unusual, but domineering, but she could see through Brielle’s pompous outlook and saw a fine little lass inside.  “But really, with such a grand house, do you really have need to pay attention to your lawns?”
                Brielle smiled.  “The fields are the best part, because they’re completely natural.”
                “So, you have an appreciation for wildlife?” Wednesday inquired.
                “Most definitely,” Brielle said, looking at Wednesday sideways.   “From your tone, I suppose you do also.”
                “That’s exactly right,” Wednesday agreed.  “Finally, something we have in common.”  She felt a little bit plain wearing her homely skirts while Brielle had donned that incredibly rich and beautiful swooping silk and satin work of art.  “I love roses, mostly, but I also have an affinity for other flowers and water.”
                “Mmm.  Roses?”  Brielle took her arm to help Wednesday down a tricky spiral staircase.  “I love snowdrops.  And crocuses.  Usually I can’t decide which ones I like better…but, of course, bodies of water are beautiful.  We have this crystal clear stream running through our land and it’s just so lovely, especially in the summer when Anna and I go out together over there and dip our toes in the water when no gentlemen are around.”
                “Des—cousin, you know—she has some pools of water on her family’s land.  They live farther south than we do, so they have more land space,” Wednesday explained.  “But not as far south as you and your family do.”
                “I’d love to take a look there,” Brielle said.  “But I’d rather take you to the stream.  I know it’s deathly hot here, while up north where you live it’s cold to a degree I can’t imagine—but usually it’s not so hot down here.  We’ve just gotten a terrible heat wave recently, and I don’t know why, but all of us are suffering.”  She smoothed down her skirts as they reached a landing and began making their way down winding halls, with Wednesday mindlessly trailing after. 
                “It sounds beautiful,” Wednesday said wistfully, thinking of the shimmering heat outside. 
                “It is,” Brielle said with a childish grin that reminded Wednesday of Willow’s. 
                “Well, then you’d better take me there soon,” Wednesday teased, poking a finger at Brielle’s hair.  Brielle grinned and batted back at Wednesday. 
                They reached a very nice pair of French doors outlined in mahogany-color wood and filled with panes of engraved opaque glass.  Brielle pushed them open without a second thought, and Wednesday trailed after inside. 
                “Oh, my dear girl!”
                Wednesday barely had time to take in the people gathered around the table before someone swept her into a tight hug.  Startled, she staggered back, and the woman held her at arm’s length, beaming into Wednesday’s face.
                “Oh—dear,” Wednesday stammered. 
                An olive-skinned woman with shiny dark brown hair tied up in spilling swirls was smiling widely at her with slightly distant, light blue eyes.  She affectionately patted Wednesday’s cheek while all the people at the tables flocked around her and Brielle, starting to chatter. 
                “Umm—oh.  Might I ask—?” Wednesday began in confusion.
                “Wednesday, meet my mother Reyna,” Brielle said, taking Wednesday’s shoulder possessively and gesturing at the older woman.  “Mother, meet Wednesday.”
                “Ah.”  So this was Mrs. Reyna Corell, Brielle’s mother.  Wednesday smiled apologetically.  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Corell.  I didn’t recognize you—it’s a pleasure to meet you—”
                “Please, don’t apologize,” Mrs. Corell laughed.  “It is I who has been avoiding you, rather—I’m afraid I can be slightly nervous about first encounters—and please, just call me Miss Reyna.  ‘Mrs.’ is just too old for me.”
                “Oh.  Well, thank you,” Wednesday said rather awkwardly, glancing at Brielle.
                “Don’t be overwhelmed,” Brielle murmured as she steered Wednesday past Miss Reyna.  “Mother’s a real homely woman, and she’s awfully chuffed about meeting you and your family, so she can be a little—engulfing, if you would say.”
                “Hmmm.”  Wednesday searched the sea of faces for a familiar one.  She spotted Winter and Willow chattering with Lei’Anne, who was looking politely bored as she drifted back to the dining table.  Des was sitting rigidly next to Lei’Anne, but when she spotted Wednesday, her eyes lit up, especially the amber one.  Des’s mother and father were holding each other’s hands and softly murmuring to one another. 
                Wednesday’s parents were seated together at the table near the head, where there was an empty seat that was presumably for Miss Reyna and her husband.  (All the younger ones were seated near the other end of the table to show them their place, of course.)
                Miss Reyna hovered behind Wednesday like an overprotective hen.  “Ah—Wednesday, my dear, I suppose you already know Brielle—down there at the other end of the table is my eldest daughter, Anna, named after your Grand-Aunt Anna Fontana, of course.  And then over there’s my eldest son, Lance—don’t mind him.  He’s a little—er—arrogant, and I apologize for his behaviors—”
                Wednesday caught Des’s eye, who gave her an “I told you so” look. 
                “—Of course you already know Brielle, or so it seems—and over there is my youngest, Luka—Luka, stop hiding and lift your head—”  Miss Reyna swept past Wednesday in a swoop of rich silky skirts and started fussing over her son. 
                Wednesday craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of her potential new friend, but all she could see was a shock of pale brown hair peeking out from behind Lei’Anne’s neck and shoulder. 
                “Come and sit down, Wednesday,” Brielle said, pushing Wednesday towards an empty chair that was probably for her.  “We can introduce you later.  I’m starving, and it’s almost five past eight.”
                “On time, aren’t you?” Wednesday teased lightly.  She took the seat next to Des, and Brielle sat on her other side. 
                “So, you’ve found a new friend, haven’t you?” Des said, bumping Wednesday’s arm with her shoulder.  A strand of her wispy blonde hair slipped from her tightly woven hairstyle and onto Wednesday’s arm.
                “Oh, yes indeed,” Wednesday grinned, pressing her lips together wryly as Des gave Brielle a shy wave.  “You know, that’s a nice hairdo,” she added, gesturing vaguely at the twisted-up sleek swirls and buns of Des’s pale blonde locks.  “Did you have that earlier?  I didn’t notice.”
                “No…Lei’Anne forced me into a chair and made me sit still while she did it.  She said my previous one wasn’t fit for such an occasion.”  Des shook her head in mock disgust, casting Lei’Anne an amused look over the table.  Lei’Anne appeared to not notice, but Wednesday wasn’t sure. 
                “Mmm.”  Wednesday looked around, studying the formal dining room.  She was more than impressed, as she was with the rest of the country manor.  While Brielle started up a conversation with Des, Wednesday tuned them out to survey their supper spot. 
                The room was long and fairly wide, spanning a generous amount of space.  Most of the room was taken up by the polished dark-wooded rectangular table that extended to nearly both ends of the room, rounded on the ends.  The table was set with engraved crystal plates with glass flowers imprinted on the edges, and linen ivory napkins were set out with silver cutlery.  There were enough settings for all of the guests—that was, to say, all twenty of them.  As Miss Reyna calmed down and took her spot, everyone who had still been hovering around the French doors came drifting back to their spots.  The chairs were luxurious gold-lined creations with clawed feet, the seats made of soft maroon velvet. 
                Around the table Wednesday’s gaze traveled, from herself to Des on her left, then to Lei’Anne, Luka, Willow, Winter, Missus Elizabeth, Wednesday’s father George II, her mother Esthetique, Mr. Damien Corell near the head of the table, Miss Reyna, Grand-Aunt Anna, her husband Gordon, Grandfather George I and his wife Lucia, Des’s parents Mr. Jerry and Mrs. Cheri, Anna Corell (the oldest Corell daughter), Lance, and Brielle at the foot of the table on Wednesday’s right. 
                Wednesday found herself staring curiously at the Corells, since except for Brielle and now Miss Reyna, she had not seen any of them before.  Mr. Damien, Miss Reyna’s husband, was tall and rather strapping, somewhat middle-aged with sandy trimmed hair and cold blue eyes.  He was talking to Miss Reyna with a touch of a smirk in his smile showing from underneath his thin mustache. 
                Anna Corell, the eldest Corell daughter, looked to be in late marrying age and was considerably less attractive than her father or even her mother, having inherited Miss Reyna’s chocolate hair but her father’s eyes, though more subdued than Mr. Damien’s.  She had a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose and was staring lost in thought out a window. 
                Second eldest was Lance, looking almost uncannily like his father but with brown hair that was slightly lighter than his mother’s, about the same color as Brielle’s hair.  He also had the sharp cold blue eyes and the unmistakable trace of smirk on his lips as Mr. Damien’s, though seeing an adult’s expression on the fourteen year-old’s face was rather disconcerting. 
                Of course, Brielle was very pretty, with her flowing brown curls and long eyelashes framing blue eyes.  Wednesday sent her a smile and received a sunny grin in return.
                The youngest was Luka Corell, somewhat of a mystery to Wednesday still.  He was sitting quite still, staring down at his crystal plate with his head slightly ducked.  His pale brown hair, lighter than Brielle’s or Lance’s, spilled over his forehead, rather looser than his brother’s.  His blue eyes matched Miss Reyna’s, a little bit distant, as though he were conjuring up a fantastic dream in his mind. 
                “Wednesday?  Wednesday, are you listening to me?”
                Wednesday became suddenly aware of Des tapping her repeatedly on the shoulder.  Starting, she glanced at her friend.  “Sorry?”
                “Is something wrong?”  Des followed Wednesday’s gaze until she found its end.  A grin spread across her face.  “Oh, I see.  Ogling Luka Corell like a peasant lass, are you?  I don’t suppose you’ve found someone who suits your fancy, eh?”
                “Don’t speak like that!”  Wednesday playfully slapped Des on the shoulder.  “No, I don’t!  Why does everyone think that I fancy Luka?  Goodness sakes, he’s only twelve, isn’t he?  Still a while to go?”
                “Ah, well, you do keep staring at him, you can’t deny that,” Des said with a very posh manner.
                “You have no shame,” Wednesday teased. 
                “Coming from you, I don’t know what to expect,” Des returned with equal verve.
                “I’m oh so sorry to interrupt your lovely conversation,” Lei’Anne snapped waspishly from Des’s other side, automatically cutting off the conversation, “but could you please quiet down!  A few of us are trying to be civilized here.”  She glared pointedly at the two of them and subtly moved her shoulder to indicate Luka, who was sitting next to her. 
                “Ah—yes, of course,” Wednesday said awkwardly as Luka cast her a curious look.  “I’m sorry, Lei’Anne—we should’ve been a little quieter.”
                “A little?”  Lei’Ane huffed.  From behind Luka, Willow made a face at Wednesday that clearly indicated her opinion of Wednesday had plunged even further.  Winter was sitting haughtily in a way that made Wednesday feel she was held in very low regard at this moment. 
                “Oh, stuff it, Lei’Anne,” Des said good-spiritedly.
                “Silly girl.”  Lei’Anne turned away with a huff. 
                Wednesday leaned in to Des.  “You don’t suppose he knew we were talking about him, do you? Luka, I mean?  That’s mighty embarrassing.”
               “You could’ve thought it prudent to keep your voice down,” Des said, stifling a laugh at Wednesday’s expression.  “Honestly, Wednesday, someone in Paris could’ve heard you.  I’m sure he did.”
                “Oh, dear.  I hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea of me,” Wednesday said, pushing her lower lip up into a pout. 
                “Don’t worry about it,” Des said distractedly, checking a clock that was situated neatly in one corner of the room.  “My, it’s almost past eight now!  What in the world are the Corells thinking?  I’m starving to death in my corset, and feeling faint besides.”
                “Now, now,” Wednesday consoled her.  “I’m sure Miss Reyna and Mr. Damien are just late diners.”
                “Call it that if you must,” Des said. 
                Wednesday nodded, satisfied.  “That I do.”
                “Now, Wednesday, you aren’t in the place to voice your opinion—”
                “Des, you are quite the lady!” Wednesday laughed.  “So much for the great Desdemona Fontana—”
                “Ha!”  Des declared aloud.  The amber in her eye flared as she grinned at Wednesday.
                “Girls, hush,” Lei’Anne said irritably for the second time.  “I’m losing my patience, now.”
                “Yes, exactly,” simpered Willow from three seats down from Wednesday’s, lifting her chin and staring Wednesday down.  “Please, shut your trap.”
                “Willow!” Winter admonished.     
                “Why exactly are you angry at me, now?” Willow glared. 
                Wednesday rolled her eyes.  “Willow, that should be an unspeakably easy answer.  Now just mind me for now.  Hopefully you’ll be in a more decent mood after supper…?”
                “Wednesday, you too,” Winter said, clicking her tongue at both of them.  “Lei’Anne’s wiser than all of us as well, so you’d do well to heed her words.”  She glanced at the head of the table, where most of the adults were seated.  “Though I do wonder how long supper will take….”
                The French doors swung open and a number of maids with platters and carts emerged into the room amid clouds of steam, heads bowed demurely.  Mr. Damien looked up, and Miss Reyna waved the maids over to start dishing out the appetizers.
                “Speak of the devil, and he shall appear,” Des grumbled.  “It’s about time.  My stomach must be touching my spine now.”
                “Don’t say that; it gives me the shivershakes,” Wednesday reprimanded, having just experienced a mild shiver.
                “Do forgive me.”
                There were enough settings for at least six courses, and the platters of appetizers appeared meager upon the vast tableclothed surface of the oblong dining table.  Wednesday stared in surprised delight at the tiny rolls wrapped in delicate spring leaves, and the delectable light bruschetta drizzled in sweet sauce.  It smelled delicious and inviting, and it was only then Wednesday truly appreciated the art of food. 
                “So!  May I have everyone’s attention?” 
                Everyone’s heads swiveled as Mr. Damien stood up, clasping his hands together.  He smiled around at the all, but the touch of smirk in his face became more pronounced, so it rather appeared that he was smiling evilly.  Wednesday had to avert her eyes to keep from laughing aloud.  Des glanced at her sideways and Wednesday subtly shook her head, biting her lower lip hard.
                “I must apologize for the lack of timing,” he said pompously.  “However, it is with pleasure that I invite the family to share supper with our family, so that we may all bond together.  I do know that there have been several first-time meetings, and that you all are probably anxious to celebrate Mrs. Anna Fontana’s birthday—”  He nodded respectfully at the placing near the head of the table where old Great-Aunt Anna was sitting hunched over with wrinkled hands, smiling placidly as Mr. Damien inclined his head towards her.  “But just in the spirit of showing off, I hope that you will enjoy your stay of our house and of course, meeting our family.  We Corells are generally hospitable, so do not hesitate to ask us of anything if you need something.  My daughters Anna and Brielle and my sons Lance and Luka will be all too happy to help you, I assume,” and here he sent them all a pointedly withering look, “and of course for more serious matters, Reyna and myself will most likely be around. 
               “Now, with all that business done with, I would like you to enjoy supper, starting with our appetizers.  Please, serve yourself, and don’t be shy to take anything.”  Mr. Damien smiled charmingly, though the smirk ruined it slightly.  “After all, there are obviously no manners in this house, judging from our ridiculously spoiled children.”
                “Now that’s a little unfair,” Brielle murmured.  “Though he’s right on the mark with Lance.”
                “Ooh, I know, right?” Des chimed in as Mr. Damien sat back down and there was a general hustle and bustle as the guests were all exclamations as they tried the light foods the Corells’ cook had prepared.  Wednesday smiled, glad that shy Des was finding a new friend.  It was about time. 
                “You eat this sort of feast every day, Brielle?” Wednesday asked Brielle as Wednesday and Des stared at the enormous platters of appetizers in front of them. 
                “Why yes, I’ve gotten quite used to it,” Brielle said indifferently, filling her plate with small appetizers that looked like paintings.  Wednesday supposed rich people like the Corells could afford to have their food made to be pretty.  She watched curiously as Brielle also took some strange kind of roll cut in the shape of a blooming lotus. 
                “You sound so casual when you say that,” Des said from Wednesday’s other side as she blinked at the overwhelming choices in front of her.  “And these are just for starters!”
                Brielle shrugged.  Wednesday didn’t think it was affectation that was making Brielle so casual, but she couldn’t be sure. 
                Des leaned over to murmur in Wednesday’s ear.  “So many choices.  I don’t know what to try!”
                “Just take a little bit of everything, then,” Wednesday said, laughing nervously.  She felt exactly the same way as Des did. 
                All in all, it was a lovely meal.  Wednesday did her best to try everything, but with all the variety the Corells offered, there was no way she would be able to fit even a teaspoon full of each dish into her stomach, especially since her corset limited her ability to stretch.  Winter and Willow had a faint row, which thankfully went unnoticed by the adults, and the entire time Lei’Anne was glaring daggers at Lance for making the comment about her décolletage, but Wednesday was able to enjoy herself despite the fact her stomach was feeling altogether far too tight.
                “Say,” Des mentioned to Brielle as dessert was served out, “that’s a handsome dress right there, cousin.”
                “I do suppose it is,” Brielle said, flattered as she looked down at the swooping floaty layers of purple that seemed to hover like mist over her full crinolines, seemingly imbued with hundreds of tiny crystalline mirrors, for the chatoyant colors appeared to swim and gloss in front of Wednesday’s eyes.  It was a marvel, Wednesday thought, that Brielle could move around in that ruffled floofy contraption.  Even with the comfortable shoes on, there was no explanation how Brielle could carry such a load under her corset without dropping it all. Brielle seemed perfectly content, which only made Wednesday more discomfited. She was starting to feel slightly faint, and frantically fanned herself under the table with one hand, tempted to lift her skirts just a tad so her legs could breathe, but that wasn’t acceptable with so many guests around, and she didn’t dare.  Instead she just fluttered her palm about her waist, hoping not to be noticed.
                Brielle went on.  “Father had it specially designed. He and Mother usually do such things for all of us—that is, to say, me and my siblings. Oh, sometimes I get jealous, I’ll admit—there’s this absolutely gorgeous gold one that my elder sister Anna has, silly girl, that dress puts her to shame instead of the other way around….”
                Des’s eyebrows rose at this mention. Wednesday held back a grimace; so was Brielle’s pride. It was something she had already masterfully learned to deal with, and she prayed Des wouldn’t incite the flare in Brielle.
                Thankfully, Des just nodded.  “I do understand you, Brielle…you see, I’m sure you know my sister Lei’Anne…”
                “A marvelous girl, by the way,” Brielle put in.
                “You might think so,” Des said with a charming smile, as the amber in her eye glinted mischievously.  “But you may not think so after I tell you the scandalous incident that happened in the washroom two days before we arrived here at your house….”
                The two girls lapsed in conversation while Wednesday eased her presence away from the conversation. Up near the front of the table, Miss Reyna and Mr. Damien were welcomingly engaging the others in earnest conversation; Des’s father Mr. Jerry was passionately defending a certain political act that had recently been committed, and Aunt Elizabeth was making somewhat more mansuete replies in the doleful but kind way that she spoke. Several of the more elderly guests at the head of the table, not willing to keep up with modern politics, told stories to each other. Anna Corell was arguing over some paltry issue with her brother Lance a few seats away, as were Winter and Willow. Next to them, Luka Corell had his face turned down so he looked at his plate, solitarily eating and quietly avoiding everyone’s gaze.
                Brielle turned away to join the argument between Lance and Anna, distracted, and Wednesday turned to Des. 
                “Quite an evening, don’t you think?” Des said mildly, feeling her stomach gently.
                “I have to agree with you,” Wednesday said. “I’m feeling bloated at this point in time….”  She glanced up at the head of the table.  “Des,” she said, lowering her voice, “how come none of the family from Mr. Damien’s side came?”
                “Say again?” Des said, equally quietly.
                “Miss Reyna’s maiden name is Ebenezer,” Wednesday said, mentally referring to her study of the family tree. She could not help but feel something was out of place.  “Her father is Mr. Gordon Ebenezer up there at the table, who is married to Grand-Aunt Anna, and she’s from the Fontana side of the family. You and I and our families stem from Fontana roots, mostly. But how come none of Mr. Damien’s family is here? The other Corells, the ones to which we are not acquainted?”
                Des leaned over conspiratorially. “Truthfully, I’m not sure,” she confessed in a low tone, glancing at Brielle, “but I did hear some gossip about Mr. Damien’s family. They say he’s a sly man, a trickster, and he does seem awfully proud, I’ll tell you—and that his family disowned him, of sorts. He consequently has severed all ties with them, and lives among Miss Reyna’s side of the family…I suppose he tries to hide his past.”  Des giggled, lightening up.  “But they’re all just stories, I’m sure. Idle tales that pop up around such figures. After all, Miss Reyna did marry him, so he can’t be all that bad. But you do know who is bad?”
                “Lance?” Wednesday guessed.
                “Exactly,” Des said, her blue eye darkening.  “He’s a mangy dog, that one.”  She sent him a scathing look across the table, but Lance was too busy arguing with Anna to pay attention.  “I had the misfortune to end up in conversation with him while the rest of the supper guests were gathering round the table.  He made some extraordinarily uncivilized comments about my dress, and my speech.”
                “Your speech?”  Wednesday was befuddled.  “What, exactly, is wrong with your speech?”
                “I’m not sure,” Des said darkly, “but I don’t like him. Lei’Anne’s already declared war on him, and it seems that Anna is not succeeding in arguing him down, nor is Brielle…”
                The rest of the dinner passed pleasantly, mingled with idle chat and gossip, and a few declarations on politics.  Wednesday did not care for politics, and spent most of her time talking with Des and Brielle when the latter wasn’t distracted.  After the guests had started to clear, Wednesday and Des went for a light walk on the Corells’ property, as many of the others were.  The supper had penetrated late into the evening, and it was past eleven before Wednesday had changed her comfortable slippers out for her old boots and walked into the steamy night air. Neither girl minded what their mothers would have to say on not having an escort, but it hardly counted as most of the guests were out for a stroll.
                “Don’t you just feel at home?” Des murmured as they walked beneath the sprawling stars.  The moon, semi-formed, sprinkled generous light from overhead, so it was rather like walking beneath a web of candles.  “This house…it doesn’t have the stately feel my home does.”
                “I agree,” Wednesday said.  “But you live farther in the countryside also, Des…I would have thought that you would be accustomed to this sort of landscape and atmosphere.”
                “It is not the physical form,” Des amended.  “It’s the aura. The relaxation here is relieving compared to the tense thoughts of home. Especially with Lei’Anne engaged….”
                “Oh, yes.”  Wednesday smiled.  “Tell me more about the absolutely dashing young master Gilbert Gerdrane.”
                Des stifled a giggle.  “Oh, can you imagine that? Being called with such a surname as that?”  She adopted a pompous voice.  “‘Mrs. Lei’Anne Gerdrane!’ Oh, the horror!”  She and Wednesday lapsed into laughter.  “Can you imagine that, Wednesday? Call my sister that!”
                “We’ll see,” Wednesday said, smiling amusedly.  “Oh, we shall see.”


The starlight glimmered overhead, dazzlingly bright like nothing Willow had ever seen.  She trailed among the willow trees of a purchase of rolling land close to the side of the Corells’ house, not minding the fact that her crinolines were catching every miniscule twig on the ground and every sharp-tongued leaf.  She hadn’t had this kind of peace in quite a while, walking by herself while she mused revelation-style thoughts under her breath. It wasn’t often she got these urges, these—things that came over her and shut the irritable side of her down; but when it came, her swallowed her completely.
                It was refreshing in a way, Willow thought as she let a strand of weeping willow’s hair play across her flat gloved palm. None of the hotheaded personality she usually had remained.  And yet it was so dull. So unsatisfactory and unfulfilling…just as the delicate and dull tree she was named after.
                Willow pondered this as she walked about the trees, their countless eyebrow leaves dancing fancifully through the air like a line of ballroom dancers.  Ballroom dancing…her mind drifted to the New Year’s Festival, nearly a month past now, but still crisp and clear in her mind.  Cassius and she had been dancing, and it had lit up Willow’s heart as certainly as one striking a match to spark a flame going on an oil lamp candle. A warm, mellow glow as gentle as Cassius’s smile.
                She would rather not be a princess.  The restrictive social way of living among prestige and class. She hadn’t the richest family, yet her status was implied, simply because of her title,  never mind how much wealth her father owned or how large a dowry she would have if she were to be married off—which she supposed would never happen.  Being a princess, her father would only allow suitors to come to her, not the other way around. Oh, Cassius, it pained her deeply to think that he would not come for her; and that notion made Willow’s lip curl, and her face darken considerably.  She had once caught her reflection in a rain puddle while having these thoughts, and her face was stormy, matched with the cool calmness of someone in control.
                She was not satisfied with this way of living, even among the certain degree of luxury she unconsciously expected.  Willow ripped off a tree tress and held the long waterfall of tapered foxtails draped over her palm.  Rich and beautiful and pristine, that was what she was, and wasn’t yet content.  What more could she want?
                And yet her fondest wishes came in dreams at night, of dressing in plain coarse clothes and sneaking into the village to become a thread spinner like Cassius Wickerworth.  So simple a life, earning shillings by the work of one’s hand—and yet, why was she so nostalgic for it, something she, after all, had never known?  It was cruelly ironic, how she wanted to surround herself with commoners with their pidgin dialects and their rough outdoor work turning brown as a bread loaf under the baking sun.
                If only Cassius could see her now, see her desires—for he had a way of looking at her that pierced her through—he, surely, would understand.  Willow threw the branch away in disgust.  She wanted nothing to do with that kind of elegance.  It was a different kind of elegance she wanted; the poise and posture, the tousled chestnut hair and the green eyes glimmering with barely suppressed mischief and mirth. The elegance that led to stir Willow’s heart and turn her astray. The elegance of a certain thread spinner who Willow adored above all compare.
                How was it that he, a plain peasant (or so he had said), could have so much dignity, when Willow—a princess, no less!—was steeped in shame and disappointment?
                It was interesting to have these philosophical thoughts, Willow said to herself, as she ripped off another willow branch with one great tug.  She threw it aside and watched bitterly as the leaves fluttered in a weaving, taunting dance as they fell.  Even destroyed, they maintained a semblance of beauty.  That was all Willow know, she realized, watching the branch fall.  Failure with dignity. Style.  But what good was that unless you had a true heart of gold?
                Willow resumed her pedantic, methodical weaving circles about the tree trunks, and meandered her way towards the back-side gardens of the Corells’ house.  And what a grand house it was, she thought.  Another remarkable work of architecture that she couldn’t have cared less about.
                She came to a facet of the house, seeing that there was a thriving horde of ivy attempting to claw its way to the roof.  Underneath the ivy, rather unkempt garden no larger than twice Willow’s bed.  Among the cucumber-frames and overgrown grape espaliers was very little product, besides clumps of vines and the occasional cluster of wildflowers.  A lonely cucumber was growing at the base of a frame.
                What a sad little garden, she thought sympathetically. She was debating whether or not to pluck the cucumber and put it out of its misery when she realized she could no longer hear the birds’ incessant chirping about the trees, nor the irritating chaffing cacophony of the cicadas that seemed to frequent here.  In fact, all was almost eerily silent, and she felt her mind being drawn a certain direction.
                Willow turned, somehow expecting to see someone there—or, at least, a very particular someone with green eyes.  Yet no one she could see was standing in front of her.  However, she did hear the tiny trickle of a stream that seemed a short ways away.  Long enough distance for a good five minutes’ stroll, but no less and certainly no more.  Willow set off, her mind drawn towards it, following her ears, not minding that her dress train was picking up bushelfuls of stray leaves and grass. A strand of tree hair fell from its scalp past her, and she let it drop.  The sounds of the stream were getting louder, so surely she was nearing her destination.  The steamy air of the country terrain made her work up a mild heat; and she wished, not for the first time, that she had brought her reticule with her on this walk, so that she might put her fan to good use.  Of course, being the lazy, incredibly stupid idiot that she was, she had foolishly left it behind at the house; never mind what Mother would say about not being ladylike.  She wasn’t a real lady yet, anyhow, seeing as she had not had her coming-of yet, but there were no excuses with Mother.
                There was a thick purchase of willow trees ahead, and Willow could hear and faintly see the rushing stream from between the swaying locks of tightly bunched hair. She pushed her way through, absently brushing leaves off, and found that she was standing near the mouth of a small brook, which tumbled and bubbled and tripped its way over dislodged stones and dirt, banging itself up into tiny white foam pools.  The stream curved away from Willow in a gleaming black horseshoe, through another, less thick section of willows, and appeared to empty out into a small marshy pond of sorts.  
                But Willow wasn’t watching the pond.  Her eyes had alit on an unearthly, beautiful flower sprouting unnaturally from the side of the riverbank, its roots plunging straight into the water.  For some strange reason it drew Willow’s eye, the same way it drew her mind, an amphitheater of oddly black petals fanning out, seeming shimmer and bend the night air. As she came closer, she found it had no leaves; a pure black rose, somehow able to survive half-submerged in the river current.  Willow didn’t know why it captivated her so, but she approached the black rose, which shone in the night.  She stood in front of it, her will rested at last, bathed in moonlight and marveling at the flickering beauty of nature.
                A black rose….
                Suddenly, a flaring, intense thought bolted through her mind:
                Shadow King.
                Right then, a calm young man’s voice from right behind her said, “Don’t move, Princess.”

Chapter One                 Chapter Two                  Chapter Three             Chapter Four                Chapter Five            Chapter Six
Chapter Seven             Chapter Eight            Chapter Nine