Eliza Prokopovits

I spent several minutes going around the room. There were enough colored threads and needles and muslin in the cabinet by the chairs to keep me occupied for months, even if I did nothing else. I paused to look out the window closest to the hearth, letting the fire dispel some of the chill. Looking down from this height, I could see most of the garden—this room must have one of the best views in the house. Below me, two figures appeared, moving quickly along the path still marked with our footprints. I recognized the courier as one. The other was a young woman, clutching her cloak around her and—I could think of no other word—fleeing. That fit with Hanne. What was so awful about this house or its inhabitants? I turned away from the window, stepping closer to the fire. I watched it dance among the logs until I was warm enough and calm enough to continue my exploration. There wasn’t much else here besides the bed and the wardrobe and a table with a washbasin and pitcher. The water in the basin was cold, but I splashed my face and felt a little refreshed.

I opened the doors to the wardrobe and looked through the dresses slowly. Each one was fit for a princess. I ran my hand over the fine fabrics in awe. Papa occasionally got expensive commissions, but he and Mama took on those themselves; we girls only ever worked with the common materials. And how much these gowns must have cost! There were dozens of them, crammed together in the oversized wardrobe.

I turned away from them, overwhelmed. I hadn’t seen a single dress for ordinary wear—or an ordinary girl—in the entire collection. I looked down at my own dress and coat, which seemed dull and worn after the finery in the closet. But they were comfortable and homey, and I didn’t want to give them up. I sighed. What was I going to wear for dinner?

I was facing the bed now, and as if in answer, I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. Two gowns were laid out over the near edge of the bed. The first was all pink and gold and almost blended in with the counterpane. The second was silk as blue as the sky on a spring day, with pearls dotting the creamy lace insets. I walked over to them, unable to take my eyes off the blue one. I wanted to wear it so badly, but who was I to wear such a dress? Without consciously deciding to, I began unbuttoning my coat. I slipped it off and laid it on the bed. The room was cold, even with the fire going. I pulled my dress off over my head and laid it with my coat, then reached hesitant fingers toward the blue dress. No harm in just trying it on.

It fit beautifully, sitting just off the shoulders, with layers and layers of silk and lace flowing like a happy waterfall to the floor. I don’t think I breathed for a whole minute as I looked down at it, turning this way and that to see all angles. It was like something out of a fairy tale, something not made by human hands. I swallowed hard and took it off.

The pink dress fit me well too. It covered my shoulders and seemed to have fewer layers of fabric, though some of the trim looked like real gold leaf. One commission like this would feed my family for months.

I found a comb on the table with the washbasin and ran it through my hair, braiding it again carefully. At home I didn’t care if loose strands escaped the braids—my hair was just curly enough to make it hard to work with, not like Grace’s or Joy’s, which were perfectly straight—but here, in a dress like this, I wanted to look at least presentable. Ribbons of all colors were in a box in the wardrobe. I chose a white one for my hair.

When I’d finished, I realized that I had no idea how much time had passed. There was no clock in my room, and I hadn’t heard any tolling from elsewhere in the castle. I didn’t want to be late for dinner, or for finding out what horrors to expect here, so I left my room and walked the long hall back to the staircase. Butterflies were multiplying in my stomach, and I paused on the landing to take a deep breath.

Nothing awful has happened yet, I told myself sternly, my fingers tracing the edges of the rose pendant at my throat. It’s actually quite nice here so far.

So far didn’t help the butterflies any. I continued down the stairs.

The dimness of the entrance hall was unnerving, I admitted to myself. Unlit torches and candelabra lined the walls or stood on side tables. Two doors stood closed on one side of the hall. On the other, one half of a pair of double doors was cracked open a hand’s breadth, and the faintest glow spilled out. I pushed it open tentatively, just enough to poke my head around. I blinked. The room, large and echoey, didn’t smell musty or unused like most of the castle I’d just walked through. But there was another smell, a live, wild kind of smell, that didn’t seem to fit—with the room or with anything I’d ever encountered before. I hesitated in the doorway for a moment, trying to figure it out. I took a deep breath, still mystified, and stepped inside. The flickering candlelight I’d seen a hint of in the hall gleamed on porcelain and silver and a creamy white tablecloth, and I could see steam rising from the covered dishes lining the long table.

My stomach growled. I took a step nearer. A motion caught my eye, and I froze. Something was moving at the far end of the table. I stared hard but couldn’t see it clearly. It was coming closer, whatever it was. My heart galloped. My mouth was dry. About halfway along the table, a particularly large candelabra cast more light than the others, and as the thing passed by this, I saw it a little more clearly. I screamed.

It froze and watched me. I could see its dark eyes glittering. It was huge, as tall as the table even as it walked silently on all four feet. Its fur was dark, and I couldn’t make out its face, but I saw a long tail twitch.

We stared at each other. I had the feeling that the creature was waiting to see what I’d do. Would I keep screaming? Would I run? I wanted to scream again, but I bit my lip instead, so hard I tasted blood. What was the good of screaming? Was there anyone else in this place to hear me? And wouldn’t they be on the monster’s side? My feet were glued to the floor.

Out of the silence came a deep voice that growled like distant thunder. “You have nothing to fear.” I started shivering uncontrollably. “You are welcome here, Anora.”

I squeaked and bit down harder on my lip. When I’d gotten my nearly-escaped scream under control, I asked, “How do you know my name?” My voice shook.

“I’ve been expecting you,” the creature said, still not moving from his place halfway along the table.

I let out a whimper.

“You have nothing to fear,” he—it had to be a he—said. “I will not harm you.”

I worked up the courage to speak again. “Why am I here? What is going to happen to me?”

“Nothing,” rumbled the distant-thundery voice. “Consider this your home, for as long as you wish to stay.” He let out a breath that might have been a sigh. “And if you cannot bear to remain near me any longer, you may go at the end of one year.”

It was hard to read expressions in a voice that was a mix between a growl and a storm, but I thought he sounded forlorn. My shivering subsided, and I asked again, “But why?”

“This castle is big and lonely,” he said. I definitely heard the sadness now. We watched each other a moment longer. He said, “You must be hungry.”

I wasn’t sure my appetite had survived the encounter, but I nodded.

“Sit, then, and eat. You are safe here.”

I hesitated, fighting with myself. I wanted to run back to my room, but I didn’t want to anger him by not doing what he asked. I unglued my feet and tottered to the nearest chair. I fell into it gracelessly.

I lifted lids and half-filled my plate with potatoes and vegetables, roasted chicken, still-warm buns. But there was more food on that table than my entire family would eat—we could have hosted all the neighbors and still had plenty. Was this food for the creature too? He must have a massive appetite. A memory of fairy tales I’d heard as a child, of evil enchanters and monsters who had fattened children up before eating them, drifted through my mind. That wasn’t what was happening here, was it? I swallowed hard. No—I’d seen the last girl leave, and I’d seen Hanne when she’d come home. But my appetite had disappeared completely.

I took three or four bites because the creature was watching me, but I could do no more. I pushed my plate away and stood up.

“Forgive me,” I said. “It’s been a long journey, and I’m very tired.”

“Yes,” the creature rumbled. “I wish you a good night.”

I dropped a curtsy as I’d been taught in school and slipped back out into the entrance hall. The darkness was even deeper as night fell outside, and I imagined monsters in all the corners, hiding in the blackness, ready to pounce. I fled up the stairs, lifting my skirts so I could run full tilt back to my room. Once there, I slammed the door, turned the lock, and leaned against it, panting. When my heart was going at a more normal speed, I went over to the dying fire. I built it up and sank into the chair. I stayed there until my eyes began to get heavy, which wasn’t long—the journey had not been short, and today had been overfull. I found a nightgown in the wardrobe, hung up the pink dress next to the blue, and climbed into bed.

I dreamed again that night. I was standing at the foot of a snow-covered mountain, just one in a range that spread in either direction. I’d never seen mountains in real life, but there was no doubting what this was, stretching all the way to the clouds. My teeth were chattering—I seemed to have come without a coat in the middle of winter. I hugged myself and gaped at the mountain. As I watched, snow at the peak began to come loose, tumbling over itself, loosening more and more snow as it rolled toward me, sending up a cloud of snow above the mass of whiteness roaring down the mountain. I heard a voice beside me and looked—it was the same man from the dream before. He looked from the mountain to me, holding me with his dark eyes.

“Help me stop this,” he said again. “It will bury the villages at the foot of the mountain.”

“How?” I asked, turning back to the avalanche. Not even an army could have stopped the rush of snow and ice, and I didn’t have an army.

“Please help me,” he pleaded one last time.

It was a wall of whiteness coming toward us, a flood of snow rushing over us. It filled my nose and mouth and eyes, and it hurt to breathe.

I woke up in the darkness. It was freezing in my room. My teeth were chattering. The air was cold in my lungs. I was in the big bed alone—no sisters beside me to help me stay warm. I stumbled out of bed and over to the fire. I stirred the embers and got the fire going again, then tripped back to bed and fell fast asleep.

Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits

Breakfast the next morning was silent. We were a quiet family to begin with, but this stole our tongues completely. My sisters had said everything yesterday.

We stayed late around the breakfast table. We didn’t know when the courier was coming, but no one wanted to be somewhere else when he arrived. Mama had just sighed and gathered the breakfast dishes—Grace stood up to help—when there was a knock at the door. A bowl slipped out of Mama’s hands and clattered back onto the table.

Papa went to the door and opened it. Cold wind gusted inside. The courier was a few inches shorter than Papa, with light hair and eyes. His uniform was the same as all royal officials: dark blue with green braid trim. He didn’t have any bands across his sleeves, though, or any other signs of office. His service to the kingdom was just as mysterious as my final destination.

Joy and I got to our feet as Papa stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

“Thank you,” the courier said. He did not cross the threshold. “I’m here for Anora.”

“Yes.” Papa’s voice was dull.

Joy hugged me first, tears running down her cheeks again. Grace came around the table to hug me next. Mama dropped the bowls in the washbasin and wiped her hands on a towel before meeting me halfway. She kissed the top of my head.

“I love you, Mama,” I whispered, trying to cement this embrace into my memory.

She gave me a little extra squeeze and let me go.

I was already wearing my boots, so I put on my coat. One last look at my sisters and mother, then to Papa at the door. He hugged me and kissed my head as Mama had, and murmured, “We’ll see you next year, my beautiful girl. Be safe.”

I stepped back. Papa let his arms fall to his sides and nodded, one single resigned nod. I turned to pick up my small trunk, but the courier stepped inside to collect it for me.

“This way, please.”

I followed him outside, pulling the door shut behind me. No point in letting more cold air in. A carriage waited in front of our house, the horses’ livery the same dark blue with green trim as the courier. I could feel the neighbors watching as I climbed inside. I kept my eyes firmly away from Hanne’s parents’ house. The courier secured the trunk and then climbed in after me, closed the door, and signaled to the driver to be off.

The courier offered me furs and rugs that were piled on the seat. I thanked him absently as I watched out the window. I’d never ridden through town in a carriage before. The familiar streets vanished quickly behind us. All the places I’d known my whole life—gone.

I shivered and remembered the furs. I settled them over me and went back to staring out the window. The courier sat quietly beside me. How many girls had he transported like this? Had they all, like me, watched their homes and lives fall away in silence? Had some of them cried? Demanded to know where they were going and why? I had dozens of questions I wanted to ask, but leaving my family had leadened my tongue. I didn’t think he’d tell me, anyway.

***

After eight days of traveling south and east—I was fairly certain I hadn’t lost count, though I could have been wrong about the direction—the carriage stopped. The courier opened the door, and we climbed out. It wasn’t another waypoint, nor was it an inn. My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open as I stared out. Gray water stretched to the very limits of the sky. I’d never seen this much water all in one place. Farm ponds and streams now seemed insignificant. I seemed insignificant. And the sound—the rushing, pounding rhythm. It was music that no human could play, but I thought I could listen to it happily forever. Off to the right a little, I could see land: an island, because the endless water stretched out to either side. I was so dumbfounded by the view that I entirely missed the small cottage that stood a little way from where the horses had stopped, and the dock, with a boat moored beside it, that stretched into the choppy water.

Voices drew my attention. A man, bundled in fur and oilcloth, had come out of the cottage.

“This the one, then?” he asked with a glance at me. His accent was slow and lilting. He didn’t seem to mind that he was talking to a servant of the Steward. “Let’s be off before the tide goes.”

I tried to watch the island as we approached, but I couldn’t for long. The rising and falling of the boat was so foreign to me that I soon had to close my eyes and rest my head on my arms and concentrate extra hard on keeping my stomach in the right place. I didn’t look up again until I heard the boatman jumping out onto another dock and making the boat secure. Nothing much could be seen from here—just beach and rocks and a path that led further onto the island.

I fell to my knees on the dock as soon as the assisting hands let go. The dock seemed to be rocking too. This eventually stopped, and I stood up. The courier was waiting patiently for me to follow him.

We crossed the rocky beach and began to climb the path, which cut steeply upward before leveling out at the top. A small village clustered around the path: small but sturdy cottages, each with what looked like a large garden behind it, or perhaps a small field. Smoke rose from chimneys, and I saw someone chopping firewood, but otherwise no one was out. The man with the axe never looked up at us.

Beyond the village, the land rose again to a high stone wall that ran in either direction as far as I could see. It looked grim and forbidding beneath the gray sky. The path led right up to a gate in the wall, and the courier opened it.

I was not expecting a garden. Our passage left a trail of footprints behind us in the light dusting of snow. A scattering of evergreen shrubs showed the pattern of paths that branched out from ours, but most of the beds were empty, or what was in them had been cut back in preparation for spring and couldn’t be identified. It was eerie—too quiet, too still.

The path wound through the garden. There were enough hedges and low ornamental trees to block the view of anything beyond the garden until we were nearly on top of the house itself. Not house—castle. It stood atop another slope, pale gray and solemn, with what seemed like scores of windows glaring down at us.

I froze in my tracks at the first sight of it. “Am I to meet the Steward?” I asked softly. Somehow, until this moment, being chosen by the Steward for some mysterious honor had not equated in my mind to castles, much less a foreboding mass of sprawling gray stone.

“No,” the courier said, pausing for a moment while I stared at the edifice. “The Steward does not come here.”

I opened my mouth to ask why I was here, if that was the case, but he’d already continued up the path. I hurried to catch up. I didn’t particularly want to go into the looming building, but staying out in the cold wasn’t an option, and I didn’t want to go in alone.

The main door, like the garden gate, was unlocked and unmanned. Did the occupants have no fear of intrusion? Or did they leave it open so we could come in, just to bolt the door behind us? I shivered.

The entrance hall had a high ceiling and grand decorations, but little light came through the windows, so everything was dim and shadowy. Without a word, the courier led me up the enormous staircase and down a hall. Our boots scuffed the floor loudly in the echoing silence. The last door in the hall was standing wide, and he indicated that I should go in. It was a bedroom, old fashioned but very comfortable. The bed was as large as the one I shared with my sisters, covered in soft wool and white linen. There was a tall wardrobe beside the bed made of a cream-colored wood. A small sitting area beside a gently burning fireplace boasted an upholstered chair in white and pink and gold, and there was another cabinet in the corner of the same pale wood. The floor was tiled in pink and cream, and a rug lay on the floor beside the bed and another beneath the chair by the hearth. Pink had always been more Grace’s color than mine, but it was still a nice room.

When I looked back at the courier, he bowed. “Dinner is in an hour, miss. The dining room is off the entrance hall. You may wish to change first.” He gestured to the wardrobe.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling a little lost.

The courier left, closing the door behind him.

Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits

The first dream came the day my name was chosen. I didn’t even know yet that they’d submitted my name—they don’t tell you unless you’re selected.

I woke that morning sweating and disoriented. Sunlight already streamed through the faded yellow curtains. I’d overslept. Both of my sisters had already risen, leaving the rest of the bed empty. The memory of what day it was crashed over me.

I tumbled out of bed, washed my face in the basin and threw on the dress I’d laid over the chair last night. I grabbed my boots and half fell down the ladder to the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I hissed at Grace as I crashed onto the bench beside the big wooden table and hurriedly began lacing on my boots. My older sister paused as she carried her porridge bowl to the washbasin.

“I tried,” she said. “You wouldn’t wake. I figured I’d give you a few minutes.”

“But on Choosing Day!”

“Beauty,” Joy said from across the table, nearly done with her own porridge. “Go easy on her. She’s nervous too.”

I bit my lip and redid the laces on my second boot. I took a deep breath. “You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

I pulled my own bowl of porridge toward me and wolfed it down. It was lukewarm and bland, but I barely tasted it. Grace came over with a comb while I ate. She buttoned the few buttons on the back of my dress that I couldn’t reach and braided my hair, expertly tying it with the blue ribbon that matched the dress I’d chosen. Joy took my empty bowl and her own to the sink. Mama wiped her hands on her apron and looked us over.

“You look lovely,” she said. She gave me a gentle smile. “No one would ever know you’d overslept.” Grace nudged me with her elbow, and Joy gave me a sidelong grin. I narrowed my eyes at them. Mama planted a kiss on each of our heads. “Have a good day, now. I’ll see you at the Choosing.”

We bundled up in our coats and scarves to go to school. Papa was already at work in the shop that occupied the front room of our house, so we opened the door to the shop on our way out to say goodbye. There were no customers yet; Papa liked to spend the early hours sewing quietly on standing orders before he opened. He looked up and smiled crookedly at us, a pin pinched between his lips.

We separated in the street outside. Joy walked the block to the lower school alone while Grace and I made our way across town to the upper school. Joy would be with us in the upper school next year. We would have one year all together before Grace and I graduated and joined Mama and Papa in the shop.

Grace and I huddled together against the wind. No snow had fallen yet, but the air was bitter. For some reason, the chill reminded me of my dream, for all that it was so opposite. I let my mind wander back, surprised at how vivid the details still were.

I had been in a cornfield. The ears were small, and the stalks were dry. I knew next to nothing about farming, but I could tell there hadn’t been enough rain. The sound of a strong wind rose, though the stalks around me didn’t bend and rustle in it. I didn’t pay attention to it as I reached out, frowning, to touch the nearest stalk. The sound grew and grew until it was a constant thunder.

That’s when I smelled the smoke.

“It’s spreading,” a voice said by my side.

I turned to look for the voice. A man stood by me: tall, handsome, dark-haired, and dressed in out-of-date but expensive clothing, like someone out of a portrait. He was looking in the direction the sound was coming from, but when he felt me looking, he turned to me. His eyes were dark and worried.

“Half of the midland fields are up in flames,” he said. “Will you help me stop it?”

I looked helplessly around. There was no water nearby, not a stream or a well or even a bucket. “How?” I asked.

But he said nothing, just turned back to the raging fire sweeping across the field. I could see the red glow now. The roar was louder than ever. It had consumed nearly the whole field in less than a minute, the dry stalks feeding the hungry flames. It was going to consume us too if we didn’t run, but my feet were rooted to the soil. I sought again for water and again came up with nothing. I could feel the heat beating against me. We would be swallowed up in a second—

And then I had woken. I shivered now, remembering, at the terror and the helplessness.

“Beauty? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” I said shortly. I wasn’t going to tell her about the dream. Not today.

We hurried on silently. A handful of other girls trickled into the large, whitewashed building as we approached; most of the students boarded. I heaved the front door open and held it for Grace, then slipped in behind her as the wind slammed it shut. It wasn’t warm in the entrance hall, but it was a relief to be out of the wind. I shivered as I took my coat off to hang it up on the hooks that lined the walls. I wished I could have kept it on, but the mistresses would never have allowed that.

Grace gave me a quick hug and hurried off to her first lesson. I had embroidery first—the easiest lesson in the world, thanks to having a tailor and a seamstress for parents—followed by history. On a normal day I’d have music after, but everyone got out early on Choosing Day. I loved music, and I’d been excited when I got to the upper school to have a music lesson twice a week. But our lessons focused primarily on singing, because most instruments weren’t respectable for girls. Unless it was the piano, but you had to pay for extra lessons to learn that. We did learn the flute, which was better than nothing. The notes were like light, happy birds that drifted on a warm breeze. But I couldn’t help thinking wistfully of the music that waited beyond my reach.

I arrived at my first lesson in plenty of time, found the sampler I’d started yesterday on the shelf, and worked through the class in silence.

The history classroom was down a short hall, and the whole class filed along together, whispers multiplying as we did, only tapering off once we’d settled into our seats. The history mistress glared us into silence before launching into a lecture about kings and stewards and the difference between them. I couldn’t focus, seeing again the face of the man from my dream, smelling the smoke, hearing the roar of approaching flames. I blinked and came back to myself, heart racing. The history mistress droned on, and I let my mind wander again. We’d been taught the same thing every year at school, and it all boiled down to this: once we’d had kings, now we had stewards, and no one knew why.

No one even knew exactly when the switch happened. It was all shrouded in magic and mystery. Granny Nalina, one of Papa’s long-time customers, once said that her grandmother had seen the king as he rode through their town. But she’d admitted uncertainty over how trustworthy her grandmother’s memory was, particularly as the matriarch had declared that the king had simply disappeared soon afterwards.

Either way, the line of kings had stopped, and the stewards, though ruling in nearly the same capacity, were officially guiding the country until the kings should return. As far as I could tell, no one actually believed the kings would return, or maybe it was just that high politics had such little impact on day-to-day life that no one really thought about it. None of us would ever meet a king or a steward. The closest I was likely to come to either was the portrait of our current graying-haired Steward with icy blue eyes that hung in the school assembly hall.

Our class filed out at the end of the lesson, joining the other classes in the hall and streaming out of the building to gather in the large square before the school. My classmates’ whispers had taken on a new quality, excited and anxious. Parents hovered around the edges of the square. The boys’ upper school had let out early too, and some of the boys now crept into the crowd of girls to take their places beside sweethearts. I found Grace suddenly beside me and clutched at her hand.

Mistress Stonebridge, our headmistress, took her place at the front door of the school. Each town was required by the Steward to submit the names of five upper-school girls over the age of eighteen to be considered every year. As there was only one girls’ upper school in our town, Mistress Stonebridge both submitted the names and announced the Steward’s choice.

“It is my privilege,” she began, her voice carrying over the quickly stifled murmurings of the gathered crowd, “to begin the annual Announcement.”

My ears were going funny. I heard her first few words clearly, and then somehow missed the next several sentences. I couldn’t focus any better than I had in history. This was Grace’s and my first year being eligible to be chosen. She was older than me by nine months, but for the winter we were the same age—both eighteen. Each year the choosing was the same: five names submitted, one name announced. One girl from the whole kingdom to win the honor of… something. No one knew exactly what she was chosen to do.

We had a neighbor when I was young, Hanne, who had been in the upper school. Her name had been chosen, and we didn’t see her again for a year, until after the next name was chosen. When she did come back to play with us, she was very vague about where she’d been and what had happened to her. Not because she was hiding something but because her memory of it was blurry, almost entirely washed away. She was quieter when she came home, and she startled easily.

She was not the first person from our town to have been chosen. Ever since Hanne, it had been a girl from somewhere else. But Hanne was the third of three daughters. Both of her older sisters had been chosen too.

I shivered, imagining Hanne waiting in the crowd of schoolmates, just like we were now, excited, terrified. Where had they taken her? The girls were not harmed, or so they claimed afterward—that was the only thing Hanne had remained clear on. But the mystery of it made it frightening.

The headmistress spoke of honor and history, and I heard one word in ten. Grace’s fingers were tight around mine.

The last sentence I heard clearly.

“This year I have the extra privilege,” Mistress Stonebridge concluded, “to announce a name that we all know, because the Honored Chosen is one of our own.”

My breath caught in my lungs.

“The daughter of William Tailor—”

Time froze. Grace’s hand and mine clenched so tightly on each other we’d have bruises. One of us. My eyes found my sister’s face. She was whiter than the snow that had finally started to fall. Please, not Grace. To see her come back quiet and skittish like Hanne—no.

“Anora.”

A cheer rose from the crowd. Grace and I remained frozen, silent. I barely registered my proper name. I was shivering uncontrollably.

The crowd dispersed, girls beginning to chatter and laugh. I heard none of it. A few of my classmates hugged me on their way by or patted my shoulder. Grace stayed by me, her hand still gripping mine. Mama and Papa pushed their way through the crowd toward us. Mama was crying and trying bravely to smile. Papa’s smile was strained but proud.

“That’s my Beauty,” he murmured, putting his arms around Grace and me.

Mistress Stonebridge approached. Her expression surprised me—I had expected more pride for the upper school and the town and less sympathy. “The carriage will come for you in two days,” she said. “Elana, you are also excused from classes until then.”

Grace nodded once.

I don’t remember the walk home. When I started paying attention again, my sisters and I were sitting on our bed, as we had so many times before. Grace was still holding my hand but gently now. Joy was home—had we stopped at the lower school on the way? There were tear stains on her cheeks, and her eyes looked very wet.

We didn’t talk at first, just sat together. What was there to say? I was being taken from my family for an entire year. Joy would be in the upper school when I came home. Grace—and, I guess, I, too—would be nearing graduation. Grace and I had never been apart for my entire life. I was relieved, at least, that Grace hadn’t been chosen. I couldn’t have borne a year without her, not if I didn’t know where she was or what was happening to her. No amount of honor could make up for that. If it had to be one of us, let it be me. Joy wasn’t old enough yet, thankfully—I couldn’t have stood her going either.

I lay awake in bed that night. I kept remembering Hanne’s face. She had gotten married and moved away several years ago, but her parents still lived next door. All three sisters, taken. There was a year or two in between where someone else from another school was chosen, but somehow fate played that family a rough hand. I could feel my sisters on either side of me in the dark. Faintest moonlight fell through our window. If I squinted, I could just make out Joy’s face. She looked so much younger when she slept. Grace’s face was turned away. Grace still had one year at upper school, one year when the headmistress could submit her name. And Joy would be eligible soon too. Would fate be kinder to us than to Hanne’s family?

I felt the effects of my sleeplessness the next morning. I was slow getting dressed and coming down to breakfast. My father, usually sewing in the shop by now, was still sitting at the table. My mother set bowls of porridge in front of us without looking at me. Her eyes were red.

“Beauty,” Papa said when he’d finished eating. He hesitated as if he wanted to say more but what he’d thought to say wasn’t good enough.

I gave him a weak smile, and he reached over the table to pat my hand. Then he got up and put his bowl in the washbasin and picked up his sewing box. He kissed the top of my head and disappeared into the shop. Mama followed soon after, still unable to look at me. We girls finished our breakfast and began washing up.

Normally on days off Grace would have gone to the shop afterward to help, but instead she came back up to our room with me. Joy followed.

“Beauty,” Joy began, just as Papa had. She hesitated too, then pulled her favorite green hair ribbon out of her pocket. “I want you to have something to remember me.”

“Joy—” I said. Her nickname choked me. Where was the joy in this? I looked at the ribbon in her hand, unable to meet her eyes.

“Me too,” Grace said. The ribbon she held out was pink.

“I couldn’t,” I said.

“Please,” Grace said. “We want to be with you somehow.”

I sighed. “You’ll always be with me. You know that.”

“Still.” Grace took the ribbon from Joy and carried them both to the jewelry box. There were only three precious things in that box, three gifts from the fairy who had blessed us at birth. Grace’s lily, my rose, Joy’s daffodil, each formed perfectly of gold, reminders of the blessings we were nicknamed for. Grace took the blue ribbon that I’d been wearing yesterday and braided it with the others, then strung them through the hole in the rose. Without a word, she brought it over and tied it around my neck. My hand went to it automatically, my eyes welling.

“It’s only a year,” Joy ventured. “That’s not so bad, right?” Her voice trembled.

“Maybe they would take me instead,” Grace offered, sitting beside me. I could read my sister too easily. She was a little jealous but also relieved that it hadn’t been her name chosen, and she felt guilty for it.

“No,” I said, hugging her. “It has to be me.”

Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits

Eleanor sat by the window with her spell book laid out on the table. She pulled it closer to make out a difficult word. She’d written her own notes all over this page, and sometimes her tiny script obscured the original. She sighed and sat back, closing the book. Ford’s Magical Accomplishments for Young Ladies. The title was faded, and the leather of the cover was scuffed and worn. This copy had been Mama’s when she was young. Indeed, some of the notes in the margins were in Mama’s flowing handwriting. Mama had insisted that they practice all the usual accomplishments—singing, dancing, drawing, playing the pianoforte, and magic—but with an emphasis on magic. Eleanor didn’t mind at all; magic was her favorite. She knew nearly all of Ford’s book by heart, including the extra notes.

“Eleanor, dear, what new accomplishment are you practicing? You’ve been squinting again.”

Eleanor blinked up at her aunt. “I’m sorry, Aunt. Some of the spells are hard to make out.”

“Was your squinting worthwhile?”

Eleanor smiled. She reached over to the candelabra on the table and touched the wick of each candle, concentrating on the spell-word as she did. They flamed to life, one after another.

Sophie applauded.

“I’m hoping to learn to light them without touching them,” Eleanor sighed.

“You will,” Anne said. “But that was well done—you haven’t needed to whisper the words in ages.”

Silence was a sign of skill, Mama had told them. It was accepted that young ladies would speak their spells, as part of the performance, but magicians trained at Oxford or Cambridge were expected not to. It was one of the many double standards within English magic. Illusions and small parlor tricks were the purview of high-born young ladies; discussions of magical theory and executing spells of power were restricted to university-educated men. And for the poor, access to spells or magical training was near nonexistent.

The unfairness of it rankled Eleanor. But she made the most of her training, and like Mama, she never spoke her spells.

“I hadn’t noticed how dark it was getting until you lit the candles,” Aunt Everley said. “Ring for tea, Anne, and then we must dress. Thank goodness your new gowns arrived from the modiste today.”

“I still fail to see why a lack of new dresses ought to keep us from entering London society at Lady Sterling’s ball,” Eleanor said. “The gowns we brought with us from home are perfectly elegant.”

“Oh, Eleanor, we’ve been over this,” Aunt Everley said. “You’re being presented to the ton. You need to look your best. First impressions are everything.”

Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I agree with Eleanor. I just want to go to the ball and dance.” She executed a little twirl in the center of the room, her light brown hair coming half loose from its pins and wisping around her face.

“Yes, well, you’re young enough that dancing is all you need to care about.” Anne went to the table to clear space for the tea tray that she accepted from the maid who appeared promptly at the parlor door. “You could have a second, or even a third, Season if you wanted to.”

“And whose choice was it to wait until you were one-and-twenty?” Aunt Everley said pointedly.

Anne pursed her lips.

Eleanor spoke up. “We all agreed together to come out at the same time. One-and-twenty isn’t so very old.”

“It is for a debut Season,” Aunt Everley said firmly. “Even Sophie could have come out two years ago.”

“Eighteen is plenty young enough to be finding a husband,” Eleanor protested. “Besides, now that peace has finally come, all the officers are home, with money and time and no one to share them with.”

Sophie laughed. “And some of them with titles to inherit.”

“But I wish, Anne, that you wouldn’t get so worried about making a good match. I’m sure it will all work out.” Eleanor stepped over and planted a kiss on the top of her elder sister’s dark blonde head.

“It’s not just about making a match,” Anne murmured, pouring tea. “If all I wanted was a husband, Aunt Everley and Papa could have one arranged before the Season’s half over. I want—”

“Passion and romance,” Sophie declared dreamily, plopping into her seat.

“Don’t interrupt,” Anne chided, smiling as she handed Sophie a cup. “I’d be happy with friendship and compatibility. Passion may not last, but friendship would set us up well for life.”

Sophie made a face. “I won’t settle for less than being swept off my feet.”

Aunt Everley tutted. “Love matches are all well and good, but it’s possible to have a happy marriage even when it’s arranged for other reasons. Your uncle and I did just fine together.”

Eleanor spoke up to prevent Sophie from arguing with their aunt. “I want what Mama and Papa had,” she said softly. “I want respect and admiration.”

“And adoration.” Anne smiled. “They worshipped each other.”

Aunt Everley’s expression softened. “They did. Your mother made your father a better man, and he was a good one to begin with.” She looked at the three of them and heaved a sigh. “Well, I hope you all find what you’re looking for, but I also hope you’ll keep your heads about you.”

“We will,” the girls assured her together.

“None of us are in a rush,” Eleanor added.

“Except Anne,” muttered Sophie.

“Well, I’m three years older than you.”

“You’re the best of us at conversing with strangers, and you’re lovely,” Eleanor said, half teasing. “The ton will be so enamored by you that they won’t even notice Sophie or me.”

“Sophie has the best figure.” Anne waved off the teasing. “And you, Eleanor, look like a Greek goddess just stepped off your pedestal in that new white silk.”

“I always saw us as three Muses,” Sophie said. “Alike, but different. If one of us does well, I’m sure the others will too.”

Eleanor grinned at her younger sister’s romantic view. At age nine, Sophie had sweet-talked their father into teaching her to read Greek. Since then she’d spent all her free hours reading Greek poetry in the shade by the stream, or else dancing through wildflower meadows in bare feet. Perhaps Anne wasn’t entirely wrong in suggesting that Sophie could do with an extra Season or two before settling down to running her own home.

Eleanor took a sip of her tea, but her stomach was a nervous tangle over their evening plans. You’re being ridiculous, she told herself. It’s just another ball. Balls were nothing new; Father hosted at least one every summer at Fairfield Hall, and all three girls were excellent dancers. But this was the beau monde, and every single person there would be assessing the new arrivals, judging their worth as friends, rivals, or potential matches.

“When we saw Lady York at the milliner’s the other day, what was she saying, aunt?” Anne asked. “Something about Almack’s?”

“She suggested that Almack’s was the best place for you to appear first,” Aunt Everley said dismissively. “There are merits—whoever the patronesses approve are set up well for the Season—but Almack’s is rather intimidating for a first foray into Society. Lady Sterling’s ball will be more prestigious and more elegant, and I dare say Lady Cowper and Lady Castelreagh will be there anyway. They are all quite good friends.”

“And we’ve met Lady Sterling,” Sophie said. “She’s not as terrifying as I expected a countess to be.”

Eleanor grinned. “That’s probably because she likes Aunt Everley.”

“She likes you girls too,” Aunt Everley said. “In all, she’s an excellent person to know on your introduction to Society.”

When they’d finished tea, they retired upstairs to dress for the ball. Eleanor shrugged out of her day dress and lay it on her bed before slipping into her new white silk. She put on her matching slippers and joined her sisters in Anne’s room, which was the largest and had the best light. They helped each other with ribbons and flowers and took turns in front of Anne’s mirror. They had done this a hundred times before, but tonight there was a buzz of excitement in the room that was entirely new.

“Sit still,” Anne told Sophie, who was fidgeting in the chair so much that the hairpins and carnations were going in crooked. Once the pins were in, Anne took the loose, light brown hair that framed Sophie’s face and wrapped it around her index finger, breathed a spell-word, and released the hair, now a perfect curl. She repeated the process until Sophie’s face was framed by six perfect ringlets, which somehow made her blue eyes look bigger. Then Anne rested her hand lightly on the top of Sophie’s head and whispered another word. She dropped her hand with a sigh. “Good. It will stay up all night, no matter how energetically you dance.”

Eleanor, who had been watching them in the mirror, caught Anne’s eye and winked. She looked back at her own reflection and bit her lip as she twisted her darker brown hair tighter and adjusted the pins. She and Anne always curled their hair by magic, but they never needed the spell to keep the rest of it in place.

When they were all ready, they stood for a moment together in the gathering dark in Anne’s room. Anne and Eleanor were of a height, not tall but not petite, and willowy. Sophie was a few inches shorter with light, girlish curves.

“It will be fine,” Eleanor said, as much to reassure herself as her older sister.

“Better than fine,” Sophie added. “It’s not dancing with her, but it’s still dancing.”

A moment later, they were informed that the carriage was at the door. They bundled themselves up in furs and capes and joined their father and aunt to climb into the carriage. Lady Sterling’s residence was not far, and despite the press of traffic, they were pulling to a stop before Eleanor even felt like she’d settled into her seat.

They’d visited Lady Sterling before, so the house itself wasn’t overwhelming, but they’d never seen her ballroom. It was already crowded when they entered. Eleanor swallowed back a gasp. There had to be a hundred couples here, nearly double the number that attended their most popular balls at Fairfield Hall. And the room itself, with marble floors and pale wallpaper and gold trim, was nearly large enough to hold them all.

Lady Elizabeth Cole, Countess of Sterling, greeted them at the door. Father bowed; Aunt Everley curtsied, and Eleanor and her sisters followed suit.

“Sir William Maybury, Lady Everley, welcome,” Lady Sterling said, extending a hand to each of them. “Miss Maybury, Miss Eleanor, and Miss Sophie, so good to see you here.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Anne said. “We’ve been so looking forward to it.”

“As have I, to be sure,” Lady Sterling said. “Please allow me to introduce my son, George Cole.”

The young man at her side had curling red-gold hair like his mother’s and freckles across his nose. His coat was a dark turquoise that brightened his blue eyes. He bowed and smiled brightly at Anne. “Would you honor me with the first set, Miss Maybury?”

Anne accepted graciously.

Lady Sterling was barely attending. “Where is…” She looked around. “James, dear—oh, there you are.” Another young man had appeared beside the first. His appearance was entirely different: tall, dark hair, dark eyes, an aquiline nose. His expression was serious but for a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. His own impeccably tailored coat was a somber dark blue over a burgundy waistcoat. “May I also introduce my cousin, Mr. James Weston, magician to the Royal Navy.”

Mr. Weston bowed. Eleanor curtsied with the rest, and as she rose, she just caught a significant look that passed to Mr. Weston from Lady Sterling. His mouth quirked a bit more.

The music was starting up as he said, “Miss Eleanor, may I have the first set?”

Eleanor nodded and took his arm, following Mr. Cole and her sister. Once out of earshot of Aunt Everley, she said, “You needn’t ask me if you’re not inclined to dance. I won’t be offended.”

Mr. Weston looked at her, surprised. His mouth quirked again. “I confess, Miss Maybury, that I’m rarely inclined to dance. I am not the most graceful dancer, and I’d hate for you to form a first impression of me based on it.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her.

“I have, however, promised Lady Sterling that I would dance at least once tonight, and you’re as lovely a partner as a man could ask for.”

Eleanor blushed. “Are you hoping flattery will gain you a better first impression?”

“It can hardly hurt.”

They joined the dance. Eleanor did not think Mr. Weston nearly as ungraceful as he had suggested, but she couldn’t help noticing that he moved with a slight limp. As the dance brought them close to each other again, Mr. Weston asked, “Have you but lately come to town?”

“We’ve been here these two weeks, but this is the first ball we’ve attended.”

“And is it your first visit to London?”

“We stayed with my aunt at Christmas once or twice when I was young.”

“Which might as well mean yes,” Mr. Weston said. “How much have you seen since your arrival?”

“Can one see anything in all this smoke and fog?” Eleanor said. “I don’t remember London being so dirty.” They parted for a moment before coming back together. “But, of course, that’s not what you meant. We’ve been to one play—The Tempest—and spent nearly all the rest of the time at the modiste’s getting fitted up for the Season.”

“Ah,” Mr. Weston said knowingly. “New clothes are always the first priority on entering town. I myself always need a new coat or cravat to feel properly ready to face Society.”

The set ended. As they left the floor, Eleanor said, “You misled me, Mr. Weston. You were no more awkward than any other dancer. It is only too crowded for anyone to appear at their best.”

“I am sure that is not true of you, Miss Eleanor,” Mr. Weston said gallantly. “But believe that, by all means.”

He escorted Eleanor back to Aunt Everley, bowed, and disappeared back into the crowd. Eleanor could see Sophie changing partners, and Anne was talking with a young lady at the edge of the dance floor.

“He seems a charming young man,” Aunt Everley said, looking after Mr. Weston. “Lady Sterling told me that he’s six- or seven-and-twenty, and he has no family, so she’s half adopted him. He has an estate in Hertfordshire worth upwards of three thousand pounds a year and has spent the last seven years at sea serving as a magician aboard the—oh, what ship did she say?”

They were interrupted by an acquaintance, and introduction followed introduction for the rest of the set, as Aunt Everley was acquainted with at least half the room. Eleanor soon tired of curtsying every few minutes, but it ended with her being engaged for the next four sets. Her sisters were engaged as well, and they passed each other in the dance. The lively country dances put Eleanor more at ease than anything else in that grand, crowded ballroom could do. Her final partner escorted her to the refreshments, where she met Anne, and he left them drinking punch together.

After a moment, Eleanor said, “I told you it would be fine.”

At home, Anne might have made a face or rolled her eyes, but not in Lady Sterling’s ballroom. She merely smiled, eyes sparkling, and sipped her drink.

“It would be if it were not so stifling in here.”

Eleanor took her sister’s hand and led her through the crowd to the nearest window. It was closed against the chill of a March evening, but Eleanor lifted the sash a few inches.

“Now it’s fine,” she said.

“Miss Eleanor.”

Eleanor whirled around. If her glass hadn’t been almost empty, she would have spilled it over Anne. Her cheeks glowed.

“Forgive me for startling you,” Mr. Weston said, mouth twitching. “May I have the next set?”

“I thought you only promised Lady Sterling to dance once,” she blurted before she collected herself. Anne stepped on her foot. She blushed brighter.

“At least once,” he corrected. “And as you didn’t seem to mind my dancing before, I thought perhaps you would tolerate it again. Unless, of course, you were telling a kind falsehood earlier.”

“No, not at all,” Eleanor said quickly. “I’d be happy to dance. You simply caught me by surprise.”

“And in the heinous act of opening a window, no less.” His mock solemnity was too much. Eleanor giggled. Anne reached over and took the punch glass from her hand, and Eleanor took Mr. Weston’s arm to join the dance again.

***

Mr. James Weston called on George Cole and his mother late the following morning. Lady Sterling had told him never to stand on ceremony and to treat their home as his own, but this morning he waited until well past the beginning of visiting hours. The ball had gone late the previous night, and Lady Sterling had had to farewell all of her many guests. It was only to be expected that she would sleep in and breakfast late. James had been up and pacing his own rooms for hours. He hadn’t attended many balls since returning to England, and he could never remember feeling so alive the next morning. He intended to convince George to go with him to the club: a little fencing match was just what he needed.

He was ushered into the drawing room. George lounged in a chair, hiding his yawn behind a book. Lady Sterling looked as elegant and unfatigued as ever. James greeted them both and sat in a chair near his friend, but, as so many times already this morning, the memory of Miss Eleanor Maybury’s giggle brought him back to his feet to walk about the room.

“You’re limping more than usual,” George said bluntly, watching him.

“I’m not in the habit of dancing,” James said.

“No indeed,” Lady Sterling agreed. “You’ve been at sea too long and have forgotten a good many things.”

“I haven’t forgotten how to dance,” James protested.

“No, dear,” said Lady Sterling. “But when you promised me to dance at least once, you were supposed to dance with more than one young lady, not twice with the same one.”

James colored and began another lap around the room.

“Well then, mother,” George said. “Weston won’t ask it, so I will. What do you know of the Mayburys?”

“Sir William Maybury is a well-respected baronet,” she said. “His sister, Dowager Lady Everley, was married to the late Lord Everley of Sussex, and Sir William’s son Charles inherited his uncle’s title. Sir William’s own wife passed away several years ago, and his daughters have been managing his home ever since.”

“And this is their first Season?” George asked.

“Yes. Lady Everley wanted to bring Miss Maybury to town years ago, but first it was too soon after her mother’s death, and then she refused to come without her sisters.”

“How odd.”

“Indeed. I understand that they were also waiting for their youngest brother to be old enough for school.”

James listened to the conversation attentively as he paced the room. The closeness of the sisters was charming, and he saw nothing wrong with them waiting to come out until their youngest brother was out of their care.

“And what are their accomplishments?” George asked, giving James a look that said he really ought to begin asking questions himself if he wanted to hear the answers so badly.

“Playing, singing, magic, and French,” Lady Sterling said. “Miss Sophie also reads Greek.”

“Magic?” James asked, joining the conversation for the first time.

“Particularly Miss Eleanor, I believe,” Lady Sterling said. “Which adds to her other charms, don’t you think?” She raised a delicately arched eyebrow.

“I hardly think so.” George scratched his freckled nose. “So many young ladies can do magic; it’s as common as playing the pianoforte.”

“Quite,” his mother said, amused. “Now, James, dear, did you come see us because you were bored at home, or did you have another purpose beyond not asking me about Miss Eleanor Maybury?”

“Do I need a reason to visit you, madam?”

“Of course not, dear.” She looked at him expectantly.

“As it happens, I am intending to go to the club, and I thought to force Cole, here, to come with me.”

“Excellent.” Lady Sterling smiled. “Off with you both. I have letters to attend to.”

George sighed and set his book on the table. James grinned at him.

“You owe me a drink after all this,” George muttered as they climbed into the carriage that would take them to Pall Mall.

“Naturally,” James agreed.

George yawned ostentatiously the whole way to the club. James ignored him. They didn’t speak until they had retrieved their fencing gear and were removing their coats and waistcoats.

“All right, Weston, out with it already,” George burst. “You like her.”

James felt a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he continued to methodically untie his cravat. “She’s interesting,” he said finally. “Surprising. Not like all the insipid beauties who can’t think for themselves.”

“You mean half the ton.”

“Indeed. And her eyes. They’re stormy gray but with flecks of silver that put me in mind of… waterfalls.” He frowned down at his hands.

George chuckled. “It’s a bit soon to be writing her poetry, isn’t it?”

James threw a mask at him, which George only just caught.

“If you like her so much,” George grumbled, “why aren’t you in her drawing room right now instead of bothering me?”

“Because I don’t want her to associate me with the overeager puppies who will be fawning on them today,” James said. “And with three young ladies making their debut at once, they’re sure to have an abundance of visitors. I wouldn’t even get a chance to talk to her.”

George frowned at him. “You’ve put more thought into this than I ever have.”

“I’ve been up since dawn.” James pulled his mask over his face. “I’ve had time to think.”

George shook his head and pulled his own mask on. “Well, it’s a long season. I expect you’ll see her often enough to get your fill of those waterfall eyes.”

James wished he hadn’t said anything. He raised his foil and determined to show his friend no mercy.

***

It was a good thing Aunt Everley’s drawing room was so large, Eleanor thought as more and more callers arrived. Aunt Everley had warned them that the first morning after their entrance to Society would be like this, but Eleanor hadn’t quite believed her. But seeing eight young men in the drawing room at once, most of whom had brought flowers and all of whom were trying to solicit the attention of one of the sisters, proved that her aunt knew what she was talking about.

Half of the gentlemen were unabashedly there to see Anne. Sophie had one particular admirer, and so did Eleanor, and two others seemed eager to make themselves agreeable to everyone. Eleanor couldn’t figure out why they would come calling if they couldn’t even decide which sister they preferred, but it was helpful that some of the gathering were willing to make conversation with whoever was next to them. One of Anne’s admirers, disgruntled at being so far from where she was seated, kept leaning around the gentleman beside him and trying to join her conversation, though he couldn’t hear half of what was being said. Eleanor bit her lip once or twice to keep from laughing, and sobered quickly at a look from Aunt Everley. She wouldn’t discourage any of Anne’s suitors, however ridiculous.

It was an exhausting morning, and by the time the last gentleman took his leave and Aunt Everley told Harvey, the head footman, to have tea sent up and admit no more visitors, Eleanor had had enough of polite, disinterested conversation for a month. She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and found herself the slightest bit disappointed. It had been a most successful morning, evidencing a most successful entrance into Society, according to Aunt Everley. But Eleanor had rather hoped that Mr. Weston would call that morning. He had danced with her twice, after all. But then, he had been dancing out of obligation, and that she was his choice to fulfill that obligation meant nothing. Still, he had been interesting, and he was a magician, and she would have liked to talk to him again. Not that they would have been able to talk about more than the weather and last night’s ball in a gathering such as this morning’s had been. Eleanor sighed and sat up to take tea with the family, putting her disappointment behind her.

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