While she’s talking she’s rummaging through a small bag clipped to her apron. She pulls out three long hairpins and, quick as I’ve ever seen, twists my hair up into two messy knots and fastens them awkwardly to the base of my neck, then pets the top and sides of my head. She stands back. “There. How’s it look?”
Ridiculous. Disgusting. Beautiful. Everything that is not me or anything I’m familiar with. A part of me wants to stare at this mirrored girl, knowing she’ll never be real again. The rest of me wants to tear it all off because it’s a gross fake. Like wearing someone else’s skin that’s better than anything I am—that I didn’t ask to borrow. And I’m terrified for when the owner finds out.
“Now we gotta go, but you might wanna ’nother quick swig a tea. Adora—she can be a troll. You gonna need all the sustainin’ you can get.”
Wonderful.
I bite my lip and pull my gaze from the mirror before muttering, “Let’s just go.” Time to get the lights beaten out of both of us.
Breck clucks her tongue again and prods me toward the door. When she opens it, I swear a tornado has touched down inside the house. The hall is filled with voices and rich, tinkly music, the clatter of dishes, and servants running by us without a glance in our direction. The delicious scents of baked bread and roasted meats seep from the covered platters they’re carrying, permeating the cherrywood walls and lush, silver floor carpets.
My stomach erupts in starvation as Breck forces me out into the wide walkway and, with a tight grip, proceeds to lead me down a maze of hallways and back stairwells. I try to keep up, impressed at how effortlessly she can wind through it in her blindness.
Two flights of steps we’ve tramped down before I ask, “How long have you lived here?”
“Me and Colin been here eight months.” She turns a corner.
“Colin?”
Another corner and then she halts so suddenly in front of an enormous gilded door, I nearly plow into her. “My brother. You’ll meet ’im eventually if you stay.” Breck gives a rap on the gold with her fist, and the thudded sound it creates absorbs into the door and makes me wonder if it’s solid or embossed. Either way, it’s an obscenely ridiculous waste of money.
I hear a muffled, “Come in.”
“Now, remember what I said,” Breck whispers. “Try to look smart and sound like you got some brains in your head, or the ol’ crow’ll be done with you faster than her harem of menfolk.”
“Harem of menfolk?”
Before I can press further, Breck pushes the door open.
CHAPTER 4
THE GOLD DOOR OPENS TO REVEAL A GIANT sitting room lined with richly draped windows and, beneath those, red velvet couches full of men chatting and sipping from colored goblets. Their perfume has practically condensed into clouds around them, and each one is dressed like a fairy-tale creature.
Bears. Centipedes. Rock-elves. Tiger-peacocks.
It’s like a whole new circus of strange, and I’m suddenly trying not to react to the hilariousness of it or to say anything that will earn me a firm slap.
In the room’s center, an enormous candelabrum hangs over a map-covered table where more gentlemen are leaning and whispering. Beside them, facing away from me, is a woman. Adora, I presume.
“Good luck,” Breck mutters, and her voice sounds weak and nervous for me, which is not at all comforting.
“So here’s the wretched girl I rescued. Glad you finally decided to get up and show some decent appreciation.” Lady Adora turns her gold-lined eyes to me as she speaks—it’s the woman from yesterday at the slave market. Messy images jostle my mind until one memory slams into focus: I let loose a lightning storm on a despicable man there. And she stood watching.
I inhale and nearly choke at the recollection before pulling it together.
Lifting my chin, I assess this insane noblewoman. And concentrate on the fact that, today, she is dressed like a frog. An exquisitely beautiful frog.
I cough to disguise my mockery. Clearly I’m in a loony house.
Her curly hair is dyed emerald green, and on top of her head is a tiny hat sewn to look like frog eyes. The glittery green scales that make up her clothes clutch her legs and arms like a man’s hunting outfit, but with a bustle coming off the back to give the appearance of a dress. The recollection of her crazylike laughing in the lightning storm yesterday prickles my skin. She beckons me into the room with one hand while coldly flicking the other at the men to motion them out. I sneak a peek at Breck, but she’s already slipping away down the dark passage.
“Don’t make me wait, girl,” Adora says in a crisp voice.