“I’ll try.” Arsinoe coughs as Mirabella puffs loose powder over the redness of her scar, but when she is done, it only looks like a powdered scar. Her mark of the bear refuses to hide.
“We are here on their goodwill. On their charity.”
“I know. It’s just . . . harder to move on for some of us.”
In the mirror, Mirabella’s face falls. “I didn’t mean that,” Arsinoe says. “I just meant you’re better at pretending to be one of them in a crowd.”
“Only because I am already used to wearing dresses. We should hurry and choose yours. Not the gray. It looks like a potato sack. What about the blue? With the black ribbon at the hem?”
“No,” says Arsinoe. “No dresses. A jacket and vest will do.”
Mirabella sighs and stops fussing with Arsinoe’s hair. “What did you dream, last night? Do not lie.”
“I dreamed of arranging secret meetings between Henry Redville and Queen Illiann. To give him an advantage before she meets the other suitors at the Disembarking.”
“Met,” Mirabella says with a frown. “Met. This is all in the past. None of it can be changed. It is only some trick of the island, some lingering grasp it has on us. And you were the girl again? Daphne?”
“I was.” Arsinoe squints at her sister in the mirror. “Did you know there are secret passageways hidden behind tapestries hanging in the Volroy?”
“How would I know that? I have never been there, except for the cells. Nor have you.”
“Except that’s how I snuck Henry through undetected.”
“Was there anything else about this dream?” Mirabella asks. “Anything important? Did you see hints of why the Blue Queen would send you these visions? You said you thought Daphne in love with Henry herself. But we know he becomes Queen Illiann’s king-consort. Did it seem that Daphne would try to betray Queen Illiann?”
“No. She and Illiann are already close friends. Is that why Illiann is giving me the dreams? Is she teaching me a lesson?”
“I do not know.” Mirabella turns away to dress herself. “But until the governor’s party is over, let us try to forget it.”
Governor Hollen’s mansion is just outside the city, a large estate surrounded by trees. As their carriage makes its way up the long circle drive, Arsinoe is reminded of the Black Cottage. The buildings have similar white exteriors and dark timbering, though the brick of the Hollen foundation is a bright red-orange.
“Not bad,” she says, and whistles.
“Hush.” Mrs. Chatworth reaches across the carriage and slaps Arsinoe’s shoulder. She has not spoken to her since she came down the stairs wearing trousers and a black vest.
“She was paying them a compliment, Mother,” says Billy. He takes Arsinoe’s hand.
“Just keep her to the rear. Show Miss Mirabella to the front. At least she knows how to dress decently.”
In ivory lace and green ribbon, Mirabella hardly looks like a queen at all. But that is what mainland fashion demands. The only thing Mrs. Chatworth complained about was her hair. She wanted ringlets, but Mirabella refused to use the hot metal iron. With her weakening gift, she could be burned, and Arsinoe imagines that for a girl who used to dance with fire, there could be nothing worse.
“Wasn’t half the reason you were invited to this party so that people could get a look at us? Christine would have invited Billy, but you and Jane were included to accompany the foreign wards.”
“What is your point, Miss Arsinoe?”
“My point is I’m doing you a favor dressing like this.” She pulls on her lapels, smooths her hair back away from her facial scars. “Dressed like this, I’m more of an attraction.”
Footmen help them from their carriage and they are shown through the front door into an enormous, high-ceilinged foyer. Some relation of the governor—one of his younger daughters, his niece, perhaps—steps forward to receive them.
Mrs. Chatworth inclines her head.
“May I present Miss Mirabella Rolanth,” she says, “and her sister Miss Arsinoe.”
At the introduction, the girl’s eyes open wide. “We have heard much! How wonderful to meet you, finally.”
Arsinoe and Mirabella nod and curtsy slightly, and the girl sweeps them through the house.
“I don’t know why we had to be Mirabella and Arsinoe Rolanth,” Arsinoe whispers as they follow.
“We could not very well be Mirabella and Arsinoe Wolf Spring,” Mirabella whispers back.
The governor’s girl leaves them at the rear of the house, where a set of wide-open doors leads to the party. Arsinoe whistles again. The sprawling rear lawn boasts a small fountain and a well-kept hedge maze. Tables have been set and adorned with summer flowers, and there is even a stone dance floor and a small band of musicians. On the island, such a celebration would be reserved for a queen or a high festival.
“Some birthday,” Arsinoe says, watching guests as they mill about laughing or clump together with glasses of drink in their hands. Many ladies have opted for wide-brimmed hats instead of parasols.
“Do not be sour,” chides Mirabella. “Our own birthdays were high-festival affairs as well.”
“We were queens.” She sighs. “What I wouldn’t give for a mug of ale like we used to have at the Lion’s Head.”
“Unlikely to find any of that here,” Billy says, and takes her by the arm. “Tea, certainly. Or champagne.”
“Anything to put in front of my face. We may be foreign curiosities, but I hope they don’t mean for us to meet everyone at this party.”
“Billy! Over here, Billy!”
They turn. Christine Hollen stands in the center of a group of young women.
Arsinoe grimaces.
“Oh, good, it’s Miss Christine.”
“Go,” Mrs. Chatworth says, and prods them not too gently.
Billy clears his throat. “I suppose we’ll have to.” He leads the way, and Arsinoe turns to Mirabella to mouth the word help.
“She will not get within an arm’s length,” Mirabella says, and snakes her arm through Billy’s. “Do the same on his other side.”
Arsinoe does, though it feels awkward. She cannot help noticing that Mirabella’s stride has gotten markedly slinkier. And that with the both of them pressed tight against him, Billy is grinning like an idiot.
“Put on your best smile,” Mirabella says cheerily through her teeth.
“Just like a horse’s,” Arsinoe says cheerily through hers.
When they reach her, Christine offers Billy her hand to be kissed, but with both of his arms occupied, her fingers linger idly in the air before fluttering back down to her side. Mirabella glances at Arsinoe and lifts her chin in triumph.
“I am so glad that you and the Misses Rolanth could come.”
“Thank you for the invitation,” says Billy. “It’s a lovely party.”
Christine’s smile is not as radiant as usual. She cannot stop looking at the way Mirabella leans against Billy, and with Mirabella there, the poor girl seems to have shrunk three sizes. Arsinoe feels sorry for her and tries to catch her eye to smile for real, but a boy approaches to extend his hand to Mirabella, and Christine’s expression brightens.
“Miss Rolanth,” he says. “Will you dance?”
“Oh yes, you must!” Christine exclaims before Mirabella can respond. “The band my father chose is absolutely delightful.”
Mirabella looks between the boy and Arsinoe.
“Please,” Christine nudges. “Billy cannot have thought he could keep you all to himself!”
Mirabella slides her arm free and takes the boy’s hand. “I will be right back.” But she will not be. The boys are already forming a queue beside the stone dance floor.
Arsinoe wonders how well she will fare. The music on the mainland is so different from the music of home. There are no somber strings and woodwinds like in Rolanth, no cheerful fiddle like Ellis and Luke played in Wolf Spring. This stuff is played mostly on horns, by musicians wearing shirts striped like pulled taffy.