Fear prickled the back of Maylie’s neck.What do you mean?
Sorrow lies ahead if you leave the mountains. A great tragedy.
Near by a twig snapped. It could have been a deer or a rabbit. Or it could have been something else.
What do you mean?Maylie stumbled backwards, her skirts catching on a patch of brambles.
You must not go.
Maylie’s fear turned to anger. She should not have come to the forest. This creature did not wish her well. Her aunt had been right; the Hidden People were dangerous and they could not be trusted. At least if she left Silicia, she would never have to see the creature again. There was one good thing to come of this.
I am leaving,she repeated.And I am never coming back!
She turned and fled, running towards the sunlight and emerging into the safety of a stark, familiar winter afternoon.
But not before she heard the creature’s answer:You are wrong.
Maylie
Fifteen winters old
MORNING LIGHT STREAMEDthrough the stained-glass windows in the Tormale townhouse, cutting it into coloured threads on the tiled hallway floor. Maylie lowered a pail and dropped to her knees, scrubbing brush in hand. She began washing, working suds into deep, hexagonal grooves, the harsh soap stinging her chapped fingers. Steadily, she scrubbed her way down the hallway without pause, the light through the stained glass growing brighter as the sun rose outside.
Maylie was about to heave the pail back down to the kitchens to change the water, which had become dark and cloudy, when she heard the tread of footsteps. She stopped and looked up. A tall, reedy woman stood on the staircase in a large, embroidered gown.
‘Good morning, Ms,’ said Maylie, ducking her head.
Ms Delaphio pushed down a pin that was falling loose on oneside of her thinning grey hair. ‘I would like to speak to you … Allie?’
‘Maylie.’
Ms Delaphio raised her thin shoulders in something like a shrug. Maylie had been working in her kitchens for almost a winter now, but the mistress of the house still struggled to remember her name. She had overheard Ms Delaphio once complain that it was one of those tricky Mountain folk names.
‘Your sister made a green jacket I sometimes wear, is that correct? The one with the pleats and ruffles?’
‘Yes, Ms.’
‘A friend admired it last night. I said I would order her one.’
Maylie bit her lip.
‘What’s the matter? Surely this is good news.’
‘Yes, Ms. ’Tis just … Esmelie isn’t well.’ Maylie thought of the pale, sombre face she had left in bed that morning. ‘She hasn’t been able to make clothes for a while.’
Ms Delaphio’s wrinkled face puckered. ‘Oh? Surely she has time for a bit of dressmaking?’
Maylie’s gaze dropped to the floor. A sliver of pain wormed through her body. ‘No, Ms,’ she replied. She was not sure how to explain the unrelenting darkness that had settled over Esmelie recently.
There was a pause.
Distantly, they could hear the cook singing in the kitchens and Mister Delaphio shouting at one of the maids to close the windows in his study.
‘That’s a shame,’ said Ms Delaphio finally, looking as though she wished she had not started this conversation. ‘Perhaps your sister will return to dressmaking soon? I don’t usually buy from sellers without establishments, you see, but I took a chance on her.’
‘Perhaps, Ms.’
But Maylie was beginning to lose hope that Esmelie would return to her old self again at all. Things had started so well in Tormale; they had found lodgings quickly and Maylie and Ravie had gained employment at the Delaphio townhouse in one of the fancy residential streets in the heart of the Old Quarter. Esmelie had begun designing and making clothes, quickly building a small following of customers. All had seemed good. But as the moons passed, the relentless striving of the city had started to wear them down. Ravie stayed out late, drinking and gambling in the many taverns, and Maylie watched her sister’s brightness fade bit by bit. On one dark, cold night, she had turned to Maylie and whispered with wide, red eyes, ‘He’s just like Pap, isn’t he?’ And though Maylie longed to reassure her sister, she could not deny that it was true.
