I am Ella Sanford, and I know what it means when men wear hoods in a peaceful town like Thorneby. They are not hiding from the cold. The fact that it's still summer.
I sink into a cushioned stool in the corner of the dress shop, not watching as Semira stands patiently on the measuring platform, but hiding.
It's been six months since the day I escaped. Since then, I've been staying at the manor. Life in the mansion is peaceful, but it doesn't mean I can sleep properly at night.
The danger is closer now. They have reached this town. Outside the window, the three men have started to move. I know who they are. When Morris was still alive, he warned me not to ever cross paths with those three guys. So, I promised him. But that promise doesn't mean anything now. Rook, big even beneath the thick brown robe, approaches the produce cart just across the road. He leans toward the vendor, pretending to inspect a basket of pears, but he is scanning the street. Even the old woman seems to feel that he is spine-chilling. Jerren, average tall, the quiet one, is harder to notice unless you're looking for him. He slips something from his sleeve and unfolds it in front of the vendor's face. A scrap of parchment. And Malric is leaning against a post and smoking with tobacco.
They don't hide who they are. Fighters from the Underground Ring and hounds that Thalric sent to hunt me down. They are already here.
Just take a deep breath. They won't come inside.
"Ahem, guess what."
I flinch in my seat. Semira startles me, and I quickly shift my gaze from the window to her, adjusting my posture on the velvet-cushioned stool. She's finally dressed, the corset tied, standing tall in a flowing emerald gown that fits her like it was sewn by fate itself. Likely the one she plans to wear to tonight's party.
"Guess what?" I repeat, not quite following.
"Yes, guess."
"Um… It's your birthday?" That's the only guess I can think of. I haven't greeted her yet. "Happy twentieth, Lady Semira," I add quickly.
She smiles, pleased, but waves it off. "I appreciate the sentiment, truly, but that's not it."
"Alright," I sigh, "I give up guessing."
The smile on her face widens into something radiant, the kind she always gets when she's up to something. She twirls in front of the mirror, the hem of her dress sweeping in a wide arc. Then she stops, faces me directly, and declares, "Congratulations!"
I blink at her. "…forgive me, but for what?"
She glides toward me, light-footed despite the heavy fall of her gown. The dressmaker, Ms. Rowena, follows closely behind, guiding the hem so it doesn't catch on the floor. Semira stops in front of me, positively glowing, and I'm looking up at her from my seat. She extends a hand, and resting in her palm is a folded piece of parchment sealed with a red wax circle.
For a moment, I stare. Could it be an invitation to her party? That doesn't make sense. I'm already invited, and I helped write those. This one is different, thicker, and heavier. The kind of paper nobles use when the crown is involved.
"Go on, open it!" she urges.
Carefully, I take it from her. I can't think of a single reason I'd be getting anything sealed in wax and handed over with fanfare. The past few days have been uneventful, unless brushing her hair, collecting pressed flowers for her scrapbook, and telling her stories.
"…Are you certain this is for me?"
"Yes, yes," she says, waving her hands a little, like my hesitation is ridiculous. "My gift. For you."
"A gift? For me? On your birthday?"
She nods quickly, practically bouncing on her heels.
"I should be the one giving a gift, not receiving one."
"You will. Later. But for now, just open it."
"Okay, maem."
I break the seal, then begin to unfold the parchment. The paper feels dense under my fingertips, stiff and official. It didn't come from her desk. She always uses the thinner kind, cream-colored and faintly scented with lavender.
My eyes land on the sweeping cursive inked across the top that reads:
Imperial Academia
Notice of Candidacy for Scholarship Trials
"Oh, my stars." Behind me, Ms. Rowena cranes her neck on my shoulder, lowering her eyeglasses. "You're among the lucky fifty in all of Thorneby," she says.
"I told Father to secure one of the copies the moment the forms were distributed to each city," says Semira with a smile and touch of pride. While I am stuck, trying to reconcile the words on the paper, what she told her noble father, with the reality I thought I knew.
This is a famous form among the commoners. An invitation. To the Trials. To the Imperial Academia.
"Do you like it?" she asks, hopeful.
Do I like it? The truth is, I don't even understand why.
People have been talking about these forms nonstop for the past week at the baker's stall. I remember hearing a group of boys argue about the fastest trial records. I heard a shopkeeper tell his daughter to get one. While I just kept walking. I had no business thinking about things like that. But now I'm holding this parchment in my hand. People would kill for one of these. Some already have, if the rumors are true.
"I…don't know what to say.' I lift my eyes to hers as I lower the parchment to my lap.
"Ella, you don't know? We're going to college together!"
I hope I heard it wrong. "Did you just say College?"
"Exactly! This is your opportunity." She steps closer and places her hands on my shoulders, grounding me in the moment. It's clear and sure, the kind she uses when she's already made up her mind. "Next week marks the start of fall. And once classes begin, I won't be around the estate much. So, I didn't want you to leave here. Alone."
Ah. So that's what this is really about. It's her absence. Without her here, I lose the only real protection I've had in this household. Her presence shields me more than the staff, more than her father's tolerance. Once she's gone, I become quietly replaceable.
Instinctively, I glance toward the window again, then at the door. Just a flick of my eyes. Are they still there? The street outside looks safe now. The men who were hunting me are gone, at least from sight. I exhale slowly, trying to release some of the tension from my shoulders.
When I turn back, Semira is still standing in front of me, her amber eyes bright like nothing could go wrong in her world. And maybe that's why I can't stop staring. She's already pulled me into a current I didn't even see coming.
"This is very sudden," I mutter.
"I know. But the trials will begin next week. Wouldn't it be a waste to pass up this chance, Ella?"
"You're right." But it doesn't mean I'm thrilled. I have zero interest in school right now. I'm on vacation. I'm on a mission.
"It is not about education. It's housing, food, tuition, and full support from Academia. You'd be trained. You'd be protected," she says.
That's different. I have never heard of such a scholarship before.
"What kind of scholarship pays for everything? What's next, they tuck you into bed and spoon-feed you soup?" I joke.
She grins. "Actually, yes. You live on campus until graduation. You're assigned quarters, get meals prepared, access to a private library, and more. What do you think?"
I'm speechless. At the same time, a little amused by how seriously she says it. Those amber eyes are always calm and focused when talking about knowledge or the strange, tangled logic of this world. She watches me like she already knows what I'll say.
"You don't need to decide this moment, Ella," she says lightly. "But I'll wait for your answer."
Then, just like that, she removes her hands from my shoulder and turns with a swirl of emerald silk and a breathless giggle. Ms. Rowena tells me not to lose this chance because it only comes once every three years. She steps forward with a nod and begins guiding Semira back toward the fitting room.
After Semira changes back into her usual estate dress, cream silk with those subtle gold threads at the sleeves, she decides to keep the emerald gown. Not the royal blue one she'd been considering earlier. I'm not surprised. The green always suited her better; it brings out the fire in her red hair.
Before we leave the shop, I ask her to go ahead first. Then, with a glance around, I borrow her wide-brimmed hat to tuck over my head, careful to hide the strands spilling past my shoulders. The brunette dye I had back in my world is still clinging to my roots, streaked through with old blonde highlights. In this place, where hair tends to follow tradition, plain browns, blacks, reds—mine pulls too much attention. Once, a servant at the estate whispered that I'd been cursed by forest spirits. Nonsense. But not everyone thinks that way. Especially not Thalric's hounds.
My hair makes me easy to spot.
I pull the box holding Semira's dress closer to my chest, using it to cover part of my face as I step outside. I tilt the wide-brimmed hat lower over my face and step outside, keeping my head down. Every glance feels like a threat waiting to happen. I scan the crowd, rooftops, corners, anywhere. I don't breathe properly until we're both safely inside the carriage. Semira notices my anxious state, and I am tempted to just tell her that people are looking for me. As usual, I tell her an excuse but without lies. I don't lie to her. Only keeping a secret.
"That… is it from your parents?" she asks me about the pendant I am squeezing.
"Ah, no. A friend gave it to me."
"Someone rather dear, I imagine," she says.
The pendant was from Morris. He gave it to me and told me it was a lucky charm, said it would keep me safe. Maybe it did. He's gone. I'm not.
"Yes," I say simply, and see Semira tilt her head, watching me with that knowing look, the one that says she wants to hear more about it. But I choose to be quiet and watch the sunset through the window as the carriage sways slightly as it rolls over a crack in the road.
By the time we arrive at the mansion, the living area is crowded. The staff are moving quickly, flowers are being arranged, candles are everywhere, and trays are clinking with glass. Preparations for tonight, no doubt.
We slip into her dressing room, and I follow. Helping Semira prepare for events like this has become a quiet routine. No one else here knows how to bring out her features the way I do. I have experience. Back in my world, doing my makeup before university was part of my daily routine. The style in this world is far more restrained. Muted tones. Barely any shape. No real sense of balance or expression. But tonight is important. She should feel like the center of it all. I guide her into her party gown, fastening the back, then adjust the gold and garnet ornaments she's chosen for her hair. It weaves through her red curls like fire caught in ribbon. I'm so proud.
"Oh my…I look—"
"—stunning," I say to her reflection in the mirror. "And here's my gift."
I pull the small, ribbon-wrapped book from behind my back and offer it with both hands. I know she likes reading, and I don't tell her it's not from a shop. I just… hand it to her, hoping she'll like it without asking too many questions. Then, she turns to see me. She puffs out her cheeks, then lets them go.
"Thank you," she says, hugging me before I realize it.
"Lady Semira, time to go downstairs." The Butler outside the door calls out.
Semira pulls away, smiling. "Come with me?" she asks.
I nod once. "I'll be just behind you."