The morning they left Meraveil, the mist clung low to the forest floor as though reluctant to release them.
Aurèlle stood at the edge of the tree line, travel cloak fastened at her throat, watching as the carriage driver secured their trunks. The forest breathed behind her — quiet, living, familiar. Even the air felt different here. Softer. Older.
She had left before.
Errands. Deliveries. Small humiliations disguised as responsibility.
But this time she was not being sent.
She was going.
Dahlia joined her, boots damp from the dew, a leather purse resting in her gloved palm. It looked heavier than it should have been.
"She's decided not to accompany us," Dahlia said lightly.
Aurèlle nodded. Their stepmother had smiled as she announced it. Claimed the journey would be too strenuous. Claimed the city too chaotic.
She had pressed a pouch of coin into Dahlia's hands.
And a smaller one into Aurèlle's.
The difference had not been subtle.
Now, once the carriage began its slow roll from the forest road, Dahlia loosened the ties of both purses and emptied them into her lap.
Silver glinted between her fingers. A small, deliberate pile of gold.
Aurèlle frowned. "You don't need to—"
"I know," Dahlia said softly. "But we do."
She counted quickly, efficiently, then divided the coins evenly.
"No," Aurèlle whispered.
"Yes."
A pause.
Then, quieter: "You think I don't see it?"
Aurèlle swallowed. She hadn't realised how tightly she had been holding herself until that moment.
Dahlia tied the pouch shut and pressed it into her sister's hand.
"We buy what we need," she said. "Not what she intends."
And just like that, the imbalance dissolved.
Not in the household.
But here.
Between them.
⸻
The road curved slowly away from Meraveil's dense treeline, and the world seemed to widen with every mile.
The air grew brighter. The scent of moss and damp bark faded into sun-warmed earth. By midday, the forests thinned into the open stretches of Marwood Vale — fields rolling in broad sweeps of gold and green, farmsteads scattered like quiet sentinels against the horizon.
Aurèlle leaned slightly from the carriage window, letting the wind catch loose strands of her hair.
"It feels strange," she admitted.
"Leaving?" Dahlia asked.
"Leaving without being told to."
Dahlia's smile was faint, but understanding. "You deserve to choose your departures."
Aurèlle didn't answer. She wasn't sure she believed that yet.
⸻
They reached the lake just past noon.
It spread wide and luminous beneath the sky, its surface shifting with soft ripples of reflected light. Trade vessels dotted the water, their sails catching wind as they drifted toward the distant stone outline of Erindor.
From here, the capital looked unreal.
Spired.
Layered.
Impossibly structured.
Aurèlle had seen its outer docks before during errands, but always from below — always aware she did not belong to it.
Today, she would cross toward it willingly.
The boat rocked gently as they boarded. Their trunks were secured near the stern, and the ferryman untied the moorings with practised ease.
As the shoreline of Marwood Vale began to recede, Aurèlle felt something settle and something loosen all at once.
She wasn't running from Meraveil.
She was carrying it with her.
⸻
They found a quiet space along the railing.
For a while, neither spoke.
The water lapped rhythmically against the hull. Wind tugged at their cloaks. The world felt suspended — not forest, not city. Just in between.
Dahlia broke the silence first.
"I know how she treats you."
Aurèlle didn't look at her. "You don't have to—"
"I do."
There was no anger in Dahlia's voice. Only steadiness.
"I know the errands aren't errands," she continued. "I know the smaller portions aren't accidents. I know the silences at dinner aren't coincidence."
Aurèlle's fingers tightened around the railing.
"She thinks I don't notice," Dahlia said. "She thinks because I don't speak, I don't see."
Aurèlle turned then. "Why don't you?"
"Because speaking in that house costs more than silence."
The wind shifted between them.
Aurèlle understood that too well.
Dahlia looked out over the water. "I hate that you think you're alone in it."
"I don't," Aurèlle said quickly.
Dahlia raised an eyebrow.
Aurèlle hesitated.
"Not entirely," she amended.
Dahlia's expression softened. "When we're at the Academy, it will be different."
"You don't know that."
"No," Dahlia agreed. "But she won't be there."
That alone felt revolutionary.
No watchful gaze.
No calculated comparisons.
No quiet punishments disguised as propriety.
Aurèlle exhaled slowly. "What if it's worse?"
"Then we face it," Dahlia said simply. "Together."
The word lingered.
Together.
It sounded fragile. Dangerous. Hopeful.
"You know she expects you to excel," Aurèlle said after a moment. "She'll want reports. Letters."
"She'll get them," Dahlia replied.
"And if I struggle?"
Dahlia turned fully toward her. "Then I help you."
"It isn't that simple."
"It is."
Aurèlle almost laughed at that.
Dahlia's gaze was steady, unyielding in a way that never felt harsh. "You think I don't know what you can do?"
Aurèlle looked down at the water.
"You've always been stronger than me," Dahlia continued softly. "You just don't believe it yet."
The boat cut cleanly through the lake, sunlight scattering across the surface in fractured silver.
Aurèlle let the words settle.
She didn't feel strong.
She felt uncertain. Unpolished. Too reactive. Too emotional.
But perhaps strength didn't always feel like certainty.
"Promise me something," Dahlia said.
"What?"
"No matter what House they place us in. No matter who we're told to impress or compete with. We don't let them turn us against each other."
Aurèlle met her eyes.
"I promise."
"Even if she tries," Dahlia added quietly.
The unspoken name hovered between them.
"I promise," Aurèlle repeated.
Dahlia extended her hand.
Not formally.
Not dramatically.
Just palm upward.
Aurèlle placed her own in it.
Their fingers intertwined, firm and familiar.
The wind rose briefly, catching their cloaks and carrying with it the distant scent of stone and smoke from the capital ahead.
Meraveil was no longer visible behind them.
Erindor loomed closer.
But in this space — suspended between water and sky — they were simply sisters.
Not favoured and overlooked.
Not measured and compared.
Just two girls on their way toward something larger than either of them had ever been allowed to imagine.
Dahlia squeezed her hand once before releasing it.
"First stop?" she asked lightly.
Aurèlle glanced toward the growing skyline.
"The bookshop."
Dahlia smiled. "Of course it is."
The boat began its slow approach toward the capital docks. Stone walls rose higher with every passing minute. Towers gleamed where sunlight struck polished surfaces. Flags bearing the sigil of Silvera stirred above the harbour gates.
Aurèlle's heart began to race — not from fear, but from the sheer scale of it.
For the first time, Erindor did not feel like a place she was being sent to on someone else's errand.
It felt like a threshold.
And she was crossing it by choice.
The hull bumped gently against the dock.
Ropes were thrown.
Voices called.
The journey across the water had ended.
But something else — something far greater — had just begun.