I wanted to argue against it, as we were in the privacy of our own home and weren’t expecting any company, but I couldn’t rob her of the fun of trying to wring my appearance into something more pleasant, though the effort was similar to carving a statue out of dried mud.

  After she picked out a dress for me and I had my (unfortunately much needed) bath, I was beginning to lose patience.

  “Surely it’s time now,” I urged after she sat me down at the vanity in her bedroom and started tugging at my clean and damp hair to wrangle it into a braid.

  “Time?” she said, blinking with false ignorance.

  “Sinéad …”

  “Oh, fine! Now, as you remember, I was there with Alma and Rhi, and this was right after I’d danced my second with Mr. Jasper Clemens — which was nice even though he kept stepping on my toes — when the doors to the ballroom opened and everyone fell silent. And then …!”

  She grabbed my shoulders and leaned down so her face was right next to mine, smiling at me in the mirror like she was about to deliver the world’s happiest news. “A beautiful man enters the room. And I mean beautiful, easily the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

  Ah. Another one of Sinéad’s infatuations, then. This one sounded dire.

  Sinéad let go of me and walked to her bedside table as she continued, “He was introduced as Lord Sylas Thorne, but nobody at the ball recognized him. The Nelsons were obviously delighted with having proper nobility attending the gathering, so they weren’t going to complain about the intrusion.”

  She pulled out the jewelry box where she kept a particularly tiny sketchbook, the one where she would draw the various monthly loves of her life. She opened it eagerly and returned to me.

  I’d been expecting yet another young son of a minor noble or gentry, but the beautifully detailed portrait depicted a far more mature man than most of her previous sparks. He looked several years older than I, late twenties perhaps, with shoulder-length light hair and sharp cheekbones. His lapels were decorated with intricate floral patterns, an odd fashion statement that marked him as either foreign or someone of high birth who could afford a peculiar taste. He was also unusually handsome. Knowing Sinéad’s talent, she wasn’t exaggerating his features.

  I handed the sketchbook back to Sinéad, feeling more confused than enlightened, and she regarded it with a soft gaze before putting it away. That previous breathless enthusiasm was gone when she spoke again, her speech gentle and purposeful.

  “He approached me as soon as our eyes met across the room, and said he’d heard much about my beauty. And then he asked me to dance. And we did. And then he asked me again, and again I said yes. When he asked a third time I obviously had to say no, but he still wouldn’t leave my side for the rest of the evening.”

  I clenched my jaw. I was the least knowledgeable person in these matters, but wasn’t a gentleman supposed to divide his attention during these events?

  “We met a few times after the Nelsons’ ball. Once at the duck pond, you know the one? He was feeding them bread when I got there, said he had a hunch I liked little lives because I have a kind spirit. Can you imagine someone saying that? It sounds so silly, but when he said it, I felt so … so …!”

  She was right, it sounded silly. Everything she described was a romantic’s dream, something most adults would be able to tell from reality. But Sinéad was seventeen. And this Lord Thorne was decidedly not.

  “I’ll spare you the details, but Sidra … I’m engaged.”

  Sinéad watched me through the mirror, hand closing protectively around a silver band on her ring finger that I hadn’t noticed until now.

  I looked at my reflection and saw what Sinéad must’ve seen: eyebrows raised in astonishment, upper lip pulled up in shock — eyes wide with disapproval.

  “You’re angry.”

  What else was I supposed to feel? Sinéad had not only found herself a man, but gotten engaged during the three weeks I’d been gone. Had she gone mad? Though she’d always been easy to impress, I’d never taken her for a fool.

  Seeing her heartbroken expression, I picked my words carefully.

  “I’m just surprised. Don’t you think it’s a bit sudden? You barely know this man.”

  “I know him well enough.” She put her hand gently over the jewelry box where she’d hidden the drawing of her fiancé. “Our souls were made the same.”

  He’d put those words in her mouth. I could imagine his pretty lips moving as he spoke them to her, convincing her of the utter bullshit he was spewing by making it seem profound.

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  “He’s of noble birth?” I managed, speaking with surgical precision. “When did he move here?”

  “He didn’t. He’s only here on business, fetching some sort of cargo.”

  “Business? What business could a lord have? Aside from seducing and collecting child brides,” I scoffed.

  Hurt flashed in Sinéad’s eyes and she averted her gaze, picking at some dried paint on her fingernail.

  “He’s not much older than you and I. And he never seduced me, Sidra. We’ve only talked. Perhaps for longer than what is considered proper, but it was always civil and polite, never inappropriate.”

  “Maybe he’s a con artist?”

  “No! Con artists try to get you to hand over your money or invest in something, he was only interested in my company. What would a lord gain from marrying minor gentry, hmm? He’d stand to lose face, reputation, maybe even the society of other nobles! That means he must be genuine. What else do I have to offer someone like him besides my love?” Sinéad finished her spirited defense of her paramour and watched me intently, waiting for a response.

  Unfortunately, the more I heard about this man, the less I liked him. While I had no authority on the machinations of nobles and their reasons for entering marriages with the lower classes, I did know something else she would give him without question: control. That was something many men coveted, regardless of status. But I couldn’t outright call Sinéad naive and demand she called off her engagement. I had to show my doubts without looking dismissive of her happiness.

  “His conversation must be very interesting if it convinced you to marry him on such short notice.”

  “It is! He’s a wonderful man, extremely talented, well-mannered, and worldly!” she sputtered. Then she shrank away and sat at the edge of her bed, hands clasped together in her lap. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  I turned around and looked into her eyes to make sure she was listening to every word.

  “Sinéad, I don’t want to get in the way of your marriage” — just saying the word made me sick to my stomach — “I only want to make sure you’re not doing something you’ll regret.”

  She blinked rapidly like she had a hard time understanding me. Then she shook her head.

  “I want this,” she said. “I want to marry him, Sidra. It’s difficult to explain to someone who’s never experienced it, but it’s as if he’s meant for me, put on this world for me and nobody else. Now that I’ve met him, I don’t think any other man could make me happy.”

  What things had he said to make her believe this? I couldn’t imagine them, but the look in her eyes was so desperate and pleading that she couldn’t have been anything but sincere. She believed herself in love with him, destined for him. How was I supposed to tell her otherwise? Was it even right for me to try?

  I stood from the chair and sat next to her on the bed, placing my hand on her shoulder.

  “Sinéad, I understand that you like this man very much, but if you’re truly meant to be, then there’s no reason to rush into this. He will wait for you if he truly wants you. If you decide too quickly, you might regret it later on. Marriage is more than just living with the one you love, and there are many other changes and responsibilities to consider.”

  I tried to sound as soothing and rational as possible, which was hard work when all I wanted was to find this Lord Thorne and tell him that marrying a seventeen-year-old would be his last mistake.

  “That’s true,” she mumbled. “I mean, he never actually proposed, you know? I just assumed …”

  “Assumed what?”

  “He asked if I wanted to be his forever, and I said yes. That’s the same as a proposal, right?”

  The urge to strangle this man with my bare hands was almost overwhelming now, and I caught myself squeezing Sinéad’s shoulder like it was his throat. He’d seduced (even if she didn’t like to call it that) a young woman barely out of childhood and made her promise things she couldn’t possibly understand or fulfill.

  I grasped Sinéad’s plump, soft fingers gently between my rough and callused ones. “I would say it’s a proposal, yes. But it’s not too late to say no. When are you meeting him again?”

  “Tomorrow evening. He said he wanted to show me his home up north, but would wait to ask my mother for permission to travel first.”

  The lord asking for permission would’ve lessened his other offenses, were it not for what Sinéad had said right before. I ran my thumbs over her knuckles, trying to calm myself and her at once. I recalled the map in one of Mother’s books, showing the entire country of Adelheid: a large peninsula surrounded by ice-cold sea, dotted with cities and towns and villages, connected by a tiny strip of land to a deep green, oppressive emptiness up north.

  It was empty because no cartographer dared to travel that far — not because it was deserted.

  “Sinéad, there is to the north but the forest. Dorotea is the end of human civilization. You know that, right?”

  Her eyes grew round with fear. “Oh. Of course. I-it must be a misunderstanding.” She laughed nervously. “I was so entranced by his description of the place that I must’ve misheard!”

  “Or …” I lowered my voice, “… maybe he does live up north.”

  “I’ve seen him many times, Sidra. And he showed up to a crowded ball and nobody thought he was anything but … human.” She said the last word quietly, almost whispering, lest the wrong ears caught the insinuation.

  I hoped she was right, for all our sakes. But even if he didn’t live in the north, I wouldn’t let Sinéad marry him. I’d keep a close eye on the man tomorrow evening. If he hurt my little sister, I’d tear him to shreds.

  “But I think you’re right. I will speak to Sylas. Postpone the engagement,” Sinéad sighed. “I’m sure he will understand.”

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll make him.”

  She gave me a stern look, “Sidra, no. I forbid you from being mean to him. He’s lovely and charming, and I’m sure you two will get along once this is all sorted out. I told him a lot about you, you know?”

  Talking about him seemed to make her feel better, so I listened intently as we resumed the beauty ritual we’d interrupted before.

  Apparently, Sinéad wasn’t sure what business Lord Thorne was involved in or even what made him a lord, which was another nail in his coffin, but she assured me he must’ve been not only noble but extremely wealthy as well. He wore plenty of gold, see, and his clothes were odd but of impeccable quality, something that made people take a second and even third look whenever he walked by.

  Other women had been interested in him, though he’d only had eyes for Sinéad, and they’d spoken about everything between heaven and earth.

  They’d spoken so much yet she knew so little of him. How could I trust someone like that?

  I said nothing of my suspicions to Sinéad. Hopefully, this would sort itself out, and I’d be there to wipe her tears once it was all over.